Hey guys. I wanted to clear up a little confusion, with a clue. This story is going to make less sense if Sherlock is your only exposure to Cumberbatch's work, and Cumberbatch in general. It all has a point, I promise you. LOL Hopefully if you fall into that category, then you might be inspired to check out more of said work. He's worth it, I promise you.

Anyway, on with the show.

Chapter 3

Sherlock stepped into the room and was terribly upset that he didn't find John.

He was more upset by what he DID find.

"What the hell are you doing here, Mycroft? " Sherlock bit out.

Mycroft sat back in a large leather wing back chair and smirked up at his very irate little brother.

"Come now Sherlock. You know better. John isn't here anymore. He's moved on. "

Sherlock couldn't fathom that. Suddenly, his mind saw images he couldn't possibly have witnessed.

"Mary. "

"Yes. Mary. "

"So where is he now? "

"Somewhere in this obnoxious place, I would imagine. You'll have to find him yourself. "

Sherlock grumbled and ran his hand through his already rumpled curls.

"You positive its John you are looking for? "

Sherlock turned and glared at his brother.

"I need my assistant. "

"Do you? What precisely for? "

"I need to work this out. This... " Sherlock lifted his hands, palms up and waving in every direction, " Is not my mind palace. Nothing is where it should be. There are things here that shouldn't be here. I need John to ... "

"Help you find your way home? "

Sherlock almost, but not quite...pouted.

"Maybe."

"I think you will find that home is a completely evolutionary concept, Sherlock. "

"What do you mean? "

"You aren't searching for 221B...are you? "

"Im not sure exactly what I am ... Hell, I'm not sure of much of anything anymore. 221B isn't...221B anymore. Not exactly. And there was a stranger in there. I'm not sure where I am or what to look for."

"What ARE you sure of? "

"I just told you. Dammit Mycroft, do listen. "

"You said not MUCH of anything. I can only surmise from that that there is something you are sure of. "

Sherlock began to pace.

"Its all too much. Its as if I have fallen through Alice's looking glass. "

"Back on the sauce? "

"No, Mycroft. But thank you for the touching concern. "

"Of course I am concerned about you. "

"Then help me find where John went off to. "

"John has another life to lead, Sherlock. You can't forever depend on him. "

"Why not? "

Mycroft shook his head and sighed.

"He hasn't deserted you. He'll always believe in you. "

"I'm sure of that... "

Suddenly a light shown in Sherlock's eyes.

"Welcome back to your senses, brother mine. Figured out what you need? Who you can count on? "

"Molly. "

"Yes. The ever helpful Miss Hooper. "

"I have no idea where to find her in this place. "

"Call for her. "

"What? " Sherlock looked at Mycroft like he'd lost his mind.

Mycroft raised a brow at him and pursed his lips.

"Fine. Go three rooms past the next left turn. "

"Molly will be there. "

"In a manner of speaking. "

"What is that supposed to mean? "

Mycroft didn't answer, just motioned towards the door.

Sherlock left the room, going in the direction he was given. He opened the door and walked into a room that looked remarkably like the morgue.

His eyes scanned the room for any sight of Molly.

"Molly? " He called out anxiously.

No answer.

He walked through the side door in search of her. Through them was the lab. He walked over the his favorite table. The microscope as he'd left it. Beside it, a cup of still steaming coffee. Black, two sugars he was willing to bet.

"Molly? " He called out, hating how hopeless he sounded.

He suddenly heard her voice. Faint and distant. Not totally there.

"Molly? " His own voice sounding suddenly foreign to him.

"I don't count. "

Ah... Sherlock realized with a curse falling from his lips. Damned memory.

How could she think she didn't matter to him.

Sherlock plopped down in his lab chair, still feeling her steady presence beside him. His eyes slid closed and his chest began to hurt.

Every insult he hurled at her, intended or not, hit him in the gut. Every relationship she'd tried to have that he ruined because the man " got in his way", or left Molly less accessible to him...

How could she NOT believe she'd matter to him.

He did try to rectify that. His eyes opened and he looked towards the doors.

"You do count. You've always counted and I've always trusted you. "

She didn't look like she believed him. Not even a little. But still...

"Tell me whats wrong. Tell me what you need. "

"You. "

Of course Sherlock know Molly was in love with him. But even when he was being truthful that she mattered, he still told her this just before using her for her assistance again.

He knew she was watching as he fell from the roof. Could only imagine what she felt at that moment.

Knew she would be destroyed if his plan didn't work.

A thought suddenly dawned on him.

DID it work, or did he truly fall to his death.

Was he possibly in some warped form of hell?

And if so, he'd just made the woman who loved him more than anything in the world watch it happen, instead of being blissfully unaware inside her morgue.

The thought actually brought Sherlock to his knees.

"Molly... I'm so...so...sorry. " He whispered burying his head in his hands.

Suddenly his head came up and stark terror gripped him.

Mycroft said Molly was here. If this was hell, why was Molly here?

The implications made Sherlock's eyes widen and his breath hitch.

Suddenly, finding Molly was the only thing that mattered. Forget the stranger in his flat. Forget the strange arrangement of rooms and strangers. He had to get to her. He had to SHOW her that she mattered.

He was still not sure if hell was real, but whatever this place was was close enough to it for him. He wasn't taking chances. He swore to anyone who might be listening or not, that he would find her, beg her forgiveness, and love her as she deserved. When he got them both out of here.

Wherever here is..

He ran from the rooms back into the hallway. He went to the next door he came to and ran in. He immediately lost his footing as the floor seemed to move. He looked up in wonder as he wasn't in a room, but the deck of a very large vessel. A man stood at the railings peering out into the ocean's expanse.

"Who the hell are you, now? " Sherlock asked exasperated.

The man turned around and looked down his nose at him.

"Names Talbot. Edmund Talbot, and I will thank you not to use that tone, if you please. How did you get here? Did we take on new passengers while I slept last night? Is by any chance Miss Chumley with you? "

He looked so hopeful, Sherlock could only stare.

Shaking himself out of it, he shook his head and observed the man. Each of these rooms holds something. Like a puzzle. Perhaps they were pieces he needed to find Molly.

He didn't see how this young chap could help, but at this point... he'd try anything.