Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. Gaston Louis Alfred Leroux , Andrew Loyd Webber ,Charles Hart and Richard Stilgoe own The phantom of the opera's story and musical . I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language and I don't have a beta reader, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

Climbing on a motorbike was something quite difficult for Molly Hooper. Climbing on a motorbike, wearing an helmet too big for her, behind Sherlock Holmes, was even more complicated. She remained still for a minute, trying to decide where to put her hands, and to evaluate if it were possible to not touch him, and at the same time to remain on the bike while he was riding at full speed. At last, Sherlock decided for her: he grabbed her small hands and placed them around his waist, then his voice, muffled from the helmet, ordered her around, like usual. "Stay closer, and don't move until we are arrived". "Arrived where?" she asked, but her words went lost in the air, because after a sudden acceleration, they were already on the street.

Twenty terrifying minutes later, Sherlock stopped in front of a fancy looking restaurant. Two decorated pillar were to the sides of the entrance, and on top of them there was the sign. "Aphrodite restaurant", she read. Greek cousine...one of her favourite. It could be a coincidence, but with Sherlock Holmes, coincidences were almost nonexistent. He had probably deduced it from the way she walked, or from some tiny spot of tzatziki on her cardigan..."Give me the helmet, I will fasten them to the bike".

They didn't have a reservation, but the owner knew him - as Martin Davenport, obviously, and lead them to a table in a secluded spot. The bald man smiled at her, a genuine smile, and patted Sherlock's (Martin's) shoulder affectionately. "Finally I see you with someone, Martin...she's really beautiful! Let me find a candle for your table!". Molly started to say "I'm not his d-", but Sherlock interjected quickly.

"Thanks, Stavros- and don't bring us the menus, please. We're opting for the Meze menu for two"

"Wonderful choice! For the dips?"

"Tzatziki and skordalia, thanks"

"Give me ten minutes, and I will be back with your starters!"

Molly observed the restaurant: small, cozy, with low lights, a paternal and affectionate owner...it reminded her of "Angelo's". She had dinner there with John and Mrs. Hudson once, shortly after the funeral, and the poor italian man had cried, while remembering with them their lost friend. A lost friend that was currently scrutinizing her.

"Is there something wrong, Martin?"

"Nothing...besides the fact that you should not be here, Molly. I told you, it's too dang-"

"Dangerous, I understand. If you invited me here tonight, hoping to convince me to return to London, don't waste your breath. I'm not going back, without helping you"

"You already helped me, more than you could possibly imagine"

"Then let me do it again! I'm not completely useless, you should know it now. There must be a way to convince you, tell me what you need"

In that moment Stavros returned, a candle in his hands." Let me lit it up for you...there you are! Five minutes for the dips!" and he scurried away.

"Candlelight suits you. You look lovely"

"Use your false flattery to create a diversion...you are sooo original, S-Martin. Tell me what's wrong with the company"

Sherlock had the decency to look surprised for a moment. He knew Molly was quite observant, and clever. Obviously not clever as him, but..."Who said there's something wrong with the company ?"

"Please, do you want me to believe that you're singing musical in Cardiff just because you have always dreamed of it? Wait, it's that spanish guy, isn't it? Marc, the one Jez fancies...oh,poor Jez..."

"Miss Hooper, as I told someone before, caring is not an advantage. It's a lesson that you, your friend and the others should learn very quickly, if you want to-"

"To what ?! To live in solitude, alone and sad ?". Molly couldn't believe her ears. After all she had done for him, after the sacrifice he was making to save his friends, he still believed that sentiment was just something incovenient ? "How could you be such an idiot ? If it weren't for the fact that I care for you, you could have been dead right now, and with you all the others" she hissed.

"What saved me was that I understimated you, and as a consequence, Moriarty did it, too. We are the same, he was right". Was it guilt in his voice? Or regret? Impossible, Sherlock Holmes was too proud of himself, to feel remorse."But we don't have time to dig up the past again. Yes, Marc Guerrero is a thief, and sometimes the receiver of stolen goods. He inadvertently stole something really important, something that it's essential to me, if I want to access the highest ranks of Moriarty's criminal organisation"

"What can I do ?"

"For now, you could taste Stavros' superb food...and then, you're going to text your friend and tell her that we are waiting for her and Marc at the "Lucky Voice". It's a karaoke bar on Greyfriars Road"

She could sense he was not telling her all his plan. "And then?"

"How good are you at picking locks, Molly?"


Breaking and entering was not exactly her idea of a quiet after dinner, but after all, Molly was the one who had offered her help to Sherlock Holmes, so she shouldn't complain.

"One minute and seven seconds...Mr Guerrero, maybe it's time to invest into a deadbolt lock. Wait here and be on the lookout, it will take me a few minutes" and with those words, Sherlock closed the door in her face.

"Wonderful...you help a guy to fake a suicide, and what do you gain? Nothing, he bosses you around even more than before" she started to mutter, when she heard a noise. Steps...one, no two people on the stairs, whispering. Stay calm Molly, you can do this...she knocked softly, whispering "Red code! Red code!". Her fist was just a few centimeters away from the wood, when Sherlock opened the door, what looked like a flash drive in his hand. "Really, Molly? Red code ? How many spy movie have you watched lately?"

"Two men, they're on the stairs! They're coming our way!" she explained, her voice low and frantic. He took a look, then whispered "Trust me" and in an instant, his lips were on her mouth, his body pushing hers against the hallway's wall. She tried to be impassable, but then she felt his fingertips caressing the skin just above her hipbone (when did her blouse rise up?), and she let a moan escape from her lips. Sherlock took advantage of that, and his lower lip coaxed her mouth to open, his tongue flickering against hers. Then...it was over. She opened her eyes -when did I close them? And why?- and found Sherlock looking at her, panting. He looked swiftly at his watch. "They probably went to a flat downstairs. Your friend is waiting for us. We better hurry"

The ride to the "Lucky Voice" gave Molly the time to try to clear her mind. Sherlock Holmes had kissed her. Properly kissed her. And it had been only an escamotage, to avoid being discovered while stealing something from a criminal...that made her think of Jez. Poor Jez, she had no luck with men...well,she was the one who dated a criminal, gay, psychopath mastermind...and she had just been kissed by an asexual self-proclaimed sociopath, she surely was winning...The motorbike stopped, and with it also her musings.

"We are arrived". The sight of Sherlock's ginger hair,flattened by the helmet, made her giggle. She took off hers, and she was still laughing at him, with Sherlock looking increasingly puzzled. "Your hair...I can't wait to see your wonderful curls again...this colour is ridiculous!" she explained.

"Well, trust me: I was rather fond of my curls, too". He seemed to mourn them, making the familiar - and now useless - gesture of brushing them away from his forehead. He took her helmet and locked the motorbike.

When they arrived at the club, they found Jez and Marc waiting impatiently for them. "What took you so long? You're twenty minutes late, I tried to call you two times but you never answered! I was worried, Mol-".Jez took a look at Sherlock, then abruptly stopped her rantings, and smiled."Well, let's find a table, shall we?"

Her friend dragged Molly inside the karaoke-bar." You're forgiven...but I want all the juicy details,later!".That was the moment when the shy pathologist noticed the lipstick spot on the corner of Sherlock lips."Hey, Martin, what do you think about singing with Molly, right now? I know the owner, it will take us a mnute to find a spot for you two"

Her eyes found his; she could see them sparkling, despite the low light."Only if we can choose the song"

"Of course. What do you want to perform ?"

They answered simultaneously. "Point of no return"


PHANTOM

Past the point of no return
No backward glances
Our games of make-believe are at an end.

Past all thought of "if" or "when"
No use resisting
Abandon thought and let the dream descend

What raging fire shall flood the soul
What rich desire unlocks it's door
What sweet seduction lies before us?

Past the point of no return
The final threshold
What warm unspoken secrets
Will we learn
Beyond the point of no return?

Molly felt, more than heard, Sherlock sing. The words were so true, so appropriate...because the man before her eyes was a ghost,a phantom, and she was the only one who was able to really see him.

CHRISTINE

You have brought me
To that moment when words run dry
To that moment when speech disappears
Into silence
Silence.

I have come here,
Hardly knowing the reason why
In my mind I've already imagined
Our bodies entwining
Defenseless and silent,
Now I am here with you
No second thoughts
I've decided
Decided.

Past the point of no return
No going back now
Our passion-play has now at last begun.

Past all thought of right or wrong
One final question
How long should we two wait before we're one?*

"How long before you can return home? How long before I can see you again? Will this night change something, for us?" She knew that she could not ask him those questions: he had a mission, and she couldn't forget that he was Sherlock Holmes, and she was only mousy Molly Hooper. She didn't hear the applause that welcomed the end of the song, and she missed how Sherlock was looking at her, his gaze wistful and sad.


They took a moment to say goodnight to each other, when they left the club."I'm leaving tomorrow" he announced, his voice firm and impersonal.

"To go where? I know, you can't tell me, stupid question"

"And you're leaving too"

Molly felt the hope fill her heart. Sherlock wanted her help, he had finally understood that they could share the burden, and defeat Moriarty's organisation together...

"You're going back to London. Mycroft booked the train for you, and I don't want to hear a word, understood?"

"How could you believe that you could order me around like that? I'm a grown woman, I'm a doctor, for God's sake, I can-"

She felt his hands gripping rather forcefully her shoulder, forcing her to look him in the eyes."I need to know that you're safe. Mycroft can protect you better while you're in London".He rested his forehead against hers."How long before you will finally understand that you do count, Molly Hooper?"

His lips tasted her salty tears when he chastely kissed her."Take care of them. And be safe, for me. Goodbye, Molly"

Sherlock Homes had left her, again. But this time, she had two kisses, and a "goodbye", to keep her company.

THE END

Song (from The Phantom of the Opera)

* Point of no return

Thanks again. Thanks to Phantom white lady of 221b for giving me this prompt; thanks to everyone who read, and left a review, and followed. I hope Sherlock is not too much OOC,it was a really hard task to keep him in character while singing on a stage...but I'm quite satisfied with the outcome. as always, let me know what you think, reviews makes me happy and smiling, and help me to be a better writer!

Irene