A/N: This chapter contains a character's death. This fan fiction story is meant as nothing more than just a complimentary fictional adaptation to the characters from the "Sherlock" world, and I make no financial gain from writing these stories…. Uh, why am I writing this again? Oh yeah, because I'm obsessed with Sherlolly. Duh. A chapter or two more and I'll be done with this puppy. Thanks for subscribing, everyone!

The first thing Molly registered when she came to was a constant, high-pitched ringing in her head, as if someone were ceaselessly chiming a musical triangle in her ears. She was light-headed and laying on something flat and cold, like a gurney. When she opened her eyes, her vision was blurred. Little halos of light danced around her retinas, and she couldn't make out where she was; only that she was being hastily wheeled down a brightly lit hallway. Her head felt detached from the rest of her body, and it occurred to her that she was under the influence of a powerful sedative or narcotic. She dozed off a little, dehydrated and devoid of energy, and when she came to again later she found herself being slid backwards onto a slightly curved but soft surface.

The second thing Molly comprehended when she felt conscious enough to open her eyes again was also a sight so ridiculous and unfathomable, that she knew she had to be hallucinating. A goateed and very much alive Jim Moriarty was staring over her, fresh and crisp in a business suit, and next to him an intense-eyed Sebastian gazed down at her. More absurdly, he had Sherlock's arm locked around his shoulder, and Sherlock's head dropped unconsciously near his own.

A striking, whirling sense of vertigo invaded her mind, and she thought drunkenly of the silly, "Snap, Crackle and Pop" characters on cereal commercials, and assigning each name to each face of the men, she found herself giggling uncontrollably. Little wisps of laughter escaped her frozen mouth, and came out as bursts of tiny "ha-ha's" through her slightly parted lips.

Jim frowned. "Hmm. Laughter wasn't quite the reaction I was going for here, but at least she has a sense of humor. Give them both the shots of adrenaline. Wake them up properly, and meet me in the drawing room down in the vault. Make sure they're both cognizant. I want them fully awake." With a rustle of clothing, Jim moved out of her line of sight. From what she could see, she was in a big, light, airy and very posh room that had a slightly floral scent.

Sebastian grunted and moved Sherlock to a ridiculously expensive-looking couch opposite the one she'd been laid on, where he clumsily deposited Sherlock's limp body. "God, you're heavy," he muttered. In a second, he was back at her side, gently pushing away hair from her face. "Ah, Molly. Just a little bit longer, and I'm going to take you away for good. What fun we're going to have." He leaned in closer and touched his nose to hers. "I, uh, kept some things about my more darker urges hidden from you, but I don't have to anymore. I can't wait to show you what I have planned."

Shivers of fear filled Molly's frozen body, and she wordlessly moved her lips, trying to speak but still unable to. She had to get free and regain her senses.

Sebastian walked into a room out of her line of sight, then returned, contemplatively holding a fat syringe full of a clear viscous liquid, that could very well have been water, were it not for its thickness sloshing against the tube. Sebastian pursed his lips, looking first at her, then over his shoulder at Sherlock, who lay limp as a noodle on the other couch, arms spread eagle and lacking any discernible element of his usual grace. "Hmm. I think you first. Let's see those pretty legs."

Molly still had absolutely no control over her faculties, but she could feel his hand lifting the side slit in her ridiculous dress to bare her shapely leg, and his fingers feel along the outer edge of her thigh. If she was fully functional she would have kicked him right where it hurt and fought fiercely, but all she could do was tremble with fear. It did seem to work, however, as her body had at least started shaking.

He seemed to consider this, frowning slightly at the moving leg. His large fingers bore down, holding it in place as he readied the syringe with his other hand. "Not to worry," he muttered, "Just some epinephrine. So long as you don't have any heart diseases, which I don't believe you do, it'll just be the same as consuming a huge amount of caffeine, which you're used to. There's a girl."

As she felt first the sting and then the penetrating coldness of the medicine invade her body, Molly shut her eyes and silently prayed she and Sherlock would get out of this. This had to be a nightmare. She felt a searing coldness penetrate her body, and then a weird numbing sensation, and then suddenly everything was working again and she was alert, rapidly alert, overtly awake, and all she wanted to do was get up and run. She sat straight up, glaring at Sebastian.

"Welcome back," he said, amused.

"You complete bastard! I demand you let us go this instant! I don't know who you think you are, but you have no ri-"

The tell-tale latch of the safety on the gun in his hand, raised and trained on her, made her gulp. At the moment, her heartbeat could literally compete in the Indie 500 and win. "Stand up," he ordered coolly. She closed the slit over her exposed thigh and stood, staring up at him with loathing. "Now, walk this way," he grabbed her by the elbow and pushed her in front of him. "Through that door straight ahead, and down the stairs. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can get us out of here and get down to what I have planned for you." He painfully squeezed her thin arm; he was undeniably strong, and with her thin limbs, he could probably snap her arm in half, should he choose to do so. "Don't fight me, Molly. I'd rather you be in one piece, but I can work with two."

A burning sensation developed in her throat as she did what he demanded, sparing a last look at Sherlock as she passed him.

She was fully alert, looking around at everything. Colors seemed brighter somehow, the floral fragranced air intoxicating. They seemed to be in a swanky, modern house of some sort; all white and tan and chrome. She heard water trickling somewhere nearby from what sounded like a fountain. "Where are we?" She asked, slowly stepping down the modern spiraling staircase that seemed to be heading to a basement.

"Appledore," he chatted, and she felt the cold hard point of his gun at her back as they moved, and he maintained his grasp on her elbow. "It was Magnussen's place, but it belongs to us now."

"Us?"

"Me and Moriarty. Do you remember seeing him just a moment ago?"

"Yes. That was real?" She gasped as the man in question walked right in front of her.

"You better believe it," he said, the subtleties of his trickling Irish brogue slipping through. His dark, sinister eyes looked malevolently at her in sheer open glee.

"But you're supposed to be dead! Sh-Sherlock was there-"

"When my brother took his own life," he finished for her, rolling his eyes. "It's all very tedious, don't you think, and I'd much rather go over all this with Sherlock.

Though," he slowly took her in from head to toe, "I have to say, I don't think I've seen you look quite so sexy, Doctor Hooper. I mean, wow! C'est magnefique!"

"Thank your accomplice," she spat, darting her eyes back to Sebastian. "I had nothing to-" She broke into a fit of coughs, and it struck her that she hadn't had anything to drink since she took a shower at Baker Street, however long ago that had been.

Moriarty looked at her shrewdly for a moment, then at Sebastian. "Give her some water."

"Yes, sir."

Sebastian pushed her deeper into the posh parlor, which was more lavishly and classically decorated as opposed to the contemporary theme upstairs. She looked to the side, and down the hall two double doors opened to what looked like a room of shelved files.

Sebastian pushed her down into a scarlet-colored arm chair. "Stay," he ordered, as though she were Redbeard. Thinking of Redbeard made her think of Toby, and she clenched with anger.

"You just go right to hell," she bit back hoarsely, aware that Moriarty was watching her a few feet away. He sat down in a chair opposite her and retrieved a fountain pen from his dinner jacket pocket, writing something down on a thin square of white paper, using his knee for balance.

Sebastian handed her a fine crystalline tumbler filled with cold water. She took it with slightly shaky hands, sipping carefully at first, and then greedily gulping it down, the water soothing her sore throat and livening up her body.

Moriarty finished writing and pocketed his pen, smiling down at his note. He winked insouciantly at her and stood, handing Sebastian the note and taking his gun. "Set that down on the coffee table next to Sherlock, give him the shot, and get your arse back down here. You don't want to be anywhere in the vicinity when he wakes up."

Sebastian looked doubtful. "Well, what's to stop him from leaving and getting away?"

Moriarty smirked. "Read it."

Sebastian's eyes flitted over the masculine handwriting. "'If you ever want to see your Molly alive again, come down the stairs, or I will kill her. You have one minute. Take nothing with you.'"

"It'll get him down here. Go," Moriarty softly ordered.

Without a word, Sebastian took the note and ascended the stairs.

Moriarty stood in front of her and took the glass from her hands, setting it down on a slim table and pointing the gun at her. "Get up. Be a smart pathologist and don't test me." Molly stood. If she was going to try to get away, the best bet in this situation would be to take cues from Sherlock. She could and would fight, but she needed to know he was alright first.

Moriarty turned her by the shoulders so she was facing his back, and she drew a ragged intake of breath as he pulled her back into his chest, his arm locking around her neck and gun pointing to the stairs. "Let's see how he deals with this little chestnut, hmm Molly?" he breathed in her ear.

She was terrified, but she held her resolve and watched as Sebastian jogged down the staircase, hollering that it had been done. He slunk to a corner of the room and watched the stairs.

"He's going to crush you. You know that, don't you?" she said calmly.

Moriarty's arm tightened slightly around her neck. "Molly, love? Do be quiet."

Less than a second later, she heard familiar footsteps that could belong only to Sherlock, and saw his shiny black shoes on the top of the stairs.

"I'm unarmed," his voice boomed down.

"That much is obvious, Sherlock. Come down the stairs, slowly."

She watched him take a few steps down. "Who are you? James Moriarty is dead."

Sherlock's trousers came into view as he stepped down.

"You're right, he is," Moriarty called conversationally behind her. "But he's also not."

She saw Sherlock's button-down shirt and neck, and he stopped where he was. "I don't understand."

"Then let me enlighten you. James Moriarty was my older brother, fifteen minutes older to be exact."

Sherlock descended the last step, and his eyes riveted towards her, and she saw that burning heat had always drawn her to him, that elemental unbridled intelligence assessing everything and everyone. Moriarty continued to speak behind her, pressing the point of the gun to her head. "He was James Alexander, I'm James Christopher. James and Jim. Try not to judge. It was the seventies; our parents had issues. "

"Indisputably," replied Sherlock drily, taking a step forward.

"That's far enough, Sherlock. While I have to thank you for saving me the trouble of killing Magnussen, the trouble with James was, you tangled with the wrong brother. See, he was the sane one. I'm sort of what you would call the black sheep of the family… the loose cannon, if you will."

Sherlock's eyes flitted to her, and he seemed to be weighing the situation very heavily. She focused on her breathing and watched him. "So, while he ran London, you remained out of sight and assisted him?"

"Oh no, it's me, Jim. I met you by the pool, remember? Hiii," he sang in a parody of his first eerie salutation. Molly felt the vibrations in his chest behind her. "I was also the one who dated our lovely Molly here. My dear older brother was only interested in the more civil and interesting moments. I took care of the rest. I made a promise to you that day by the pool, Sherlock; do you remember it? Come on, in that vast mind palace of yours I bet there's a duplicate of me somewhere, and you recall word for word everything I've ever said to you. I said I would do something to you. What was it, huh Sherlock? What did I say?" The intensity of Jim's grip on Molly's neck clenched more and more with the venom in his words, and she choked and struggled to breathe.

Sherlock's face paled to a ghostly sheen, if that was possible, as realization dawned on him, and he stopped coming forward, his hands up in a placating gesture. "All right, you win. You said that you would burn the… heart out of me." Molly met Sherlock's horrified gaze for a moment, and she longed to reach out to him.

Jim shook his head like a wet dog and beseeched the ceiling. "Give that man a medal! That's why we're equals, Sherlock, right there! Boo-yah!" He drew Molly closer to him, and she could feel her neck pulse beating wildly beneath his thumb. "What do you think, Dr. Hooper?" he hissed in her ear. "Shall we burn the heart of him, piece by piece? What do you say? Let's burn you alive, starting with your fingers. "What do you say, Molly? Should we… donate your body to science? Maybe Sherlock can dissect the remains of your parts. I think he'd rather like that."

"No!" A deep voice called out. Molly's eyes searched around, but she had to look no further than right in front of her, because Sebastian threw himself before Moriarty, clenching the other man's hand so it loosened from her neck, looking intense.

"You said she was mine. You said- promised me that I could keep her, and she wouldn't be a part of this once you had Holmes!"

Jim scratched his temple with the barrel of his gun. "Yeah, well, that's the problem with promises, isn't it? You make them to a decent person, and you have to follow through. You make them to an obsessed maniac, and well," in a flash Jim leveled the gun at Sebastian's face and fired a clean shot. Sebastian fell instantly in a lifeless heap to the floor, "You can't very well follow through or he'll ruin your plans."