Soon after Molly left, Sherlock fell asleep again. Normally, he wouldn't sleep this often, but the morphine did make him feel tired, and caused him to think all sorts of rubbish. As John had once pointed out, he sounded like he was just babbling. He preferred to sleep so he wouldn't have to listen to his own thoughts.

When he awoke, he could feel someone's eyes on him. He blinked his eyes open.

A smooth, voice spoke. "Ah. You're awake."

He turned his head to his right, seeing the source of the voice, who sat in a hospital chair at his bedside.

"Woman." He said.

"Mr Holmes," Irene Adler said, giving Sherlock a grin. "It's been quite awhile since we last met, hasn't it?"

"Mm." Sherlock hummed.

"I visited you yesterday," Irene said, crossing her legs. "You were sleeping. I did leave you a rose, though." She turned her head to the counter top, where a single red rose stood in a clear vase.

Sherlock turned his head to the rose. "I noticed."

"I assume it would be incredibly rude of me to suggest having dinner, considering your current state." Irene said.

Sherlock looked back at Irene. "Of course."

"That's alright. I don't feed the injured anyway." The Woman smiled.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "What are you really doing here, Miss Adler?"

"I've heard that there was a threat to you," Irene said. "Seeing you now, I suppose my sources were correct."

"Your sources?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"I have people watching over London," Irene informed Sherlock. "Mycroft send me a message, informing me of your accident."

"Of course." Sherlock said. "I never believed that he thought you were dead."

"I hate to tell you this, Mr Holmes, but he is very clever. Cleverer than you."

Sherlock sighed.

"That's not it, though," Irene said. "One of my sources said there was someone else imposing a threat to you and London."

"You do realize that being specific does help, yes?" Sherlock said, his voice urging her to get on to the point.

"There has been activity surrounding the case of Jim Moriarty." Irene said.

Sherlock frowned. "Moriarty is dead, and I spent two years dismantling his network."

Irene frowned as well. "Someone is reorganizing his network and continuing his work. I don't know who, although I do plan to find out."

"Any idea of their plans?" Sherlock asked.

"No," Irene said. "They are good at covering their tracks and hiding."

Irene took her mobile out of her handbag, which had been sitting in her lap. She clicked it on and slid her finger across the screen, unlocking it.

"Anything interesting?" Sherlock asked.

"I've got to go," Irene said, uncrossing her legs and standing from the chair. "I'm meeting up with someone, can't afford to miss it. Goodbye, Mr Holmes."

And with that, she left.

Sherlock turned down his morphine dosage, grunting. He gave himself a moment to adjust to the level of pain, and then closed his eyes. With hands steepled in front of his mouth, he entered his mind palace. Mary was waiting for him, and he circled her. He brought up memories of her, anything that may give him clues as to why she was going to murder Magnusson. His mind, for once, was not much help.

He had to interrogate her.

With great caution, he unhooked himself from all of the medical machines, and slowly got out of his bed. He winced at the pain in his abdomen, and staggered over to the window. He slid it open, and wind began blowing the curtains. He shivered at the temperature change, and took a deep breath.

They really needed better security in this building.

He took a step closer, and threw his right leg over the edge of the windowsill, grabbing on to the sides of the window with his hands. He threw is left leg over the sill, and took another deep breath.

Molly was called into work that night. A child's corpse was waiting for her in the morgue. He wasn't murdered, she discovered. He had had an asthma attack in his sleep, and did not survive it.

After she had finished the autopsy, she washed her hands and went to the break room. She made herself coffee and sat down. About a minute after she sat down, DI Greg Lestrade came into the break room.

"Hello Greg!" Molly greeted him with a smile.

"Molly." Lestrade said, his voice urgent.

Molly frowned. "What's wrong?"

"It's Sherlock." Lestrade told her, taking a seat in front of her.

"What's happened to him?" She had a bad feeling.

"He's gone missing."

"What?!"

"He escaped through his window." Lestrade ran a hand over his head.

Molly put her hand to her face. "Do they not have any kind of security?"

"Apparently not," Lestrade said. "But I need your help, Molly."

She removed her hand from her head. "Anything."

"Do you know of any of his bolt holes?" Lestrade asked. "Anywhere that he might go so that no one finds him."

Molly thought for a moment. "Spare bedroom. Well, my bedroom." Molly let out a small smile at the memories of Sherlock sleeping at her flat. "We agreed he needs the space." She decided that it would be best to not smile, so she raised her coffee cup to her mouth, taking a sip as she looked away from the DI.