The Long Way Home

A/N: I started writing this little ficlet before Reichenbach, but then after the amazing Molly/Sherlock scenes I decided to weave my story through in a (sort of) canon. Starting directly after the Xmas party, the story follows Molly as she gets attacked and how this changes the way Sherlock is around her. Their relationship will get fleshed out once we get to Reichenbach.

Please R&R and I hope you enjoy it!

Molly Hooper had left the Christmas party at 221B Baker Street a bit early. She had smiled and told everyone she was knackered and allowed John to walk her to the door, adding an apology for Sherlock of his own. She nodded, feeling a flush rise to her cheeks at the fresh memory and slipped out of the flat, not a word exchanged with Sherlock.

Looking along the length of Baker Street she noticed very few cars, and not a single cab to hail for her trip home. Sighing sullenly she wrapped her coat tighter around herself and mentally chided herself for her choice in shoes and uncomfortable undergarments. What did she really think was going to happen tonight? He was Sherlock after all, a man married to his work who had never shown the littlest bit of honest interest in her. And she had bought him a bloody present.

Thankfully London had not been blanketed in snow and after a block Molly slipped off her painful platforms and tucked them into the empty gift bag, crossing another empty London street in stockinged feet. She felt like a fool.

Passing a pub she glanced inside at the small groups of laughing friends and whispering lovers, some part of her wished she was one of them and not the awkward spinster who smelled of death and talked to a cat. Tears filled up in her eyes but she blinked them back and kept walking.

Behind her she could clearly hear the grumblings of a drunk man and she started to pick up her pace, the hairs on her arm rising with nervousness.

"Hey!" the gruff voice shouted but before Molly could break into a jog a hand clasped around her upper arm and pulled her back into a firm chest.

"Get off me!" she pushed back, her brown bag slipping from her hand and crumpling on the ground by their feet, "I said, Get off!"

"Don't you want to have a drink with me?" he smelled of whiskey.

"No, I don't, thank you," polite even while being assaulted, fabulously handled, Molly.

He pushed the shoulder of her coat off, revealing her neck and the man grinned, tightening his hand on her. Molly looked to the pub over her shoulder and opened her mouth to call out. In this moment, with her eyes off the attacker, he swiftly pushed her back into the brick wall of a building, her temple colliding with the side. She let out a sharp cry, but that was all she could manage, his fingers were around her throat in an instant and "Help" died on her paling lips.

Sherlock's face momentarily flashed in her mind and she wished that somehow he would find her, tear the attacker off her and gather her in his arms, soothing words and kisses to the forehead. Molly almost laughed at herself as she struggled, she was so foolish to think Sherlock could care.

Air was suddenly flushed into her lungs as she was turned over, coat now removed and her body pushed farther back into the nearby alley. Fear gripped her as she listened to her dress rip from top to bottom, torn off her back and slumping down her arms. The heels of her hands and her knees were digging into the gravel as he bit down on her shoulder, pushing down her body and causing her to wheeze.

She had to get out from under him, she knew that if she stayed in this position for much longer it would soon be her underwear torn off and things would escalate. As the man lifted his face from her and delivered a jab to her lower back Molly allowed herself to drop to the ground and take the moment out of his hands to quickly roll over, jabbing upwards with the heel of her hand into his nose. He cried out in his drunked stupor and gripped his bloody nose. For good measure she kicked him swiftly in the balls and watched him crumple.

Leaving her dress behind and grabbing up her coat she wrapped it around her haphazardly and ran forwards out of he alley, heading back in the direction of 221B Baker Street.

Her head was fuzzy from the blow to it and she could feel the blood trickeling down the side of her face, her throat was throbbing too which added to the disorientation. Falling against a gate she fumbled for her mobile tucked in her coat pocket and scrolled through her contacts. She wanted to call Sherlock, but logic won her over and she scrolled a few names over.

It rang three times and a warm voice said, "Hey, Molly, did you forget something?"

Molly struggled for words for a moment but finally managed, "John,"

"Jesus," she heard him say through her foggy thoughts, "Molly are you alright?"

"I need help," she managed through her crackling voice and she coughed. Looking up at the number on the building near her she tried again, "324 Paddington, please,"

"I'm coming Molly," she heard words of confusion in the background from the party she had recenly quitted, "Just stay on with me okay,"

"Okay," she wheezed.

"Are you safe, Molly? Where you are?"

She opened her mouth to answer but froze when she heard Sherlock's deep voice in the background ask, "Ask her injuries, John, quickly, we may not have enough time,"
John's voice came again, "Molly are you with me? How badly hurt are you?"

"Ok," she managed, "Safe for now,"

"Okay, good, that's good Molly," she heard a muffling sound and imagined John covering the reciever with his hand and giving an update to Sherlock and Lestrade, his voice returned again, "Paddington isn't far, you know that, we'll be there soon, okay,"

She made a small groan in agreement, speaking was becoming difficult.

"Molly," John's voice came again, "are you bleeding?"

"Yes," she touched the side of her face and looked at her red fingers, "Head,"

"Christ," John's voice sounded grave, "Okay, you're fine, Molly, we're almost-"

"There!" Sherlock's voice could be heard through the reciever and cutting through the cold air, she almost smiled.

She let the phone fall from her hands as she pulled the coat tighter around her and opened her eyes wider, leaning to look towards his voice. John, Sherlock, and Lestrade ran forwards towards her, John and Lestrade immediately crouching by herside to take stock of her injuries while Sherlock ran slightly past and looked around the street, finally he returned his eyes to Molly.

John touched her face lightly, "Hey, Molly, can you hear me?"

"Yes," she tried but then tapped her throat.

"She's been strangled," Sherlock stated, "and quite well from the look of the bruises."

"Sherlock!" John scolded at his indelicate words and shook his head.

"I'm okay," she tried and tried to steady her breath as John examined her head wound.

He nodded in agreement, "Let's get you back to Baker Street, we'll tend to you there and then you'll stay the night with us,"

"Ta," she nodded and allowed them to help her back up, her hands still furiously clutching at the coat. A warm hand grasped her under the elbow lightly and helped to push her up, she looked back at Sherlock's piercing blue eyes- full of fury and terror. She shuddered but ligthly nodded her thanks to him.

"Can you walk?" Sherlock questioned lightly.

She nodded.

She watched as John and Sherlock exchanged a look and Lestrade took the moment to question her too, "Did you know who did this to you, Molly?"

She shook her head.

"Just a little further," John promised as they made it up Baker Street, Speedy's Cafe and the door to 221B in sight.

Once upstairs they settled her on the couch, Mrs. Hudson had prepared tea and was fluttering all about with her occassional chip in of, "Dear Lord!" and "poor thing!"

The three men settled around her, John on the table in front of her to tend to her minor head wound and Lestrade and Sherlock on either side of her. While Lestrade was angled towards her Sherlock knees pointed straight out, his eyes focused on her throat and his hands clasped furiously together.

"Where did this happen Molly?" Lestrade asked gently.

She gave the name of the pub lightly, "Near there,"

"Okay, Good," Lestrade stood and flipped open his phone, calling his people there and giving a few directions to his team, "I'm going to go oversee, I'll can get your statement later, okay?"

She nodded and watched him, suddenly she was alone with Sherlock and John and her stomach tightened. She didn't want this coat to come off, but she was afraid John would insist so he could look at her injuries.

"The cut on your head isn't too bad, Molly," John assured, "you're doing fine."

She smiled weakly, "Thank you for coming, both of you," she croaked.

"Of course," John smiled.

"You should inspect her throat, John," Sherlock cut in harshly.

John nodded without glancing to his friend and gingerly touched the bruises around her throat, "There's a little swelling, which is why you're having trouble speaking, but it should go down after a little time, no permanent damage," He gave her a smile.

She shifted slighty to allow John to look at the side of her neck and felt her long black coat part over her knee, exposing it to the air.

Her eyes slipped closed, catching sight of Sherlock glancing down just before.

"Molly," Sherlock's voice was hard and she knew exactly what he was thinking, "your attacker, did he..."

Her eyes opened and she turned her head, glancing back and forth between the two men, "No," she murmured.

"Your knees," he stated simply.

She licked her dry lips and looked at the torn stockings and bloody knees, "He tried," she admitted, "but I fought,"

Sherlock's jaw set and his hands turned to white-knucked fists. John took in his reaction and drew Molly's attention away from him, "That's good, you did really well, and you're safe now,"

"I know," she breathed.

"I'm going to get some more bandages for your knees, are you injured... anywhere... else?"

She noticibly shuddered and weakly nodded, there was no use denying it. She awkwardly shifted the shoulder of the coat down, making sure it didn't slip down on the front but only in the back, she hissed slightly as the thick coat pulled away from the bleeding teeth marks.

Sherlock saw it first and his warm fingers brushed the skin below it before shouting, "Brilliant!"

"Sherlock!" John cried and Molly's face fell.

"Oh, no, Molly," Sherlock assured, "your attacker was missing two teeth," the fingers that lingered on her back became a soft warm palm that soothed whether he realised it or not, "that means we can find him much more easily,"

She nodded and leaned her head forwards into her hands, letting out a long breath.

"Molly, are you light headed? Dizzy?" John checked.

"No," she murmured, "Bloody brilliant Christmas," she croaked out after.

A small sympathetic smile appeared on John's face, "But you've done brilliantly, Molly, and when I get these things cleaned up we can put you to bed, and everything will be fine in the morning."

"Okay,"

She felt John leave and she looked up at Sherlock who's eyes were studying her bitten shoulder "Thank you," she managed

"You've already said that," he stated .

"I know," she murmured, "but I mean it, I didn't think you'd come,"

His eyes snapped to hers and she could have sworn something like hurt flashed across his feautres before he regained cool composure, "Why wouldn't I?"

"I just..." she wanted to explain but words were caught in her throat, "you've never really... liked me, I guess... I thought..."

Sherlock's jaw set again before he opened his mouth and shook his head, "It would not matter if you were my arch nemesis, Molly Hooper, you did not deserve this. No one does,"

She looked away, her eyes glossing, "Thank you,"

He nodded and removed his hand from her back, shifting awkwardly and gingerly patting her forearm, "There, there,"

She let out an awkward laugh and Sherlock scowled, "What?"

"You," she swallowed painfully, "trying to console me,"

"Well I've never really had to console an assaulted woman before," he returned to his orignial resigned position, "It's not really my... area,"

She nodded, "Thought that counts,"

John returned then from around the corner and although he wanted to mention what he just witnessed between the two of them, he thought it best to let it lie there, "Alright Molly, a bit of mercurochrome and bandanges and we can let you sleep,"

"Thanks,"

Once the bandages were on and John had helped her stand up they all stood awkwardly for a moment, trying to figure out where she would sleep.

"Take my room," Sherlock spoke up first, much to John's surprise, "I'll... show you,"

She smiled gently and shuffled to follow him, John in tow.

"You can borrow a nightshirt if you need," Sherlock cleared his throat and held one out to her.

"Ta," she coughed gently into her coat sleeve and groaned lightly.

"Well," John shuffled backwards and nodded his head for Sherlock to follow, "if you need anything during the night, call,"

"Right," she turned towards the bed, "Thanks again,"

"Of course, Molly," John said.

And Sherlock added, "Sleep... well," as he awkwardly glanced around his room and inwardly hoped she didn't snoop.

As they backed out of the room and pulled the door to a close silently Sherlock watched the coat slip off her shoulders to a puddle at her feet. In that fraction of a second he noted several things about Molly Hooper. A bruise was forming on her lower back, another area in which her attacker had brutalized her as well as the shadowy bruise of a hand print on her thigh. He mentally marked her measurements, skin tone, and work-out regimine and cleared his throat as he turned to look back at John.

"What was that?" John said in a hushed tone, heading towards the foyer.

"What, John?"

"Letting her have your room, your night shirt... being so kind to her," he said.

Sherlock raised an eye brow and set his teeth before barking out, "She was attacked John, I was merely trying to help her since you seemed so keen to bring her back to the flat," he looked to the mantle and then back to face him, "I have to phone Lestrade,"

"What for?"

"To tell them where to find her attacker," Sherlock dialed his mobile and pressed it to his ear, "her injuries tell more than the crime scene,"

"Lestrade," the voice in his ear spoke.

"Have you found him, yet?" he inquired harshly.

"No, there are obvious signs of a struggle in the alley but he's not here anymore,"

"You're looking for a man about six foot one, he was drunk when he hurt Molly so I'd ask the bar for a facial description of anyone stumbling out. He was missing two bottom teeth near the front of the mouth and he was wearing a camel coloured coat with brown buttons, an obvious knock off, and he had light brown hair. He was right handed, and had an old injury to his left arm, ring me back as soon as you catch him."

"Thanks," Lestrade said but the phone was already being clicked off.

There was a long pause before John looked up, "A camel coloured coat?"

"There were camel coloured fibres on Molly's coat and a brown button fell off of her when she stood back on Padington Street,"

"Right," John paused and looked up at his friend, "Are you okay?"

"Of course, John," Sherlock bounced down onto the couch, checking his phone briefly before raising the volume and placing it on the table

"You seem a bit, on edge," John started, "it's understandable, seeing your friend go through something like that, I just,"

"Molly Hooper is not my friend," Sherlock corrected.

"Fine, colleague," John clarified, clearly irritated.

"John, seeing as how she is neither a consulting detective nor a member of the Scotland Yard she can hardly be considered a colleague. Acquaintance, perhaps,"

"Dammit, Sherlock, she came to our bloody Christmas party the least you could do is acknowledge she's got some role in your life,"

Sherlock laid back on the couch and turned his head sharply to John, "Fine, Molly is a... colleague," he couldn't quite get out 'friend', "and yes, I don't enjoy seeing her in distress, but I am perfectly fine, it is her you should be worried about if you want to worry about something,"

A small smile came over John, "Right, okay, I'm going to bed, if you need me let me know,"

"Fine,"

"Fine," John rolled his eyes and shut himself up in his bedroom.

Through the wall Molly Hooper was softly crying, her head was pounding and shoulder was achining. Burying herself deeper into Sherlock's bed she breathed in his scent and shut her eyes tightly, taking comfort in knowing he was just outside the door.

A/N: End of part one, and most of 'A Scandal in Belgravia'. For the record, the plot with Irene is going to be skimmed over, because it's mostly from Molly's POV I think putting in a lot of Irene would be confusing and irrelavant. I hope you enjoyed it, if so drop me a review and onto Chapter Two!