THE RETURN

22 June 2015

A/N: Full prompt: Moriarty sent Molly a morbid gift to coincide with the video message. When Sherlock gets to her to make sure she's okay, she's terrified, and Sherlock vows to do whatever it takes to calm her down and keep her safe, even if it means letting her get physically and emotionally close.

This is the sequel to my fic The Last Night. I recommend that you guys read that first if you haven't done so.

This is safe for work, but I dropped a couple of F-bombs here. So warning for language.

I own nothing. Everything belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, BBC, Steven Moffat, and Mark Gatiss. If I owned Sherlock and Molly Hooper, then there would be a lot more Sherlolly in the show. All mistakes are mine. Reviews and constructive criticism are welcome.

Sherlock stepped off the aeroplane and headed straight for the car, by which his brother stood. "What happened? Where's Moriarty?"

"I'm trying to find out," Mycroft answered in a steady voice. "I'll play the video for you in the car en route to Baker Street. We should––"

"Barts first," the detective replied as he entered the car. He patted John on the shoulder and kissed Mary's cheek before sitting across them.

Mycroft sat next to his brother. "Sherlock, we do not have time to––"

"We're making time to get to Molly!" He took a deep breath to calm himself down as he pulled his mobile out of his coat pocket. "Look, unless he has a clone or an identical twin brother that's as fucked up as he was, this isn't Moriarty," he explained as he dialled a number. "I saw him die."

"If it's not him, then, what, someone else is using Moriarty's image to terrorise the country?" chimed in John, his hand squeezing Mary's.

"I don't know! And I can't concentrate on finding out who it is until I'm sure Molly's safe." He growled in frustration as he redialled the number. "Pick up, pick up, pick up," he muttered.

"You think he's going after her then?" asked Mary.

"Possibly. If this person knew about Moriarty's plan to destroy me and about Molly's part in faking my suicide, then he'll go after her. Just like Moriarty, he'll go after the people I love the most." He looked up as he redialled and saw Mary's tiny smirk. Reviewing his last words, he swallowed as he realised what he let slip. He briefly answered the former assassin's smirk. "Shut up, Mary," he added in a brusque tone, prompting John to look at them in confusion.

She grinned back at him as she pulled out her mobile. "John, what's Stamford's phone number? If Molly can't or won't pick up, then we'll try someone else at Barts."

The doctor scrolled through his contacts and held up the screen for Mary. "Right. I'll call her office phone."

Mycroft ended his own call. "I have sent my men to the mortuary––"

"Don't forget the path lab, the cafeteria, the loos, the women's locker room, the employee lounge, and her office," added Sherlock as he tried her mobile again.

The civil servant nodded. "Done."

"Thank you," Sherlock quietly said, just as the pathologist picked up. He quickly activated the phone's speaker. "Molly! I've been trying to get hold of you. Are you all right?" He paused to let her speak, but he only heard sobs. "Molly? Did anyone hurt you?"

"Sh-Sherlock, I'm so s-scared. I saw J-Jim on TV and then…"

He looked at his friends and his brother with barely concealed panic in his eyes. "And then what? Is he there? Molly, damn it, answer me!"

Mary reached for his hand and squeezed it. "Sherlock, you're scaring her even more," she gently reminded him. She held out her hand. "Here, let me talk to her."

The detective shook his head and tightened his grip on his mobile. Shutting his eyes, he took a deep breath before addressing the pathologist. "Molly, we're on our way. Tell me where you are and if you are safe. Please," he pleaded.

She sniffled. "I-I'm all right. I'm s-safe. I, uh, locked myself in my office. But Sherlock?"

He had breathed a sigh of relief when she said that she was safe. But fear gripped his heart again when she uttered his name. "What is it, Molly?" he asked, fighting to keep his voice steady.

"Please just…" She drew a shuddering breath. "I need you, Sherlock."

"I'll be there soon. Don't open the door for anyone else, all right?" He ended the call without waiting for her response. He sighed and looked out the window. "My God, can't this car go any faster?"

"Calm down," said Mycroft as he read something on his phone. "Four security officers are on their way to stand guard outside the laboratory and her office. No one––except for the four of us––will be allowed to come in. Several more officers are roaming the halls and probably scaring the employees. Snipers are already in place." He looked up and turned to his brother. "The person responsible for this would have made his move while she's alone and vulnerable. He's not going to hurt Dr Hooper within the half hour it'll take us to get to Barts."

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock looked at the Watsons. "Did you both bring your guns?"

"Of course," Mary answered with a small smile. She turned to Mycroft. "Could you please get them back from the officers behind you?"

The civil servant narrowed his eyes at her but complied. He reluctantly handed the couple their guns.

His jaw tightening, Sherlock turned to his brother. "Show me the video."

The detective strode into the path lab and went straight to the office door. "Molly, it's Sherlock," he called out as he knocked. "Could I come in?"

Moments later, the door swung open. The pathologist appeared in the doorway with her tear-streaked cheeks and wrinkled clothing. She stared at him as she sniffled, only breaking eye contact when she blew her nose into a crumpled tissue.

She's safe, he thought, sighing in relief.

Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks just as she closed the distance between them. Her arms wrapped round him. "Oh, Sherlock, I'm so glad you're here."

He stiffened, and he blinked for several moments. Oh, God, what should I do? This is unlike last night. I had no idea then that I'd be coming back. But he remembered how she felt in his arms and how peacefully he slept the previous night, so he finally returned the embrace. "Thank God you're safe." He kissed her hair as covertly as he could, inhaling the lavender scent in it.

He pulled away when he saw the open package on her desk. Judging from her whimper, he concluded that the contents of the box caused her anguish. He held her hand as he advanced towards the desk.

His eyebrows shot up and his eyes widened when he saw a pair of ears inside the box.

"Molly, may we come in?" Mary asked in a soft voice, while he analysed the ears without touching them.

"Yes, of course," she answered.

Mycroft joined him by the desk. His brother raised his eyebrow at him.

"Whoever sliced off these ears was well aware that the body was embalmed," Sherlock observed in a low voice, while the Watsons hugged the pathologist and offered her words of comfort. "He knew that seeing these would hurt and terrify her immensely. These must have come from someone she deeply valued and loved."

"They're my dad's," she said, her quiet voice sounding much stronger than she was probably feeling.

"Ugh, that is fucking sick!" exclaimed John as he looked in the box. He immediately apologised upon seeing his wife's reproachful look.

The detective turned to Molly. "Why was your father's body embalmed?" he asked, his gentle tone failing to mask his curiosity.

She sniffled, and her free hand reached for Mary's. "My dad always wanted to be buried in Vancouver, because he was born there. He wasn't a Canadian citizen, but he always loved the city. My family used to holiday there actually." She cleared her throat before continuing. "Processing of the paperwork took several days, so we opted to have him embalmed."

"Sweetie, how certain are you that these are your father's?" asked Mary.

Molly swallowed and wiped a tear away. She moved towards the desk and pointed at one ear. "See the cross-shaped moles in the upper helix of both ears? To my knowledge, my dad was the only person who had moles there."

"Even if they aren't her father's, sending them to Molly is guaranteed to scare her because they remind her of him," Sherlock pointed out.

John placed his hands on his hips. "And the package wasn't on your desk when you arrived this morning?"

"N-no. That exact spot had a stack of unfinished paperwork on it. And I would have noticed it, since I never get post without a return address."

"Could you describe how you found this box?" enquired Mycroft.

The pathologist took a deep breath. "That box wasn't there when I went to lunch at around 1.30. Then I went down to the morgue to present my findings to Sgt Donovan and DI Dimmock for their respective cases. On the way back, I caught M-Moriarty on the telly. When I came back here at quarter past three, I found the box." Her eyes darted between the Holmeses and the Watsons. "I only touched it when I opened it. That's when I freaked out and burst into tears," she explained while nodding at Mary, who squeezed her shoulder.

"Why weren't you answering your mobile?" asked John.

"I-I thought it was him––Moriarty. I only looked at my phone when it kept on ringing and when my office phone started ringing as well."

Seeing the pain and fear on her face made Sherlock's heart ache. So he released her hand and gently cupped her cheeks. "Molly, I promise you that I'll find this monster, all right? I'll make sure to make him pay for what he's done to you. But, while I'm figuring out who did this, I need you to be safe. So I need you to get your things and move to Baker Street until I solve this problem, OK?"

"What if this is what he wants us to do, so he can kill us both or-or any of our friends?"

"I'm not going to let that happen. I'll be with you at all times in the flat. You can sleep in my bedroom, since I'm not going to sleep anyway. Mrs Hudson will take care of you, bake for you, and make you tea at all times. You'll have nothing to worry about."

"What about work? I still have to earn a living," she said.

Sherlock considered her question for a moment before his eyes lit up. "Dunham and Bishop would escort you to work and back to Baker Street every day," he replied, glancing at Mycroft. "They'll also stay with you the entire time."

"Very well," the civil servant agreed. Dialling a number, he turned away from them to accommodate his brother's request.

He smiled at Molly. "See? What do you say?"

She nodded and briefly smiled. "All right."

"Excellent." He pulled her close and kissed her cheek. "I'll never let him get near you. I'll never let him do anything to you. I'll keep you safe, I promise," he whispered to her.

"I'm glad you're back, Sherlock," she whispered back.

"So am I, Molly. So am I."

When I read the prompt, my brain immediately went to the ears in The Adventure of the Cardboard Box. I chose Molly's dad because of the 'I don't count' conversation in TRF.

I don't know if non-citizens can be buried in Canada, but I suppose no one can stop them if it's what the dead person wished before they died.

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