Sherlock had just been confronted by Molly about being so distant and dismissive since the day after the wedding when Molly suddenly lost her footing and her body collapsed.

Quick-witted, he rushed around the post-mortem table and grabbed her with his strong arms to prevent her from hitting the hard tile floor.

Carefully, with Molly in his arms, he moved around the room and then gently placed her on one of the tables.

"Molly?" he whispered softly, stroking her cheek gently.

Slowly she opened her eyes and now looked into two, eyes filled with concern.

"Sherlock? What happened?" she asked, slightly dazed, then tried to sit up.

"You fainted suddenly," he said curtly.

Molly nodded slowly and suddenly felt how close Sherlock was to her. Only a few inches separated their faces. Sherlock couldn't help but notice it either and immediately that strange warmth flowed through his body again. Briefly he thought about closing the distance between them and leaning forward, but a clearing of Molly's throat interrupted his thoughts and brought him back to the present.

"Why am I actually lying on one of the post-mortem tables?" asked Molly then, looking down.

"Well, I wanted to stabilise your circulation and it seemed more comfortable for you than lying on the cold tile floor" he replied, now putting a little more distance between them again.

"How are you feeling? Maybe you should see a doctor?" he asked then, turning his worried eyes on her again.

But Molly just shook her head slightly and then slowly swung her legs across the table.

"I'm fine. I don't need a doctor. I probably just haven't had enough to drink today" she tried to reassure him and put on a slight smile.

"I'm sure if I eat and drink something right now, I'll be fine. Don't worry about it" she continued when she noticed his sceptical look on her.

But Sherlock didn't believe her and continued to look at her urgently with slightly narrowed eyes. He knew something was wrong and she was hiding something from him.

Instead of pressing further, however, he nodded curtly.

"Do that" he merely urged her as he further increased the distance between them and headed for the door. Just before he could reach it, however, he heard Molly call out to him once more.

"Sherlock?"

He didn't turn around and waited anxiously for her next words.

"Why did you ask me to come to you at Baker Street, anyway?"

He raised his head slightly and with a glance over his shoulder he smiled slightly at her.

"Goodbye, Molly!" was all he said and then disappeared out the door.

On his way back to Baker Street, he thought about what had happened a few minutes earlier. He couldn't help but think that much more than neglected basic needs was to blame for her condition. He thought again about the phone call a week ago. Molly sounded strangely weak and exhausted. She had never missed a date with her friends before, especially not because she had slept all day. And he didn't hear or see anything from her in the next few days after that either. Molly had never been sick. And if she was, she never put her work on the back burner because of it. Even with a cold she dragged herself to work. Never, in all the years he had known her, had she ever missed a day. There was something strange about the whole thing and about her condition too.

Then that mysterious message came back to him.

"YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS!"

'Who was this mysterious sender and what did he mean? What was he going to pay for?

And would he hear from him again?' Sherlock thought to himself as he covered the last few yards to his destination.

He was just stepping up to his door when it was swung open.

Mrs Hudson looked slightly distraught and looked at him anxiously.

"Oh Sherlock. I'm glad you're here. Here's another one for you" she said and handed him another envelope with slightly shaky hands.

He almost snatched it from her hands and opened it quickly. Then he unfolded the sheet and there it was. Another message. Only this time it wasn't made up of various snippets of letters. There on the white sheet of paper, in a slightly illegible script, like on the letterhead, were two simple words, but they made the hairs on the back of Sherlock's neck stand up.

IT BEGINS!