London was different.

The air tasted wrong, there wasn't any hum of conversation or the sounds of a great city going to work on a Monday morning. No rush of traffic, no tourists blocking her path to take pictures of the buildings she passed every day. Just a subdued race of people with lifeless, shifty eyes, walking quickly on muted steps, glaring at her before scurrying out of her way.

A darker, damper, foggier London than she was used to.

She had been told not to wander, but it isn't wandering if she knows where she's going, is it?

She flinches at the sight of the ugly, graffiti coated wall where a cheery sandwich shop should be. In another world, there is a sandwich shop, and the door next to it is equal parts polished and worn, the lettering on it glimmers, and sometimes, if you were very very lucky, you could catch a glimpse of a great man who lives there.

But this isn't that world, the door next to wall looks far from polished, the lettering has fallen off, leaving only a rusted 2 and an inverted, equally rusted b hanging on for dear life.

She wonders if the address is now 2 p, because that's what it says on the door.

She pushes the old door gingerly, but it still creaks as it opens. The sound reverberates harshly around the dingy landing lit only by a sad light bulb, carrying out its duty of bathing the landing in a dirty yellow light.

No one comes to greet her; all the doors on this floor are boarded up.

There is no one here on this floor, except the termites and the rats scurrying through the walls.

A moth hits the bulb as she starts climbing the rickety, termite infested stairs. The light goes out immediately as it is parted from the loose circuitry.

The door on the second floor isn't boarded up, but Molly can smell rotting wood as she turns the doorknob. A damp smell assaults her nose as she steps into a room, where in another world, there would be a roaring fire, a soft leather sofa and two lovely armchairs, and a brilliant man by the window, teasing hauntingly beautiful music from a violin.

In this world, however, there is no warm fire, no leather sofa and armchairs, and certainly no brilliant man by the window. The fireplace is sad and empty, and by it there is a hard backed chair, strict and giving no hope of comfort.

The scant grey sunlight coming in from the window is the only source of light in the living room of what was once 221b.

The archway that leads to the kitchen is dark, and Molly can hear the sounds of rats, their nails tap tap tapping on the floor as they hurry to stay out of the way of the human intruder.

She sits on the chair and tucks in her legs under the seat, in a vain effort of keeping them away from the rats, in case they decide to come her way.

She sits on the chair, tugs her jacket around her in an attempt to keep warm, and waits.

Not ten minutes later, she hears the door open, and footsteps stomping up the stairs. She stands just as the door is shoved open.

"Have you finally decided to end this childish game?" he asks, looking around the flat in disdain and disgust.

She stares at him blankly for a while, her heart lurching despite her knowing that this is not the man she loves, regardless of what he looks like. And yet, she drinks in his familiar features greedily.

He notices her gaze and smirks, coldly and cruelly, his features are marred and Molly's fantasy breaks. He takes a step towards her but she takes an equal step back.

The smirk on his face dies, and he stops in his path. "Molly," he starts.

"No," she says. "No, I have no decided to end this childish game."

He scowls. "Then why have you brought me to this slum?"

"I want to negotiate."

He laughs, deeply and genuinely, and she hates him for it.

"Why should I negotiate?" he chuckles, dragging the chair to his side and lounging on it, legs crossed. "I could wipe out your merry band in one fell swoop."

"Then why-,"she hissed.

"It is foreplay, my love," he says, his voice dropping an octave. "A very arousing game of hide-and-seek you have been playing with me, Molly."

He stands and towers over her, crowding her in until her back hits the mantelpiece.

"I hate you," she snarls, her face contorting in rage. "Thousands have died, and all you care about is a fucking-,"

"All I care about is fucking you," he growls, and she flinches at the vulgarity. He sneers.

"Don't use such vulgar words with me, Molly, because if you knew what was in my mind right now-," he grabs at her and throws her against the wall, before pulling her flush against him, "you would blush, little kitten."

Rage nearly blinds her and she shoves her elbow into his gut before going for the gun holster on her hip. She screams on frustration when she finds it empty.

He laughs again, and she sees her gun being flung across the room and disappearing into the darkness of the kitchen.

"Fuck you," she hisses as he pushes her against the wall again, and she can feel him, hard against her. "You are a vile, evil, loathsome-,"

"The kitten has grown some claws, I think," he says, and she wants to scratch his eyes out and show him her claws, because she hates him, and she will hate him even if he bears Sherlock's face and name.

He is not Sherlock.

"I'm not a bloody kitten," she snarls, her legs kicking and her nails digging into his leather jacket.

"Of course you're not, you cut up people for a living," he says distractedly, before nipping at her neck. "Gods, I missed your taste."

"Stop, stop, stop," she breathes out, ignoring the way her body was reacting and hoping he would not notice said reactions. But he was Sherlock Holmes, in face, name and intellect and he always notices.

He pulls back enough to rest their foreheads together, their breaths mingling.

"You can stop this, Molly," he whispers. "Just stop fighting so much, just accept me."

"I'd rather die."

He flinches back from her, flinches, as if she has burnt him. She thinks she sees anguish in those grey eyes of his, but before she can blink that anguish is gone. Maybe it was never there in the first place.

Cold eyes, cold and unforgiving as steel glare back at her, his face is blank, impassive and neutral. "Well then. You've made your feelings very clear to me, my love."

He has no right to call her that, that was her Sherlock called her when they were alone and entwined and together.

"My offer of negotiations still stand." She says, hoping her voice sounded business-like, she ignores the stinging sensation of the bites he made on her neck.

"Want to hear my offer, Molly?" he says, and the ice in his voice makes her shiver. "I want you. And I know you want me, Molly. Ah-, now don't lie," he says, an infuriating smile on his face, he raises a finger and Molly's retort dies in her throat. "You want me, and you can have me. I'm willing to let your group of traitors live, but only if you give yourself over to me and stop this foolish quest of yours of finding the rifts."

"The rifts are closed," he continues slowly, as if relishing the words. "They are closed, and you can never go back."

Her hands clench, she wants her gun in her hand. It scares her sometimes, how easily she wants to kill, how easily she can kill. She is no longer Molly Hooper, pathologist of Bart's, London. She's changed and she blames him for it.
"You will lose, my love, if you go down this path of destruction," he says. "I will give you till midnight. Think about it."

And with that, he leaves, a flap of the leather coat, and a swirl of dust, out of the rotting remains of 221B Baker Street.

A/N: I haven't been feeling very good mentally for the past couple of days. It's the oh-my-god-my-results-are-in-three-days-if-I-fail-I -will-have nothing-to-live-for stress. So basically, I've just hid under the bed, and watched the Sherlock S3 preview and Thor: Dark World trailer again and again.

This fic is also giving me a lot of stress headaches, even if Lono, bless her golden soul, has been doing a lot of handholding. This chapter got rambly and weird, so I broke it off, and made into two separate chapters. The format will work better this way.

I'll try to update soon. I promise.

But thank you, thank you for all the support you have shown me and this fic! Leave a comment or kudos or reviews and keep me motivated!

Love,
Adi xo