'My dear Molly, you must eat something.'

Molly smiled gently at her host, Lady Charlotte Lestrade. 'Thank you, but truly, I am not hungry.'

The gracious blonde simply nodded, though her furrowed brow betrayed her worry. Molly sighed and acquiesced, taking a biscuit from the tray on the table between them.

'Tell me, Molly,' Charlotte began, 'is there anything I can do? You were an irreplaceable support during my separation from Gregory, I wish to be the same for you.'

Molly blinked back the sudden sting of tears and turned her head to look out the window over the bustling London street. The sides of her lips trembled and she swallowed hard. 'Thank you, Charlotte. But I am afraid there is nothing worth salvaging from my sham of a marriage. I merely ask for time to transition back into an independent life.'

Molly didn't see the older woman move and flinched when the settee shifted as Charlotte sat beside her. She bravely fought the tears that blurred her vision, but as soon as Charlotte embraced her, Molly could no longer hold in her grief. She sobbed into her friend's gown, her heart breaking for the life she no longer hoped for and the children she would never have. Charlotte felt her own heart break for the young woman and her tears mingled with Molly's.

'Lestrade!' Everyone within hearing distance winced at the tone and volume of Sherlock's demanding shout. The Scotland Yard Inspector grimaced and turned to acknowledge his colleague (if that was an apt description for the consulting detective who shoved his way into every crime scene with or without permission). Sherlock wore a thunderous expression and the masses parted before him as though he were Moses parting the Red Sea, a stumbling John Watson in his wake.

'Holmes. Doctor Watson.' Lestrade nodded to both in greeting. 'Unfortunately, I have no cases for you today, and am not inclined to find one. I promised my wife I'd be home on time for dinner.'

Sherlock scowled, 'I have a matter of utmost importance to discuss with you, Graham. I am sure, after your wife's numerous illicit activities in the past, she will forgive you this one breach of promise.'

Lestrade clenched his jaw and breathed deeply, telling himself that socking the man in the face would not help matters. Although, it looked like someone already had, judging by the mottled swelling of his cheekbone. I'm sorry I missed that!

Doctor Watson mumbled, 'Not good, Sherlock. Don't insult the man from whom you need assistance.'

Sherlock nodded solemnly as Lestrade's eyes widened. 'You need my help?' There's a first time for everything.

'Not exactly, Gregory.' Lestrade's eyebrows rose at the correct address of his name. Sherlock ignored the look and continued, 'My wife is missing. She did not, as I assumed, retreat to her father's estate. I have questioned the train station manager and that of the coach, neither of which sold her a fare. Thus she is either remaining with someone in London, which limits me to thousands of possible hiding places, or she has escaped the city on horseback. The latter is unlikely, as she knows few people outside London and did not bring enough currency to sustain a trip of that length. Thus, I am inclined to believe she remains in the city. However, I am afraid I do not know of any acquaintances she has, so I need your assistance.'

Lestrade blinked, stunned by the onslaught of information Holmes spit out in one breath. When he managed to catch up, he barely managed to contain his worry, 'Wa-wait. Molly is missing? Since when?'

Sherlock froze and stared at the Inspector. In two steps, he crowded the silver-haired man and growled menacingly, 'Since when have you called my wife by her Christian name?'

John pulled Sherlock away, 'I think the only thing that matters right now, Sherlock, is that Molly is missing and Inspector Lestrade can help.'

'Sherlock,' Lestrade began, 'Molly is a friend and when my wife and I were separated, she-'

'Indeed!' Sherlock interrupted loudly, halting several passerby in their tracks. 'And does your wife know that while she was warming the sheets of numerous men, you were cavorting with my wife?'

'Sherlock, stop!' John yelled, trying desperately to stop the spectacle that was unfolding on a public street.

Lestrade glowered at the taller man and grasped him by the cravat. 'Listen to me, you heartless bastard. Molly is the only reason my wife and I reconciled. She was our friend, not my lover. She made my wife see sense and gave me the strength to forgive Charlotte her indiscretions. I'll not have you say one foul word against her!'

In disgust, Lestrade roughly pushed Sherlock aside and stalked down the street, leaving the detective to his increasingly shameful thoughts.

What have I done?

Lestrade quietly entered his home, still struggling with his anger toward Holmes. He hung his hat and coat in the foyer and made to find his wife. Not without his merits as an Inspector, he noticed the unfamiliar cloak thrown across the stairway banister and raised his eyebrows at the small canvas bag dropped haphazardly at the foot of the stairs. Molly.

Within seconds of his deductions, Charlotte slipped into the front hall and greeted him with a longing kiss. She opened her mouth to tell him of their visitor, but he beat her to it.

'Molly Holmes is here, having left that bas-,' Charlotte frowned and he winked at her, 'Having left Sherlock and is currently undecided as to where to go.'

Charlotte nodded sadly, but felt a rush of pride at her observant husband. She kissed him once more to show how his brilliant mind affected her. 'She's in the back parlor and is not in a good way.'

Lestrade sighed, 'Holmes accosted me today trying to track her down.'

'Really?' Charlotte was surprised. After his dismissive and frankly ghastly treatment of Molly, she assumed he would have been relieved to be rid of her. Molly had not told her the specifics, but apparently whatever occurred the previous evening was enough to break her seemingly endless hope for a successful marriage.

Lestrade pulled her close and rested his chin against her soft hair as he told her what happened between himself and Sherlock that afternoon. He relished the feeling of his wife in his arms, knowing she was now his alone. The accusations Holmes hurled at him had brought back the feelings of inadequacy and hurt and he knew he couldn't dwell on it. He breathed in Charlotte's scent, praising God that his marriage hadn't failed.

'I'm not sure what madness overtook him, but if I did not know better, I'd say he had feelings for Molly,' Charlotte inhaled suddenly at her husband's words. 'Worry, anxiousness, possessiveness, jealousy. They were everything I felt when I thought I had lost you.'

His wife leaned back to look at him. Her eyes wide in disbelief, she watched as a sad smile graced Gregory's lined features, 'The machine seems to have found his heart. And it may be too late to win it back.'