Chapter 3: Investigating vs. Violating

The cab ride to Molly Hooper's flat was relatively short; it was only two blocks away from St. Bart's. Since The Fall, John and Molly had grown closer and became very good friends. When Sherlock had returned, John couldn't find it in his heart to be angry with her, for he knew that she really hadn't any choice. He truly hoped that Molly was all right, and not hurt in any way. But it seemed that his worry was nothing compared to that of the consulting detective sitting beside him. He looked ready to positively shoot out of the cab the moment Molly's building was in sight.

During the short ride, John tried to think of what exactly was going on. He knew better than to try and ask Sherlock now, not until they knew where and how Molly was. Going over Sherlock's behavior thus far, John could only come to one conclusion, but he immediately regarded it as impossible. If this were not Sherlock, John would say without a doubt that Molly had herself an admirer. But this was Sherlock, the man who had said, time after time, that his work was all he cared about, that he hated sentiment and emotions and would never indulge in them. Perhaps he was asexual, even.

Also, John was not even sure that Molly was still besotted with Sherlock. The way she was with him after The Fall was quite a bit different to how she had been before. She no longer stuttered when speaking to him, only blushed once and a while, and certainly did not let him walk all over her. Then again, he hadn't really tried to. True, he had his moments of being an ass, but Molly would put him in his placer quicker (and even with greater effect) than John. But overall, Sherlock's behavior greatly improved when around Molly.

The both of them had certainly changed, especially with each other. John was pretty sure that had everything to do with the fact that Molly had taken Sherlock in for a while after The Fall. He knew the trials and tribulations of living with Sherlock Holmes, but he couldn't imagine housing a Sherlock who had to be completely cooped up, hidden, and also physically weak. He shuddered at the thought.

No wonder Molly was among the strongest, trustworthy people worthy of respect that he knew, and that was saying something for the veteran soldier.

Thinking all of this over, another theory formed in John's mind. Though it seemed more plausible, he certainly hoped it wasn't true. What if Sherlock wanted the old Molly back? The Molly more easy to manipulate through flattery and intimidation in order to get what he wanted? John had to bite back a groan at such a thought. That would be low, even for Sherlock, and he wished he could rule it out more quickly than his first theory. Unfortunately, he couldn't.

But, if this was Sherlock's intention, why would Sherlock ask him to come along? Sherlock knew that John would do all in his power to stop him doing something like that.

Not for the first time, John wished that his mind, which Sherlock so loved to call "barely used," were of the same caliber as his best mate.

True to John's prediction, Sherlock shot out of the cab the moment the car began to slow down outside of Molly's building. Annoyed at this – and the fact that Sherlock had left him to pay – John was soon following Sherlock into the building and up to Molly's flat.

Sherlock no short of pounded on her front door when he arrived at it. "Molly! Open the door!"

No answer.

He pounded again. "Molly!"

"Sherlock, she may not even be home!" said John in exasperation.

Immediately, Sherlock pressed his ear to the door and listened. "All I hear is the cat," said Sherlock. He then pulled out a paper clip and scalpel from his Belstaff coat pocket and went to work on the lock.

"Sherlock!" cried John. "You can't violate her privacy like that; she's your friend and trusts you!"

"And what if she can't come to the door, John?" asked Sherlock, not pausing in his careful and expert lock-picking. "What if she is hurt or in trouble? It's not violating, it's investigating."

John sighed, knowing that there was no point in arguing. "Fine," he said, crossing his arms and resting his back against the opposite wall. "Call me if something is wrong, but I'm not violating her personal space without a good reason."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, opened the door and went inside, the door nearly swinging shut behind him.

John gave him thirty seconds before calling into the flat, "Anything wrong?"

"Molly's not here," came Sherlock's curt reply. "No sign of foul play or injury."

"Good," said John. "Then come on. You've no reason to be in there anymore."

No reply. John was sure he heard Sherlock flip through the pages of some kind of book. This was the last straw, so now he was the one who pounded on the door. "Sherlock, get out here before I drag you out, and you know I can!"

A few seconds later, Sherlock nearly pummeled John when he left Molly's apartment, slamming the door shut behind him. "And you say I have a flair for the dramatic," he grumbled.

When the two of them were back on the sidewalk outside of Molly's building. "Did you at least figure anything out while you were snooping?"

"Investigating, John," said Sherlock. "Take out your phone, I need you to look up a name."

John took out his phone and opened the Web application. "What's the name?"

"Dr. Hing is all it read. Must work at St. Bart's, Molly wouldn't go to another hospital."

"What are you talking about, Sherlock?" John muttered distractedly as he typed in the name.

"I found her day planner. Nothing listed for today, but yesterday she wrote down an appointment time with a Dr. Hing just after her morning shift."

John just gave Sherlock a disgusted look; that explained the page-turning he had heard. Knowing anything reproach would fall on deaf ears, John just finished typing and looked at the first result. "Yep, there's a Dr. Susan Hing at St. Bart's…hmm. She's an endocrinologist. I wonder why Molly would –"

"Shut up, John," snapped Sherlock, holding up his hands and closing his eyes. "I need to go into my mind palace."

With that, Sherlock became completely still, his palms pressed together under his chin in his signature thinking pose standing. Now all John could do was stand next to Sherlock and give a friendly smile to the passersby who looked at Sherlock warily. John really hoped that they would not be standing there for hours.

Thankfully, Sherlock was only in his mind palace for a few minutes before emerging with a more determined look than ever. "Taxi!" he cried, holding up his arm to an approaching cab.

"Where are we going now?" asked John, not sure that this next part of their journey would be nearly as amusing as the beginning had been.

"Kensington Gardens."