Molly understood what Sherlock was going through. At least, she thought she did, what with her dad and everything, so Sherlock didn't have to be that mean because she was really only trying to be helpful. And even with the DI there to run interference, Molly still had to run off three times to try and collect herself before returning.

Sherlock had called her stupid, told her to stop her useless quibbling, and had broken three test tubes, five glass slides, and one petri dish. And it wasn't even lunch yet.

So when the DI ran out and claimed he was going to check on John and get some food, she couldn't blame him, but was rather anxious about what would happen when he wasn't around.

She'd dealt with Sherlock on his own before, but he was temperamental at the best of times, which this was most certainly not. And especially since John, Molly had mostly been able to leave him in the lab, confident in the knowledge that John would keep him from doing something incredibly stupid or dangerous.

But what was she supposed to do? Refuse that the man could leave? She was hardly capable of that.

Which was how she ended up being left alone in a lab with an emotional and erratic Sherlock Holmes, rambling on about bees. (It was really all she could think of.)

Sherlock had just thrown his beaker at the wall, which thankfully, was plastic and didn't break, when Molly tried this diversion tactic.

"A queen bee can lay 1500 eggs a day," she stammered. Sherlock looked at her with a sideways glance that didn't seem to be disapproving, so she continued. "They do warmup dances before they leave the hive. They have five eyes and two pairs of wings. Bees are classified as insects and are the only ones that make food humans can eat. Male bees are called drones and don't have stingers. The female bees-"

"Yes, yes, that's quite enough, thank you Molly," Sherlock muttered, waving a hand at her, his head face down on the work bench.

"Honey has natural preservatives and bacteria can't grow in it, which gives it potentially medical applications."

"Not for John," he replied.

"Oh, I didn't mean..." she trailed off, biting her lip. Perhaps she should just stop talking.

"Yes, good plan," Sherlock muttered, unsticking his head from the work top and reaching for a pipette.

"Yes. Right. D'you need anything?"

Sherlock contemplated that for a moment. "Yes, some more iodine."

Molly didn't question why Sherlock needed more when he obviously still had a full bottle at his feet, mostly because she'd had enough berating for one day.

Ducking into the storage room and grabbing another bottle off the shelf, she returned to the lab in less than a minute to find it empty.

"Sherlock?" she called, hoping that he might answer and knowing he wouldn't.

She sighed. That DI was going to kill her.

"Molly," a voice called, and her heart sank. "Where's Sherlock?"

Molly looked over to him, crisps in one hand and a plastic-wrapped sandwich in the other.

"I turned away for a second... and he just... vanished," she squeaked.

Tossing the crisps onto the counter haphazardly (which made Molly cringe, she knew from experience that could be a mistake, especially considering Sherlock had been the last one to use it) he ran a hand through his hair.

"When?" he asked.

"Just now," she stammered.

He was out the door before she could warn him about the crisps.

Molly sighed and went to check them for damage.