As he silently cursed his brother, Mycroft welcomed Sherlock's long time friends into his office. Legwork was never his thing and he wasn't relenting for Molly; Sherlock was lucky he'd made the exception at the end of the long holiday, as he'd taken to calling it.
"So, where have you checked?" Mycroft asked, calmly, returning to his desk and work; he could focus on both.
"Well, we checked her flat and the morgue." Lestrade started.
"And we went to Lorentson Gardens, Camden Lock, the leaning tomb" Watson continued.
"Kew Gardens, Parliament Hill." Looking a bit ragged, the DI was obviously worried about Molly. It was one thing for Sherlock to run off, but it was totally out of character for Molly.
"And Baker Street?" As he spoke, Mycroft finally made some eye contact, it was far easier to read people that way, though it wasn't necessary.
"Baker Street?" The doctor shook his head, ripe with confusion.
"Of course." The elder Holmes pressed. "If she's under the delusion that Sherlock is still wandering about, it would give reason to her investigating or visiting the residence he held when he was alive." The two men looked at each other, astonished and ashamed they hadn't thought of it themselves. "If she's not there," He sighed, returning to his work. "you might check the crime scene and his childhood home."
"She might have gone to your parents house?" Seeing Lestrade deepen his hands into his coat pocket, Mycroft could only assume Greg was fondling a cigarette case.
"Possibly, but a visit to Baker Street is more likely. Don't waste your time bothering with them before checking the flat and where Sherlock died, I'm merely suggesting that she might see it as an option." Another heavy sigh and he waved them away, there were far more pressing matters going on in the world than a heartbroken pathologist disappearing in London.
"For someone who use to make fun of John's jumpers, you have quite the little collection yourself." Molly Hooper giggled, putting a novelty Christmas cardigan against her chest and pressing the button she found in the cuff. "Oh, good god, it lights up AND plays "Jingle Bells'!"
"A cousin got that for me as a joke." An annoyed and embarrassed Sherlock squirmed on his bed. "Put it back. Or better yet, pitch it in the bin."
"Oh, no. I'm burying you in this, Sherlock Holmes."
"You're not funny." He snarled.
"Oh, you think I'm joking? After the trouble I'm going through for you, I'll do as I please." Smiling, smugly, she draped the sweater over her arm, self satisfied.
"You wouldn't dare."
"Oh, I wouldn't dare, would I? Are you sure?" She challenged, holding the cardigan in front of him. "You're forgetting, no one else can hear you, mate, and who wouldn't believe me?"
"John, for one, he never saw that jumper, anyway."
"And you think he'd hesitate to support me, even if he knew it was a lie?" Molly wasn't about to back down, it was rare she ever had him this good and she enjoyed it.
"Stop playing around and put that away." He hissed.
"Maybe I should wear it." A devious smile slid over her face.
"Fine." Sherlock tried to shrug it off, crossing his arms and turning his back. "Do what you want, I don't care, just do it quickly." Before Molly could reply, they heard footsteps on the stairs and their expressions changed to full panic.
"I got this." She mouthed, and Sherlock nodded as Molly quietly closed the closet door.
"Molly?" Greg Lestrade shouted down the alley, wondering if he would regret it. Given how unlike herself Molly was acting in the first place, it was hard to determine whether or not she'd run and hide at the sound of his voice. "I don't see her yet, John." He shrugged in the direction of the doctor, who had just gotten out of a cab.
"Well, there are a lot of places to hide here." Watson sighed, surveying the scene. "Not sure where we should look first… I hope she's not hurt again."
"Yeah, where'd they find her last time?" Greg asked, turning on a flashlight and approaching the building that created the dead end.
"Bottom floor there. I guess a member of Sherlock's homeless network found her, it was one of his phones." He explained, catching up to Lestrade and looking through the windows with him. "What was she trying to find?"
"Well, if she thinks she sees Sherlock, maybe he wants to solve his murder." It was all Lestrade had to offer.
"Yeah, but wouldn't he know how he died? Why wouldn't he just tell her?" The detective chuckled. "What?"
"Didn't he drug you and lock you in a lab for an experiment?" With a grumble, John relented.
"I suppose you're right." Climbed through the open window, he stepped back to give Greg room to join him with the torch. They wandered around for good half hour, before John finally threw up his hands. "So, what are we going to do once we find her?"
"Well, take her back to the hospital, of course." Lestrade answered, flatly, pushing the door in the back of the room.
"No, I know that… I meant… about the Sherlock problem." At this point, Greg stopped and met John's eyes with a heavy look.
"Whatever we have to, mate."
Sherlock wasn't sure what to do to help Molly as Mrs. Hudson crept in on tiptoes, brandishing what appeared to be the same pot she'd smack him with when he returned last year. To his surprise and amusement, though, Molly impressed him. From behind the door, the sounds of tears and mournful cries bought both of their attention.
"Hello?" Mrs. Hudson called, quietly and softly, as she crept up to the door and slowly opened it. "Molly?"
"Oh.. oh, Mrs. Hudson!" Molly bawled, leaping into her arms. "I just- miss- him- so much!"
"There, there now, deary, it's alright." The kindly old woman comforted her. "He wouldn't want you to be like this, love. Fretting over him in such a state." She pulled back and brushed tears away from Molly's eyes.
"I know, I know. Its not like he loved me anyway." She squealed, wistfully.
"Oh, dear, of course Sherlock loved you!" Mrs. Hudson insisted.
"Really?!" Totally into the part, she placed her head on Mrs. Hudson shoulder.
"Well- in his own way. He was a bit odd, you know, but that doesn't mean he cared for you any less." Molly nodded.
"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson." She sniffled. "Do you think.. do you think I could take these jumpers? He so loved this one." Sherlock gaped and grumbled at the site of the novelty sweater in her arms. After giving her a questioning look, though, Mrs. Hudson insisted it was fine, gave Molly a parting hug and told her to take her time.
"It'll be alright, lovey." Comforting, Mrs. Hudson smiled back at her from the doorway before turning and making her way back down the stairs.
"Impressive." Muttered the detective, a bit irritated at the cardigan teasing.
"Let it go, Sherlock." Molly waved his sour-puss expression away as she continued flipping through the closet. "I'm taking this one." Decisively, she held up a wool blazer and he nodded his permission.
"We need to hurry, now, though. You've been seen, they'll be here soon. I'm sure of it." This new Sherlock, Molly decided, had anxiety issues, but at least his feelings were more obvious than the Sherlock she'd known before. So, she saw it as a trade off. Whether it was for better or worse was yet to be seen, but Sherlock was still Sherlock no matter what.
"Back to the scene?" She asked, as she pulled on the jacket and jerry rigged a random belt through the button holes to hold it closed.
"Yes… No… Well, yes, but I think I know what happened, so, we'll double check at the scene and then go find Lestrade."
"Bet you a tenner he's looking for me."
"Mmmm…. here's hoping we find him first. Come on, now." With his long, elegant fingers, he beckoned her out of the closet.
"I'm still going to bury you in that jumper."
"If you do I'll…"
"What? Haunt me." She smirked, walking past him to the stairway.
Cheerily, Mrs. Hudson picked up her landline as it began to chime the third ring.
"Hello?"
"Yes, , its John."
"Why, hello, John. How are you, dear?" She asked, setting down on her favorite chair.
"I'm fine, but, … uh, Lestrade and I are looking for Molly. Have you seen her?"
"Molly?" A bit confused, but happy to help. "Why, she was just here."
"She was?"
"Yes. 'fraid she must of popped out now. Oh, she was just in tears, the poor girl. I found her crying in Sherlock's cupboard, the dear. You know, I think she needs some help. You should probably check in on her, John."
"Yeah." The doctor sighed, hiding any sign of his irritation. "Well, do you know where she went?"
"Oh, well, I'd guess back home. I suspect we won't be seeing much more of her for a while. Its just so sad. She'll get through it, though, she's tough."
"That she is, Mrs. Hudson. That she is." Another ragged sigh. "Well, I need to go now-"
"Oh, John, will you and Mary be coming round soon for tea? I haven't seen you in days."
"Yes, Mrs. Hudson. We'll- we'll stop round soon, but I have to go now."
"Alright, dear, I just know it's easy to forget me over here… all alone."
"Yes, we'll come round later this week, Mrs. Hudson. But, I have to go now." He insisted.
"Alright, love, I'll see you Thursday."
"I- Fine, right, Mrs. Hudson. We'll pop by Thursday for tea. Good bye."
"Bye, John." Mrs. Hudson smiled, self satisfied, before replacing the receiver.
"Well?" Greg asked as an obviously annoyed John Watson hung up the phone.
"Well, she showed up at Baker Street, just like Mycroft said." He leaned back in the car seat and rubbed his temples.
"So, is that where we're headed?" The doctor replied a negative.
"No, Mrs. Hudson said she's run off again. Apparently, she was having a fit in Sherlock's cupboard."
"I hope thats a good sign." With a grumble, the D.I. changed gears. "Where do we look for her now?"
"We can check her flat again, but I gotta get an aspirin first." With a chuckle he drove in direction of the chemists while they sat in frustrated silence.