A/N: The previous chapters have been revised slightly (including deleting the bits with Irene and Sherlock when he confronts Moriarty). It might not be a bad idea to go back and reread. This chapter written by hobbitsdoitbetter, hope you enjoy!

Song for this chapter: Doesn't Make It Alright by The Specials

Meanwhile…

"What is it, darling?" Mary murmurs, pulling Irene to her. "What mistake have you made?"

And she presses a tender kiss to her girlfriend's forehead, holding her near.

This close, Molly can see that Adler is bleeding from her mouth, that her left eye is turning black. Her immaculately coiffed hair is also streaked with blood, and those talon like nails of hers are chipped- In fact, one had been torn right off.

Clearly Irene Adler has taken a recent pummelling.

"I thought I could keep you out of it, sweetheart," Irene answers, her eyes going to Mary's. The look in them is pleading. "I knew he would come for Sherlock, I knew that, but I thought I could at least protect you…I thought I could save you… That's why I came..."

And she shakes her head, tries to take Mary's hand in her own. The touch is reverent, tender… And guilty. Molly sees rage transform the blonde's features as she suddenly puts something together, though Molly can't be certain what and for the first time it occurs to her why Mary is so feared.

"You sent us here," the blonde woman hisses. "You sent us here, Irene. You gave us that intel-"

And she pulls back, staring at Adler as if she's never seen her before.

Perhaps, Molly muses, she hadn't. Not really.

Fierceness flashes in Adler's eyes though. "I sent Sherlock here," she snarls. "I sent that moustachioed idiot Watson and your secret agent here. I didn't. Send. You!"

"Did you really think I wouldn't come?" Mary shakes her head. "Have you met me?"

"I've met you," Irene snaps. "I even fell in love with you, you silly bint! And without Sherlock, without anything holding you here…"

"This is about Zurich," Mary says the words in disgust. Shoots Molly a look. "She wants to move. I wouldn't leave London. And here we are-" Mary rakes a hand through her shorn pink locks. "Jesus."

"No," Irene retorts, trying to force herself into sitting. She even tries to chuckle. "Not Jesus- Culverton. Though doubtless he'd appreciate the comparison." A snort. "As would young James."

"So Moriarty put you up to this?" Molly asks, because quite frankly she has no doubts this is about to degenerate into a domestic, and she's witnessed quite enough of those before.

Irene looks at her with something almost resembling respect. "No, not Jamie," she says. She takes a deep breath, trying to settle herself against the wall despite her pain. "There is… another player, one who reached out to me. One who asked that I keep her part secret.

She promised me that Mary would be kept out of things if I did..."

Morstan's brow knits together. "Eurus?" she asks quietly. But then- "Eurus hates you. She has, ever since that thing with Knight."

Adler shakes her head. "No, not Eurus." A grimace. "Though this someone is almost as dangerous."

Mary and Molly frown at one another. Who could be comparably dangerous to Eurus Holmes? In this town?

"Then who?" The words are Mary's.

Irene shakes her head again. "If I tell you, you're as good as dead…"

"And if you don't tell me," Mary snarls, "I'll kill you myself."

Adler shoots her girlfriend the most obnoxiously smug look imaginable. It reminds Molly strongly of Sherlock. "You won't hurt me, Maz," she says softly, "I know you'd never hurt me…"

And she raises a hand, strokes it gently along Mary's cheekbone.

To Molly's surprise, tears begin to shimmer in the blonde's eyes.

"What has happened, Irene?" she whispers. She takes her hand, presses a kiss to it. "What on Earth have you done?"

Adler's expression is resigned; the hand in Mary's is trembling. It belatedly occurs to Molly that Adler's entire body is trembling. "It's not what I've done, it's what was done to me," Irene says. "Culverton found me when I came to get you. He had… He had some time with me…"

And suddenly Irene takes a sharp breath.

It sounds…. frothy, to Molly, as if there's liquid in her lungs.

Oh, Molly thinks. Oh shit.

"How long?" Mary snaps. "How long did he have you? How long have you got?"

Irene tries to settle herself comfortably once more. It doesn't work though; her eyelashes flutter at the effort, and for a moment she seems about to pass out, but then she rallies. Something tells Molly that her obstinacy probably rivalled Mary's own. "Get me out of here," she says, "and it might be possible. Bring me to safety, Maz- I can show you how-"

And again she shoots her girlfriend that grounds-for-murder smile.

Beneath it, her skin has turned ashen.

Mary opens her mouth to object but Molly speaks over her. "She needs medical help," she says quietly. "Do you really want her to die?"

Mary's look is fierce. Mulish. "Right now? Or usually?"

Again Irene coughs. "You don't mean that, sweetheart."

Mary glares at her. "The fuck I don't." But even as she speaks she's moving the woman's body, trying to get her to her feet. Molly helps as best she can, half dragging, half walking her in the direction from which she'd come. When they get her there, they find what looks like an open storage cupboard. A small, metal door opens from inside it, showing two passages, each leading in a different direction. Doubtless one of Culverton's little secrets, Molly muses.

Cold air blows through it, raising goose bumps on her skin.

"You'll find our boys?" Mary asks, sotto voce, and Molly nods.

"I'll do my best."

Their voices echo slightly in the mouth of the tunnel.

"That one," Irene murmurs, pointing to the left passage. Her voice is barely a whisper. "The other leads up to Casualty…"

Molly nods. "S'pose I know which way I'm going."

Mary reaches inside her coat and takes out another weapon, a tiny snub-nosed pistol. It looks more like a toy than a firearm. "Take this," she says. "If you see Jimmy don't hesitate." She opens her mouth as if to say something else but a sudden gasp of pain from Irene stops her. With a look of both exasperation and love, she shifts Irene and starts forward. Takes the passage Adler had indicated.

"Good luck," she mutters as she goes.

"You too," Molly murmurs back.

For a split second Mary shoots her her usual devil-may-care grin. "Who needs luck when you're brilliant?" she says.

And then she's gone. The young agent watches them disappear down the passage for a moment, and then begins walking along her own tunnel, moving carefully in the dim light of the passageway. As if from far away she can hear gunfire, probably a good indication of John and Sherlock's location.

It was almost as good as pinning a bell on them.

She reaches into her pocket, searching for her torch, and as she does so her hand brushes something, a small ball of paper that feels damp to the touch.

Carefully Molly fishes it from her pocket. Smooths it out. She takes in a sloping, elegant hand. Blood spots. The rather distinct smell of Irene Adler's perfume. Before she can read the note however, the wall of the tunnel ahead of her splits open with a bang, as if punctured by a giant hand. A tall, thin man clatters to the floor on the other side of the hole his body had made, letting out a hoarse string of swear words as he does.

The paper forgotten Molly rushes for her gun, holding it up and glaring at the man. She inches carefully forward, only to start when she recognises him.

It's Sherlock bloody Holmes.

"Princess," he croaks as she gets to him. "Nice of you to join the party." His eyes scan the area around her and she sees worry darken his gaze. "Where's Mary?"

Molly helps him into standing, wondering how quickly she can explain things. "She went to get Irene to safety…"

Sherlock blinks. "Adler's here?"

Molly nods. "Yeah, she set us up. Culverton beat her black and blue for her trouble, and maybe worse. Morstan's trying to get her to safety."

Sherlock shakes his head. "I always knew she'd sell out her own mother for a payday, Adler," he says. He straightens his shoulders. "Just one more thing I'll have to pay back, once me and Euri get out of here."

"And how do you plan to do that?" Molly demands. "Or was being punched through a wall part of your plan, eh?"

At that Sherlock shoots her a, frankly, bloodcurdling grin.

"You should see the other bloke," he says, taking her hand and pulling her towards the hole through which he'd come with rather more cheerfulness than she felt the task merited.

The sight which meets Molly, however, is utter chaos. The room beyond is in a shambles, bodies falling left and right and gunfire punctuating the air.

And right in the middle of it is her good friend Major John Watson - wearing only a hospital gown, and what had happened to his hair and moustache?

Judging by the accents of the people he's shooting at, he would appear to have declared war upon half of the Irish Republican Army.

"You leave me alone for five minutes," Sherlock murmurs into her ear, his tone worryingly cheerful.

And then, as she had known he would, he throws himself back into the fray.

Molly follows.