I said, and said, and said those words. I said them but I lied them. "

-Dr. Seuss

The blasts were as bad as the night before, but this time, Deenie wanted them. Otherwise she kept thinking, around and around and around. Mama was disappointed. Mama was mad. Why? What— Then a blast would hit and everything would scatter.

XXXXX

Molly was asleep when Sherlock came in, so he sat on her bed and said her name until she woke. She stared at him, unsteady. He whispered, "Josh. Tonight. He'll lead us to her."

Molly straightened. "Right."

They found Josh looking at a computer on the hospital floor and watched from a distance. After a few moments, he spoke into his walkie, "All quiet," and left the nurse's station. They trailed behind as he checked the treatment room doors: Locked, locked, locked. He then moved to the guest suite doors, and the executive suites. He went round the entry hall, kitchen, dining hall, and then the basement. Into the lab. Sherlock watched through the lab door. Josh disappeared into Dr. Toller's closet.

"She must be in there," whispered Molly.

Sherlock motioned for her to be silent and punched the code into the key pad. They crept through the lab, to the closet. Lights on—

Empty.

XXXXX

Molly stared at the empty space in despair. Next to her, Sherlock was perfectly still save a slight quivering at the ends of his fingers. His eyes were shut. She stared at the walls, the floor.

"Stupid!"

Sherlock had spat the word, and then he sped to the back corner opposite the bolt hole and stepped behind a cabinet.

Molly hurried. Behind the cabinet was another opening. An ancient door. Sherlock had his ear against the decaying wood. He gestured for Molly to join him and said in a low voice, "How could I have missed this? Listen. They are inside."

Molly heard faint moaning noises from behind the door, as though someone were in pain. Sherlock reached him and took out his pistol.

"Sherlock!" Molly remembered to whisper.

"He said he had a 'Special job.' God only knows what that is. Stay back." Slowly, Sherlock pulled the door open. Both peered inside.

"Pour some sugar on me! Yow! In the name of love! Yeah!
Pour some sugar on me! C'mon fire me up—"

Josh was bouncing in the light of a lantern, wailing, eyes shut, ear bud cords flapping. A computer game was set up on a laptop nearby. Candy wrappers and empty bottles littered the floor. He was completely alone.

"I'm hot, sticky sweet! From my head to my feet! Yeah!"

Sherlock pushed the door shut, and they retreated to the stairwell where Molly dissolved into giggles. When she caught her breath, Sherlock was pacing, the pistol safely away. She nodded at the lab door. "His secret room."

"We should check that space when he's gone, but, most likely, it is another dead end. He has seen her, though. I wonder." Sherlock glanced up. "I wonder what he was looking at on the computer upstairs."

XXXXX

At the nurse's station, there was a post-it stuck to the screen: User-Joshc PW-Pyr0mania. The screen had nothing but an LAN icon. Sherlock peered at it. "Interesting."

"What is it?" asked Molly, peering over his shoulder.

"Network based CCTV camera." He entered Joshc and Pyr0mania, and the screen was filled with a silent, grainy black and white image of a girl sitting on a bed, hugging her knees and rocking. "Deenie."

Molly gasped. "Where is she?"

Sherlock peered at the website. "In this building, according to this. No other information."

"Might you pan around? Perhaps we could see something."

Deenie was in a small, well lit room with a bed, chair, small table, door. Sherlock zoomed in on the door. He could open the lock. Then, out of the corner of his eye— The flash of a torch.

XXXXX

It was the suddenness of it that took Molly off guard. With one movement, Sherlock had shoved her into the corridor, pulled her to him and—Oh!—His mouth on her neck! There was a blinding light. Josh.

"What! Who? Oh!" The torch beam shifted from one to the other, finally settling on Molly. "Violet! So that's how it is, is it?"

Before she could respond, Sherlock spoke. "Yes." He moved behind her and held her shoulders. "That is precisely how it is."

The torch beam moved to him for a fraction of a second, and then it dipped. "Well— I— I precisely— Don't care. Because I have— precisely— lots of girls! Lots!"

Her cheeks and neck pounding, Molly tried for a soothing tone. "Of course you do, Josh." The beam drifted back to her. "I'm sorry. I…." She stopped. Sherlock's arms were snaking round her waist.

The beam listed to the right. "You've got to show yourself more respect, Violet. That's not the way to earn a man's…" A sigh, and the beam dropped to the ground. "Well, go on, then. Before we're all sacked. But don't let it happen again. That one's no good, Violet. Hanging out with the likes of him will cause you no end of trouble."

"You're right, Josh. Thank you." Freeing herself, Molly ran through the doors and down the stairs. Sherlock was on her heels.

At her suite, Molly glared. "Was that entirely necessary?"

Sherlock shrugged. "We had to explain our presence." He began to pace. "Perhaps in the office there is a schematic of the CCTV cameras. I could—"

"Sherlock." Molly felt her stomach roiling. To grope her, and then to act as though it didn't matter. He was as bad as Jason. "Couldn't you have simply— You didn't even—"

Sherlock frowned. "For God's sake, Molly. We all have to do our part."

"And that's my part? To be a…" She took a deep breath and tried again. "You mustn't put your put your hands on me like that again." She shuddered. "Not ever."

Sherlock was silent. When she dared look at him, he was deathly pale. He crossed to the window and spoke with his back to her. "Fine." With an abrupt push, he opened the window and was gone.

XXXXX

Sherlock walked through the wood, face against air, feet against dirt. To the stone wall, a turn and on and on. Mustn't. Mustn't! Not ever. Shudder. How revolting.

He heard a jingle and several low forms padded toward him. The dogs. They trailed behind him. At least they didn't find him disgusting.

It took much walking, but in time, things calmed. His stomach. His eyes. Molly found him useful. For that, she could tolerate him. Appreciate him, perhaps. Even imitate him, but never— Never. Mustn't! Fine. Didn't want to! Less trouble, after all. He snatched his mobile.

Still coming?—SH

Of course—JW

Good. Bring rope ladder, heavy blanket, torch and gun—SH

Right. Looking forward to it. Mary sends her love—JW

Sherlock turned off the mobile and glanced at the dogs, seated in a semicircle with thumping tails. Curious how they had paraded behind him. Ants did that, followed each other in long streams. A pheromone trail. Animals. Animal noses. They did everything with scent. It was how they—

How they found things.

Oh! Oh, of course! It was there all this time! He regarded the dogs, and they gazed back. He could have sworn they were grinning.

XXXXX

Sherlock found what was needed easily enough. He considered waiting until tomorrow, but they must get to the breakfast tray.

Although it was close to midnight, the lights in Molly's bedroom were on. She was awake, sitting up in her bed when he entered. She glanced at him. "Are you angry?"

"Of course not. Should I be?"

"No."

"Well then. All sorted. Now—"

"You left. So abrupt."

"I wanted to think. It was fruitful. I know how we can find Deenie." He sat on the chair and placed the napkins and the two bottles from the lab on the bed. She lifted the smaller bottle.

"Bee pheromone?"

"Nasanov scent. The orienting pheromone. We must soak these napkins in this and include them on Deenie's trays." He lifted the second bottle holding seven honeybees. "These will reveal her location."

"If the napkin is still on the tray."

"Yes. If the napkin is still on the tray. And if the tray is still near her. Since they have been leaving the trays until the next meal, the likelihood of that is rather high." He seized the pheromone bottle from her and began to sprinkle it on the napkins. "Why aren't you asleep?"

She glanced away. "I was thinking."

"About Deenie?"

"No." She pulled a pillow to her chest and watched as he worked. "About the future. My future." She watched him finish another napkin. "This is clever."

Sherlock finished the fourth napkin and closed the bee pheromone jar. "What about your future?"

Molly shook her head. "Nothing."

"Tell me."

She glanced away again and spoke in a low tone. "I don't want to be a lonely eighty-year old working at the morgue."

"You want to leave the morgue?"

She shrugged. "No. Maybe. No… Maybe."

"And do what? Train dogs?"

At this, she glared. "At least with dogs, I would…" She stopped and looked away once more.

"You what?"

"Matter. I would matter. What I wanted." Molly fell silent.

Many retorts came to mind. About how no one ever got what they wanted. About how the world was harsh, you use others or you are used. But as Molly pulled the pillow closer and drew the covers to her chin, Sherlock found he could give voice to none. He stood and turned off the light. "Yes. Dogs are good that way." He left.