"We will need to get top people on this," Mycroft was talking into his mobile.

Sherlock sneered at this. Top people indeed. Top morons, more like.

"Yes...get him on it straight away. And Honeychurch. Yes, him. I'll be there in..." he glanced at his watch, "at a quarter past," and he hung up.

He looked at his little brother. Dreadful situation, this. He hadn't anticipated it, & now he had to worry about Sherlock & his silly friends. He loved his brother, to be sure, but the trouble & worry he exhausted in his name was bordering ridiculous.

"Got her," said John Watson.

In he walked with his wife & Molly Hooper.

Sherlock was stationed at his laptop, & didn't bother looking up.

"If this is about Moriarty..." she began.

"No, Miss Hooper. It's about your former fiancée," Mycroft interrupted. "When was the last time you saw him?"

Molly's face was impassive. "I...well, a few weeks, I guess."

Sherlock rose. "It appears he's gone missing. Mycroft, show her."

A card of sorts was handed to Molly. She took it, examined it, & laughed. "Well. He's a bit more interesting than I gave him credit for."

"Molly, this is important. How much do you know about him?"

"I was engaged to him, Sherlock. I'd wager quite a bit," she handed the card which detailed Tom's name & background. "I can't help it if he's gotten himself mixed up in this sort of thing. It's nothing to do with me," she turned to Mycroft. "Is that all?"

He nodded.

"Good. I need to be off."

Sherlock attempted to move in her direction, but his brother stuck his umbrella out to stop him. He lowered his eyes.

"Well. Shall I hang about?" John was anxious to get Mary home.

"No," replied Sherlock. "No...I'll text you if anything comes up."

The Watson's left.

"How long?" Mycroft began.

"Sorry?"

"How long, brother?"

"Perhaps I'll fetch Mrs. Hudson. The two of you can speak in code together."

Mycroft cleared his throat. "How long have you been in love with Molly Hooper?"

Sherlock looked at him. "Don't be ridiculous. Love?" He laughed.

"Love. Yes." He wasn't being condescending. He looked at Sherlock quizzically as he prepared to leave.

Sherlock rubbed his face, sat back in his chair, & looked at the ceiling.

"Dunno. Never been before."

"Well, as I understand, it's quite taxing, however, it has it's benefits," he smiled. "You know where to find me." And he left.

Find Mycroft. Sherlock considered this. Mycroft knew him quite well. As well as John, & with John being...occupied, perhaps he might be able to go to him, should the need present itself.

But what for? In love? Silly thought. He dismissed it. He considered it. Dismissed it again.

Irritated, he rose & obtained his violin. She was hardly frazzled at Tom's possible involvement with Moriarty, no matter how distantly. She was so altered from the Molly he knew a few years ago. He began to play...she was stronger, more confident, funny. Damn Mycroft & his assumptions.

A tune emerged from the instrument, & on Baker Street, the day died down.

Somewhere, many blocks away, a pretty pathologist was having a laugh at her former fiancée, a rather uptight government employee, & an adorable detective, & had no idea that he was considering her as well.