Molly picked up the paper from where it had fallen onto the seat. In Sherlock's characteristically messy scrawl was written:
You deserve the finest of things.
"What does that mean?" Molly asked herself. She turned the paper over and found an address printed on the back. She handed the paper to Harris and sat back in her seat. Sherlock had known her favorite haunt. She didn't remember telling him. How had he found out? She doubted he'd been following her the last few days. It's not that she couldn't picture him doing it. She just knew he wouldn't, not with her. The only person who could have known that was John.
They ended up in an old ten pin bowling alley that looked like it was born in the 70's. Molly ducked inside and quickly hurried past the seedy looking bar. She was here for something. What could it be?
"Help you miss?" a teenager asked from behind the counter.
"I think I'd like to bowl," she replied.
She paid for the 11th lane and gave him her shoe size.
"There's only one pair of shoes in that size. They don't look like bowling shoes," he said. He brought up a shiny pair of black pumps. Molly examined the underside of the shoes. They looked brand new.
A man in a beige uniform hurried over to where they were standing.
"Morning. Those shoes are for you, courtesy of Mr. Holmes," he said. "Give her back her bowling money Dawson. Go on. Sorry about that. He didn't know."
Molly thanked them both and took her new shoes with her back to the cab. So this was a treasure hunt! And it was progressing in the order of the games they'd played together over the last few months. Settlers of Catan, ten pin, Scotland Yard. That meant their next destination could only be one thing.
"New Scotland Yard, please."
The excitement was starting to build. He had picked the perfect way to apologize. As a young girl she had loved treasure hunts. In the summertime she and her brothers would spend hours looking for the thimbles, candy, and small toys their mother had hidden around the house. How could he have known? The only person she could remember having that conversation with was...oh, with Greg.
Lesetrade was waiting for them at the curb when they pulled up. He signaled for Molly to roll her window down.
"I'm sorry Molls. I want you to be happy. Sherlock, he's a great man. And you'll make him a good one. I can't tell you to forgive him but I hope you do," he said.
"It was you! You told Sherlock I like treasure hunts!"
"He asked. This was his idea mostly. I'm the mouthpiece. Here. It's from Sherlock not me."
He handed her a small blue glass bottle that obviously contained a perfume. Molly thought it smelled like jasmine in bloom. It was lovely.
"Thank you Greg," Molly said with a sweet smile.
"He's a lucky bloke," Lestrade said, then turned around with a wave and went back inside.
"I'm supposed to ask you who we should see next," Harris said.
Molly tried to remember the order they'd played their games in. She thought Minecraft was next, but how on Earth was she supposed to get a clue from that? Sherlock would know. He was a genius. The only person smarter was...
"Mycroft!" Molly laughed out loud. "Mycroft sounds an awful lot line Minecraft. Let's go see him. If I'm wrong then he'll be annoyed. Sherlock would love that."
"Sure thing," Harris replied.