AN: This was a wild ride and I honestly didn't know how it would turn out until I finished it! Haha :) All mistakes are mine due to impatience. Enjoy!

Did you miss me?

Molly watched the screen, the eerie voice of Moriarty echoing in various ranges of distortion and scraping down her spine, and felt an odd sense of foreboding settle in her stomach.

"Molly!" Striding into the lab, Sherlock's sharp declaration compounded by the slam of the double doors bouncing off the walls made Molly jump and whirl around, heart pounding painfully in her chest.

"Sherlock, what's-what's going on?" Try as she might, she couldn't keep the quiver from her voice. "He can't be back, can he?"

Ignoring her questions, Sherlock's long legs ate up the distance between them and without asking permission, he spun her around and in one motion, swept the lab coat off her shoulders.

"We need to leave, now. You aren't safe here,' he said, tossing it on the bench. "Let's go."

Momentarily stunned by Sherlock's display, Molly came back to herself and frowned. "No, not until you tell me what's going on."

Sherlock had yet to look her in the eyes and something felt off in the way he was acting. She hadn't seen him since that awful morning when John had dragged him in, high as a kite and having reverted to pre-fall Sherlock, with a caustic tongue that pierced the old wounds in her heart. And he suddenly appears within minutes of the return of Moriarty, concerned about her safety.

No. Something truly was off.

"I don't have time for this," he snapped. Grabbing her wrist, he twisted her arm and tugged her toward the door. Molly immediately dug in her heels and tried to wrench her arm away.

"Let me go!" She cried out. "Sherlock, let go!"

Suddenly the lab doors opened again and Mike Stamford rushed in, breathless. "Molly? Molly, are you okay-?" He stopped short, taking in the sight of Sherlock trying to drag Molly through the doors. Frowning, he looked between them. "What's going on? First, that maniac appears on every telly in the building. And now you two…?"

With a swift pull and twist, Molly yanked her wrist free and immediately distanced herself from Sherlock, taking several steps back. Sherlock scowled and his face darkened as he turned toward her.

"Molly, I've asked politely. But now I am losing my patience."

Molly shivered at the darkness in his tone. Her wide eyes took in the man she loved, the one she had idolized for years before letting him fall from that pedestal until he was just a man in her eyes. A man she loved, for all his flaws and genius. And though it might never be hers, she knew he had a good heart. Yes, Sherlock Holmes was a good man.

And the man standing before her was not Sherlock Holmes.

"Sherlock, maybe you-"

"Shut up!" The tall man bellowed, cutting Mike off. Her superior flinched and stepped back. "Molly, come with me now."

Molly hesitated just a moment, then lifted her chin bravely and shook her head.

In the blink of an eye, his scowl vanished and an almost bored look came over his face. "Have it your way then." Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a pistol and leveled it on Molly, directly over her heart.

Mustering all her courage, she forced herself not to look down the barrel of the gun, but to lock eyes with the man behind it. The same crystalline-blue eyes of the man she loved looked back at her. No sign of plastic surgery, no appearance of make-up or fake contacts, nothing to indicate that this was an imposter.

"You're Sherlock's twin brother," she declared. The man's eyebrow rose and for a moment he looked impressed.

"Very good, my dear doctor." He nodded his head toward her in acknowledgement. "Daniel Sherrinford Christopher Holmes, at your service. But you can call me Ford."

From the doorway, Mike had taken this all in with the calm that came from associating with Sherlock Holmes. Initially surprised, he'd taken Ford's distraction and began inching toward the door. He had two choices. He could press the panic button by the light switch and lock down the lab, inevitably locking both him and Molly inside with a potentially murderous man. Or he could run. He might not make it down the hallway if Ford came after him, but he had a better chance of getting in touch with the right people right away (ie Mycroft and Sherlock).

As it happened, he wasn't able to do either.

Ford's eyes darted to the side and took in Mike's plan in the span of a heartbeat. His lips twitched in a wicked smirk and he swung his arm around and pointed the gun at Mike, pulling the trigger. The sound of the shot rang loudly in the room, clashing with Molly's scream, and Mike's cry of pain. The force of the bullet tearing through his arm sent him crashing into the cabinets behind him and he crumpled to the ground. Molly rushed toward him, but stopped when Ford turned the gun back on her.

"He'll be fine, Doctor Hooper. And even if he isn't," Ford clucked his tongue and looked around, "well, he's in the right place."

Mike moaned and Molly bit her lip.

"The longer you wait, the more blood he loses. I have no intention of bringing along an injured man, so once we leave, he's free to do as he likes. And considering I can already hear them scrambling about to investigate the sound of a shot, I suggest we get a move on or I'll be leaving a body behind," Ford threatened darkly.

Realising her fate, Molly nodded her acquiescence.

"Molly, no,' Mike grunted through clenched teeth as she walked to the door.

"I'll be fine, Mike," she promised. Looking down at him, she forced a wobbly smile and blinked back tears. "You get to the main floor as soon as we leave, okay?"

Mike watched helplessly as Ford pressed the gun into her back and she flinched. Opening the lab door, she held her head high and walked out into the hallway.

As soon as the door shut behind them, Ford stowed the gun away and adopted his Sherlock personae once more. Gripping her wrist tight, he led her down the hall just and around the corner just as the stairwell door burst open and security rushed past. He dragged her through the hospital, navigating panicked people being herded by police, who dared not stop the Consulting Detective.

Molly passed several officers she knew and thought briefly about calling out for help, but remembering Mike, she didn't want to risk their safety or the lives of the innocent hospital workers and patients around her.

They finally reached the entrance and Ford looked down at her with a terrifying smile. "Here we go."

That sinking feeling of foreboding returned. Straight-arming the door, Ford pulled her outside and into the middle of a swarm of coppers. At least thirty Yarders surrounded the hospital entrance, most crouched behind the open doors of their cars, their guns trained on Ford. And on Molly.

Suddenly, Ford yanked on her arm and Molly stumbled forward only to be jerked back against his chest, his arm tight around her neck. He leaned down and brushed his lips against her ear. Molly shivered in revulsion as he whispered triumphantly, "It seems you are the Queen, after all."

Molly tried to tug his arm away, her vision starting to darken at the edges. He loosened it enough for her to breathe, but she couldn't get away.

"Release her, Ford."

The familiar voice sounded so close, yet so far away. Molly looked around as best she could, trying to locate it. The flashing squad car lights weren't helping.

Then, directly in front of them, Sherlock strode out of the barrier and hope flooded her heart.

His curls blew in the wind, his collar was flipped up against the chill, and his eyes were boring a hole into his brother. Suddenly, his gaze dropped to her and she thought her heart would stop at the emotions he conveyed in that one glance. Warmth suffused her and a wave of calm came over her.

"Now, why would I do that? She's such a pretty prize, Sherly." Bile rose in Molly's throat as Ford licked a stripe along her cheek. Sherlock's jaw clenched and an unreadable emotion flashed in his eyes. "In Chess, it's the King that's the most valuable, the one that must be protected, that ultimately must be defeated. But what about the Queen?"

The cold press of metal against her forehead and Molly forgot how to breathe. Stark fear crossed Sherlock's face and he took a step closer.

Ford clucked his tongue. "The Queen is the key, the way to bring down the King. Take the Queen and inevitably the King will fall." He cocked the hammer back and Molly's heart skipped a beat.

"Why are you doing this?" Sherlock rasped, looking almost desperately between his brother and Molly.

Molly felt more than heard Ford's laughter. "Now, why should I tell you that? It's infinitely more satisfying to watch you suffer in the dark, to always wonder what it is you did that made me hate you!"

Sherlock clenched his fists.

Ford readjusted his grip and his voice was dripping with hatred and venom as he spat, "And now you're going to live with the knowledge that her death is your fault." His finger tightened on the trigger.

Four things happened almost simultaneously.

Sherlock shouted in horror and lunged for Molly.

Molly, panicked and determined not to let Ford win, gained enough space to move her head and sink her teeth deep into his wrist, where his coat sleeve ended.

Ford howled in pain and released her, stumbling back, as Sherlock caught Molly and pushed her behind him.

A single gunshot pierced the night.

Sherlock looked at Molly with wide eyes, but she was staring past him, her eyes wide. He turned his head toward his brother.. A red patch was growing in the center of Ford's chest. Dropping the gun, Ford fell to his knees.

Sherlock looked to Molly for a moment, and at her nod of encouragement, he slowly approached his brother. Kicking the gun a safe distance away, he knelt down on one knee.

"Why?" He asked brokenly.

Ford, already starting to shake from shock, forced a laugh, the grimaced. "Did I need a reason?"

Sherlock exhaled and closed his eyes briefly. Resigned, he stood back up and gestured for Mycroft's medics to take over. They rushed in from the side and began working on Ford.

Molly watched him approach and fell into his arms the moment he opened them. He wrapped her inside his big coat and she clutched his shirt tightly, the adrenaline beginning to wear off.

"Doctor Stamford will make a full recovery, as will Sherrinford," Mycroft said, walking over to them. "And there will be no need for statements, I will have the situation taken care of. There's a car to take you to Baker Street." Molly peeked at him from her cocoon of safety. She'd met him on several occasions and knew him to be a cold man who liked to be in control and pretended not to care, but she knew his overprotectiveness was because he loved his brother. And as she watched his approach, she saw the weight he carried burden his shoulders. Not quite 42, he looked a decade older, and sorrow lined his face.

"Doctor Hooper, there are no words I can say to convey my regrets for your ordeal this evening." His apology was stilted, but Molly knew how deeply this had hurt him and burdened him with guilt, to see his brother gunned down after holding someone hostage in order to bring down their other brother.

Pulling away from Sherlock, Molly reached for Mycroft's hand and squeezed it tight. "None of this was your fault, Mycroft. Not for a moment." She looked at him fiercely. "So don't you dare take any of the blame."

A surprised look came over his face, which settled into a fond almost-smile, before disappearing once more. "I can make no promises, but I shall take it under advisement."

With a nod, he made to leave, sparing one last meaningful glance at Sherlock. Whatever was said between them in that look, Molly didn't understand, but at this moment, it didn't matter. Walking around them, Mycroft followed the medics who were moving an unconscious Ford onto a gurney.

Sherlock turned and watched his brothers walk away. Pulling together the last remnants of her courage, Molly stepped up to his side and slipped her hand into his, squeezing it reassuringly. She felt a bit silly to feel so self-conscious about being forward when not two minutes she'd been in his embrace. But she'd been on the verge of going into shock, he could have simply been offering support.

Although, Ford had implied, more than implied really, that she was Sherlock's "Queen." What did that mean? Was it just the ravings of a lunatic? Or had the third Holmes brother

Maybe she was reading into it. She swallowed thickly and squeezed his hand once more, before pulling away.

But then his hand closed around hers, holding tight and keeping her by his side.

"You knew he wasn't me," Sherlock deduced once the door closed behind Ford and Mycroft.

Molly ducked her head, shame colouring her tone as she quietly admitted, "Not at first."

Turning to face her, Sherlock tipped her chin up with his free hand. Slowly, Molly lifted her eyes to his. The fierceness coupled with the warmth in his gaze nearly buckled her knees.

"But you knew,' he repeated. From the way he said it and the look in his eyes, Molly knew. She knew what he meant. That even from the beginning, something about Ford had made her suspicious. "No one, aside from my family, could ever tell us apart. And you didn't know he even existed." He stared down at her, his brow furrowed. "How?"

Molly caught the wonder in his voice and her heart filled with warmth. Perhaps it was the shock, or maybe the last dregs of bravery, but as the world whirled by around them in waves of lights and noise, she boldly reached up and tenderly cupped his cheek, her soft gaze tracing over his beloved face before finding his wonder-filled eyes.

"Because I love you."

Before she could lose her nerve, she lifted herself up on her tiptoes and closed her eyes as she pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. She lingered there just briefly, listening to the sound of his breathing, and then dropped back onto her heels.

Sherlock stared down at her, a soft look on his face. Reaching up, he covered the hand she still held against his cheek and brought it down between them. He tugged her closer and wrapped her arms around his waist, surrounding her once more with his coat.

Overwhelmed by everything and feeling the adrenalin finally wear off and exhaustion kick in, Molly relaxed against his chest, her ear pressed against him so she could hear his slightly elevated heartbeat. They stood like that as the chaos dissipated around them for some time.

When Sherlock did speak, his deep voice rumbled through her. "Let's go home."

She nodded and let him lead her, still bundled together, toward the waiting car. She could wait for the answers to the questions burning in her mind. For now, all she wanted was a good rest knowing Sherlock was watching over her, keeping her safe.

As he always did.