AN: *waves sheepishly* Sorry it's been so long! I'm hoping to get back into this regularly and get this wrapped up! The ending is actually written, so it's just a matter of getting there. :)

The night had taken a toll on Sherlock's mental capacity, stretching his logic to the point of near breaking. John had fallen asleep on the sofa half an hour ago, his mouth dangling open like a child's and a bit of drool making its way down his chin. Sherlock wrinkled his nose in amused disgust at the sight. He was still resentful of John's carefree acceptance of Molly's revelation.

He steepled his hands under his chin, staring at the woman across from him. Having shifted back into her bloodied clothes, her wings vanishing into the air, Molly stared back at him. Her gaze didn't waver and he found himself comparing the timid Molly he'd known with the confidence and power flowing from the enigma before him.

He broke the silence with a question that had been nagging him for the past few days. 'How did Mycroft come to recruit you?'

To his surprise, a smile graced her face and she laughed gently. 'He didn't.'

'Oh?'

Her eyes glazed over a bit as she remembered. 'He'd accosted me, for lack of better word, when you and I first began working together. Unfortunately for him, I wasn't aware of his 'good' intentions and relation to you.'

For the first time all night, Sherlock smiled, seeing where this was going.

'By the time I realized he wasn't after me for, well, me, I'd knocked out his security team and was holding my sword to his throat, while he was pleading with me not to kill him.' Molly bit her lip and averted her eyes. 'Don't tell him I told you. I do feel really bad about it still.'

Though he nodded, Sherlock had no intention of following through. It was like every Christmas rolled into one and he would lord that over Mycroft for decades. Molly must have seen the gleam in his eye and shook her head fondly.

'Tell me about Peter.'

Molly blinked at the sudden change in topic. 'What would you like to know?'

'When did you know him? How many lifetimes ago?'

To anyone else, the question would seem strange, but Sherlock was beginning to understand that for Molly, time wasn't condensed into a matter of decades, but was a stretch of millennia that would baffle even his own intellect.

'This lifetime, actually.' Molly smiled and snuggled under a nearby throw. 'I was in America, Chicago, trying to find something to do to alleviate the boredom. I ran into Peter one day when we both ordered the same drinks at a café, but he took mine with the skim milk. In any other life, it would have made for a cliché meet-cute, but Peter was nearing 50 and I… well, I had a couple centuries on him.' Her eyes drifted over his shoulder as she thought back. 'He sensed that I wasn't what I seemed. That I was lonely. That I had separated myself from the prospect of being hurt.'

Sherlock's eyes softened in understanding.

Molly shrugged one shoulder. 'Anyway, he pretty much established himself permanently in my life. He encouraged me to pursue pathology. He thought it would be perfect for me, I would be doing good while remaining somewhat distant from human interaction.'

'He knew about... what you are?' Sherlock frowned.

She shook her head. 'No, but I think he knew that I wasn't… exactly human.' Her eyes drifted down and a sadness seemed to overtake her. 'And he suffered and died because of that knowledge. If I hadn't begun fighting demons, they never would have taken him. They had no use for an old man dying from an aggressive cancer, but I was becoming a problem and they knew the quickest way to take me out was to attack someone I loved.'

The moonlight through the window illuminated her pale features and cast a gentle shimmer across her eyes as her thoughts drifted. 'Even in the end, though, he fought them. He refused to let them win even if it meant…'

'That you had to kill him,' Sherlock finished for her.

Anguish lined her face, but she stared back at him with strength he could not help admiring. 'It was his last request.' Her eyes glazed over in memory and she quoted long-spoken, but never-forgotten words, 'Don't let them take me over, Molly. I know you can stop them, I don't know how and I don't care. But you've got a strength inside of you to take on a thousand demon armies and I know you can stop them. Do this for me. So I don't live on as a shell of a soul given over to a demon.'

'I ran after that. I couldn't face the remnants of that life once he was gone; not after what I had done to him.' A glistening tear fell down her cheek. 'I came to London and lost myself in the city, I did everything I could to be alone, to not form attachments, so no one else would suffer because of what I am and what I had to do. But then you came along, with your deductions and your brilliance and that bloody coat…' She glared at him wryly and sighed. 'And you just had to break down all my defenses.'

Sherlock swallowed and averted his gaze.

'Before I knew it, I was in deeper than I'd ever been before.' She smiled sadly. 'And I loved it. The excitement, the adventure, being a part of your life in whatever small way you let me. It gave me purpose. It made me forget that in a number of years, it would all be gone. You and John and Greg… you would all leave me and I'd have to move on again.'

The sorrowful ache in her voice tugged at his heart. He knew what it was like to fear losing something, someone, precious. That was, after all, why he'd jumped off the roof.

And Molly had not only lost everyone she loved, but she knew she would always lose anyone she loved eventually and yet she still opened her heart and let them in.

Sherlock was struck dumb by the thought.

Suddenly, from the sofa, John let out an inelegant snort and smacked his lips together, turning over in his sleep.

Molly laughed softly, the solemnity evaporating as Sherlock joined her in mirth. Their laughter faded eventually and Sherlock leaned his elbows on his knees, leveling her with a focused stare. 'Whatever you are, Molly Hooper, I will never divulge your secret,' he promised. 'Nor will I hurt you purposefully. I am sorry… for earlier.'

Molly smiled. 'You are always forgiven, Sherlock.'

'Now, shall we make our battle plan?' He clapped his hands together, jolting John awake.

The doctor mumbled nonsensically as he sat upright, his hair mussed and his cheek showing red marks from the pillow. 'S'it mornin'?'

Molly ignored him and jumped to her feet, grabbing Sherlock's arm. 'Sherlock, absolutely not. You are not getting involved!'

'Molly, you've known me for so many years,' Sherlock admonished teasingly. 'Since when have I ever listened to my elders?'

Knowing that he had a point, that he would charge headfirst into it whether or not he had her permission, Molly stepped back and crossed her arms. 'The moment you get in too deep, I will drag you out by the collar of your poshly-tailored jacket, do you understand?'

His gleeful smile was her answer.

She watched and bit her lip in concern as he ordered John into the kitchen to make tea while he began to pace about the room, as if his body needed to keep time with his racing thoughts.

'Oh, Sherlock,' she murmured worriedly, wondering if she'd just set him free on the path to his own destruction.

Rain pattered on the glass ceiling above them.

'He's back, then.'

'Indeed.' Mycroft affirmed. 'Alert all Alpha Teams to return to British soil post haste.'

It was only due to her extensive training that Anthea was able to contain her surprise and type out the orders on her Blackberry. 'Done.'

Mycroft stood and straightened his cuffs with firm tugs. 'And summon Molly Hooper to the tertiary meeting location. I require answers. And I will get them.'

'Yes, sir.'