She was running as fast as her legs could carry her, her clothes were torn, and she was missing a shoe. She had a firm grip on a chunk of hair, and a good deal of skin cells and blood under her finger nails.

oOoOoOo

'WHAT,' Greg yelled into the speaker of his phone, 'where is she, is she hurt, do we have any leads?' He fired off the questions as he stormed out the doors of 221B, he'd been there to consult with Sherlock, but that case was officially put on hold.

Sherlock and John shared equally confused looks before swiftly following the DI; they barely even made it into the cab, before it was on its way.

Greg was listening intently to someone on the other end of his phone, sometimes nodding and mumbling at what was being said. When he finally hung up he raised his fingers to his temple, slowly massaging it in an attempt to try and calm down.

When they stopped outside of Barts he was gone, quickly running through the door to the hospital, closely followed by the consulting detective, and doctor.

'Where is she' he barked loudly at one of the nurses, 'Molly Hooper, where is she?' The nurse pointed to one of the rooms to the left, and the DI went through the door without knocking, leaving behind Sherlock and John, both shocked into silence at the mentioned name.

Sherlock was the first to move, his fist slammed to the wall before his feet started moving going in the same direction as Greg.

He froze once again as he saw his pathologist, she had a deep cut on her left cheek, there was blood seeping down her forehead from an injury at her hairline, her clothes were ripped, and she held a hand to her ribs.

His eyes were wide as he watched the DI running his hand through her hair, checking her injuries thoroughly.

Molly's eyes met his as he let out a shaky breath, his stomach was clenching in pain, and anger. His hands were fists, his nails digging into the skin of his palm as he tried to stay calm. 'I'm okay Sherlock, I got away before he could do anything,' she instinctively knew what he was thinking, a thing - he realised - she did quite often.

'They got the guy Molly, they called me on the way here,' Greg consoled her, running his hand up and down her back. 'They said you were very brave, and very clever to do what you did,' the DI was smiling with admiration at the pathologist, much to Sherlocks chagrin.

The consulting detective furrowed his brows in confusion, what had Molly done, and how had the assailant been apprehended so quickly without his help?
He was shook out of his thoughts when Molly giggled; it was a quiet sound, but it spiked his interest, and he looked to her.

'I scratched him, and pulled out a few strands of his hair, I even bit him,' she told him, needing no explanation as to what he'd been thinking. 'They didn't need you because they had enough to find him,' she smiled shyly between the two men in the room.

'You were so brave, how did you get away?' Greg asked breaking the silence after a few minutes. Molly's eyes fell to the ground, her hands twirling in her lap nervously.

'Well he, I was on my way home when,' she took a break from speaking as Sherlock came closer to her side, he didn't realise he'd moved until his hand took hold of hers. 'He grabbed my ponytail, yanked me into the alleyway behind Gordon's Wine Bar, you know the one on John Adam St.'

'Well he pushed me against the wall, his hands went around my throat, and well he tried taking off my clothes,' Molly cringed as Sherlocks grip on her hand tightened, she took a glance at him, watching his jaw clenching and unclenching, his eyes close, and his nostrils flaring.

'Well I got my arm out of his grasp and I slapped him, I gave him a knee in the crotch, and well even though I wanted most of all to run, I pulled on his hair, scratched him, and bit him. I knew it would help find him sooner, and then I ran here,' she ended her story as John walked into the room.

Greg nodded 'i'll get an officer to drive you home Molly,' Greg informed her as he started walking towards the door.

'No,' Molly, Greg, and John all looked to Sherlock, 'i'll take her home,' he said indifferently, he pulled off his Belstaff and placed it gently over Molly's shoulders before taking her hand in his again, and pulling her out the room, leaving behind the dumbstruck DI and doctor.

'221 Baker Street please' Sherlock told the cabbie as he slipped through the door to the car, 'uhm Barton St first please,' Molly interrupted as she got in next to the consulting detective.

'No,' Sherlock said sternly, 'you're going with me to Baker Street Molly, you're staying with me, and that's final.'

Molly shook her head, he really was rather protective when he wanted to be, she knew there was no point in refusing his idea, she just wondered how long he'd make her stay.

The cab stopped outside 221 and Sherlock threw some money into the cabbies hands before leaving, not waiting for money in return. He waited patiently for Molly to leave the car, and took hold of her arm as he led her to the building.

He led her up the stairs and into his living room, Molly looked around, furrowing her brows, something was different. 'Wait, that's my chair Sherlock, what is it doing here?' She asked turning to face the impossible man.

He was currently looking to the floor, his hands locked behind him, and a faint tint of red flushing his cheeks and neck. Molly narrowed her eyes as she spotted more of her things, her books, the yellow coat she sometimes wore when she was in a good mood, her small collection of movies, and her cat Toby was perched in Sherlocks chair snoring lightly.

'What's going on?'

Sherlock coughed, 'I texted Mycroft, he owed me a favour, I was going to ask you to move in with me eventually anyways Molly, now seemed as good a time as ever,' he said nonchalantly, the words had come out in the same way they did when he deduced someone, or something.

If Molly had been confused before, she was even more so now, 'why were you going to ask me to move in?' Sherlock scoffed, 'I would have thought it was rather obvious Molly, we are dating are we not?'

'Since when,' She asked, she was angry of course that he would assume they were dating, even that he would just assume that she'd want to move in with him. But her curiosity won at the moment, she wanted to know how long he thought they'd been dating.

'Ever since we got rid of fake-Moriarty of course, maybe even during his short reign, but I cannot be sure, as you know this is the first time I have entered a real relationship.'

She couldn't stifle her giggle even if she had tried to, 'so we've been in a relationship for almost four months without my knowing, is there anything else I don't know?' She asked still giggling slightly.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, 'really Molly, you're a clever woman, how could you not know,' Sherlock scoffed. 'Well people in relationships usually go on dates, kiss, have sex, and well we've barely even spoken since we found fake-Moriarty, how could I have possibly known?'

Sherlock swallowed nervously when Molly mentioned kissing, and sex, he'd thought about it of course, ever since his return from dismantling Moriarty's network, but fiancé's, the slapping, and his short exile had been in the way.

'Very well,' Sherlock grabbed her wrist and pulled her into his embrace, he bend down while looking into her big chocolate brown eyes, showing her his intent, and when he saw no hesitance from her, he sealed her lips with his.

Molly smiled against his mouth, he was an impossible man, he was rude, arrogant, and at times a sulking 5 year old petulant child. But she loved him, every little part of him, his beautiful mind, the way he held her close, and the way his tongue met hers in a fight for dominance, one she would not give up easily.

When Molly thought back to that day it made her smile, it had ended so differently from the way it had started, she'd thought many times of sending a thank you card to her assailant, after all without him, she knew she'd most likely not have known that she was ever in a relationship with her consulting detective.