The dark sergeant only rolled her eyes, while Lestrade just looks put-upon. "I thought you would've told her about Moriarty rather than getting off with her," the detective inspector grumbled.
She was less concerned about her appearance than about the sudden intrusion, for once, and didn't bolt from their embrace. At least their cover story looks believable now. "What's he talking about?" Molly leaned out of his arms a bit to look at him in confusion, then at Lestrade. "Who's Moriarty?"
"James Moriarty, otherwise known as the Professor, hacking genius, tried to kill John and me, works at Roland-Kerr Further Education College, does that last one ring a bell?"
She frowned. "Kind of."
Lestrade jumps in, "That was where Sherlock and that killer cabbie had their little showdown. Sherlock, we can't find him."
"Of course not," Sherlock said, sounding bored but not really. "I'm sure the very same method he used to get into the Yard's files is the same one that sounds the alarm to let him know you're onto him. If he's as smart as I think he is, he'll only show up when he wants to, and not a moment sooner." Then he looked at the brunette he's still holding. "Which is why I came to you last night, and that's when you dragged me into bed and-"
Donovan is putting her hands over her ears and going, "La lala lala la! I don't need to hear this!" like an inane child. Really. And after she'd started the bet on his and John's relationship being non-platonic, not to mention her own pathetic affair with Anderson, that idiot. Rather hypocritical, really.
"Your love life aside, we need to get the two of you out of here and into a safe location," Lestrade said urgently.
Molly straightened up. "What about my job?"
"What about it?" Sherlock frowned.
She glared at him. "I do have to work, so I can pay my share of the rent, and eat, and everything you think is boring stuff," she said.
Lestrade said, "Safety first, job second. Tell them you're sick and staying with the Watsons."
"Oh, all right," she said, mollified. She started to reach for her mobile, then stopped, crashing into his chest. "Sherlock," she blushed, "you'll have to let go so I can get to my phone."
What? Oh. Dull. He let go, and she did as she was asked, and they could hear one of her loud coworkers wishing her well and all that from the other end. Sherlock got off of the bed and tossed his robe to the side. "Where's the safehouse?" he asked.
"Can't tell you," Lestrade said, crossing his arms.
He was being even more idiotic than usual. "How else am I supposed to know where Molly is?" he asked, taking off his shirt and heading towards the door.
"What the – put your shirt back on!" the detective inspector yelled. "What do you mean? You'll both be in the safehouse, genius!"
"No, we won't," Sherlock said firmly, "because I'm going with you. I want to search his flat, office, anywhere he's been, see what he's got there, and see if he's left any messages for me."
"So I'm going to be the princess in the tower, is that it?" Molly pouted.
She was okay at pouting, but she wasn't as good as he was. "If that's how you see it, yes," Sherlock said, "I see it as keeping you from the same fate as John Watson." That shut her up temporarily.
"Don't worry," Donovan told Molly, "we'll look after him." Lestrade nodded, then stared and shrugged when Sherlock glared at him.
The girl on the bed smiled a little. "Good," she said, exhaling. "Sherlock? Come here," she said, less in the captain voice John occasionally slips into and more the trying-to-order-her-cat-around type.
He walked over, as opposed to her cat, who would ignore anything anyone said unless it was about food. "Yes?" he raised his eyebrows a little, just a little curious as to her demand.
She pulled him in by his shirt front and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Good luck," she blushed lightly, smiling.
"I don't need luck," he sniffed, straightening up when he heard a click. Donovan used her phone to take a picture, and Lestrade was smirking.
"You two are so cute," the sergeant beamed, putting her phone away. "I don't know why I doubted you."
"Shut up," Sherlock glared, then stomped past her and down to his bedroom to change. Stupid Mummy, he thought, stupid Mycroft. And stupid Lestrade and Donovan, too.
He gave himself a quick once-over in the bathroom, then pulled on his work clothes and put in a bit of product to keep his hair from falling into his face. He then strode, not stomped, back upstairs to Molly's room. His bespoke shoes wouldn't allow stomping. "What about Mrs. Hudson?" he asked Lestrade, since it seemed Sally was guarding the bathroom. He guessed it was more for her own misplaced peace of mind than for Molly's.
"We asked her to visit someone out of town," Lestrade smiled a little, "so she did, with a little police company."
Good. John already had a small army guarding him and Mary at the hospital, so that was covered. All he wanted now was to find Moriarty, and he needed no distractions. Then he frowned. Since when were Mrs. Hudson and Molly distractions? Stupid other Sherlock. He's made his life so complicated with people and relationships and things. "Fine," he said, and swept down the stairs, Lestrade following after him.
