Hello dear reading enthusiasts ;-)

I hope you have survived the Christmas days well and slipped well into the new year? I wish you in any case a happy and healthy new year!

And since I had a relatively quiet start, I decided to continue writing. I hope you enjoy it and maybe see you soon!

The next day, Sherlock paced nervously up and down his apartment. He had invited Molly to join him on Baker Street for the day. He hadn't given her an exact time, only that she should come by. He didn't know when Molly would show up at his place, but hoped he shouldn't wait too long. Every now and then he took a quick look in the mirror. He was wearing the purple shirt that he knew Molly always liked best on him.

Sherlock couldn't really explain where this nervousness came from. But then he thought back to last night. How perfectly her body would fit against his as she snuggled against him and the warmth that went through him as he held her in his arms and kissed her. The feeling that her presence and just the mere thought of her, always triggered in him. He hadn't just asked Molly to come to Baker Street. Today he was going to tell her his feelings openly. Open his heart to her. He wasn't aware of how yet but he knew there was only one person he wanted to be with. And that was Molly.

Time passed and Sherlock had decided that as long as he would wait, he could handle a few of his clients' requests.

He managed to clear up most of the inquiries without getting out of his chair once. It was now early evening and still no sign of Molly.

A slight feeling of disappointment spread and slowly he wondered if Molly would show up at all. Thousands of thoughts flew through his head.

Where was Molly? Had she forgotten? Had something happened?

But one question kept intruding. Anger and rage the constant companions of that question.

Had she stood him up?

Sherlock shook his head in disbelief.

"No. Molly's not like that. She would never abandon me. And after all, she promised!" he kept muttering to himself, trying to calm himself down.

A knock on the door triggered a brief glimmer of hope in him.

"Hoo hoo" he heard a familiar voice and the heart in his chest immediately sank again.

"Everything okay my dear?" asked Mrs. Hudson as she saw the disappointment on his face.

"Everything's fine," he replied coolly.

"What is it?"

The older woman looked skeptical but decided to say nothing further in response. Instead, she entered cautiously. In her hand was an envelope.

"This was delivered today. It's for you, Sherlock. But there's no return address on it" she explained, holding the letter out to him.

Looking curiously at the envelope, he took it and inspected it closely.

It was an ordinary envelope that could probably be bought anywhere in London. There was no stamp and no return address. That should mean that it had been hand-delivered. Only his name, in slightly messy squiggles, was written on it. He looked further at the envelope and could also make out minor traces of a white powder. He sniffed it lightly and then brought a fingertip of the whitish powder to his mouth. Surprise and confusion flashed.

"Mrs. Hudson, do you have the letter from Mr. Chatterjee?" he then asked.

"Huh?" the older woman then asked, looking slightly confused.

But Sherlock just sighed and rolled his eyes, slightly annoyed. Slowly, he rose from his chair and then motioned toward his landlady.

"The envelope. There are residues of white powder visible. Powdered sugar to be more precise. It also smells faintly of coffee and baked goods. Which means it must have been in a coffee shop. It also has a faint whiff of a special spice used only in the café below. So no one other than an employee or the owner himself, could have had it in his hand. And since no one other than Mr. Chatterjee himself has yet approached them, I am right in assuming that they have this letter from him," Sherlock finally finished his remarks, grinning smugly at her.

But old Mrs. Hudson didn't reply anything but rolled her eyes.

"The only question is why?" he then asked, more to himself.

"Well, the only way to find out is to open it. Anyway, all he meant was that someone must have left the letter with him at the cafe."

Sherlock nodded slightly and then turned back to the letter. Using his knife, he opened it and unfolded the piece of paper. He let out an annoyed breath when he saw that words were written from small different snippets of letters.

Very imaginative," he thought to himself and rolled his eyes in annoyance.

Then his gaze flew further and with wide open eyes he now stared at the paper. In big colorful letters it was written:

YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS! I WILL MAKE YOU PAY FOR EVERYTHING!

Immediately his thoughts shot to only one person.

Molly!

With slightly shaky fingers, he then reached for his phone and dialed her number.

It rang once, it rang twice, and just as he was about to give it up, he heard a soft voice on the other end.

"Hello?"

"Molly! Are you okay?" he almost shouted into the receiver.

He heard nothing.

"MOLLY?!"

Then a quiet breath.

"Sherlock, what's wrong? What time is it?" she asked. Her voice weak.

"It's almost eight"

"Okay, if it's only eight in the morning, then let me sleep some more. It was a -"

"No Molly! I meant eight in the evening" he interrupted her.

"WHAT! I've been asleep all day? I missed our meeting. Sherlock, I'm so sorry. I also don't know -"

"Molly. It's okay. I'm just glad nothing happened to you" he interrupted her again, trying to reassure her.

"What was supposed to have happened?" she then asked, slightly puzzled but still tired.

"Oh nothing. Just forget about it. Take care, Molly!" he finally ended the call without Molly being able to say or ask anything else.

With a relieved breath, he put his phone back on the table.

"Is everything all right, Sherlock?"

He stiffened his shoulders slightly as he heard the voice. He had completely forgotten that Mrs. Hudson was still in the room when he called Molly.

With a slight smile, he finally turned to the older lady.

"It's okay. I think I have a new case" he finally said, gently but firmly pushing her out the door.

It was now just under a week later after John and Mary's wedding when Molly first encountered Sherlock again. While her two friends were enjoying their honeymoon to the fullest, she threw herself back into work.

She felt a slight sense of shame and guilt when she first looked Sherlock in the eye again.

Sherlock's eyes again. He wore an unreadable expression as he faced her but deep in his eyes she could see anger and disappointment.

"Hello Sherlock" she greeted him in a slightly shaky voice as he entered the morgue.

"Molly," he replied coolly. His gaze settled on the dead body laid out beneath them.

"So what do we have here?" he then asked.

Molly sighed heavily. She wondered if he would be mad at her somehow after all, after she stood him up. After all, he was acting so cold and distant toward her again. But she couldn't and wouldn't. There was something between her and Sherlock and she wasn't ready to just let this go.

"So, is that it now? Are we never going to talk about this again?" she asked, feeling a lump in her throat.

Sherlock didn`t answer. He knew what she was getting at and couldn`t find a clear answer.

"Sherlock, I already apologized to you. I really didn't mean to..."

She stopped in her sentence as a sudden dizziness overcame her. She felt everything blur around her and the sounds became more distant.

"Molly? Is everything okay?" asked Sherlock now with a slightly worried tone. His eyes fixed on her.

But Molly didn't answer. Her mouth felt dry. She felt her legs beginning to give way. With the last of her strength, she clung to the autopsy table. And then everything went black.

"MOLLY!"