Although there was a part of him that wanted to just stay at home with Rosie for the next few days -Weeks? Months?- to recuperate from whatever the hell he had just experienced over the past twenty-four or so hours, he couldn't bring himself to do that. After all, that was pretty much the exact same thing he had done after Mary's death and he had ended up isolating himself from everyone around him.
And so that is why at eight o'clock the next morning after Sherrinford, John finds himself walking the streets of London after leaving Rosie with Mike Stamford and his wife so that he could go and see how Molly was doing and possibly explain what that bloody phone call had been about. Despite the fact that Molly hadn't necessarily been there per se, what Eurus did to her was still undeniably cruel. And given how John knew she felt about Sherlock, he knew that she probably wasn't doing well. Who wouldn't, he thought to himself as he began to see Molly's flat come into view.
As he got closer to Molly's home, he briefly wondered where Sherlock was. After all, his sister had blown up his flat, and he had certainly not stayed over at John's last night. Not that John hadn't offered, but when he had mentioned Sherlock had said that he had things to do and probably wouldn't be in touch the rest of the night. The best he could figure was that he and Mycroft had gone over to their parents house to explain what had happened. But other than that guess, he had no idea where his best friend was.
Arriving at her doorstep, John knocked once, twice, three times only to be met with complete silence. He rapped his hand once more upon the door and this time he was met with a rather loud and forceful "Shit!" from somewhere inside the small flat. Alarmed, John called out, "Molly are you okay?"
He heard some hurried footsteps and then the door in front of him opened just wide enough for John to see Molly's face peering out at him. "Yes." She said, out of breath and her cheeks bright red. Molly shook her head. "Sorry, hello, John. Is there . . . err . . . is there something you needed?"
"I just wanted to see . . ." John began only to stop as Molly gave a small yelp and disappeared from view and have Sherlock of all people take her place.
"You wanted to see how Molly was faring after what happened yesterday, yes, obvious." Sherlock said, and John noted that he looked just as flushed and out of breath as Molly did. "Now would you please leave? You rudely interrupted us while we were having sexual relations." John froze, and in the background he heard Molly giggle and give a soft "oh my god."
"R-Right. Err, when exactly should I?" come back is what he didn't say, but he knew Sherlock would get the message.
"We'll come to you." Sherlock said, and with a sly smile he shut the door, leaving John standing there wondering what the hell had just happened.
"Well," John said to himself after standing there for a few minutes in utter silence. "I guess they worked things out." And with that he turned and walked away, vowing that the next time that he had to go and see Molly, - or Sherlock, come to think of it- he would bloody call first.
