It had been about a month since they had picked Molly's things up from her old flat. John and Mary had tied the knot, found out about Mary's pregnancy, and Sherlock had kept a hawk like eye for Tom to start something else with them…but much to his dismay, he had remained out of the picture. How he would so like to wrap his hands around that little punk's neck…he remembered the pair of panties he had found while helping Molly pack and it only made him angrier. He had hidden them in a bag in his top drawer to keep in case he needed to use them against Tom one day…or maybe if Molly found out and wanted proof of the truth. Either way he just couldn't throw good evidence like that away.
He pushed those angry thoughts out of his mind. He had more important matters pressing him at the moment. A Lady Smallwood had recently gotten his attention and suddenly he had a shot at taking down the one man who disgusted him more than any other human being on the planet. Charles Magnusson. He apparently had some letters that meant a great deal to this poor woman, but he knew it wouldn't be as simple as asking him to give them back. If he had the letters, he had a reason for it. He needed blackmail on this woman. And Sherlock knew the one way to get those documents out of his hand was to get him interested in someone else. So Sherlock decided to make that person of interest, himself.
He had gotten in touch with some old friends of his…if you could call them friends. They were what most would call, a bad crowd. The meth heads and druggies of London. And right now Sherlock's best bet in taking this man and his great empire down. He hadn't told Molly about his plan. How could he? She would absolutely murder him if she found out about him using again. She had helped him recover the last time and certainly had been more kind then he deserved, but this time it would not be so pleasant…
So instead he used the excuse he was on a very highly secretive case and it could put her life in danger if he spoke about it, which wasn't a lie, and she didn't ask much questions.
He was, at the moment, throwing old torn clothes on so as not to stand out from the crowd of users he was going to be within a few minutes. He pulled an old jacket on and threw his phone in his pocket and made to leave when Molly came walking in.
"Why are you home so early?" He asked, taken by surprise. She wasn't due home for another two hours.
"Nice to see you too," She said moodily making her way to the couch where she laid down and covered her face with her hands. Sherlock stared at her a moment. Obviously she wasn't feeling well. She was pale and appeared to be a bit disheveled looking.
"I'm sorry," Sherlock attempted to be nice, "Want me to make you a cup before I leave?" He asked.
She glanced up at him, a bit surprised at his generosity.
"Umm…no that's ok. Sorry I snapped…I just really don't feel good," She said quietly.
Sherlock walked over to her and grabbed a blanket off of the back of the couch and gently covered her with it, kneeling down to her level. She turned and faced him, still laying.
Now that he had seen her up close, he could tell how truly miserable she looked. She reached up and touched his face.
"You look like a bum," She said grinning.
"That's the point." Sherlock grinned at her.
"Well then you're doing a fine job Mr. Detective."
Sherlock planted a small kiss on her warm forehead and stood back up headed for the door.
"How long will you be gone for tonight?" Molly asked.
"What day is it?" Sherlock asked.
"Friday…thank God." Molly sighed.
"Don't expect me back until tomorrow"
Molly looked a bit disappointed but knew better than to argue with him.
"Please be careful…and don't do anything stupid. I'll keep my phone nearby if you need me."
"That's why I keep you around," Sherlock said grinning and leaving the flat.