Molly stared at the screen, hands falling to her side completely taken aback.

"Did you miss me? Did you miss me?" Kept ringing out of the speakers, the image oddly distorted, she glanced round before peering down at the screen, trying to determine if it was real. She could hear the murmurs of people down the corridors no doubt panicking or doing what she was doing at that moment.

Well not exactly, she thought as she sprinted over to her desk and ripped her paper filing apart. They were gone, they were all done, her notes, the reports, all of it.

And now, now Sherlock was gone too.

Naturally, he didn't actually tell her in so many words but the brief message he'd left on her mobile thanking her for everything spoke volumes.

All the files on Jim Moriarty had been taken from her office. As she went to move her filing cabinets a foul smell caught her attention, she froze for a moment before reaching down to the ground and looking behind the one nearest the door. There it was, a trace of yellow powder trailing down the wall.

Shit.

She locked her door and went to the emergency safe she had hidden in her office years ago. Molly pulled back her hair, tugging at it looking at the contents of the safe. Emergency burner phone, rock salt, a couple of guns and a variety of knives, as well as the copious amounts of fake id's and ripped off credit cards.

Greg would have a field day.

She snagged the phone, slamming shut the safe hiding it behind the false wall she'd put in, tightening her jaw.

Molly Hooper, hunter. A life she thought she'd managed to ditch at age 18, for the most part.

It started for her when she was 6, Molly woke up on a pretty average Saturday morning to find her neighbour leaning over her, knife held to her throat, eyes pitch black and drenched in blood.

The next fifteen minutes were something that Molly spent every day trying to erase from her memory.

Screaming, running for her life, the slice of the blade up her back that had left a jagged scar from what was now the swell of her hips to her scapula, her mother's dead body ripped apart in her parent's bedroom and her father killing the neighbour.

After that, she and her Dad spent the next 12 years trawling all over Ireland and England, a few other European countries killing and exorcising any and all the supernatural scum they could find. Until 18. Then she had to build a whole new life, the life she should have had for herself all along, she had been free.

Molly stepped out onto the roof, jamming the door shut behind her as she stared down at the burner phone desperately clawing for any reason to not call the number. Her usual phone dinged loudly, causing her to just about jump out of her skin. She reached into her pocket and pulled it out, expecting a message from John or possibly Mary.

221B. Immediately. Details will follow. –SH.

Well that was a swift turnaround.

Molly texted him back saying that she'd get there as soon as possible and not to try sending anyone to get her. He knew full well that Billy was already on her side, as well as Anthea, though he had yet to figure out how that had happened.

She flipped open the burner phone and hit the sole number stored on it. She stood near the fire exit as it rang out, eyes trained on the spot where Moriarty had died, supposedly at the very least.

'Hello?' A low gravelly male voice greeted her eventually, American, but not the slightly country accent she was expecting. Suspicious of her, but given the nature of their work, that was more than understandable.

'Bobby Singer?'

'No. Who is this?' The voice came through an octave lower than before, decidedly more suspicious of her now. She could hear clattering in the background, someone else seemed to have come storming into the room, another man she guessed, but with only the barest hint of a voice reaching her ear she couldn't be sure.

'I'm Molly Hooper, and I need to get through to Bobby Singer as soon as possible. He owed my Dad a favour and now I'm calling him on it.'

'Well lady you are bang outta luck, Bobby died two years ago, how about you ask someone else for help?' A different voice, the other person in the room most likely had grabbed the phone from his partner. Her stomach dropped at the new voice and tone, causing her to gulp, but his indignation, riled her own.

'Look, buddy, I'm sorry to hear about Bobby, I am really. I met him once, and he seemed like a really great hunter, but I have a situation here that is potentially explosive on a whole new level, so how about you cut the drama routine? It's not going to faze me. Also it's Doctor, although I am a lady. Can I please talk to whoever answered the phone?' The sounds of a scuffle came over the line, Molly actually pulled the phone away from her ear and looked down at it in concern.

These were American hunters?

God damn her father for burning any bridge she might have been able to use.

'Sorry ignore him, he's just a bit off lately. Molly was it?'

'Yes, and you are?'

'Sam, Sam Winchester.'

'As in John Winchester?'

'Yeees.'

'Oh. Didn't know he had kids that were alive. Oh god sorry, that, sorry today has been a bit of shock for me. Is there any chance that you'd be in London in the next few weeks?'

'Okay, no, don't think there is, why?'

'Go to the internet and look up James Moriarty. He died two years ago, a friend of mine was there when he shot himself, I, myself, did his autopsy, but somehow, less than forty minutes ago, he is all over British television.'

'That's it?'

'All my files are gone, on him, his autopsy, everything, and I found sulphur. Classic signs.'

'Why did you call looking for Bobby? You sound like you know what you're doing, surely you could handle it.'

'I got out of the life years ago. I had to, my Dad died making me promise to quit and he ensured that no hunter this side of the Atlantic would help me. If this is what I think it is, it's huge. Bigger then almost anything else, I am not ashamed to say I need help. You have this number now, text me your email, and I will send you everything I have and will dig up in the meantime. Decide for yourselves if you want to take the case, Bobby may have owed my father, neither you nor your partner do. I will check back by 9 tomorrow night, London time, I have a few things I need to get done. If you do want to help me, I'll cover the cost of your flights, everything.'

'We'll think about it.'

'Thank you. I'm sorry but I have to go, there are people I need to watch out for if this is what I am 99.9% sure it is. Thank you Sam, it's greatly appreciated.'

'I'll keep the line open for you.'

She hung up, closing the phone and taking a moment to compose herself. She had to get to 221B and act like she wasn't planning on investigating the case. She had to keep Sherlock and John out of this, they didn't know about the life, they couldn't know. It was far too much, too big, too dangerous, they were both far too reckless and impulsive when it came to this.

Maybe she should have become an actress and not a pathologist, Molly, was discovering that she was a far better liar then she had ever thought she could be.