The phrase "London Crime Wave!" was emblazoned across the front of the Times. Finally, they were moving on to other news. For weeks, it had seemed like every newspaper in the land had been engrossed with the drama of Sherlock Holmes' disgrace and suicide.

Then again, the death of England's foremost consulting detective probably had played some role in the extravagant number of thefts, murders, and robberies that had been infecting London of late. Molly picked up a copy of the newspaper, and placed it in her basket. Then she stepped back hitting someone and causing both of their baskets to fall and spill their contents all over the floor.

"Sorry. I'm so sorry about this!" Molly said reaching out a hand to stop a can of tomatoes from rolling away. "I didn't mean to hit you. I'm so clumsy."

"Molly? Molly Hooper?"

She looked up, finally noticing whose basket she'd knocked over. "Inspector Lestrade! I didn't see you there."

"It's Greg…call me Greg."

"Oh! Sorry...um... Greg."

Molly straightened, reaching out her hand to shake his, only to pull it back when she realized that she had just stepped on his bread.

"Sorry!" She bent over and picked up the squashed loaf placing it back in his basket. She could feel her cheeks warming. "I... I didn't expect to see you here."

"Well, it's good to see you too, Molly. I haven't seen you since the..."

"...since the funeral...yeah."

It had been a small affair, very private. They had used the excuse of avoiding media coverage to bury the body quickly. The memorial service had been awkward. Molly had been afraid to talk to anyone out of fear that she might reveal something. She had left early, unable to watch their sad faces any longer. John's had been particularly haunting. She shook her head trying to dispel the memory.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to...bring up bad memories. You did the autopsy. It must have been a shock."

"Yes," she said looking up at the man.

The inspector looked so different. He had been a dapper, handsome, gentleman with a lush head of frosted silver hair and a frequent rakish smile. Now, he looked tired and sad with hair so short that the stubby black hairs near his scalp showed through.

"You've cut your hair!"

"Yeah," he said running his hand through it. He reached into her basket then and took out a frozen dinner, placing it into his own. She had been too flustered to realize that it wasn't hers.

"Sorry," she said again. "Um… How are you?"

"Fine, I'm fine. And you?"

"Fine."

He nodded. She clasped her basket to her chest, and for a moment they just stared at each other. She started to sweat.

"So… how has work been?"

He sighed.

Suddenly Molly remembered that he probably would have felt the brunt of the scrutiny as the detective who had worked most closely with with Sherlock Holmes, a man who was now thought to be a fake.

"It's been challenging... frustrating really. There's the case review. That's been taking up much of my time, and we've been overrun with new cases. It's like everyone's gone a little crazy: Arson, kidnapping, theft, most of them are easily solvable, but some aren't. I just wish…"

He didn't need to finish the sentence. Both of them knew that he was wishing that Sherlock Holmes was still around.

"Actually, I've been meaning to get in touch with you. It's lucky I ran into you like this."

"Lucky?" she giggled nervously. "Not quite so lucky for your bread." Then she flushed, embarrassed at her stupid joke.

"Well... there's this case. I wanted to ask you a few questions about the wounds on the victims backs. They look like they were made with a metal rod, but I'm not so sure. I thought that if anyone would know, it would be you. Sherlock always trusted your opinion, and he was the best… that is… despite what the news says..."

"I don't mind!" Molly said enthusiastically. "I don't mind answering your questions. Come by the morgue, anytime."

Greg smiled. It changed the whole shape of his face. "Thank you, Molly. It's just... It's hard to talk to people at work about...these things. I'm glad to know that you understand."

"I do. Of course I do."

"I would have called before, it's just I don't… that is... I was wondering if I could get your number?"

Molly stared blankly back at him.

"Or if you prefer, I can give you my number. I'm not hitting on you. It's just...when I have questions... if you have time. Have you taken up smoking?"

"What?"

His eyes were focused on the nicotine patches in her basket.

"Oh they're not for me," she said, only then realizing that she couldn't say who they really were for. "They're for my... Grandmother."

"Your grandmother?" Greg said. "Patches aren't very good for old skin, I hear."

"Oh, Grandmum's too set in her ways to stop now," Molly said grinning manically. "I promised to drive out and give them to her tonight, so sorry, but I have to go. Goodbye Greg." She waved, and then strode toward the checkout trying to escape without being too rude or too obvious. She seemed to be failing at both.

"I was leaving too," he said following her. "Now that I've got my dinner back." He grinned, taking his place, irritatingly, right behind her in the queue.

Molly turned away from him, trying to hide her basket from his gaze. She adjusted the newspaper to cover her purchases only then realizing that the headline was a sort of accusation for a policeman.

"So, you'll be driving around town alone tonight?" he asked looking down at the paper in her basket, before returning his gaze to her flushed face. "You should be careful. The commissioner has issued a voluntary curfew. If you have to be out late, then you need to watch out for yourself."

Molly rolled her eyes, "I'm a grown woman. I'll be in my car the entire time. What could possibly happen to me?"

"Hopefully nothing," he said. "Even so, I suggest that you go straight to your grandmother's and then straight home. The streets of London are no place for any person to be out alone at night these days."

"You sound like my dad," she said smiling honestly for once. "He was always afraid that something bad would happen to me, but it never has."

"I'm glad to hear it. Even so, It pays to be careful. Don't stay out alone at night. Go there and back without stopping."

The checker started to run her things through. She placed them in her bag, paying quickly in an effort to get away. "I'll be careful," she said with a smile. Then she turned and walked out as quickly as she could without appearing to be running away. She didn't want to be caught in a lie. Both of Molly's grandmums were dead and had been for years.

She walked across the lot and climbed into her little blue mini, starting the car and pulling away before he could come out of the store. Then she drove toward some of the darkest streets in the city. The very kinds of places that Greg had warned her against.