Molly didn't see Sherlock for three days, but she did get calls from Mary every so often, updating her on John's, and therefore Sherlock's, whereabouts. Molly smiled. It was nice to have another woman in the circle, she smiled to herself. Then she got a rather curious text from Sherlock. She frowned because it said, "Wear the ring on the next corpse."

"Why?"

She could almost hear his gusty sigh when the next text came through. "You'll need it."

She shook her head. Why she would need a ring from a corpse? But she thought it had something to do with his current case, so when the next body came in, she looked for a ring and found one, a simple platinum one on the woman's ring finger. After cleaning it off, she put it on her own finger rather than in an evidence bag. She knows she shouldn't be surprised that it fits, but it does. She then proceeded with the autopsy, and then with another, and another, and another.

When she comes home, she isn't surprised to find Sherlock sprawled all over the sofa. She is surprised, however, to find John similarly sprawled over one of the chairs. "Are you all right?" she asked, rushing over the last couple of steps and nearly tripping as she did so.

"We're fine, please watch that next-to-the-last step," Sherlock drawled, his eyes still closed.

Molly couldn't help it, she looked back to find that, yes, it was just a tiny bit crooked from the rest, but she wouldn't have known it if she hadn't almost tripped on it. She swung back to the boys in the living room. "Do you need, I don't know, ice or something?"

"We had a couple paracetamol and have some Icy Hot patches, we'll be fine," John groaned, not looking up. "In a few hours, at least."

She shook her head, then called Mary, who promised to bring over some bath salts. Then she proceeded to make tea, because that's all she can do, short of smothering them to put them out of their misery. She supposed this is the part of John's write-ups that he doesn't put online: the recovery after a case. "Does this always happen, this painful groaning thing?"

"Not always," Sherlock muttered. "I take my tea with two sugars."

John chuckled, then winced. "Thought you were cutting back."

"Yes, well, if I were in less pain, I might," the younger man snapped.

Molly unsuccessfully smothered a smile. "How do you want yours, John?"

"Bit of cream, one sugar," he said, "thanks."

"Would you like some sports drinks? That should help a bit," she called out as she went back into the kitchen.

John frowned a little as he creakily moved his head towards the kitchen. "When did you have sports drinks?"

"I don't, Molly does," Sherlock answered, "something about electrolytes, but won't let me experiment with them."

Now John's head snapped towards his friend. "You actually like drinking that stuff, don't you? No fingers in the bottles, nothing like that, I bet," he pouted.

"What murderer would leave fingers in a sports drink?" Sherlock asked when Molly came back out with the chilled plastic bottles.

John wrinkled his face. "Who would leave fingers in the teapot?"

"You weren't using it," Sherlock said in his high-handed fashion, "while the bottles were full."

Rather than deal with Sherlock's syllogism, John turned to Molly, smiling in thanks. "Molly, you must tell me how you manage to keep Sherlock out of the drinks." And he took an appreciative gulp of said sports drink.

She smiled. "I have a cat who guards the food."

"A cat!" John exclaimed. "So that's why Sherlock didn't want us to have a dog, it would've kept him away from experimenting with the food!"

Sherlock glared at them both when they started laughing. "I don't see what's so amusing," he said in as chilling a voice as he could manage while lying prone in pain and drinking a colorful, sugary drink.

Molly smiled briefly as the kettle whistled and went back to the kitchen pour herself the first cup of tea. It wasn't as bad as when Billy would come home wasted after a night of partying, but it was a strange mix of surprise and amusement seeing two grown men behave like children after a hard day of play. She did laugh when the first thing Mary did was take their picture, then start cooing over John's injuries, before having to do the same for Sherlock because he felt left out, although he wouldn't say so out loud.