A/N: Well, here is the final installment to my three story arc of season 3 and it's set immediately after 'I Still Need You.' Since I'm attempting to keep it 'canon' there won't be any big declarations (in this story at least) but I hope you still enjoy it :) Some of the dialogue in this (and the second chapter) are from the Death In Paradise episode "Murder On Board" (couldn't resist) and the song quoted at the start of both chapters is 'Into The Open Air' from Brave - seemed to fit. Anyways, hope I don't disappoint anyone and a HUGE thank you to beautywithin22 who looked it over for me when I was still deciding whether to post it or not.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Into The Open Air

…
This love, it is a distant star
guiding us home wherever we are
This love, it is a burning song
Shining light on the things that we've done

I try to speak to you every day
But each word we spoke, the wind blew away

Could these walls come crumbling down?
I want to feel my feet on the ground
And leave behind this prison we share
Step into the open air
…

This had not been the scenario he'd imagined when he'd first received Mycroft's phone call; this wasn't supposed to be happening, he was supposed to have dismantled Moriarty's web and Moriarty himself was meant to be dead.

Everyone was supposed to be safe.

She was supposed to be safe.

Sherlock drummed his fingers absently on the armrest of the cab door as it sped towards St. Bart's. Moriarty had underestimated her importance before, it was doubtful that he would make the same mistake twice.

"How could this happen?" John asked, breaking the silence, "I thought he was dead."

Sherlock ignored him as he concentrated on willing the cab to go faster.

"What are we going to do?"

Sherlock paused in his drumming momentarily, startled out of his reverie by John's question. He hadn't even thought about his next move; he blinked, attempting to focus but it proved to be a futile exercise.

He couldn't concentrate, couldn't plan – couldn't think – until he knew she was safe.

The cab had barely stopped moving before Sherlock leapt out. He was already halfway up the stairs outside the hospital before John even realised that he was gone.

John rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh as he pulled out his wallet to pay the driver.

Sherlock, meanwhile, made quick progress through the hospital; he paused for a brief moment outside the door to the morgue to catch his breath before he burst through the doors.

Molly started as he came in, her pale face and frightened eyes doing very little to reassure him that she was ok.

"Molly-" he began, taking a step towards her.

"He's back isn't he?" she said, interrupting him as she took a step to the side, putting the autopsy table between them.

"Yes, but-"

"What do you need me to do?" she asked, not quite meeting his eye.

His brow furrowed, as he attempted to close the distance between them and she once again moved out of his reach. "I didn't come here for your help," he told her flatly.

Her shoulders stooped a little at his words as she finally made eye contact with him, her wounded expression cutting him to the quick.

His own eyes widened a little as he realised how that may have sounded, "I mean, I…"

"Molly," John interrupted from behind as he came into the morgue, "you're all right."

Molly looked away from Sherlock to give John a small smile, "Of course I'm all right."

"Did you see the broadcast?" he asked gently, coming over to join the pair.

Molly bit her lip and nodded, "Yes," she said quietly, looking down at her hands.

John reached out to take one of her hands; he gave her a kind smile as she looked up and they shared a look.

"Thank you," Molly said quietly.

Sherlock watched the exchange with narrowed eyes as he looked uncomprehendingly between them.

"So, what's the plan?" John asked, giving Molly's hand a final squeeze and looking up at Sherlock.

Sherlock blinked, "Plan?"

John resisted the urge to roll his eyes, "Yes, Moriarty, remember?"

"I'll go get some coffee," Molly mumbled, averting her eyes and heading towards the door. Sherlock watched her go, his expression a mixture of hurt, concern and confusion.

Once she had gone he looked back at John who was looking at him expectantly.

"So?" John prompted.

"What was that thing you just did?" Sherlock demanded.

"I'm sorry?"

"The thing."

John's brow furrowed in confusion, "What 'thing'?"

"This," Sherlock said, taking John's hand and attempting to mimic his meaningful look.

"Oh that," John shrugged, "I was just letting her know that I was, you know, here for her if she needed anything."

Sherlock regarded him for a long moment, "But you didn't say anything."

"I didn't have to," John replied, he glanced uneasily down at their entwined hands, "can you let go now?"

"Sorry," Sherlock muttered, dropping his hand.

John eyed him with concern, "What's the problem, Sherlock?"

Sherlock glanced back at the door before giving a small shake of his head, "Nothing, it's nothing."

John raised his eyebrows as Sherlock took a seat and prepared himself to enter his Mind Palace.

"It didn't seem like nothing," John commented.

Sherlock shot him a warning look before closing his eyes and slipping into his Mind Palace.