She called John first, he was Rosie's father, so he had a right to know first. Sherlock was with him, and John managed to say that they'd start looking, that they'd call Mycroft, and Sherlock's Homeless Network. She called Lestrade next, and Sally Donovan met her at Tesco's to start questioning people, while Molly and the employees did a thorough search of the store.
Every empty crate, every little girl who turned out to be Not-Rosie made Molly sicker and sicker. She should have kept better watch! It was only a moment, a moment that she'd looked away! Just a few petty seconds was all it took.
"Someone could have snatched her up, someone- someone could be-someone could be hurting her, could be hurting our Rosie-" she fidgeted and covered her mouth with her hands. She sat next to John in the police station. "John I- I -" she couldn't finish the sentence, "I wish it was me," she choked out. "I wish I was the one-"
"Don't say that,"
She looked up at him finally. He looked like thunder, but somehow, Molly couldn't fathom where he got the strength, he maintained his calm.
"Don't say you wish you were taken," he repeated. "You made a mistake, but...we don't know anything yet. She's independent, like her mother. She probably saw something that took her fancy and skipped off." he paused, gathering himself. "I once almost lost her in Harrods, imagine that?"
"I want to do something, i need to be out there helping," Molly insisted.
"In a little while, you and John both can assist Sherlock," Greg promised. "Just need to verify what she was wearing today from both of you, John, since you dressed her, and Molly, since you saw her last."
"Pink pea coat, with strawberries on the lining, purple shirt with a - a monster...thing on the middle of it," John gestured to his chest. "Her shirt has striped sleeves, purple and orange and green and navy. She had on polka-dot leggings, purple and green, and light up shoes." John looked between Greg and Molly. "She picked out her outfit herself."
"That what she was wearing?' Greg asked Molly. "Didn't change at your place?"
"No, no, that's everything. Oh! A headband She had a bright pink headband with a bow on it. She saw it in the shop, and I bought it for her. She was wearing it too."
"Right. Think that's all for now," Greg texted the information to Sally and the others. "Let's go meet up with Sherlock, see if they've come across anything."
Up and down London, in and out of the Tesco, and around the nearby shops they scoured the area. They checked 221b, even the graveyard where Mary was buried, on the off-chance Rosie found her way there. They looked in the pet-shop at Harrods, and Sherlock's Homeless Network scoured the London Zoo, the British Museum and Regent Park, all favorite places for Rosie Watson.
It was a long, sickening day where no one ate, and they all shouted themselves hoarse. Mycroft Holmes even physically joined the search, his PA at his side, stepping along beside him in her high-heels, not at all perturbed by the rain.
The station must have been empty of every inspector there was, or just about. It wasn't until Lestrade got a call, and he waved his torch, shouting (or trying to) for the others to come back towards him.
"Someone found her," he said. He held out his phone to Molly. "Isn't that Wiggins, one of Sherlock's men?"
"Yes! Yes oh yes, that's her, that's him! Where are they?"
"They'll meet us at the Yard, come on, can you text Sherlock?"
"Already am."
Sirens wailing, helicopters whirring overhead, there was quite the procession back to New Scotland Yard.
Three squad cars and Mycroft's town car all came to a screeching halt outside the police station, John tearing up the steps, Sherlock held out his hand for Molly as they followed close behind.
There, a little worse for wear, happily eating chips out of a bag, sat Rosie Watson, swinging her feet while Wiggins leaned against the desk, chin resting on his hands.
John cradled her, weeping softly.
"I went for a walk dad," Rosie said. "Don't cry!" She wiped his eyes with her little hands, and he kissed her fingers.
"You scared us baby girl, you gave us such a fright..." he murmured. "You go on, and- and say sorry to your Aunt Molly,"
Rosie looked at the adults towering over her, realizing that many of them were crying, that even stern old Uncle Mycroft was dripping wet, and his eyes looked red, as if he were trying hard not to.
"Aunt Molly?" she asked timidly.
"Oh my little Rosie," Molly scooped up the little girl, peppering her with kisses, holding her tight as she dared, afraid if she let go the child would disappear. "Darling, oh darling where did you go?" Molly tried to keep from sobbing. 'Baby why did you go?"
"I saw a pinwheel across the street," Rosie answered. "And then I saw a picture of the park on a bus, so I went."
"Oh sweetie, sweetie, you could have been kidnapped, or hit by a car-" Molly murmured, pushing wisps of her hair out of her eyes, those eyes that looked so much like Mary's.
"Found her in the park," Wiggins said. "THat'd be Hyde Park, mind."
"It must have taken you ages!" Sherlock realized the distance, and with Rosie's short legs, she must have taken a number of stops along the way.
"She wouldn't go, so I promised her chips, texted Lestrade soon as I found her," Wiggins went on.
"I didn't mean to scare anyone," Rosie said, quietly. "I'm sorry."
"You go on and, and kiss your Uncle Sherlock, and Uncle Mycroft, and everyone, we were so worried for you."
Rosie looked at the crowd of people who all looked so relieved to see her, and she suddenly realized a very grown-up thing: families are as big as you want them to be, and everyone standing there in that room was her family. She went instantly to her Uncle Sherlock, kissing him gently and hugging him. He cradled her, hugging her tight against his damp coat. He set her down and she ran to Mycroft and Anthea, who both bent and kissed her. She smooth down Mycroft's collar, tutted his red nose and told Anthea he must have tea and a hot bath. She kissed Greg and Sally, and hugged all of the officers and Sherlock's network. That was the sort of girl Rosie was. Nobody got left out.
She promised everyone a plate of cookies, and Molly promised to help her make them.
John carried her out to the car, Sherlock and Molly close behind, and they headed back to 221b.
They saw John and Rosie upstairs, John humming 'Up the Wooden Hill to Bedfordshire', Rosie falling asleep on his shoulder.
"Stay," Sherlock murmured, once the door closed behind father and daughter. "Stay, please?"
"If you like." Molly nodded, and followed him into his flat.
"Tea?" Sherlock asked.
"Rather a bath."
"Me too." He headed to the bathroom, then paused in the doorway. "Coming?"
They sank into the warm water with a sigh, Molly crawled over and curled up against him.
"John doesn't blame you, you know," Sherlock said at last, wrapping his arms around her. "None of us do. This happens to lots of people-"
"But it shouldn't have-"
"It did," Sherlock answered. "And likely, it may happen again. But now is not the time to focus on what-ifs. It's far too depressing to ponder it."
"When she was missing...when I first realized...I felt...I felt the same as if she'd been mine...I felt like I'd lost my own daughter."
He kissed her forehead, brushing aside her wet hair from her neck.
"You're not wrong to think that," he said, before she had a chance to ask it. "Ever since Mary died...you've become a sort of mother figure to her. John said so."
"Did he?" Molly looked up at him. "Did he really?"
"He did." Sherlock nodded. "He thinks you'll be a good mum someday, if we ever have children."
"Oh lawks," Molly gave a watery laugh. "There's a laugh, us having children, after the day we've had."
"So...you don't..." Sherlock didn't finish the thought, so Molly sat up a little.
"Do you?"
"I am certain of two things, Molly Hooper: that you are the only woman I have ever loved, and that I want to have a family with you."
"Well, there's a thing," she chuckled. She leaned back against him, sighing tiredly. "Let's talk about it in the morning, hey?"
"But do you want children?" he asked. "For all the worries, the expense, the noise, the mess, the constant what ifs and heartbreaks...it's worth it, isn't it?"
Molly smiled against him, then looked up, meeting his gaze. "Yes, Sherlock, it's worth it."