[made edits to name confusion on my part. The other two chapters are being reuploaded as well. Sorry! I am working on Pt. 4 currently 11.7.2016.

THE ILLUSTRIOUS CLIENT

Hello lovelies. I'm bringing you another mini-fic. As it happens I really loves those and I have a lot of ideas for them. This one has been sitting in my head for a while now and I'm so happy to finally bring it to you. It's probably my first in depth case fic without veering too much. It also is angst heavy – my M.O. – so I hope you like feels.

For a point of reference this is set after the Moriarty message – and after they deal with that – of course I have no idea what that'll entail yet until s4 airs but this is how it works for this fic. It'll make a lot more sense once you get into it so without any more rambling on my part ENJOY!

much love,

day

P.S. I would like to thank the ever wonderful mizjoelyfor looking this over for me and answering my questions when I was thinking properly clearly. She's amazing.

1/6

It was a quiet night in Two Hundred and Twenty-One B Baker Street. The flat which had previously been a rambunctious center for gunshots, drug busts and the occasional weeping woman (clients or acquaintances) had been completely subdued over the past few days. Sherlock Holmes should have been raving about how little he had on his plate with no current case available to him. However, his luck was soon to change not that he had realized it yet.

His home had been revamped for the weekly visits with his godchild. A girl with muddy blonde hair and bright green eyes that rivaled the forests he had previously been running through about a year and half ago. Her name was Eliza, not his first choice for a name but neither John nor Mary would budge on it. They thought it made her seem different. That hadn't been wrong. The little girl enjoyed whenever she got a chance to spend with the detective. She rarely cried in his presence, and if she did he just started humming a composition. She would stop shortly after and gaze up at him with eyes of wonder. Something that Sherlock didn't think he had ever notice happen with any of the other babies that he had encountered. Though he hadn't been trying to frequent family parks or the maternity ward of the hospital until Eliza had come into this world.

He enjoyed spending time with her, especially at her age. She needed constant care which gave him a slight distraction from the lack of work. John had taken videos of Sherlock's antics around his daughter. Sherlock would exaggerate his tales of recounting an adventure if he noticed the camera pointed at him. Smiling at the outburst of John berating him about it. It wasn't anything compared to his embellishments of what Sherlock was like.

Tonight, both John and Eliza were over again. Mary had gone out with Sally Donovan for a little girl's night out leaving John on his own. Instead of staying home he had ventured over to Baker Street to bug Sherlock.

They were currently in John's old room which had been converted in part to a minimal nursery. There was even a changing station. John's bed was still in there pushed against the wall. Sherlock was currently moving about the room dancing with Eliza as he hummed a tune. John chuckled when Sherlock made an attempt to dip Eliza only for her to make a fuss. "Alright. I'm sorry milady." He came to a full stop before turning to John. "She'll appreciate it more when she's older."

"I'm sure. Though she won't remember it much."

"That's what you're here for." He gestured to the camera which was blinking red as it was still on.

John sighed. "I'm not only here to document your revelations."

Sherlock just stared at him. That is usually what he did. "We are friends, too I suppose." He trailed off. John looked annoyed. "I'm joking." He smiled at the blond who didn't seem to find it funny at all.

"And you say Molly Hooper can't tell jokes…" John shook his head.

At the mention of the auburn haired pathologist Sherlock turned away. John grew weary as he watched Sherlock step over to the crib and fiddle with the mobile that was above it. Eliza cooed at the little musical sounds that came when he flicked it. "Have you gone to the hospital since the last time you were there? It was four months ago."

He was met with silence. That was a no then.

They had worked cases since then; where was he getting the information if not from Molly? He supposed Mycroft could have helped with that but he always went to Bart's. It was his home away from Baker Street. When he told Mary about this she was sure to want to do something. She liked Molly. She had spunk when it came to Sherlock. The slap in the lab was fresh in his mind.

Mrs. Hudson called from down the stairs. "Boys! You have a client."

This quickly changed his demeanor as he was rushing out of the room with Eliza. "At this hour?" he called back, switching the Watson child to his opposite side. "Who would be awake besides me and the occasional drunk?"

It was nearing two o'clock in the morning.

"Just come see, Sherlock. I'm going back to bed." He heard the door shut before he made it to the front of his flat. He let out a sigh before turning around and walking towards the sitting room where the clients usually waited for him. John was on his tail when he suddenly stopped rather abruptly.

Molly. She was here. Sitting. On the sofa, and twisting her fingers in a nervous fidget as if this was her first time coming here. It was the first time she had been here in a long time and he was completely aware of that. It was why he stopped, among other reasons that he didn't want to get into right at this moment.

Sherlock shifted the baby in his arms before hearing his best friend come up behind him. "Would you mind?" Taking his eyes off the woman for a moment to pass his goddaughter back to her father.

John chuckled, ignoring Sherlock's usual weirdness as he took over holding his child. "I am her father, after all." He decided to leave the two alone and headed back downstairs to see Mrs. Hudson. He'd come back tomorrow after the two of them had spoken to see what had happened. He needed to get back before Mary wandered in wondering where her husband and daughter had gone.

Molly's head was bowed so she didn't see the smile that John shot her way. He stared at Sherlock's head before heading out.

Sherlock called out her name, aloud this time as he began his short walk over to the sofa where Molly - the client - was sitting. Normally the clients sat in a chair but Molly wasn't normal in any regard.

"Molly…what's the matter?" When she lifted her head he took immediate notice of the tear tracks on her face. She had managed a short smile as she started to get up to talk to him. He waved it away. "No. Sit. You know how this works."

His eyes zoned in on her hands and state of dress. She had been somewhere that required her to dress up, at least in the most casual dress she owned. A lilac sundress which looked lovely on her, he admitted. It wouldn't be Molly if she didn't have to clash to the best dressed fashionista out there. She had chosen a blue jumper with white kittens all over it. Not his favorite. No matter; he was drawn to focusing on the red stains of her hands, and the splash on her clothes.

"Right. I figured you'd be the best person to ask…" She seemed hesitant, something that Sherlock himself could understand. They hadn't exactly been talking lately. He couldn't turn her away though. She was the one asking for his help. A new twist in their ever changing dynamic.

He couldn't help finding it ironic and not nearly as refreshing as it should have been. To be completely honest it's the first time he's helped her with something that wasn't directly involving dead psychopaths. A flash of the last time she was here for guidance hit him strong. He had to shelf it, as he bent down and inspected her hands. "Tell me." He drew in a deep breath, as he realized he'd probably be more resourceful if he tried to remove some of the blood while they were talking.

He rose up as she opened her mouth to begin her tale, her eyes trained on him unsure of if she should wait. As he ducked into the kitchen he called to her to go on. "I'll be just a moment. Keep talking."

Molly wrung her hands as she waited a beat before raising her voice, her throat felt strained as she began telling him her reason for being in this state and what she felt he could do for her.

She had gotten an email from one of her oldest friends from Cardiff. She hadn't been home in a long time. Nor had she spoken to many people from her time living there. A few comments on blog posts or Facebook statuses but other than that there wasn't anyone that she regularly kept up with that wasn't Meena and she saw her nearly every week for lunch. There was one friend who had sent Molly emails regularly however. She got to read them when she wasn't too busy and sent a quick reply if she found anything to say. Her name was Tilly Morrison and she was coming into town for a few days and wanted to have dinner.

Molly hadn't seen much of the outside of her morgue or lab or even her home these days with so much going on that she was happy to take the night to spend some time with an old friend. It would be nice to catch up, and it was.

Tilly had a daughter who was only six years old who she brought along. Tilly had an awful fear of flying or really driving places on her own. So it was up to her daughter to help her out. Her husband had passed away. Molly felt bad for not having reached out during that time but Tilly hadn't told her about any of the arrangements. There has been a few weeks when she hadn't heard from her but that was all. There was a brief mention of him being gone. Molly had sent flowers and a handwritten note to express her sorrow of knowing that Tilly was on her own now.

"You can talk to me about anything. I promise I've held secrets before." It was true for a lot of Molly's life. Including her father's and one of her mother's. Not to mention the detective who had asked her help on more occasions than she could count (somewhere around four big cases, and a few off the record that she wasn't supposed to talk about).

It was shortly after that Tilly had had a cry as her daughter (Millie) had looked on sadly at the topic of her father. She had only met him once when she had gone back home. Tilly had stayed in Cardiff up until this point. It was one of the reasons why Molly felt obligated if not already wanting to meet up with her while she was here. She knew what it was like to go to a new place and notice how different it was from what you already knew. It was a shock to anyone.

She imagined it was worse when you had to figure this all out with only yourself and your kid tagging along. Tilly soon composed herself so that she could grill Molly on what she had been up to. "I work in the morgue. It's not exactly lively."

At that both Tilly and Millie giggled. "Oh Molls you still have that humor. I've missed that."

Molly was glad someone appreciated it. She hadn't pulled one of those out in a long time. "Thank you." She smiled turning to Millie who had the most adorable freckles that were set in a triangle pattern on her right cheek. "Everyone used to think I was weird but your mum thought I was sweet for thinking of such things like the dead."

"You used to wear your hair in these two plaits. It helped your case." Tilly mumbled as she patted Molly's hand. "So…are you seeing anyone Molly?"

Molly shook her head as she tucked her hair behind her ear. She had been thinking of cutting it a bit. "Not for a while. I was engaged last year for a time. Just didn't work out."

Tilly had always been able to catch onto things. Then again most people already knew about her situation with Sherlock Holmes. She didn't think she had mentioned many times, perhaps once but that was about it.

Her friend didn't ask her about Sherlock though. Instead she just smiled at her. "You'll find someone. You of all people deserve to be happy." Molly swallowed down the sadness that washed over her. It didn't last too long. Soon enough they were ordering desserts and drinking the last of the wine – Millie had some juice – their time together for the night was coming to a close.

"Maybe I can show you a bit of the sights they don't tell you about. A friend showed me some newer ones." Molly commented as they were putting on their coats to leave. Tilly made sure that Millie's hat wasn't crooked on her head before taking her hand so that they could step out.

The cool air hit them as the door was pushed open by the small hands of Millie. Molly was looking around for something that she thought she had just had in her hand. "What's up, Molly?" Tilly asked as they were stepping over the threshold of the exit.

Molly laughed at herself. "I think I left my purse at the table. I'll meet you outside." Tilly smiled at Molly. She hadn't changed that much. She sometimes spaced out about the smallest of things. "You sure, we can wait inside."

"Yeah." Molly gestured for her to go. "It'll only take me a few seconds. I know its cold out there." Tilly nodded as she gripped her daughter's hand and rushed to head outside. They would be back inside their warm hotel room soon enough.

Sherlock had never seen Molly visibly this distraught in a long time. Her hands were trembling in his as he wiped the blood away. The light pink of the small basin he had brought in to help get rid of some of the evidence. He wondered if she had noticed anyone looking at her out in the streets on her way here. It didn't appear she called for a cab. Perhaps she had been close. Or she had just taken a longer route to get here. He'd have to inquire about it.

Molly stopped talking for a second, using the hand that he hadn't touched to wipe her face on the sleeve of her jumper. When she resumed she sounded worn out, "I just found them there. Just a little off to the side. No one did anything but stared - of the few that were still out - and I hoped they weren't…but they were. They were dead." She paused, before looking right at him. She had been avoiding his eyes ever since she started telling him what had happened. "There was so much blood. I could see the pain on their faces. There was so much blood," she repeated before looking down at her hands and the basin of water that was no longer clear.

Sherlock had to distract her. She was very close to coming completely undone. She hadn't gotten there yet but he knew she was on the brink of it. He smoothed his thumb over the back of hand. "What killed them? What kind of wounds were they?"

He watched her close her eyes for a moment. It wasn't because she needed to gather herself, she was thinking back. Recreating the crime scene. She had helped him with that before on two short occasions. It helped to visualize. His fingers didn't steady wanting to be sure she didn't immerse herself in that moment. It wasn't going to help her or him, the man she came to in her hour of desperation. She was shaken by it. She responded shortly, "Two different ones. Gunshot and a blade. There wasn't enough light to tell but the people who did it were gone."

"You think it's more than one person." It wasn't a question, just an assessment to make sure he had heard her right.

"It's not an impossibility." She leaned her head back and looked at the ceiling. Sherlock took the time to switch to the other hand. He had cleaned most of it. There was still some caked under her nails. That would be her choice to clean it. He knew that she would, it was what she was used to.

He hummed as he resumed what he was doing. "Anyone else who knew she was going to be in the city? You mentioned a dead husband. What was he like?"

"On the few occasions - mostly in passing - that I met him he seemed alright. Normal bloke. Didn't have any warning signs appearing over his head." She let out a small laugh. "I didn't really go home much. Tilly talked about him tonight though. She was grateful for having him in her life for as long as she did. But, I don't think there was anyone else. She just wanted to come to London at least once with her daughter. That's all she wanted." Molly sniffled.

Sherlock stopped moving for a second as he looked up at Molly. She was back to avoiding his gaze again; a gesture that he understood more than he wanted to admit right now. Even still, he wanted her to understand him for one moment.

"Molly." He muttered quietly. "Molly, would you look at me for a moment."

She did so very slowly. There was so many emotions swimming through those muddy brown eyes of hers. She slowly sat straighter, waiting for him. She was always waiting for him.

His eyes were laser focused on her and this moment because he knew it would change the tone for everything that followed – in this investigation, and in the place he wanted to get to – it truly mattered. "I'm not going to let you down. I'm going to find out who killed Tilly and Millie. I'm going to find out who hurt you this way. It's my one promise to you that I won't fail at because I owe you that much. For all the bullshit I've put you through." His hands pressed into hers when she began to shake her head at him. "You deserve this one thing on top of many things. I promise you this, Molly."

"And if you fail?" Molly was one of the few who could ask him that he not immediately blow up at them. Failure was not an option here. He didn't want to see this image of her again. Utterly broken and hopeless.

He removed his hands, and picked up the bowl from off the floor. He rose to his full height. He was towering over her he realized so he bent down just a smidge, and put a hand on her head. He didn't muss it up, he just leveled his hand there. "I won't."