Thank you, patient friends, for waiting for this overdue chapter. It is on the short side, but another one is coming this week.
~s~s~s~s~
Sherlock's rich, baritone laughter filled the cab, a welcome sound to John Watson's ears. He hadn't even seen Sherlock crack a smile since Todd McCarthy had re-entered Molly's life. Now the detective chuckled as he recounted how he had told Anderson the real cause of death in the Moore murder case. To say Anderson didn't take the news that he was completely wrong well was an understatement.
John couldn't help smiling, too. Anderson was a prat. "So, who are we going to see now?"
"Hildy Moore, the youngest great-niece of Gertrude Moore. I already know she is not the murderer and will be utterly useless, but I am going to speak with her on the off chance she has any insights into her cousins."
John shot him a sidelong look. For all of Sherlock's shortcomings—and John wasn't blind to any of them—he genuinely liked the consulting detective. The man had brought excitement and purpose into the doctor's life.
As usual, Sherlock was correct. Hildy Moore was a wan young woman with listless brown hair and light blue eyes. Her all-black clothing, heavy eyeliner, and multiple tattoos even looked dull. She regarded the detective and the doctor as interruptions in her day of doing nothing but texting on her mobile at the local park.
"This whole thing with Great Aunt Gert? Whatever," she said dismissively, sitting down on a bench. "If she was a Nazi, we never knew."
"She wasn't a Nazi; she and your entire family collaborated with the Nazis," John corrected her impatiently. The girl shrugged and lit another cigarette.
"That was a like a hundred years ago. Who cares?" She blew smoke out of the corner of her mouth.
Sherlock took a step closer to Hildy. "Some of your older cousins care."
Hildy snorted. "Who, Cyrus? There must be money involved then. Georgina? She's probably stupid enough to think someone is after her because of Aunt Gert."
"What about Michelle and Charles?" Sherlock asked.
"He's excited we have a French history. I don't talk with Michelle."
"You didn't know your family came from France?" John questioned.
"Yeah but I didn't know we were, like, rich over there. But everything got snagged."
"Cyrus and Michelle have claimed certain well-known pieces of art and other valuables were stolen. How did they find out about these pieces?" Sherlock asked.
"Ask them." Hildy shrugged again. "Whatever."
The pair left her bent over her mobile and headed back to their cab.
"I am going to talk to Georgina next," Sherlock announced.
"Right, good. Drop me off at the clinic, all right? I have some patients to see, then I need to go round to St. Bart's. I'll catch up with you at Baker Street."
Sherlock paused as he opened the door. "St. Bart's? What for?"
"I need to speak with Molly about the Angel Wings Ball." John noticed a dark flicker behind Sherlock's icy blue eyes. "Do you want me to give her a message?"
"What would I need to say to Molly Hooper?"
~s~s~s~s~
Molly held the silver bracelet Sherlock had given her up to the level of her eyes and watched the charms sway back and forth. The cat, the book, and the microscope seemed to be mocking her for believing that Sherlock would ever treat her differently, despite this birthday gift. The small star charm in particular seemed to be sadly shaking its head.
She couldn't help it. She felt in her heart that her friendship with the consulting detective had grown past this point, but she couldn't ignore how cruelly he had spoken to her in the lab. It had been a full week since Sherlock had insulted her, and in that time Molly hadn't seen or heard from him. Work had kept her busy, but when she went home at night, her mind preyed on her. She replayed that particular afternoon's events over and over, using Sherlock's own methods to deduce why his attitude toward her had changed so suddenly. But she came up with nothing.
"He has always treated you badly. Why would he stop now?" She slipped the bracelet into her purse. "True north, my arse."
Friendship and caring had to have completely different definitions in what was the odd dictionary Sherlock followed. She knew John was his best friend, and yet, she had seen Sherlock treat the kindhearted doctor as if he was unimportant. She wasn't sure if the detective even knew how to have a real relationship that involved real feelings.
In fact, if Molly knew only one thing for sure it was that Sherlock Holmes had an uncanny ability to make her feel completely miserable in different ways. Not only was she upset with him, she also was unhappy with herself because, in spite of everything, she missed him. And to put a cherry on the top of an already bad week, torrential rain had forced her and Todd to postpone their weekend picnic and sightseeing trip to the village they grew up in.
Seeing how disappointed she was, Todd had tried to make it up to her when he returned to London by taking her shopping. She didn't particularly like shopping or spend a lot of time doing it, but Todd had flashed a credit card and said it was his treat. Now it was Monday morning and she stood in front of the small mirror in the loo at work, staring at the results of their trip to the shops.
Her newly trimmed hair lay down her back in an elegant French braid. A fitted green blouse, looking both professional and stylish, was as comfortable as any of her old cotton pullovers. The smart black slacks seemed to add inches to her height while showing off her curves. Persuaded by a determined woman at the cosmetics counter, Molly had given in and bought a new shade of lipstick called Caribbean Rose. Todd had said it brought out the gold flecks in her brown eyes.
Thinking of Todd's words warmed her. He made her happy. He laughed at her jokes, listened when she spoke, and expressed interest in her opinions. He didn't insult her wardrobe. He didn't tell her that her mouth and breasts were too small.
In other words, he was the polar opposite of Sherlock Holmes. And yet she was in love with the man who treated her very poorly. When Sherlock had snapped at her last week, it had gone beyond his ordinary rudeness. No, there had been something else behind his words.
He had been mean.
If an illustrator were sketching her at that very moment, he would've drawn a little light bulb appearing over her head.
"Sherlock was angry with me!" Molly realized.
The air in the bathroom was warm and heavy with the cloying scent of antibacterial soap. Molly began to pace as she reviewed that afternoon one more time. What on earth had she done to anger him? Sherlock had asked for his test results, and she had obliged. When she returned to the lab, Todd was there and she went to lunch.
Molly rubbed her forehead. Why would her going to lunch with Todd make Sherlock angry?
Unless…
She gasped. Was that it? Was Sherlock angry because she hadn't stayed to help him with his experiment?
But that didn't make sense. He knew where everything was in the lab. In fact, he had recently suggested a new schematic for organizing it. No, her absence wouldn't have held up his work, unless he was upset that she wasn't there to wait on him hand and foot?
"Unbelievable!" she exclaimed. Absorbed in thought, she left the restroom and walked down the hall to her lab. As she rounded the corner, she ran smack into John Watson.
"John!" she cried in surprise. She looked around the doctor's shoulder, hoping to see his tall, dark friend to give him a piece of her mind. And to see how he was.
"He's not here," John said quietly. "I'm really sorry for how he behaved last time."
Molly managed a smile. "You aren't responsible for him."
As they walked toward the lab, John took in Molly's appearance. "You look very nice today. New hair cut?"
"Yes, actually. Todd took me shopping this weekend and I decided to do a bit of a makeover." Molly walked over to her desk and beamed at her friend. "So, what can I do for you?"
"I'm here on behalf of my much better half. Sarah's been volunteering on this year's Angel Wings Ball planning committee and wanted me to give you these." John produced two tickets from his coat pocket. "Would you like to join us at our table?"
Molly smiled wistfully at the gold-embellished tickets dated for that coming Saturday. "I wasn't planning on going."
"Oh?"
"I went the first year I worked here and it was nice and all, but I don't really like to go to dances without a date, you know?"
John nodded. "Well, hold on to the tickets in case you change your mind."
"Tell Sarah I appreciate her thinking of me."
As John turned to leave, the door opened and Todd walked in.
"Well, this is my day for visitors!" Molly laughed. "What are you doing here?"
Todd nodded to John, then turned on a 100-watt smile for Molly. "I'm here to get the keys to your flat!"
"Why?"
"Because I want to make dinner and have it waiting for you when you get home!"
"I'm not going to turn down an offer like that!" Molly exclaimed and went to fish her keys out of her coat pocket.
"Forever in my heart," Todd murmured quietly. He had forgotten John still stood behind him.