The next morning, in spite of her still stinging breast (she'd dutifully rubbed lotion on it as instructed), Molly was feeling particularly cheery. She dressed in a white sundress, a large floppy hat, and strappy sandals.
She pulled open the door and jumped with surprise when she saw Sherlock leaning against the wall right beside it. It seemed as if the holiday was affecting him, as there was something more casual about the way he was dressed. It was his usual white dress shirt, black trousers, and shiny shoes, but there was no jacket and the sleeves of the shirt were rolled up above his elbows. There was a stillness to his manner that Molly wasn't accustomed to seeing.
On an uncontrollable impulse, she leaned up on her toes and pressed a kiss against his cheek. "Good morning…I think this holiday is good for you."
For once in his life, Sherlock seemed at a loss for words, just staring at her curiously.
"Do you think you can be behave yourself if I take you over to the village?" she teased. "I feel like exploring."
Breaking out of his trance, Sherlock answered. "I was just about to suggest that we'd better go across to the shops for some real food."
"Mint chocolate chip ice cream is as real as food gets," Molly argued as Sherlock followed her out the door.
After a short wait for the ferry, and a pleasant ride across the lake, they arrived in the small village. Janine had made sure that her cabin was well and truly rural; this was the only shopping for a few miles.
Molly got distracted by the sparkling trinkets in a gift shop window, but Sherlock steered her into the grocers. The shopkeeper's face lit up at the sight of unfamiliar faces.
"Hello! How can I help you?"
"We'll let you know!" Molly replied sweetly.
Sherlock pulled out a shopping trolley.
Molly reached to take it from him. "Have you ever driven one of these before?"
"Oh very funny, Dr. Hooper." Sherlock rolled his eyes.
It was strange going grocery shopping with Sherlock Holmes. Finding out he didn't like bananas but was particularly fond of cauliflower ("highly underrated vegetable"). There was a slight squabble over the choice in breakfast cereals (he called her choice "puerile" and she labeled his as "geriatric") before they made it to the till.
"Oh wait, I forgot crisps. Have to have some crisps," Molly said, turning back to the aisles.
"The objective was to get nutritious food, Molly. We've enough junk at home," Sherlock scolded.
"Crisps are potatoes!" Molly called back as she disappeared behind a display.
"Your wife is charming," the shopkeeper said while he started scanning their selections.
"She's not-" Sherlock began and then stopped. "She is charming. Thank you."
"Who's charming?" Molly asked, coming up behind him with her crisps.
"You are, dearie," the shopkeeper said with a wink. "I was just telling your husband."
Molly flushed. "Oh I'm not-"
"Not very good at taking compliments," Sherlock finished for her.
Just then, a stout red-headed woman approached the shopkeeper behind the till. "It's happened again, Samuel," she said. "On Monday the case was full. Now it's empty. I assume nobody's bought them?"
"No…" the shopkeeper, now identified as Samuel, shook his head. "Not more than one or two."
He turned to Molly and Sherlock. "I apologize. We've got a bit of a mystery on our hands here. The case of the disappearing trout."
Molly's brows shot up with a smirk. "Ooh a mystery. Sounds like you're in need of a detective." She bumped into Sherlock, who glared at her in response.
"Yeah, like that Sherlock Holmes bloke. Seems like a bit of a pansy but he always gets the job done. Least that's how they make it look on the telly. You never know where that Holmes bloke will turn up next," the shopkeeper said as he started bagging their groceries.
"No, you never do know where that pansy will show up next," Sherlock agreed wryly.
"Anyway, it's a real mystery. Had me and the wife scratchin' our heads for weeks. Every week we fill up that case over there," he gestured to the back corner of the store, where the top of a refrigerated glass case was just visible, "and every week the fish we've put in there disappear. But nobody's buyin' em. The computer keeps track you see…when you scan the barcode. It's like they're jumping out of there."
Sherlock shrugged. "What's the mystery? Shoplifting's an incredibly common phenomenon."
"Maybe where you come from," Samuel agreed. "But that type of thing just doesn't happen around here. Everybody knows each other. And besides, why just the fish? What's more is I can see the top of that case from the counter here, and ever since this started I've kept a very careful eye on it. Nobody so much as hovers by it without coming up to the till after with their choices." The shopkeeper shook his head.
"Hmmm" Molly murmured, "that is puzzling indeed."
"Yes, absolutely fascinating," Sherlock agreed sarcastically, grabbing their bags from the counter. He'd already paid. "We'd better be going, have a nice day." He faked a smile and ushered Molly out of the shop.
"Aren't you curious?" Molly asked once they were out in the warm sunshine again. "It's a case."
"It's not a case. It's shoplifting and a man who needs a new pair of glasses."
"Maybe….or maybe…" Molly's words were cut off by a quiet voice behind them.
"Excuse me, are you Sherlock Holmes? Mr. Holmes?" the high pitched, Irish accented voice called. Turning, they discovered that the voice belonged to a small girl whose blonde hair was contained in a frizzy braid and jeans were muddy round the bottom.
Molly knelt down right away to speak to the girl on her own level. "Yes, he's Sherlock Holmes. How can we help you, sweetie?" she asked kindly.
"He's a famous detective? He solves problems?" the child went on shyly.
"Yes, whatever your problem is, we can solve it," Molly answered, glancing over her shoulder to give Sherlock a look that said "you better."
The girl hesitated.
"What's your name, dear?" Molly urged.
"Ellie."
"I'm Molly and this is Sherlock. What problem do you need solved?"
"My cat. My cat is missing," tears welled up in Ellie's blue eyes.
"Oh no! Don't worry, we'll find it," Molly hugged the little girl. "What's his name and what does he look like?"
"Her name is Cinnamon, and she's white with tan patches. One patch is around her left eye and there's one on the tip of her tail."
"How long has she been missing? How old? Has she been spayed?" Sherlock asked quickly, all business.
"I haven't seen her in two days. She's three. I don't know what the last thing means."
"Can Cinnamon have babies? Has your Mummy told you if Cinnamon will ever have kittens?" Molly clarified.
"Oh. No…we took her to the vet and after that Mummy said that Cinnamon can't have babies. Miss Molly and Mr. Sherlock, will you help me find her? I've tried everything. I even put extra of her favorite food in her dish this week. She always comes for that…"
"Yes! Don't you worry," Molly held out her hand to the little girl.
"Miss Molly, could I have a little conference with you over here?" Sherlock asked, moving a few steps away.
"I'll be right back," Molly said to Ellie before following the taller man.
"What?" she said.
"When an animal disappears there are two possibilities. Death or sex. It's either dead or dying or it's looking for an opportunity to reproduce. And since Cinnamon is fixed…" Sherlock raised his eyebrows.
"The cat's only three though," Molly whispered. "What are the odds it went off to die?"
"Accidents happen. What will we tell the girl? We can't just lead her to the corpse. 'Here's your dear kitty, Cinnamon, hope you don't mind a few extra maggots.'"
"Shhh," Molly hushed him when his voice got too loud. "There might not be any corpse. We have to try. What else are you doing? You're a detective. Detect!"
"Fine but if it ends badly…"
"I take full responsibility."
Sherlock sighed and held up the bags. "I'll go see if 'Samuel the friendly grocer' can hang on to these for us."
Ten minutes later Sherlock and Molly found themselves on the little girl's front doorstep, greeting her mother. The poor woman turned white at the sight of him.
"You're Sherlock Holmes!" she gasped in astonishment.
Molly smiled. "Are you a fan?" she asked.
"Oh lord no!"
Sherlock turned a withering gaze to her.
"I mean, no offense intended!" the woman held up her hands. "It's just…I'd never know who you were if it weren't for Ellie. She adores you! Completely obsessed. Makes me keep the news on 24/7 in hopes of getting a glimpse of you."
Ellie's face turned bright red and she kept her eyes on her pink shoes.
"I think she has a bit of a crush," her mother stage whispered.
"Well, there's no accounting for taste," Molly giggled, but she affectionately smoothed down Ellie's hair and pulled her against her hip in a half hug of comfort.
"Thank you," Sherlock muttered. "Mrs…whatever-your name doesn't matter-Ellie's mother," he began, rapid fire. "We're here about the cat."
"The cat?! My god, I knew Ellie'd written to you, but I never dreamed you'd actually show up for that," Ellie's mother said.
"We were in th-" Sherlock started to say, but Molly cut him off.
"In the mood for a very challenging case," the pathologist finished. "We rushed here from London straightaway just for this. Sherlock's very excited," she said pointedly.
Sherlock cleared his throat. "Oh yes, I am. Fascinating."
Ellie beamed.
"Well…wonderful," the Irish woman said, "You just…well do whatever you need to do and…I assume you'll have Ellie home by 6?"
"Definitely," Molly promised and Ellie's mother turned to go back in the house.
"You just make yourselves at home. Let me know if you need anything," she said, pulling a dishtowel out from where she'd stashed it in her apron.
"Where does Cinnamon eat?" Sherlock asked Ellie.
"She has a food and water dish around back." Ellie led the way.
The little metal water dish was full, but the other sat empty.
"I thought you said you'd left food," Sherlock said, bending down to examine the dishes more closely.
"I only put Cinnamon's food out at night and take it away in the mornings if she hasn't ate it," Ellie explained.
Sherlock's brow furrowed. "Why?"
"She only likes to eat at night."
"That's ridiculous. Cats don't have a preference as to the time of day they eat," Sherlock said.
Ellie's face fell. "She does."
"Of course she does, sweetie. Sherlock just doesn't know because he doesn't have a cat. I do and I can assure you Sherlock that cats do have food preferences," Molly said.
Sherlock only sighed and returned his attention to the bowls. He took a long sniff of the empty food dish.
"Really?" Molly asked. "Are you a blood hound?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes and then began examining the nearby ground with the magnifying glass which he apparently always carried.
Suddenly he stopped and picked up a small white item, about the size of a pencil point. He examined it closely with the glass, then started chuckling, glancing at the child.
"What is it?" Molly asked. Sherlock only shook his head and pressed the object into her hand. She didn't recognize it.
"Yes, but what is it?" she repeated. Sherlock was down on his hands and knees, checking about a two foot radius around the spot he'd found the white pebble-like object.
"Ah ha! Yes, very good," he said, ignoring her question and pocketing something too small for Molly to see and then repeated the process of examining the nearby area. He continued on this way, following the trail of these tiny white objects away from the house.
About 5 meters away he found a much larger white object and stood up, handing it to Molly. "Care to take another stab at it doctor?"
Molly gasped and then lowered her voice, glancing at the child who was watching all this with rapt attention.
"It looks like bone," Molly whispered. "Not human, but I can't recognize the animal from this fragment. Not the cat?" she asked nervously.
Sherlock smiled and shook his head. "Not the cat."
"Well?!"
Sherlock only shook his head and kept searching the ground, following the trail. A few more pieces of white later, he stopped, unable to find any more.
Suddenly Ellie squealed and grabbed something from a patch of brambles. "This is Cinnamon's fur!"
"Very good, Ellie," Sherlock said, taking the hair from her outstretched hand.
"Yes," he agreed, "it's definitely feline."
Molly sighed. This dress wasn't made for walking through the open fields. "Great, but what do we do now?"
"Find another breadcrumb," Sherlock said.
"Breadcrumb?"
"You know, like Hansel and Gretel. A trail. In this case: bones, fur, blood, etcetera."
"Blood?!" Ellie gasped and Molly glared at Sherlock.
"That was just an example, Ellie," she said.
They'd found three more 'breadcrumbs,' as Sherlock called them, two bone particles and a tuft of hair, when the child suddenly screamed. "Cinnamon! You did it Mr. Holmes, I just heard her meow!"
"What?"
They all went very still and listened and then they heard it, very, very faintly…a cat's meow. Slowly, they followed the sound, until they found themselves in the middle of a field, near the base of a tree.
"Cinnamon!" Ellie called. The cat's responding cry was clear as a bell, but they saw no sign of the creature in any direction.
Sherlock groaned. "No, it can't be."
"What?" Molly asked. She followed the direction of his gaze: up.
And there was a Cinnamon, exactly as described, stuck on a branch near the top of the tree.
Molly laughed. "I didn't know that happened in real life."
Sherlock nodded. "It's the claws. Great for going up, rubbish for coming down."
Ellie was standing at the tree trunk, shouting desperately up at her beloved pet. "Cinnamon! Cinnamon! Come down! Cinnamon!"
"I'm afraid Cinnamon can't come down, Ellie. Sherlock will have to go up and get her."
Sherlock's brows shot up as he turned to Molly. "Will he?" he asked.
"Yes he will," Molly insisted with a glare. "Or else he will find himself very much without any toys to play with when we return to London."
"I thought this was what the fire brigade was for," Sherlock grumbled.
Molly put her hands on her hips. "You are perfectly capable. You're an excellent climber and in extremely good shape. You could climb that tree with your hands tied behind your back."
Sherlock stared at her with an odd expression on his face and then sighed. "Alright. Here." He handed her his mobile, wallet, and the magnifying glass and jumped to grab the first branch.
Molly was right and Sherlock made quick work of the tree; it wasn't long before he was back on the ground and placing the kitty in Ellie's arms. The little girl burst into sobs of happiness and hugged his legs fiercely.
"I still don't understand," Molly said, as they followed Ellie back through the fields behind her house. The little girl cuddled the cat gently in her arms. "The bones?"
"Oh, I thought that was obvious."
"You always do," Molly sighed.
"They were fish bones." Sherlock chuckled.
"Fish bones?"
"Yes…it seems we've solved two cases at once."
"Oh god, the grocer?"
"Yes, Ellie is our fish thief," Sherlock confirmed.
Molly burst out laughing. "And she feeds them to the cat! Which is why there was a trail of fish bones leading to the tree."
"Exactly. And, of course, that's the real reason she feeds the cat at night. So her mother won't see that, instead of the intended cat kibble, she's feeding Cinnamon stream fresh, stolen trout. You remember the girl mentioned giving the cat her FAVORITE food. What's a cat's favorite food? You laughed at me when I smelled the bowl, but the dish reeked of fish, and without that information, I'd likely have disregarded the tiny bone fragments around it."
"How'd you know the bones would lead right to the cat?"
"I didn't. But it was the best lead we had, so I followed it. We got lucky."
Molly smiled and sighed. "Poor Ellie. She has some explaining to do."
"I doubt they'll put her in Pentonville."
Thank you, thank you, thank you again for all of your reviews! You're so wonderful!
I also want to thank Ellie for letting me borrow her name. And Mindy for letting me borrow her cat's name. ;)