Sherlock stared out the window and looked down on Baker Street. He'd missed the view, missed playing the violin while watching the cars pass. It was good to be back home.
The sound of conversation drifted in from the other side of the room. Here he was, together with all the friends he had successfully saved. Everything was working out perfectly.
The door opened, and he heard Molly's voice…
…introducing someone. Tom? Who was Tom?
But he could deal with socializing later, it was time to face the press. "Ready?" Sherlock asked, and John gave an affirmative reply.
Sherlock turned around, and came face to face with a man who looked disturbingly similar to himself. Sherlock blinked, and extended a hand in greeting. Tom nodded and Sherlock eyed his jacket and scarf suspiciously. He couldn't seem to shake the feeling that he was being replaced, but who could replace Sherlock Holmes?
Sherlock moved past Tom to exit the flat, leaving his friends to their champagne. Much to his displeasure, he felt an unpleasant emotion beginning to rise inside him as Molly's laughter echoed down the hallway. It was something in between annoyance and disappointment, and Sherlock didn't like it.
Was it simply the result of wounded ego, or could there be something more behind this negative reaction to Molly's boyfriend? Either way, the feelings would not be voiced.
"Not saying a word…"