Sorry this took a while. Let me know what you think!-thefaultoflegend

The cab driver dropped them off in the middle of nowhere, or at least what Molly assumed was the middle of nowhere. They had to have been more than a couple hours outside of the city, and all Molly could see before her was a long stretch of road, and miles and miles of desert. At least the moon was shining brightly that night and the stars were out in full force, shining brighter that the twinkle in Sherlock's eyes when he started a new case. Definitely not something she would ever see in London.

Sherlock paid the driver for the fare and then extra to take their unnecessary belongings to a safe drop location that he and Mycroft had already worked out. When the car was gone, it was just the two of them, two backpacks, and uncertainty waning in the distance. Sherlock didn't make eye contact with Molly as he gently put one of the backpacks over her shoulders, lifting up her ponytail so it wouldn't get caught, and tightening the straps so they were snug to her body. He clipped the strap in the front and shook the pack to make sure it was secure.

"Is that too heavy?" he questioned softly and Molly shook her head, staring at the spot where his curls started to sprout up on his head. They didn't talk the entire ride, Molly being too afraid to ask any more questions and Sherlock busy calculating their next moves. He would never admit to it, but it was a lot harder to pull off a mission when he couldn't be in contact with his brother.

"I had to get rid of our phones," he told the pathologist now as he started off into the desert. Molly didn't understand why they weren't just following the road but she didn't say anything.

"Okay," she said instead, at least acknowledging him.

"They're being sent back with the rest of our stuff. That's how the network located us in the first place. But I assure you it won't happen again." He was walking several steps ahead of her, his voice muffled because of it.

"John and Mary…" she started but was quickly cut off.

"Mycroft will alert them that something has happened but I imagine we won't be able to let them know we're alright for a few days yet." Molly felt herself tearing up again, and Sherlock could feel his throat close in just slightly. Both knew what it was like to find out that a close loved one was in danger, possibly dead or dying. And neither of them could imagine what the Watsons could be going through, waiting to hear some news from them or anyone.

What Sherlock didn't tell Molly is that he knew the envelope was a threat simply because who else would be contacting them? When he felt the gun powder along it's creases, it was time to get out, time to run.

"C'mere, Molly," he said and thrust his hand backwards waiting for her to wrap her fingers in his. When she did he sighed contently. Their make ups were rarely dramatic.

"Isn't it a bit dangerous to be walking like this in the middle of the desert?" she asked after a beat and Sherlock shrugged.

"Who else would be out here? Besides, it's not like I wouldn't let us go without protection." He patted his pockets where Molly deduced he held a couple of firearms, ready to be used at any time.

"Did you always carry this much with you?" she asked him and he shook his head.

"No. But I've got more precious cargo now," he replied with a grin and Molly smiled back as the continued to walk hand in hand across the desert.

It was about two hours later, when both the detective and the pathologist were completely exhausted, that Sherlock pulled out his spare phone. It was the one he only brought on these types of missions. Mycroft has it so well protected that no one would be able to find them, as long as he didn't making any calls or try contacting anyone. He pulled up a GPS app and dropped Molly's hand while he walked a bit ahead of her, following a small dot on the screen of his phone.

When he got to a spot in the sand, he reared up and jumped high, coming down where his feet made a loud thud against the earth below him. Molly looked to him with astonishment while he grinned up at her. "You're sworn to secrecy," he said simply and pointed a finger at her before turning to dig in the sand, his hands working quickly and soon, he uncovered a steel door with a lock pad on it, where he punched in a number and the door immediately popped open.

"What the hell, Sherlock?" said Molly as he started to climb in the hole, careful not to slip on the ladder that led down in.

"You really didn't think my big brother would let me go on these missions with no protection, did you?" he said and started climbing down, gesturing for her to follow him. Molly stood there for a second, looking around at the empty desert. She felt strangely, like her and Sherlock were the only two people on the planet. And in a way, in that moment, they were. Each of them only aware of the other, just trying to keep each other alive, safe, protected. She couldn't blame Sherlock for getting cross with her earlier. He was only trying to help. And while she swung her leg into the edge of the hole and felt his hand on her ankle, making sure her foot connected with the rung of the ladder, she realized that it was all he ever really did with her. He was only ever trying to help.

"It's a long way down," he said to her while she pulled the latch closed and started down the ladder, foot after foot, hand after hand. "Let me know if you want me to take your pack."

"I'll be okay," she protested and he nodded, although she couldn't see him at all. The tunnel was lit by tiny holes in the steel walls, and not very big at all. It was just enough for Molly and Sherlock to squirm their way through. She thanked God that neither one of them was claustrophobic otherwise they would really be in for some trouble. It was cold, too; the further they got down, the more Molly started to shiver. Sherlock hadn't made a peep the whole time and she knew that this was the kind of stuff he was used to. Trap doors in the middle of the desert, climbing a mile down into the earth. She couldn't imagine doing it alone, all of this, all the danger. Experiencing it alone would be maddening.

"So your brother organized this?" she asked as they descended deeper and deeper. The only sounds she could hear were that of Sherlock's heavy breathing.

"Well, not him exactly…the government…military stuff." It wasn't long after that that Molly could no longer hear the clang of Sherlock's shoes against metal or the breaths of her consulting detective.

"Sherlock?" she asked and then felt a hand on her back, familiar and inviting in a place that was anything but.

"We're at the bottom," he said and when Molly stepped down once more, she felt firm ground under her shoes and space in front of her.

"What now?" she asked. "Making our way through a maze? Walking a tight rope over a deadly river? Wading through a snake pit?"

"I don't get it," said Sherlock and grabbed her hand again, led her down the hallway that was in front of them, or so she assumed. It was almost pitch black aside from the screen of Sherlock's phone.

"This is like something out of a bizarre action movie," she responded while they rounded a corner. Sherlock had been in this particular hideaway before, back during the first time he was defeating Moriarty's web. His brother had given him a whole map of hideaways, ones that were installed for business that even Mycroft hadn't known about. But being the magician that he was, he was able to grant Sherlock access to all of them, all over the world. It helped greatly when Sherlock just needed a place to sleep while not having to worry about someone coming to kill him. These places were like second homes to him, well besides Bart's of course.

"Ah ha," he exclaimed when the two of them couldn't walk any further. Sherlock stopped so fast that Molly collided into his back, efficiently pinning him up against the wall. "Molly, please. There will be time for coitus later," he said with a smirk and she smacked him before backing up and letting him punch in another code on the side of the door.

They waited a few seconds but before long, there was a ding and a flash of a green light while the door slid open, revealing an open room with a bed, a small kitchen area, a desk with some equipment on it, and another door that Molly assumed led to a bathroom. Sherlock crossed over the threshold after her, and the door quickly slammed shut behind him, locking the two of them in there. Molly turned around, unsure. It was one thing to run away from a burning building, and another to be in a place where escape seemed impossible.

"There's an escape hatch above the bathroom," Sherlock assured her. "We're safe here. I promise." Molly nodded and faced the bed, wanting nothing more than to just collapse on it. Sherlock followed her eyes and reached around to her front, unclipping the pack and sliding it off her shoulders. "You go ahead and sleep. I'll join you in a minute."

She nodded numbly, hours of walking finally catching up to her and collapsed on the bed. It was surprisingly soft and Molly practically melted into it, reaching a hand up to grab a hold of a pillow and bring it down to her level. When she did, she felt something else, a stack of something that crinkled when she touched it. She pulled back her hand and found a journal, small and bent, a little dirty, but still perfectly intact.

She sat up abruptly, looking curiously at the little object. It was leather, dark blue, with a little ribbon to mark the place in the pages. She ran her hands over the cover, eager to see what was inside, when her fingers caught in the bottom right hand corner. She held it up to the light, squinting to see better. SH. The letters were engraved neatly into the cover of the journal. Sherlock's. She couldn't believe it. He had never been one to write any of his experiences down. That was John's job, recording every case that Sherlock had. But this, this was purely Sherlock's doing.

She opened the cover and turned to the first page he had written on. "Dear Molly," she read. And gasped. Her? But this had to have been from right after the fall, right after Sherlock took off…

"Stop!" screamed Sherlock while suddenly standing in front of her and snatching the journal from her small hands. He walked around, trying to find a hiding spot for it in the small space, but soon gave up and instead shoved it down the back of his pants.

"Well that's not going to work," Molly smirked from the bed and he rolled his eyes, bringing the journal back in front of him. "What is it? Why is my name in it?" she asked him sincerely and he shrugged.

"It's just some records I kept from when I was destroying Moriarty's web. Your name is probably in it because you're the one who helped." He was lying, lying through his teeth and Molly could tell. He knew that Molly could tell but that she wasn't going to protest. Not yet anyway. He could never tell her the truth, what lay beneath the pages of the journal.

"What was that?" asked Molly suddenly and Sherlock looked up to meet her eyes and then he heard it, too. Sounds coming from the hallway, getting closer to them with each second. Footsteps.