The lab at Barts was always quite even when he wasn't there alone. That was one of the reasons Sherlock considered it his second home. There was more to work with here, too, than his small flat on Baker Street could ever possibly dream of offering him, primarily due to space.
Silently, he and Molly had been working through the night while John had softly snored leaning over a table at the other side of the lab. Honestly, Sherlock was glad he never had to voice his appreciation for Mary's understanding when he monopolized so much of Johns time while on a case. Sometimes, she'd even join them, but not this one. She'd taken a short holiday with a friend somewhere, Sherlock wasn't sure where and didn't dwell on it. Mary had proved herself fully capable of taking care of herself and the child she and John shared.
Though he had observed Mike Stamford waltz in casually he had to suppress the urge to jump when he began talking. Even though he wasn't very loud, in comparison to the stillness that had lasted the past several hours, his voice positively boomed.
"Good Morning, Molly, Sherlock…. Should we wake him?" He motioned to the snoozing John.
"Let him be, I don't need him and he requires quite a surprising amount of sleep." Sherlock droned back his response.
"Right, well, guess I'll leave you to it, just wanted to stop in and let you know I was here, Molly. You're here awful early."
"Actually, I'm still here." She threw a slightly bemused grin at Sherlock that contradicted her annoyed tone.
"Right, I see. Well, anyway, I'll be off." He paused in the doorway. "Oh, yes, I came to tell you I ran into one of your old friends, Molly."
"Oh, really?" She had joined Sherlock at the table now and was finishing up some notes she was making for him.
"Yeah, yeah, some bloke. I was asked to let you know Liam says hello." Molly stiffened and looked backed up.
"Oh." She forced a giggle. "That's nice. Thank you, Mike." Out of the corner of his eye, the detective easily deduced Molly's discomfort, though Mike didn't seem to, he simply carried on and made his exit.
"Who is Liam?" He asked, still looking at a slide. The woman made no eye contact as she hummed a request to repeat himself. "Obviously he's not someone you thought you'd ever hear from and you don't want to." Abandoning the slide, he turn to face her. "So, who is Liam, Molly Hooper?" It was impressive how stoic her face was, almost unreadable, even to him, as they made eye contact, but when she began opening her mouth to respond, a groan echoed through the lab.
"Jesus, is it really morning already?" Neither removed their eyes from each other. "Did you really work all night?"
"Well, it was necessary, John. I believe I cracked the case." Her expression seemed to challenge him and he counted with a more determined focus. After their first couple meetings, he hadn't found it necessary to read her thoroughly very often and very rarely had come up with absolutely nothing. Though most things were trivial beyond her being clever and trustworthy, he hadn't even thought she would ever be trying to hide anything. But, there was always something, he supposed.
"What are you two doing?" For a brief moment, his eyes darted to his doctor friend. He could read everything on John so easily. It was no real feat, but damn John if he hadn't pulled him off something that appeared seriously more compelling, all he heard of her exit was the lab doors swing closed.
"Nothing, John, absolutely nothing." Sighing as he eyed the doors Molly Hooper had disappeared through. "Breakfast?" The response was an uncertain head tilt and a slow, cautious affirmative to the taller gentleman, who was already donning his Belstaff.

The pathologist caught her breath and decided to take a shower at work. It had only been one person, she comforted herself. Yeah, but thats how its started last time, right? Just one? Her mind was really messing with her.
"No!" She said under her breath as determined as her shaky voice would allow. This was what he wanted. Chances were he didn't even know many specifics about her. She'd moved since she had updated anything online. Though, he obviously knew where she worked, he couldn't know her address…. could he?
Of course not! Her inner voice hissed at her. She nodded in response and tried not to cry.
She had gotten through this before and she'd get through this again.

To Johns surprise, Sherlock actually attempted to eat something, after they'd inform Lestrade the murderer was the step-son, though.
It was just tea and toast, but he was eating. In fact, he had been eating, sleeping and, in general, taking better care of himself since he had resurrected.
At least according to Mrs. Hudson, who was constantly fighting the urge to smother him with relief and her motherly love for him.
"She was unnerved by something." John couldn't hide he was startled, the man across from him had barely spoken a word since they sat down and he had no ungodly clue who 'she' was at the moment.
"What?"
"Molly. I'm not sure if she was afraid, but she was definitely bothered. She had a definite response to that name."
"What name?" Sherlock had a discernible frustration with John not understanding, but the dark haired man took a breath, reminding himself John had been asleep and explained.
"Before you woke up, Mike Stamford came in to give Molly a message that was considerably far more complicated than it appeared."
"What was the message."
"Liam says Hello."
"Ok. How do you know that this wasn't just randomly bloke she and Mike both know?"
"He didn't know him."
"Ok, well you're going to have to explain the situation a little better for me to able to understand and maybe, hopefully, help you out." A long sigh.
"Mike came in, greeted us both, asked if we should wake you. I told him to leave you be, than he told Molly he had run into an old friend of hers and was asked to tell her that 'Liam said hello'. She stiffened, dropped her pen and looked away from her work. Her lip quivered and she suppressed a stutter when she thanked Mike for the message."
"Is that it?"
"No."
"No? Well?" He gestured for the other to finish.
"She… became withholding."
"Right, ok. Its obvious to me this is probably just some ex boyfriend she had a bad break up and just doesn't want to talk about it."
"John, she became thoroughly withholding." It was Johns turn to release an exasperated sigh.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, most people will leave some hint of worry or fear on their face after receiving upsetting news. Which, clearly, to her, this was upsetting, but her expression was…"
"Was what, Sherlock?" He rubbed his temples and breathed. "For god sakes."
"So impassive…. and a bit…. It was like she was daring me to inquire further."
"Ok, Sherlock. Let it go. Molly isn't stupid. If she needed or wanted help, she would have asked for it." He seemed to relax and picked up his toast to take a bite.
"You're right." The normally obstinate Holmes appeared to actually relent. "If she needed help, she would ask for it.
When he finished with his tea and toast, both the gentleman paid and went their separate ways, having expressed a desire to rest in their own beds.

Cautiously, Molly let herself in her flat. Though she was adamant on not allowing 'that man' to control her, she had taken a rather arduous and unusual route home as a precaution. So, by the time she made it home, she was barely standing from fatigue and hunger. Toby, like most pets would their owners, offered her a lot of hope. He was ok and didn't seem at all bothered, so it was unlikely anyone was in her flat. After all, even when Sherlock was there, he would either not greet her or not leave her bedroom doorway, where the man would usually be thinking.
This morning, however, he was just as active as ever. Welcoming her with an obscene amount of affection… he was hungry, too, she was certain. After clearing the house with a baseball bat, kicking open doors and looking under furniture and in every corner of the 4 room domicile, she relaxed enough to feed them both.
Get it together, Molly. She was mentally kicking herself as she shoveled eggs into her mouth like a starved, feral beast. There's no real reason to worry. Remember, this is about power. You can't give that to him.
As much as she tried to convince herself of this, she was relieved she was sleeping in the daylight and couldn't bring herself to change or take her shoes off. She passed out on the couch, watching some dreadful nonsense on the television.