Chapter One: No Time For Lost Fathers
Things had changed since Sherlock had returned from his four minute exile, though Sherlock would be the first to say that he was surprised at just what those changes were. It wasn't the fact that John was now married, or Mary having given birth to their daughter; Elisabeth Jane Watson, or Lizzie Jane.
It wasn't even the fact that he had actually killed a man; though that event still plagued his mind constantly. No, it was his ever growing friendship with Molly Hooper.
The nature of their relationship had already changed once before, when he had returned from his two years of being 'dead.' They had actually formed a tentative friendship that had only grown, turning into whatever it was they had now. No one seemed to agree on just what they had; a friendship, a relationship beyond mere admiration. The label changed depending on who you talked to.
To most they were simply close friends, though there were exceptions. Greg Lestrade called Molly Sherlock's living skull, Mrs Hudson said they were friends and colleagues, John and Mary insisted that the two were well on their way into the bedroom, while Anderson swore up and down they were already there. But to Molly and Sherlock….they were just that, Molly and Sherlock.
It wasn't all that strange to find Sherlock at Molly's, camped out in her room while she watched inane reality shows. Just as it was hardly shocking to find Molly over at 221, anymore it was where she was most days when she wasn't at Bart's.
Molly had taken it upon herself to keep watch over Sherlock. Maybe it was just because she cared for him, or the fact that Moriarty was back, but Molly decided that it was her duty to make sure he ate and slept. Funnily enough, it also became her job to fill in for John on cases when the aforementioned doctor was unavailable.
For Sherlock's part, he found that he enjoyed the woman's company far too much to allow her out of his life. She understood him in a way that few ever had; all of his quirks and unusual habits, and she more often than not found them endearing.
The fact was, whatever the proper title for them, neither of them cared. They loved and cared for each other, and that was all there was to it.
Molly curled herself up a bit more, pulling the blanket up to tuck under her legs. For some reason there was always a bit of a chill in 221B; even when there was a fire in the hearth, which there currently was not, but Molly was too tired to rectify the situation.
She had ended up working a double shift because her colleague had called in sick, and Molly being Molly, had readily agreed to fill in. She was regretting it now, as she knew she would, as her legs and back ached. Thankfully Sherlock's chair was the best place to rest her tired body, though it was too bad she wouldn't be able to convince the consulting detective to start a fire for her.
Had she even asked, Sherlock wouldn't have heard her. Currently he had his face pressed almost flush with the table in the kitchen as he worked on one of his various experiments; this time a study in maggots in relation to the decomposition of poisoned flesh. It was quite fascinating actually.
Sherlock was just about to cut into a fairly large maggot when the doorbell chimed throughout the flat. The scalpel dropped from his hand, the squirming maggot making a successful escape to the corner of the dish it was in, all while Sherlock looked up and gave the woman in the other room a withering glare.
"You had the bell fixed, didn't you?" He never understood why everyone thought that damned bell was necessary. The bloody thing was a nuisance, always ringing at the most inopportune time, such as that moment.
"Of course I did. Really Sherlock, the amount of times you have disabled the thing and made Mrs Hudson pay for it is embarrassing." Molly couldn't believe the stories Martha and John had about what Sherlock had done to the bell. From shooting it to rigging it so it would short out when it was pushed, he had done just about everything imaginable.
"I've never asked her to fix it; you would think the old woman would take a hint that I despise the thing." He wasn't sure what he would have to do, but he was close to making it give a minor shock whenever it was pushed. Maybe if Mrs Hudson thought he would actually harm someone she would finally silence the idiotic device.
"Oh, she has taken the hint, but she doesn't care. You need the doorbell, end of discussion." Sometimes it was like dealing with a child, always explaining why he wasn't allowed to do something. Molly took it all in stride though, she looked at it much as John did, training for her future children.
"No it isn't, and no I don't. Mrs Hudson is perfectly happy in answering the door for me, she is after all my housekeeper." So she might complain every now and then, but she still answered it. Had it actually irritated her she wouldn't ever bother.
"I don't know why she puts up with you, why any of us do really." Molly rolled her eyes at the look Sherlock sent her way, his irritation quickly giving way to something that on anyone else could be considered flirtatious.
"Because you all love and adore me, and your lives would be boring if I were gone." Sherlock winked, watching as a slight pink hue rose up Molly's neck and to her cheeks. He had noticed the same thing happen on multiple occasions, mainly when he said or did something that flustered her. At first it had been annoying; he really didn't need some woman fawning over him. Though lately Sherlock found that he enjoyed the look on her and endeavored to cause it to happen as often as he could.
"It is really troubling how true that actually is. Still, Mrs Hudson isn't your housekeeper, and you need that bloody bell." She turned her head away from the smirking detective, trying to mentally will her cheeks to cool down. It wasn't fair that he could still do that to her. She wished she could find one thing, just one damn thing that would fluster him. At least short of shedding all her clothes; though she would be lying if she said that she had never thought about it.
The doorbell rang again and again, and after a moment Molly flung herself from the chair and stomped downstairs.
"Oh fine, I'll just get it. I mean it is not like I've spent two shifts on my feet with my arms elbows deep in dead bodies." Molly ignored the insincere words of thanks from the kitchen and flung open the door once she had made her way fully downstairs.
For a moment everything was quiet as Molly stood there wide-eyed at the little girl standing soaked to the bone, tears pouring down her face.
"Is this 221B Baker Street, Ma'am?" The little girl rung her hands nervously as she stood there in the rain, her boot clad feet bouncing back and forth as she tried to keep herself warm.
"Uh, yes…Can I help you?" Seeing the little girl's distress finally knocked the shock from Molly. It wasn't as though Sherlock had never had children come to him for help, but it was always a surprise when it happened.
"I need to see Mr Holmes, is he home?" A shiver ran up her spine, after going all that way she hoped he was home. She was tired and cold, and her boots were pinching her toes.
"Uh, yeah, yeah he is, um come on in." Molly held the door open, allowing the girl to step inside and out of the rain.
"Th-thank you…?" Pushing back her thick mane of red hair, the young girl looked up with a question in her eyes.
"Oh, I'm Molly Hooper, and what is your name?" Molly leaned down, looking past the dripping red hair. She was sure once dry the girl's hair was probably a wild mass of curls.
"Lidia Montgomery, Ma'am." Lidia pushed her hair back again, annoyed at it. Her daddy normally tied it back for her to keep it out of the way. She had tried to do it herself, but all she had managed to do was make a big mess of knots.
"Well Lidia, follow me, Mr Holmes is just upstairs." Standing up, Molly led the little girl up the steps to Sherlock's flat. Every couple of steps she would look behind her, expecting to see an adult that she may have missed following, but there was no one.
Once upstairs Molly directed her to the kitchen, stopping just in the doorway. Molly allowed herself a soft smile as she noticed that Sherlock had finally caught the runaway maggot, and with scalpel raised was just about to cut it open.
"Uh, Sherlock, I think we've a client." Molly laid a hand on Lidia's shoulders and carefully pushed her forward.
Sherlock looked up from what he was doing and gave the girl a once over, a rather unimpressed expression on his face. Rolling his eyes he looked back down at the maggot, completely ignoring Lidia. Molly removed her hands from the girl's shoulders and placed them on her hips, sending a glare at Sherlock that would have made a weaker man cower.
"Sherlock, I said we've a new client." Molly's voice was hard and it did its job when Sherlock looked up once again, locking eyes with Lidia.
"Alright, what is it you need? Lost dolly, dog, cat, what?" It wasn't that Sherlock hated children, no matter what the public wanted to portray. In fact he found himself drawn to them when they were in the room, at least he did with Lizzie Jane, his Goddaughter. The problem was when they came to him for help. Molly and Mrs Hudson always found it to be…adorable…but to Sherlock it was a waste of time as they always wanted some toy or animal found. The cases were barely even a one.
"It's not a dolly, it's my Daddy!" Lidia stomped her boot clad foot on the floor, crossing her arms over her chest. Daddy had always scolded her for acting such a way, saying that it was childish and the mark of a brat, but at the moment she couldn't have cared less. Her daddy was missing and the man was being rude!
Sherlock rolled his eyes, and immediately returned to his experiment. The child's parents had most likely split and hadn't yet told their daughter. It amazed him how many parents thought it a good idea to lie to their children.
"Surely your Mother knows where he is. In my personal experience the one always keeps tack of the other."
"I don't have a mother." Lidia's voice grew a bit softer. She might not remember her mother, but Daddy had made sure she knew about her; showing her pictures and video, telling her stories.
Sherlock's hand slipped just as he was about to cut the maggot in half, instead nicking his finger with the scalpel. He looked down at the small bead of blood with a grimace, quickly pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to clean it before gathering himself to continue his work. He knew if he chanced a look sideways he would be confronted with a disapproving look from Molly, so instead he focused on the dish before him.
"I'm sorry, but I just don't have time for lost fathers." He heard the weary sigh from Molly, but he refused to be manipulated.
"He isn't lost, he was taken!" Again Lidia stomped her foot, this time much harder. Daddy had always told her that Mr Holmes was a good man that would always help her when needed, but he didn't seem good at all, he was just rude!
Sherlock slowly put down the scalpel, turning around in his chair to once again give the girl a look over. There was something familiar about the full head of bushy red hair and bright blue eyes; the shape of the face and turn of the nose. Something familiar enough to tickle at his mind.
"What did you say your name was again?" Sherlock leaned forward just enough that he was almost eye to eye with the young girl.
"I'm Lidia Montgomery." Lidia puffed out her chest, chin held high.
"Your father wouldn't happen to be Professor Logan Montgomery, would it?" Placing his elbows on his knees, he steepled his hands under his chin. He should have seen it the moment she came in, the hair and facial structure was much the same. Oh there were differences, such as the placement and shape of the ears, but otherwise she was the spitting image of her father.
"Yes, and he was taken!" She was tired of trying to make the man understand. She was cold and wet and she missed her daddy.
Sherlock jumped up from his chair, clapping his hands together as a huge grin came over his face. This was definitely more than a one.
"I'll take the case. Now, go sit by the…" Sherlock waved towards the hearth only to stop short. "Molly why isn't there a fire?" It was chilly in the flat, and while it normally didn't bother him, he knew Molly had trouble keeping warm. He figured it was a side effect to working in a cold morgue all day.
"Sherlock…never mind I'll just go light one shall I?" Molly didn't bother to argue with the man, not when it looked like he was finally taking an interest in the little girl's case. She had been worried there for awhile, mostly after Sherlock continued to brush her off.
"Good, good. Now, Miss Montgomery go sit by the fire, I have a few questions for you." A person such as Professor Montgomery being abducted could never be trivial. Not with the influences and resources that he had at his fingertips.
Lidia stomped into the other room, still angry at Mr Holmes, and plopped herself down in the large black chair.
Molly kneeled down in front of the hearth, quickly working to build up a healthy fire. She leaned back against the heels of her feet for a moment, allowing the ache in her back to fade. She rolled her eyes as Sherlock ignored her, and sat down in John's chair and once again steepled his fingers.
"Now, Miss Montgomery, tell me everything that happened."
Molly leaned back just enough to place one of her hands on the low lying cushion of John's chair. A shiver ran up her spine as Sherlock, still focused on Lidia, placed a hand down to grasp hers in order to help her stand.
It had been like that between the two of them lately. Molly had always been a bit of a touchy person, randomly hugging her friends or leaning against their sides while out and about. Sherlock on the other hand was one of those people that had a personal space of about ten feet in all directions. So it was of course surprising when, close to a month ago, he began to willingly touch her. Not that she minded, not one bit actually.
Molly slid her hand from Sherlock's, watching as he placed it right back against his other one, his eyes intent on Lidia as she spoke. Normally she would have pulled up a chair, pulled out her notebook and starting taking notes. But Lidia's wet clothing and shivering form drove Molly down to 221A, and Mrs Hudson.
The door to her flat was open, as it normally was those days, and Molly walked in to find Mrs Hudson reading by her own fire.
Realizing that someone was in her flat, Mrs Hudson quickly stashed her book between her leg and the arm of the chair, making Molly press her lips together just to keep from laughing. She had caught the older woman before when she was reading, she never would have pegged the motherly woman with liking erotica, though after what Sherlock had told her it really shouldn't have surprised her.
"It's just me." Molly waved a hand in front of her, smiling at the visible relief on the older woman's face.
"Oh, that's good Dear. So did he finally answer his own door?" Not that Martha really needed an answer to her question, she was sure that Sherlock had never really answered a door in his life.
"Are you kidding? I had to get up and answer it, and I worked two shifts today." Molly leaned a bit against the doorframe, wishing for nothing more than a moment of rest.
"I'm sorry. I wish that boy would learn some basic manners." She loved that boy as her own son, but he had truly abhorrent manners. She had had that conversation with his mother, like she had threatened, only it hadn't done very much. Of course Martha wasn't surprised to find out Sherlock had been no better as a child.
"The day he learns how to even say thank you, will be the day the world ends." Well, a well and truly sincere thank you at least. She knew that he appreciated all his friends, but he had trouble saying the actual words. He seemed to be more of an action man when it came to his feelings.
"Sadly true. So, was it a new client?" Pushing her book further down between the cushions, Martha stood up figuring to fix Molly a cup of tea. The poor girl was just about as devoted to her work as Sherlock was, and then after everything she ended her day with helping that ungrateful boy.
"Yes, and um, that was what I've come down here for. It's a little girl, says her father was kidnapped." It bothered Molly, thinking back on how the girl had looked when she opened the door. She had wanted to do nothing but kneel down and wipe the tears off her face.
"Oh dear, the poor thing. Is there anything I can do?" Martha stopped herself before she could enter the kitchen, everything that she could possibly need for the girl running through her head.
"I was hoping you had something we could feed her. Sherlock has been experimenting again, and well, quite frankly I'm scared to see what he has in the fridge." It was always a gamble when one opened the fridge in 221B. Molly swore there were more human body parts in there then there was at Bart's.
"I just don't understand that boy sometimes. Oh well, I think I've got something she could eat."
Martha smiled and motioned Molly into the kitchen. The two quickly gathered a variety of food and headed back upstairs.
Molly would admit that she feared what she would find, having left Sherlock alone with a child for more than five minutes. Visions of fires, tears and broken plates crossed her mind, but what she found was Lidia curled up in the chair with her wet coat still on; Sherlock throwing questions at her left and right, barely taking the time to breathe.
"Sherlock, would you shut up for a minute?" Molly shook her head, she hadn't seen Sherlock this excited about a case in a long time. Of course that didn't necessarily mean anything good.
"Molly, I'm working!" Sherlock waved absentmindedly at Molly, his eyes never leaving the little girl curled up in his chair.
"That is fine, but you can question her later. Right now we need to take care of Lidia." Stepping fully into the room, Molly grabbed a hold of Sherlock's waving hand. She was tempted to smack him with it, but in the end just pressed it down on the arm of the chair.
"Time may be of the essence." Finally removing his eyes from Lidia, Sherlock looked up at the woman beside him. He knew she would never interrupt him unless it was important, still he was sure he was onto something that could change the world as they currently knew it. Of course he didn't tell Molly that, only glared up at her.
"And the girl is still in her wet clothes! I think you can allow us time to get her dry and comfortable." Keeping her eyes focused on Sherlock, Molly refused to move. The little girl needed to be tended to and he would just have to deal with it.
"Fine, have at it." Annoyed, Sherlock stood quickly from the chair, his eyes narrowed. Without another word he stomped his way over to the sofa, flopping down on it in a pout.
Rolling their eyes at the overgrown child, Molly and Mrs Hudson got right to work on getting Lidia out of her coat, dry and sitting at Sherlock's desk with a plate of food; as the kitchen table was still covered with maggots and dead human flesh.
Molly closed off the room, hoping that Lidia hadn't realized just what Sherlock had been working with. They really didn't need to scar the poor girl.
"Do you happen to have any other family that we could call?" Mrs Hudson kneeled down the best she could at Lidia's side, watching on with a wide smile as the girl dung into her meal with gusto.
"No, it is just me and my Daddy." Lidia stuffed a bit of roll into her mouth, careful not to chew with her mouth open. It was hard though, she was just so hungry, and the older lady's cooking was so good.
"Well, you will just have to stay here then." Moving slowly, Martha stood. Her back and hips let out a loud crack, but she ignored it. She had too many things that needed to be prepared for Lidia.
Sherlock sat up quickly, a series of sputtering noises coming from his mouth as he tried to formulate a response. In the end he was only able to spurt out a squeaked, "That is highly inappropriate," before going absolutely quiet.
"Nonsense, she can stay in John's old room. It is a bit dusty, but the bed has clean linens on it. Anyway, since I just live downstairs it will be perfectly fine." Martha waved Sherlock's concerns away, the boy worried and complained about things way too much. In her opinion having a child about would do him some good.
Molly stood by the fire, looking back and forth between Sherlock and Lidia. She decided that Mrs Hudson had to have been high if she thought this was a good idea. Sure, Lidia needed a place to stay, but she was sure that 221B was not it. He was too much of a child himself to be in charge of one on his own.
"Do whatever you want, you're the landlady." Flopping back down onto the sofa, Sherlock turned his back on everyone while curling himself around a pillow. He didn't need some little knee-biter getting under foot. Not now when he had finally found a case worth his time. Couldn't Mrs Hudson house her on her couch, or even Molly?
"Oh, now he remembers!" Martha threw her hands up in the air. It was a wonder his parents had any hair on their heads at all if this was what he was like growing up.
"Um, Mrs Hudson, why don't you go and get the room ready? I'll just watch over these two." Molly sighed when Mrs Hudson didn't argue and simply left. She sat herself back down in Sherlock's chair, finally dried from the roaring fire, and re-covered herself with the blanket. She had a feeling that she wouldn't be getting the rest she had been hoping for. Then again, she should have known better when it came to 221B and Sherlock.
As the evening progressed, Mrs Hudson put a sleepy Lidia to bed, leaving both Molly and Sherlock by the now dying fire. Sherlock had finally finished his pout when he realized that he wouldn't be getting his way, and had reluctantly moved to sit in John's chair. Though if he was being honest the blasted thing was quickly becoming his as Molly seemed to have commandeered his.
"Sherlock, are you alright?" Molly had watched him the rest of the night, and even after his pout he seemed off somehow. She didn't understand it, he had been excited about having a new case, but it seemed the more he thought on it the more bothered he became.
"I'm fine." Sherlock glanced over at Molly, and though he didn't really feel it, he gave her a small smile. He knew out of everyone in his life she could look straight through him, though it never stopped him from trying to pretend around her.
Molly didn't believe him of course, but she knew better than to call him out on it when he looked the way he did. Instead she just looked back into the fire and allowed the silence to come over them again. Within minutes Sherlock stood and began to pace back and forth.
It was only moments later that he came to stand beside her, and placed a hand on her shoulder. Though just until she looked up at him, and then he removed it.
"You better return home, you do have the morning shift tomorrow."
Molly gave him a smile while she stood, but instead of leaving right away she placed a hand on his arm and looked up at him.
"Are you sure you're alright, and please do not lie to me. Remember, I can see through all of that." She squeezed his arm slightly, her fingers digging in just enough to create small wrinkles in the fabric of his shirt.
She had been expecting him to say something along the lines of how much of a bother it was to have the girl staying with him, or maybe that he thought the case wasn't as important as he had originally thought. What he did say however made Molly want to sink back down in the chair and curl up.
"I was just thinking. The fact that Lidia's father is Professor Montgomery, I'm afraid that biological warfare is on the horizon." He had been thinking about it since Lidia revealed who she was, and he had come to only one conclusion.
"What?" Molly's hand and mouth dropped. She had heard of Professor Montgomery in passing, though she had never paid much mind as he didn't work in the same field as her. One of her colleagues had spoken of him a few times, and now she was wishing she had actually listened instead of drifting off into a daydream.
"Professor Logan Montgomery is the leading expert in weaponized pathogens. It can't be a coincidence that he was abducted. There is only one reason to kidnap a man of such expertise, and that is if you are planning on using his knowledge." Knowledge that could bring the entire world to its knees.
"Do you have any idea who might be behind all of this?" Molly felt ill thinking about what she just heard, and found herself wrapping her arms around her stomach.
Sherlock opened his mouth to tell her, but the memory of the night they all found out that Moriarty was alive and the ensuing conversation made him change his mind. Molly had held herself up well, going on and on about how it all had to be a hoax. He of course hadn't bought a word of it, and soon Molly was winding herself up in a panic. He had assured her that he would keep her safe, and that had at least calmed her down, though it hadn't chased away the fear he saw in her eyes.
"No, at the moment I couldn't say."
Molly nodded her head, though she was sure he was lying, and that scared her, because it pretty much confirmed the fears that started pounding away at her mind. But he was trying to be nice and protect her, and she was tired enough at the moment to let him.
"Well, I know you'll figure it out and solve this quickly." Molly placed her hand on his arm again, running it down to his hand before turning and going to the door. It was all just a bit too much at the moment, and so after quick goodbye she left.
Sherlock walked to the window and watched as Molly left, a heavy weight in his stomach. Before the fall Molly was the one person that everyone ignored. Because of that Moriarty had seen her as nothing more than a tool, a means to an end. He had ignored her, saving her life and allowing her to save his. Only now their friendship and her importance to him was well known. It put her in danger, mostly as he was sure Moriarty would be angry at having overlooked something so important.
Sherlock moved from the window once Molly was in a cab, and grabbed his violin as he thought about what the girl had said. Even though he had assured his brother that he had infiltrated and completely dismantled the whole of Moriarty's web, he had lied. There had been one man that he had come close to capturing time and time again, and each time he had gotten away. Sebastian Moran. The last time he had seen him he had been mortally wounded, and Sherlock had hoped he was no longer an issue. Sadly he was beginning to think that he had been wrong.
Still it didn't add up. Moriarty liked control and power. He didn't want to destroy the government, he wanted to own it. So what did he want with Professor Montgomery? Had he completely lost his mind during his exile?
Sitting down in his chair he knew he wouldn't be sleeping much that night.
Author's Note: Ok, sorry this took awhile, I ended up catching a stupid cold and I couldn't think through all the cold meds.
Anyway, here is the new chapter, hope everyone enjoyed it. Also, I hope that Sherlock is not too OOC in this. I wanted them to be more flirty in this one than what I had them in CaA, more like they were already on their way to finding themselves together and comfortable enough in each other's company to flirt and tease.
Next Chapter: Crumbs in lap, left alone, bathroom, research, Sherlock can't say no.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.