His First Promise

Summary: Sherlock Holmes wasn't making a new vow; instead, he was making his first promise that he fully intended to keep: keep Molly Hooper safe at whatever cost. [Spoilers for Season Three & Companion Piece to Her Final Goodbye]

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

Sherlock Holmes was irritated.

"Why does England need me now? I've committed treason; I hardly think the Queen wants me anywhere on this bloody island." He stood up from his seat as the plane landed and waited impatiently as the sole stewardess opened the door.

He climbed down the stairs, his eyes on John, Mary, and Mycroft, who were all standing together near his car. He sped up his pace as he saw the look of concern on John's face, running the short distance until he stood beside his friend.

"What is it?" he snapped, when no one said anything.

"I can't believe it," John mumbled, and his brow furrowed in confusion. Sherlock looked from John to Mary, and finally at Mycroft.

"What can't you believe?" Sherlock asked, looking back at John.

"He's back."

"Who?"

"James Moriarty."

For a moment, Sherlock thought they were playing some kind of trick on him. He looked amongst the three people who he was surrounded by, fighting down laughter. When no one smirked or giggled, he shook his head. "No he's not. I watched him shoot himself in the head."

"It looks like the man was cleverer than you thought." Mycroft held out his phone and Sherlock took it without a word, watching the small image of James Moriarty with "Did you miss me?" playing demonically in the background. He only stared at it a moment, his mind failing to process what he was seeing.

And then a cold shiver ran down his spine. "Molly…" he breathed. He had only said his goodbyes a few hours beforehand, but he desperately needed to reassure himself that she was alright.

"What?" Mary asked. She watched as John's eyes narrowed in confusion, and then widened in sudden understanding and horror. Mary didn't understand why they were afraid.

"Where is Molly Hooper?" Sherlock looked at his brother, knowing that he would have kept tabs on her, especially in her emotional state that she left in earlier that morning.

Mycroft took his phone back. "She should be at home," he said, scrolling through his phone, searching through his contacts. Sherlock had an inkling that Mycroft was going to call the men who were assigned to his pathologist that day. "I will raise her security accordingly."

Sherlock nodded his head once in agreement towards Mycroft. "Come on, we have to go!" He pivoted and ran towards Mary's car. "She could already be in danger!"

He got there first and tore open the driver's side door, pushing the seat back as far as it could go. After a moment, John appeared and Mary was a bit behind him, breathless. She hesitated outside the car for a moment before climbing into the backseat, where it was safer for her in her pregnant state; if Sherlock was driving, she was assuming he was going to drive like a maniac.

Sherlock snatched the keys from Mary and shoved them in the ignition.

And then he was speeding off the runway.

"Why are we in a rush?" Mary asked, hurriedly putting on her seatbelt. "Not that Molly's safety isn't important—but why is she in jeopardy?"

"Moriarty dated her so he could get closer to Sherlock," John said, turning around in his seat to look at his wife. "She broke it off with him and then helped Sherlock fake his death. If Moriarty has any idea that Molly was involved, she is in grave danger."

"If it's even Moriarty," Sherlock grumbled. "Anyone can manipulate an image, and that voice was hardly human. But yes, John is right. Molly Hooper is in very grave danger."

Molly Hooper stood frozen to the spot, unable to look away from the computer screen in the lab.

"Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me?"

Her blood ran cold and she felt her legs begin to tremble. She stumbled backwards and latched onto the lab bench behind her.

"Did you miss me?"

"Oh God!" she groaned, closing her eyes and trying to ignore the taunting sound of James Moriarty. She took several deep breaths and pulled herself together. Just because her New Year started off on the wrong foot with saying goodbye to Sherlock didn't mean it had to keep plummeting.

She jumped and whimpered when she felt a vibration in her pocket and she reached for her phone with trembling hands. She couldn't help but imagine Moriarty calling her even though she changed her phone number right after she found out that he was a criminal mastermind. She clutched it tightly in her hand for a moment, before looking at the caller ID. A wave of relief flooded her at the sight of Greg Lestrade's name on the screen. Then she answered his call. "H-Hello?"

"Where. Are. You?" he growled out. "You're supposed to be in your flat."

"W-work," she stuttered. She cleared her throat, which suddenly seemed too dry, and a piece of her was curious as to why Lestrade knew where she was and wasn't supposed to be. "I'm in the lab, covering a shift for Mike."

"I'll be there in two minutes. Do not leave the lab."

"O-okay."

Molly hung up and slid her phone into her pocket. Then she shakily began cleaning up the sample she had been working on. By the time Lestrade burst into the lab, her hands were a bit steadier and she was feeling better.

Molly looked at Lestrade, and she couldn't help but shudder at the look of anger flashing in his eyes. He wasn't dressed in his usual suit and tie, which meant he was off duty, but his gun was displayed prominently on his hip and he looked altogether a bit too dangerous.

"You're going in my protective custody. Don't worry about work, it's being taken care of." He paused for a second to look around the lab. Then he lowered his voice to barely above a whisper and said, "I'm taking you home and you need to pack a bag and get your cat, and then you're going somewhere safe for the time being."

Molly nodded her head, not arguing. She led the way out of the lab and towards the ladies locker room, aware of the protective hand Lestrade had on the small of her back and the tension he was holding in his upper body.

"Am I in danger?" she whispered, after getting her purse and exchanging her lab coat for her heavier winter coat.

"I think so."

"And where are we going?" Molly asked. Lestrade didn't answer until they were safely out of St. Bart's and in his car.

"Baker Street."

Molly didn't have it in her to protest; she wasn't sure if she could physically stand being in the same space as Sherlock's belongings, with the knowledge that the man she was in love with was on a suicide mission in Eastern Europe.

Lestrade didn't say a word as he led the way to Molly's flat, her keys tightly in his fist. He unlocked her door and opened it, doing a cursory sweep of the flat. Confident that no one was there, he opened the door wider and allowed Molly to step through.

A few steps into the flat, Molly knew something was wrong. Toby ALWAYS met her at the door, crying and purring for attention and food.

Her cat was nowhere in sight.

Molly hesitated in the hallway, scared to move further into the flat. "What's wrong?" Lestrade asked.

Molly didn't say anything, just moving silently through her small flat. She saw that her bedroom door was shut, and she felt a bit of the tension release from her body. "I must have locked Toby in my room this morning."

Lestrade paused near her sofa, one hand resting on his gun. "Go ahead and pack a bag. Clothes, toiletries, anything you might need for a few days. Mycroft Holmes said you'll have access to everything in the flat, so don't worry about food."

"Right," Molly murmured. She walked down the hallway that led from her sitting room to the bedrooms and bathroom. She opened the door to her bedroom and flicked on her light.

Then she screamed in horror at the sight in front of her.

"Oh, my God."

"What?" Sherlock snapped.

"Go to Baker Street. Right now. Jesus!" They were on their way to Molly's flat, under the impression that she was still there. Sherlock deduced that because of the emotional state she was in earlier, she would either be sleeping in her bed, or cocooned in her duvet on the sofa.

"What is it, John?" Mary asked from the backseat.

Sherlock watched as John fumbled with his phone, and then he held the device up. Sherlock glanced at the photograph and felt his heart stop.

The all too familiar "Get Sherlock" with the crude smiley face in the 'o' was painted on a wall in red. He recognized the wardrobe beside the writing as Molly's. "Tell me that's paint," he said, surprised when his voice cracked. In his mind, he imagined Molly Hooper's lifeless body on her bed, and the idea made him sick. He cleared his throat and glanced at John from the corner of his eye before staring straight ahead at the road, trying to calculate the fastest route to Molly's flat. If she was hurt or dead, he was going to kill whoever did this to her.

"No. It's blood from Molly's cat. Lestrade has taken her to Baker Street per Mycroft's request. We need to go there."

Sherlock slammed on the brakes and hardly had the car off before he was jumping out of the vehicle. He saw Lestrade's car parked in front of his flat and he wasted no time in slamming the front door of 221B open and climbing the stairs two at a time.

He ran into his sitting room, not taking in anything other than Molly Hooper, who was curled up in his seat. She was staring unblinkingly forward, and Sherlock dropped down to his knees in front of her. For a moment there was thick silence, and then she blinked once before looking at him. He leaned forward, invading her space, blocking out everything behind him. "They set you free because someone murdered my cat?" she asked weakly, slowly reaching out and cupping his cheek.

"Don't be obtuse, Molly," he growled, resting his hand over the one on his face. "I'm free because there is a threat to England, and I'm here because someone hurt you."

"I'm fine, really." She tried to pull away, but Sherlock refused to let her go.

"You loved Toby. I understand what it's like to lose a beloved pet." He took a deep breath and then added, "I'm sorry." He saw the tears well up in her eyes, but none fell. Even though she was hurting, she was trying so hard to be strong. "You're staying here until the threat is taken care of, understand?" he asked. Molly nodded her head and didn't dispute his statement. Sherlock had a feeling that his pathologist didn't want to return to her flat in its current state. "For now, you can sleep in my bed."

"Just like old times?" she asked. Sherlock could tell that she was thinking of all the times he had commandeered her bedroom while using her flat as a bolt-hole. The small quirk of her lips sent a flood of relief through him. He nodded his head and cradled her face in his hands. Then he leaned forward and captured her mouth in a gentle kiss. The resounding gasps that echoed around him didn't go unnoticed but he was more focused on Molly and what she needed. He pulled away from the kiss slowly, but held still when Molly pressed her face against his shoulder.

"I thought I was never going to see you again," she whispered, clutching his coat.

"I believe that idea can be deleted now. I'm certain I'm here to stay."

"Okay," Molly whispered, tightening her hold on him. "Okay." She took a shuddering breath and tried to pull away from Sherlock's embrace, but he held steadfast.

"You're in a bit of shock."

"I could be."

"What do you need?"

Molly hesitated for a moment, and then she shook her head. "I don't know." The sound of uncertainty was like a punch to his gut, the fear evident in her voice. At points of stress, Molly Hooper always held her sanity and kept him grounded; he had to do his best to be her anchor. "I don't know what's happening or if I'm in danger and I don't want him to be back, Sherlock." Her voice raised in pitch as she finished her statement, her teeth clamping down on her bottom lip. "I really don't want him to be back."

"Nothing will happen to you," Sherlock said, finally releasing his tight hold on her. He shifted a bit on his knees to relieve the pressure and eyed Molly seriously. He then grasped Molly's hands in his own. "I promise."

A/N: Thanks for reading! :)