AN: Apologies for any mistake.
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John was going through the pages of "Grimm's Fairy Tales" when all the police officers, Sally, Lestrade, Anderson and a woman in charge of the children's room moved to the boys' rooms. Two kids were kidnapped and their father, a very important ambassador, asked the police to work with Sherlock Holmes to investigate and find their children.
It was still incredible Sherlock was still working - that people was still hiring him after the whole Moriarty court case and all. Sherlock had given the jury, the judge and the whole country enough proof to show James Moriarty was for hire, that he was the biggest criminal mastermind the world has ever seen and that he should remain in jail for the rest of his life.
Weeks later Jim Moriarty was back on the streets. John wanted to get in touch with that sweet little posh thing he used to see (before Sherlock came along) and ask her what the hell was going on with her grandmother and if she didn't care this man, James Moriarty, had taken her crown and jewels and wore them even.
Still, John was happy Sherlock had jobs. Jobs, cases and mystery kept him calm and happy. And John loved seeing his dear happy.
"The boy sleeps there every night, gazing at the only light source outside in the corridor. He'd recognise every shape, every outline, the silhouette of everyone who came to the door..." Lestrade nodded and watched Sherlock moving all about the boy's little space within the boy's room. "Someone approaches the door... someone he doesn't recognise, an intruder. Maybe he can even see the outline of a weapon. What would he do in the precious few seconds before they came into the room? How would he use them if not to cry out?" There were a few books piled on the boy's bedside. "This little boy... this particular little boy who reads all of those spy books. What would he do?"
John closed the book he was looking at. "He'd leave a sign?"
Sherlock gave him a look. "Get Anderson."
Anderson. Ah, John watched Anderson and Sherlock working together and trying to find any signs the little boy might have left. The Master couldn't help but chuckle every time Anderson seemed to make something out of the clues they had found and Sherlock telling him it was very obvious.
Apparently the boy used some oil and managed to leave a trace. They found his and the kidnapper's footprints.
"Tells us nothing after all."
"You're right, Anderson," Sherlock seemed to agree. "nothing."
John wanted to laugh when he saw Anderson's face - somewhat relieved.
"Except his shoe size, his height, his gait, his walking pace."
Sherlock was all smiles and John could have sworn his favourite detective could even sing and jump and beam like a little boy who has just been allowed to open his presents before Christmas.
"Having fun?"
"Starting to."
"Don't do the smiling."
Sherlock lifted his head and met John's eyes. "Not good?"
"Kidnapped children?" John asked him back. "Would you be smiling if your children had been kidnapped in the place you thought the safest for them?" Sherlock just shrugged. "Just think, Sherlock."
"I don't have to. I won't have children."
"Can't you feel just a little bit of empathy?"
Sherlock frowned. "No. Problem?"
"Yes. They are children, Sherlock. The ambassador asked you to find them, not to laugh at his boy's footprint on the floor!"
"I don't question the way you manage your business, do I, Master?" Sherlock whispered to him. "if you don't like it, leave."
John pretended he didn't hear that. "I won't leave you alone."
"I'm not a child."
"Moriarty -"
"I can take care of myself."
"Alkaline."
"Thank you, John."
"Molly."
"Yes."
"Molly," John called her name from the table across Sherlock's. "D'you know where can I get something decent to eat?"
Molly left Sherlock's side and smiled at Sherlock's new friend, a kind man who was a doctor and who seemed to be very nice. "The cafeteria downstairs."
"Not crap food, I take it?" John asked with a grim.
"No. Just avoid the pasta."
"OK. Wanna come? Seems Sherlock can do without us."
To Sherlock's surprise, Molly left the textbooks she was carrying and all the tests tubes she was labelling for him and then, she and John were getting ready to leave.
John took his coat and then, he turned to Sherlock. "Want anything?" And just when Sherlock was about to open his mouth and say something, John cut him off. "It's okay, I know you don't."
"Actually -"
"I know you don't," John cut him off and, as the gentleman he was, he opened the door for Molly to leave first. "Will be right back."
A sandwich could do, of course. John had had worse and a sandwich from a hospital cafeteria wasn't that bad, really. Molly chose pork and they found an empty table for two near the windows, where they could have a pleasant look of the city.
"So... you're Sherlock's boyfriend?"
"No."
John noticed Molly blushed a bit. "Sorry. I'm asking silly questions."
"It's OK," the doctor gave him a reassuring smile. "Sherlock told me you're a friend."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Oh."
John swallowed a bit of his sandwich and frowned at her reaction. "What?"
"Nothing," Molly smiled at him shyly. "It's just... I didn't know Sherlock considered me his friend."
"I know what you mean. He can be a dick sometimes!"
The pathologist smiled and ate her food. It was an awkward situation really. She was having lunch with a man she had never seen before and he was all smiles with her. John was not flirting with her, Molly knew it, but there was something about this man, about this particular man that made Molly hesitate a bit.
To begin with, this man, John, had the loveliest eyes Molly had ever seen. He was good looking, yeah, that's true. Molly felt she could fancy him, but he was a bit too short for her.
But still, there was something about this man that made Molly understand Sherlock.
"You look sad," Molly suddenly said, as soon as she saw John had finished his sandwich. "when you think he can't see you."
"Pardon?"
"You look sad when you think Sherlock can't see you. Are you okay?"
John frowned. "You don't know me."
"No, but I can see when someone's sad. You're sad," Molly insisted. "And don't just say you are, because I know what that means, looking sad when you think no one can see you."
The Master was caught completely unprepared. Due to his job, he had mastered a wide range of skills that made him a complete and a damn good actor. For instance, he could fake emotions, reactions, tears, laughs, friendliness, sadness, angriness and, of course, orgasms.
However, with this woman, with this particular woman, John never felt the need of pretending - playing someone else. He could just be himself. Sherlock had once told him about Molly. For what John knew, Molly was a young woman in her early thirties who lived alone, had no parents, a few friends, a cat named Toby and once Moriarty used her and played his boyfriend when he was actually going undercover within Bart's.
Sherlock said she was his 'friend' because she merely let him use her lab, she gave him body parts, eyeballs, toes, fingers and because with a smile or maybe a compliment he could get anything he wanted from her. John pitied Molly. It was crystal clear that Molly liked Sherlock. John didn't know whether it was love or not, but this young little thing was completely into Sherlock.
He wanted to tell her he was more than Sherlock's friend but he didn't want to hurt the woman's heart. Many years in the business taught John a woman's heart should never be broken. A woman's heart was a very deep sea of secrets and a complete mystery to men. Yet, he loved women. John came from one, as everyone else, and he respected them. Women were fragile and must be loved, that was his motto. That's what led him to break the marriage of a prominent novelist by having an affair with both participants - separately. The novelist was nuts. The woman was a broken woman who just needed a good shag and god, he gave it to her.
But back to Molly, John wished he could just tell her he was Sherlock's boyfriend. Or maybe, John thought, he could take her to bed and fix her heart. That worked a few times and John knew how to do it. But no. He had told Sherlock he was the only one and it was true. Sherlock was the only one.
"You can see me."
Of course she could see him. She was just there, sitting across him and looking at him with her sad eyes.
"I don't count," Molly gave him a weak smile. "What I'm trying to say is that, if there's anything I can do, anything you need, anything at all, you can have me." John opened his mouth to speak, but soon Molly shook her head at herself. "No, I just mean... I mean if there's anything you need... it's fine."
What? "What could I need from you?"
But Molly just gave him a reassuring smile and stood up from her chair. "Nothing. I dunno. You could probably say thank you, actually."
"Thank you?"
"I'll go and help Sherlock before he burns down my lab."
And with that, John was left alone with nothing to say.
John watched Sherlock's face the moment he exited the room. The little girl screamed and screamed and no one could stop her.
She feared Sherlock.
But why?
"Well, don't let it get to you. I always feel like screaming when you walk into a room! In fact, so do most people." Lestrade said, trying to cheer Sherlock up. "Come on."
John was walking behind Sherlock when Sally started questioning the whole thing. "Brilliant work you did, finding those kids from just a footprint. It's really amazing."
"Thank you."
"Unbelievable."
"What d'you want?" John asked, exasperatedly. This made Lestrade and Sherlock turn.
Sally chuckled. "A footprint. He found those kids using only a footprint. He finds them and then the little girl screams."
The three men said nothing.
"CSI Baker Street," Sally smiled.
John placed a hand in the small of Sherlock's back and led the way outside. They said nothing on their way outside. Several policemen watched them leaving and several stopped doing their tasks and watched the men, the consulting detective and that guy he was now hanging with - that man people believed was his lover.
"Don't listen to her. She's just jealous." Sherlock remained silent. "Sherlock -"
"She's right."
"What?"
"This is my cab." Sherlock got into the cab that had pulled near him. "You get the next one."
"Why?"
"You're distracting me."
Inside the cab, Sherlock remembered Mycroft's words. Moriarty was going to strike any time soon.
But not only Moriarty.
Moriarty and John.
John could never... And then, there he was on the screen.
Jim Moriarty was holding what seemed to be a colourful book - a children's book, and he was smiling at him.
"Hullo. Are you ready for the story? This is the story of Sir Boast-a-lot..."