Hello everyone! Thank you all very much for the continued support on this story. I am enjoying writing it very much. I am trying to slowly unfold the Sherlolly aspect, but don't you worry, it's on it's way.

0o0

Molly dropped her overnight bag at the foot of the bed in the room that had once been John's seconds before throwing herself on its surface. She pushed her face into the soft pillow, so hard she almost couldn't breathe.

From the haunting message on the television to the discovery of Toby, today had been the longest day of her life. All Molly wanted to do was sleep, but her mind wouldn't hush.

Ten minutes earlier, Sherlock had answered the door of 221b with a smirk. Seeing her standing on his doorstep with her overnight bag had been expected, however Sherlock had been surprised at how quickly Molly had changed her mind. The pathologist had left in a storm of bravado, but he knew deep down that she would have realised the truth eventually and have no choice but to come running back metaphorical tail between her legs.

Sherlock was half way through a rousing 'I told you so' when Molly had burst into tears. Crying women were not his forte, not in the slightest, but Sherlock found himself stopping mid sentence and collecting the devastated woman in his arms, patting her on the back awkwardly. It was what his mother enjoyed when she was upset, and the one time he had tried it on a stressed and disheveled Mary it had eased her. It took longer with Molly, but she calmed eventually.

"They killed Toby" she whispered sadly. Sherlock recognised the name, but took a while to connect the name to Molly's feline companion. "It's him isn't it? Jim? I mean, who else would break into my house and..."

Molly had dissolved into tears again. Sherlock deposited her on the couch before crossing to his collections of case files on the desk. In the forty-five minutes between Molly leaving and returning again, Sherlock had retrieved everything he had collected about Moriarty with the intention of identifying patterns.

Molly had regained her composure and dismissed herself to John's room. Sherlock didn't even notice.

And now she lay on John's old bed, trying to ignore the events of the day. It hadn't been easy returning to Baker Street, but she knew that at a fundamental level, Sherlock had been right. The game had changed, and while she was sure she could look out for herself, being close to Sherlock was in her best interest. At least for a few days. Once sherlock knew exactly what was going on, she would be able to put strategies in place to look after herself. She needed Sherlock's knowledge to protect her.

He had hugged her. That was the second time he had held her to his body, but the first time that he had started it. The first time the pair had hugged had been the day of the fall. Sherlock had thanked her for all of her work and planning. And she had thrown herself into Sherlock's arms without thinking. He had awkwardly returned the hug that day too.

While today's hug had been tense and unsure, Molly could not deny the comfort she felt in it. Confusion was the winning emotion in her mind these days, but in the 30 seconds of that hug, downstairs in the living room, she had felt clarity for the first time in a long while.

The door opened suddenly, and Molly made to roll over and give Sherlock a piece of her mind in relation to invasions of primacy. She stopped, however, when she saw him struggling with balancing a tray in his arms. Tea and a few biscuits were on it.

He placed them on the bedside table silently, looked at her awkwardly, then turned to leave the room again.

"Thank you Sherlock." Molly said to his retreating back.

His only response was to pick up her house keys from the small table by the door.

0o0

"He killed her cat?"

"Someone did." Sherlock replied as he took the stairs outside of Molly's house. John tried to keep up, but his legs were shorter than the Consulting detectives. "We have no proof that it was Moriarty, yet."

"But why her cat?" John asked, trying to hide that he was slightly out of breath as he caught up.

"Jim Moriarty underestimated the importance of Molly last time. He used her to get to me and when he realised that she had no control or power, he dismissed her, never to think of her again. That was his first and biggest mistake, as Molly ended up being a major player in the whole fall, as you now know." He opened the door before him and entered, John following close behind. "He's not going to be fooled twice."

"Yes, but why her cat?"

"Because its..." Sherlock paused, realisation dawning on his face. "Because her cat is her pressure point."

Sherlock ignored John as he tried to voice his confusion, pulling his phone from his pocket and dialling his brother.

"What did you say to him!" Sherlock barked as soon as Mycroft answered.

"Hello Sherlock" Mycroft began, "To what do I owe the rudeness?"

"What did you tell him? Moriarty. When you had him in custody. You've admitted that you exchanged information with him. Told him things about me? What did you tell him?"

Mycroft paused. He still regretted the incident his brother referred to. It had seemed like a brilliant idea at the time, to gain intelligence from an enemy, but the harm it had caused was still causing injury.

"Things about you." Mycroft said softly.

"Be specific." Sherlock ordered. "Leave nothing out."

Mycroft took a deep breath. "Where we grew up. Where we went to school. Your strengths and weaknesses in terms of school subjects. Your favourite foods. Where we spent summers as a child. Mother and father's occupations."

"Did you tell him about Redbeard?" Sherlock asked suddenly. Mycroft paused, trying to recall the conversation for years before.

"He asked about childhood pets, so yes, I told him about Redbeard and Winston." He admitted.

"Of course!" Sherlock sighed, everything clicking into place. "That explains how he knew."

John interrupted "Knew what Sherlock?"

"Magnussen" Sherlock began, explaining to both John and his brother who was still listening intently on the phone. "Magnussen knew about Redbeard, my dog who I hadn't thought of in years. After Redbeard had been put down I had forbidden anyone from mentioning him, it hurt too much. Yet he knew"

"Could he have researched that?" John asked. He knew what sherlock was implying, but felt the need to play devil's advocate.

"How? Old vet records. Seems a bit obsessive." Sherlock stated plainly. "No, he got the information from Moriarty. They were working together."

"Possibly." Mycroft began. "Easiest way to find out would be to ask him. But oh wait, I can't do that, can I Sherlock?"

"Oh like you've never killed anyone before" Sherlock sighed. Mycroft cleared his throat guiltily and John smirked. "Dig up all you can on a connection between Magnussen and Moriarty, I fear that link is deeper then just discussion of Captain Redbeard."

Sherlock hung up, glaring at a chuckling John. " 'Captain' Redbeard?"

"Shut up." Sherlock muttered, making his way to Molly's bedroom.

"Was this during your pirate phase?" The chuckle turned to a laugh.

"I said shut up" he snapped again, then turned back to John "How did you know about the pirate thing?"

"Mycroft may have mentioned it." John admitted finally.

"I am going to kill him." Sherlock muttered, continuing toward's Molly's room. "Just consider yourself lucky John, you got to turn your childhood obsession into a successful and rewarding military career. There are no job openings for pirates."

"Don't be like that," John smiled "I am sure ten year old Sherlock would be pleased with the amazing consulting detective career you've developed."

Sherlock's grin at the statement fell rapidly from his face as he looked around Molly's room. Her usually pristine white room was blotched with pink and red bloodstains from the gruesome murder that had taken place.

John released a breath. "Molly discovered this? Poor thing."

Everyone knew how much Molly loved Toby. Sometimes she had spoken of him as though he was a child. John had been concerned that the young pathologist would turn into a crazy cat lady or the longest time, at least until she had met Tom. For Molly to come home to the scene that lay before him would have been heartbreaking.

"Search for clues" was all Sherlock said, "Anything that could prove that it was Moriarty who did this."

They searched her room for quite some time, but there was nothing that would link the crime to the criminal. When John, who had been searching the small bathroom off of her bedroom reentered the space, he was shocked to see Sherlock wrapping the remains of Toby carefully in the ruined blanket.

0o0

Molly wasn't sure when she had fallen asleep, but awoke to the sound of someone moving around in the kitchen downstairs. Checking her phone, she saw that it was actually quite late in the evening. She contemplated just rolling over and returning to sleep, but a grumbling in her stomach stopped her. All she had eaten since lunch had been the few biscuits that Sherlock had provided her with hours before.

Pausing at the door of the kitchen, she saw sherlock bent over his microscope. John had warned her that the kitchen was often turned into a lab, but her scientific mind had no problem with that.

"Stop staring, it's distracting" Sherlock said, not even looking up from his microscope. It was the same tone he used many times at the lab, so the sharpness of his voice did not alarm her. She also didn't feel the need to apologise, merely crossing to the fridge and opening it.

"John got Chinese" Sherlock informed her. "Enough for you. More than enough, as I haven't touched my share."

Molly took the plastic containers out and inspected them briefly before retrieving a plate. On a whim, she also took a second plate down.

"We found no evidence of Moriarty at your place" Sherlock began. He had realised that she was preparing two plates, but did not say anything. "But I assure you we'll get to the bottom of it."

Molly nodded as she heated the first plate in the microwave. "What are you working on?"

Sherlock hesitated, unsure of how to phrase it. He justified to himself that she was a scientific mind and would understand. "I took a sample of Toby's blood. I am testing it to see if there were any abnormalities."

Molly gasped softly but nodded. It was a logical step to do so, but the admittance that the testing was happening in the kitchen was a shock. "Anything yet?"

"I believe Toby was poisoned first." Sherlock began. "I found a concentration of poison that would have been fatal to a cat the size of Toby... Which means he was more then likely dead before he was ripped..."

Sherlock had gone silent. Molly realised that for possibly the first time in the history of them knowing each other, he was trying to spare her feelings.

"That's a slight comfort" Molly said carefully. "He died before..."

Now she was silent, unable to continue. The microwave beeped and she removed the plate and placed it beside Sherlock. He thanked her quickly.

"There's something else" Sherlock rushed, reaching for a box that was on the floor. Molly eyed it suspiciously as he placed it on the table. The detective was not forthcoming with the information, so Molly reached for the heavy cardboard lid. Sherlock stopped her. "It's Toby."

Molly sobbed, a tear rolling down her cheek. Toby was in that box. Sherlock had put her cat in a box and brought him home. She stared at the box, unmoving for the longest of times. Why had sherlock done this? Was it to hurt her? To torture her? Was he going to do tests and experiments on the poor body? She didn't understand. The microwaved beeped but Molly ignored it. She wouldn't be able to eat knowing what was in the box on the table.

"Why?" She choked out eventually, tears still running silently down her cheeks.

"Mrs Hudson has a small garden in her courtyard." He began, standing and placing a hand gently on hers. "I thought that maybe Toby deserved a proper burial."

Fresh tears streamed down her cheeks, but this time they were not for Toby, but for the touching gesture Sherlock had just suggested.