Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade sat quietly with his back to Dr. Molly Hooper. The floor of her lab was cold, but was still no match the icy block in his gut. The only warmth his body honestly felt was the warmth that his back was drawing from Molly's.

Molly, for her part, felt equally chilled, the only parts of her own body that felt any warmth drew it from Greg. Her back, bumped up against his, and her hands, which grasped his for reassurance as they were bound behind their backs.

Silently, privately, they both cursed themselves for being so stupid, so careless, as to allow any of this to happen in the first place.

Molly closed her eyes, trying to shut out the image of her young colleague, Terry McDaid, cut down in cold blood by the single bullet that had been fired by their captor after he'd been forced at gunpoint to bind her hands to Greg's.

Greg closed his eyes, trying to focus, trying to shut out his frustration at whoever had decided that regular police in the UK should be unarmed, and anger at himself for not listening to his own instincts.

Molly felt she'd failed Terry McDaid.

Greg felt he'd failed Molly.

Maybe it was his instincts that had brought him through those doors in the first place, though, he thought. No policeman worth his salt would avoid a situation like this. They had made a vow to serve and to protect, after all, and Greg Lestrade hadn't risen to the rank of Detective Inspector by being a career coward. Sitting on the floor, bound to Molly by an angry gunman, held hostage, he forced himself to focus.

Molly leaned her head back, finding it resting at the nape of Greg's neck, and turned it as best she could towards him. Somehow she found comfort in that, and wiggled her fingers around to interlace with his. He responded by giving them a squeeze, turning his head just enough to acknowledge her gesture.

Greg noticed that their captor was preoccupied in his own mind, muttering and pacing back and forth.

This was bad. Very bad.

That made him unpredictable.

And very, very, dangerous.

"Molly," he whispered hoarsely. "Are you okay?"

Molly flinched slightly at the sudden sound, unexpected. She forced herself to breathe while avoiding the impulse to clear her throat.

"Yeah... Greg… not going to lie, I'm scared to death."

"Hang in there lass. We're in this together."

Molly took a deep breath, letting it out as silently as she could.

"I know. Listen… Greg, if we don't get out of this, I mean, if one of us or even both of us…"

"No, Molly," he whispered. "You can't think like that…"

"Greg, please listen. If we don't get out of this, if something happens, you have to know that I…" she trailed off, closing her eyes.

Greg's brows furrowed and he turned his head better, focusing on the sound of her voice.

"You have to know that I love you," Molly said. "I'm so so sorry… I know you've fancied me for a while but I was too… distracted to do anything…"

She stopped speaking, her voice threatening to catch. Greg took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

"Well then… you should probably know that I love you too, Molly. It's been more than just fancying for a long time." He glanced over at their captor, noting that he was still pacing, seemingly caught up in his own mind, at least for the moment.

"I hoped so," Molly said softly. "So this is what we're going to do, Gregory Lestrade. If we get out of this, both of us, we're going to stop wasting time. Life is just too bloody short," she choked out, catching her voice to stay as quiet as possible, but finding herself unable to avoid glancing over at her lost young colleague.

Greg squeezed her hand one last time. "Right, then. We're just going to get out of this then, aren't we love? We're going to work together like we mean it. Now, I'm not sure if you've noticed or not, but my hands aren't that big. Never thought that would ever be a good thing, but right now, it is. I think I can…" he said, wiggling them, bending his thumbs as much as he could and curling his palms into themselves. Doing this, he found he could work them partially through the bindings. "SHIT," he cussed. "Not quite small enough."

Molly thought a moment, then decided. "Greg, this might hurt a bit, please forgive me," she said, as she grasped his hands again and squeezed hard. Greg caught his breath, squeezing his eyes tightly shut.

"Bollocks Molly," he gasped, but realized that she had managed to make them just compact enough to slide one of his hands out of the bindings. "Well I guess I did say we work together," he said, when she'd released her grip. "Right then, one down. Easy does it Molly, I think I can get the other…" he muttered, as he worked his other hand free.

"What can you feel back there," she whispered, her focus returned. She forced back a giggle as she heard Greg stifle a chuckle. Stress had a weird effect on a person, sometimes, she realized. The most inappropriate reactions at the worst of times.

"Knots," he said. "Let me work at them a bit. How are you at self-defence? Has Sherlock taught you anything?"

"Yeah," she responded quietly. "He and John taught me the basics. What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking a shit kicking, Molly. My legs are strong, I can kick like a pissed off mule, and I intend to. But once I've done that you have to be able to fend for yourself while I get my balance back. Shouldn't take but a few moments. Can you do that, Lass?"

Molly didn't hesitate. "Yes, I can. I will. For us."

Greg nodded with a quiet sigh of relief. His fingers, nimble from a guitar hobby, worked the remaining knots loose and he felt Molly's hands grasp his again as they became fully free.

"Greg," she whispered.

"Yeah?"

"I love you, if I haven't mentioned it."

"You might have," he whispered back. "I love you too, if I haven't said so."

"You possibly did," Molly responded. "No more wasted time, Gregory. No bloody more… On your mark."

Greg took a deep breath, saying a silent prayer. "Hey," he said loudly. "You're a cocky little prick, aren't you, little thing. You smart enough to realize you've got a high ranking copper tied up on the floor here, hey?"

Their captor stopped his pacing, and glanced over at Greg.

"Really. A genuine copper. Well, that puts a new spin on things, don' it mate," he said. Greg kept his eyes on him as he slowly made his way towards him. Greg gave him his best arrogant asshole smile, hoping it would be enough to provoke him.

He waited as their captor crouched down to return the expression of defiance. Nodding his head upwards, Greg grinned crookedly, lowering his eyelids, challenging him. Behind his back, he gave Molly's hands one final squeeze for a cue before he placed his on the floor, bracing himself. Pulling himself back a few inches, he rolled backwards, Molly sliding away from him and bounding to her feet, as Greg brought his legs back and kicked forward with all of his strength at the crouched form of their captor. He winced as the pistol the man had held went flying, praying it didn't have a hair trigger. Greg's calculated risk proved to be a wise one, it turned out, as he watched it land and slide across the floor, well out of reach.

Old man football was still football, and it was definitely enough conditioning to incapacitate the gunman long enough for them both to jump to their feet and find their footing.

Molly whirled around, as their captor rose to his feet. Wobbly from Greg's mule kick, but still threatening, he bolted forwards towards them and the heel of Molly's hand found its mark under his chin. As he fell backwards again, Greg moved around, grabbing his arms, and pulled them behind him, spinning him a half turn and slamming him against one of Molly's metal mortuary tables.

Not knowing how she knew, but just knowing, Molly reached around Greg's waist, retrieving his cuffs, and deftly slapped them on, completing the mission.

It took a moment for Greg to regain his composure after the adrenaline rush.

"Do I want to ask how you knew how to do that?" he said, his voice betraying his shock.

"You could but I'm not sure myself," Molly admitted.

Her adrenaline was starting to wear off, and the reality of the situation began to take hold.

"Oh God, Greg," she whispered, as she glanced around, still struggling to breathe normally. The lifeless body of Terry McDaid still lay where he had fallen. She fought back tears, not unnoticed by Greg.

"Chin up, love," he said, wrapping an arm around her waist protectively. "Just a little bit longer, then we'll fall apart together, hey? I promise."

Molly leaned in to him and took a ragged sigh, swallowing hard and nodding. "Together. Got it," she said, as the backup that had been called in the moment someone had heard gunshots inside the lab finally arrived. Greg gratefully gave up control of the suspect and the scene. He stood back, taking in one final look as his own adrenaline started to wear off.

He glanced over at the fallen Terry McDaid briefly, then turned himself to block Molly's view of him, leaning down to place a lingering kiss on her forehead. "Come on my Lass," he said softly, as Molly straightened her back and took his hand, allowing him to lead her out through the doors.