CHAPTER TWELVE

Sherlock idly played with Molly's hair as he rode in the cab towards the meeting place indicated in the note to Mary. The Watsons were in the cab ahead of them.

He leaned over, pressing a kiss to Molly's temple. She made a small noise, something akin to a mewl. Normally, the pleased sound would have made Sherlock smile. However, the current situation occupied his attention.

Molly turned her head up to look at him. "You've figured it out already, haven't you?"

Sherlock slipped a hand behind Molly's neck, stroking her nape with his thumb. His clever girl. He shook his head slowly. "Not all of it." He pressed his forehead to Molly's. "But enough to know this will deeply affect Mary- and by extension John."

Molly leaned her head against Sherlock's shoulder. "This is new."

Sherlock furrowed his brow in confusion, lifting his chin so Molly could tuck herself more comfortably into the crook of his neck. "What's new?"

"You're doubting whether or not Mary is better off knowing the truth," Molly replied.

Sherlock's hand drifted to Molly's shoulder, pulling her against him tightly. She snuggled into his coat. She was warm against him, comforting. He closed his eyes and just enjoyed the feel of her for a moment.

"I enjoy being right," Sherlock murmured. "But the satisfaction of such will be curtailed by the emotional damage it will wrought."

"That is not your fault," Molly murmured into his neck. "No matter what, Mary and John were going to follow that letter's instructions. They're going to find something out. All we can do is try to minimize the damage."

Sherlock hummed in thought. "I don't know how much physical violence there will be."

Molly pressed closer. "You know that's not what I meant."

Sherlock smiled softly as he pressed a kiss to Molly's temple. What he lacked in compassion, Molly more than made up for. While he might have problems understand idioms, one he understood perfectly was 'better half'.

Sherlock tried to keep his focus on the mystery ahead of him. Normally, it would not be a problem. Mystery would be the only thing on his mind when one was before him.

This was different. He was struggling to rip his focus away from the instinct to wrap Molly up in his arms, to shield her with his body. The very notion was absurd: Molly was by means a delicate flower. He knew first hand what she could handle, first showing herself when saving his life and continuing to prove herself with fighting Sebastian Moran, but none of that seemed to matter. No, this was about him, about his desire to protect her as far or possibly beyond what was within his capacity to do. It was the mantra at the forefront of his mind.

Not far behind were thoughts of the Watsons. He had already worked out ten possible outcomes of Mary's mystery. Each one of them was damaging to them.

No, he mentally berated himself. Sherlock Holmes was about solving mysteries, no matter the outcome. If Mary and John were hurt in the process, what mattered was they knew the truth.

It was much easier to tell himself that than it was to actually put into practice. For years, he had tried to cultivate an uncaring, detached persona. Yet, it wasn't until he found those that he cared deeply for-his friends, his wife-that he had truly found himself. While he used to believe the work was all the mattered, now there were so many other factors.

It was five to midnight when they arrived outside the Lyceum Theatre. Sherlock took a deep breath, trying school his expression into one of cool aloofness.

He felt small fingers slip around his hand. Sherlock looked down at the ring on the fourth finger of that tiny hand. He then lifted his gaze to look into his wife's eyes. She didn't say anything, just gave him a small smile before pulling her hand away. "Do what you have to do, Sherlock," she whispered.

Sherlock nodded. He then turned his attention to John. "Well, I suspect you brought your gun with you."

"Bloody well right I have," John said darkly. "This is my wife we're talking about."

Sherlock nodded. "Good. I don't expect shots to be fired, but we don't want to take chances."

"Mrs Mary Watson."

Mary took a deep breath at the sound of her voice spoken by an unknown person. Sherlock began to scan the area. There was no one there.

No, the voice wasn't right. It wasn't live. It was recorded.

The recorded voice repeated again and Sherlock knelt down by the pillar. He picked up the ringing mobile and the small box, holding it out the mobile to Mary. "I believe this is for you, Mary."

Mary accepted the phone, nodding.

"Put it on speaker," John said, putting his hands on Mary's shoulders.

Mary nodded and pressed the button. "Hello?"

"Mrs Watson, it is good to talk to you."

Mary looked up at Sherlock. He gave a small shrug, unsure what he was supposed to do. He had no idea who this man was. He had only been on the phone with Mary for ten seconds.

"Who is this?" Mary asked, biting her lip.

"My name is Bartholomew Sholto. You knew my father."

Mary nodded. "You're Major Thaddeus Sholto's son. He served with my father. But I don't understand. Why are you giving me pearls?"

"There is much more that should come to you," Bartholomew said. "It was left to you by your father."

"My father..." Mary shook her head. "My father disappeared when I was a teenager."

"But you should have been left taken care of. And now that is being rectified."

Sherlock opened up the box Mary had received along with the mobile. He showed her the pearl within.

"My father was supposed to give these to you," Bartholomew explained. "They were left to you by your father. But my father denied you your birthright. He told me the truth on his deathbed. I thought you should have them."

"I want explanation!" Mary exclaimed. "What happened to my father? Where did he get these pearls? What is going on?"

The conversation muted in Sherlock's mind as he focused on texting. Things were starting to become clearer.

Mary continued to ask questions of Sholto, receiving no answer in return.

"You will receive everything you deserve, Mary," Bartholomew said firmly before hanging up.

"That's it?" John demanded. "Another pearl and a name? Why make us come all the way down here?"

"He wanted to make sure Mary was getting the pearls," Sherlock explained.

"And how did he do that?" John demanded. "He's not even here?"

"Of course he's here," Sherlock explained. He pointed down the street to the car that was pulling away. "He's in that car right there. He was watching us the entire time."

John broke into a run. "Well, let's stop him! I'm going to get answers! If Sholto has them..."

Sherlock shook his head, putting a hand on John's shoulder to halt him. "Sholto won't have the answers, John."

"And why not?" John shouted.

"Think about it, John," Sherlock said. "A man giving away thousands of pounds in pearls to a woman he's never met out of... What? Guilt? Second-hand guilt due to something his father had done? Not possible. He's being manipulated."

Molly frowned deeply. "Um... Love... Have you ever heard of Occam's Razor?"

Sherlock nodded. "Of course. I am going with the most logical explanation." He looked over the faces of his companions. "Guilt is the most logical?"

John nodded. "Kind of."

Mary looked conflicted. She then looked up at Sherlock. "What do you think has happened, Sherlock?"

"What?" John exclaimed. "You actually think he's right?"

"I think if I find this out, I find out what happened to my father. I've been wanting to know that for twenty years. I'm not going to give up the chance now. If Sherlock thinks he can do it, then... I have to trust him. So what do you think, Sherlock?"

Sherlock nodded. "Right." He glanced down at the new Mrs Watson. "Mary, this isn't going to be easy. I think... Murder was involved in this."

Mary nodded. "I've given up any hope of my father still being alive, Sherlock."

"Right then." Sherlock slipped his mobile away. "I suggest you and John get home. Try not to worry."

"Try not to worry," John repeated. "Some man is giving my wife pearls in something you say involves the murder of my wife's father and I'm not supposed to worry."

"Well, I didn't say it was going to be easy," Sherlock sighed. "Just give it your best, John. I'm on the case."

"I'm going with you," John insisted.

Sherlock shook his head. "No, John. Take your wife home. There's nothing else to do tonight. I'm still working out details. I'll be sure to tell you when I'm ready to take the next step."

"What are you going to do until then?" Mary asked.

Sherlock smiled tightly. "Call in some favours."

Sherlock couldn't help but smile when Molly walked into the morgue and she gave a small jump at the body laying on the examination table that had not been there when she left.

"Um," Molly said to herself. She grabbed up her clipboard to look it over.

"He's not on there," Sherlock replied, stepping out from the corner.

Molly gave another jump at the sound of Sherlock's voice and whirled around. She let out an annoyed huff. "You don't have to be dramatic all the time."

Sherlock couldn't stop the corners of his mouth from curving up in a smile. "I like the little squeaking noise you make when you're surprised. Anyway, I had the body brought in. I need you to do a post-mortem on him."

Molly glanced to the body. "You had him brought in." She considered this statement, frowning. "Sherlock, is this Major Sholto?"

Sherlock gripped her shoulders and swooped in, pressing a firm kiss to Molly's lips. "You are absolutely gorgeous, Darling. Would you mind terribly if I observed the post-mortem?"

Molly frowned slightly. "Is this a weird foreplay for you?"

Sherlock gave Molly a small smile. "As arresting as it is seeing you displaying your intelligence, I believe I shall be able to resist you whilst you are up to your elbows in a corpse." He reached into his coat and pulled out a file. "Here are the results from the previous post-mortem. I would like you to refute the results."

Molly looked over the pages. "There was already a post-mortem done. How were you able to pull this off, Sherlock?"

"Mycroft," Sherlock explained, groaning softly. "I had to ask Mycroft for a favour. We have to go to my mother's for dinner next Sunday."

Molly continued reading. "Well, you must be really sure of this if you were willing to- your mother?" Molly's head jerked up. "We have to have dinner with your mother. Your mother who just found out we're married."

Sherlock sighed. "It's for John and Mary."

Molly scowled, turning away to reach for the proper protective gear. "You know, I shouldn't get cross at you for doing something nice for your friends..."

"Have you found it yet?" Sherlock asked.

Molly looked up from Major Sholto's feet. She sighed. "I will never cease being amazed at you, Love." She parted two toes, showing off the puncture wound. "The last examiner missed the puncture wound between the toes. Sholto's heart attack was chemically induced. He was murdered."