Molly flipped over in her bed, eyes darting traitorously to her phone on her nightstand before she closed them tight in frustration. It was well into the wee hours of the morning and she scowled, punching her pillow and repositioning herself to try to get more comfortable. It was pointless.
She was hurt. She was sad. She was worried.
Everything about yesterday had been so peculiar and awful. The morning started with Toby not moving when she went to greet him, his sad and dull eyes barely registering her presence. She had called the vet, knowing it was time to end his suffering as his renal disease now allowed his blood to practically poison him. His euthanization had taken all afternoon as she sat with him, her fingers stroking through his coarse fur as he died.
Poor Toby. He had been a lovely companion to her in the end. She hadn't been so sure when she first brought him home all those years ago. He spat and clawed at her when she tried to be affectionate but over time he became accustomed to her presence and in his latter years he was always at her side. She had just returned from the veterinarian's office and was taking a moment to grieve when her phone rang.
SHERLOCK it had announced and she just glared at it, not wanting to answer. She was certain that even through the phone he'd somehow deduce Toby's death and she was not up for his particular brand of practical comfort. She went to make tea, already hearing his words in her ear.
You are not a negligent pet owner. For renal failure to have caused his death, you must have known for a while. Surely you expected this. Is it not better that his suffering has ended?
Besides, she was still smarting over the stunt he pulled to catch Culverton Smith. The ringing stopped and she felt chagrined at her thoughts. Perhaps that wasn't fair. Sherlock had become kinder over the years and nothing had been quite right since Mary died...
And that was really why she didn't want him to know how much Toby's death upset her. In the grand scheme of things, what was the life of a cat? What difference did it make that he was gone?
And then he had called again.
Molly flipped over once more in her bed and shoved a pillow over her face, closing her eyes tight against the memory of their conversation as if it could ward it off. Something bizarre had happened, but as to what and how it involved her, she couldn't guess. And now all she could do was wait.
The sudden rattling of her phone on the night stand had her sitting upright, reaching for it with no small amount of trepidation.
"GREG LESTRADE"
Her stomach twisted with dread as she hit the answer key.
"Greg?"
"Molly!" the DI's voice came over the phone in obvious relief, "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine. What's going on? I got a very strange phone call from Sherlock earlier and I couldn't tell if he was just being a complete tosser or if something was wrong."
Greg exhaled a short bark of laughter into the phone, "Hard to tell the difference sometimes, innit? Well, he and John have been through the ringer. They're alright but they said there was a threat made on your life earlier this evening so we're sending a team to make sure its safe."
Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, "To make sure what is safe? What kind of team, Greg?"
She heard Greg sigh, "Your home, Molly. We're sending a bomb squad and Mycroft Holmes will have some of his men sweep for surveillance equipment once our team is out."
Molly didn't respond and instead just took a shuddering breath into the phone.
"Molly, don't panic. Sherlock doesn't think there are actually any explosives but we do know there are cameras in your kitchen. You need to grab just a few items for the night and get out. Do you have a place to stay?"
She barely heard the last question, the blood from her pounding heart rushing in her ears.
Cameras...in the kitchen...
She wanted to vomit and ran her free hand through her hair.
"Molly? MOLLY?"
Greg's shout on the other end of the line brought her focus back.
"Yes, I'm here."
"Do you have a place to stay tonight?"
"Uh, no... I mean yes, sort of, I can get a hotel."
"Alright. Just leave as soon as possible. Call me immediately if you see anything suspicious."
She nodded emphatically before she realized he couldn't see her.
"Right. Right. Will do. But, Greg?" she asked tentatively.
"Yes Molly?"
"Why? Why would someone do this?"
Greg's side of the line was quiet for a few beats and there was a rustle of movement as if he was struggling with the phone.
"I can't say for sure right now Mols, but... I'm sure everything will be explained in due time."
The line went dead and she stared at the black screen, her mind a riot.
So it had been a game, just not one of Sherlock's choosing. But who? And why? How could they have known?
Stupid Molly. That one is easy, she chided herself with a sniff. Everyone knows you love him... even the great git himself now.
And someone planted cameras to watch her emotional evisceration...They may be watching still.
That thought had her throwing back her covers and she scrambled to get dressed, careful to expose as little of herself as possible before tossing a few clothes and underthings into a bag. She started toward her bathroom to pick up her toiletries but her skin crawled with the thought of staying in there one more minute and she darted out into the street, phone in hand.
She tried to take a step but felt anchored on the spot. She glanced down at her haphazardly packed bag, mismatched clothes, and turned in a slow circle.
It's 3am. I'm alone. My cat is dead. Sherlock can't even be bothered to explain what the bloody hell happened earlier. My privacy has been violated for God knows how long. I'm dressed like a hobo and I think I packed nothing but socks...
A half laugh-half sob escaped her lips and she covered her mouth to repress it, choking on the heartache in her chest. She took slow deep breaths before looking at her phone once again and shot off a quick message to Mike Stamford.
Mike, terribly sorry to text you so late but there's been an emergency and I won't be into work this week. I'll be taking my paid time off. Sorry for the inconvenience.
She sent it and quickly changed contacts to type another message.
Ms. Hudson, I won't be around to help with Rosie this week. I'll take the next one.
She pressed send on her phone before turning it off and hailed a taxi.
"Heathrow Airport, Please."