The daily body count had fallen off dramatically since Sherlock had publicly announced his return. Molly suspected that no one wanted to be hunted down by a man who was clever enough to fake his own death. In lieu of helping the Scotland Yard find murderers, Sherlock had taken up a different case: that of Jane's missing father. Molly was both relieved to have someone who finally wanted to solve the case, and also terrified that he would solve the case and she would lose custody of Janie. She knew that was a terribly selfish thought, but so be it. Jane was her child, and she was not giving her up.
Sherlock had texted her to meet him at 221B when she got off of work so that they could have an interview. Molly had texted Jim that she would be late getting home, and Jim texted back a picture of Jane playing on a tiny jungle gym. Jane would be fine with him.
So, as promised, at 5 o'clock Molly rang the doorbell and Mrs. Hudson let her in. The old woman busied herself preparing tea as Sherlock started his interrogation. "So, Molly," he flashed her a patronizing smile, "what was your relationship with James?" he asked, his face taking on it's normal intensity.
"Um... I dunno how to describe it really. We shared a night and a daughter, that was about it." She said, looking down. She wasn't proud of that night. The night after Jim had left, Molly was crushed, and needed a release. So she had gone to a pub, and had a few too many drinks. She had woken up the next morning next to a rather handsome man, and only very vague memories of him. But the past was the past; Jane was here now.
"Right. And you gave him sole custody of Jane, citing emotional instability and postpartum depression. What kind of emotional instability?" He began to pace around the room, making Molly even more nervous.
"Well, you had just left my flat after falling off of a building, Jim Moriarty was still at large, I had just given birth to the child of a man I had only just met nine months prior, and my parents got divorced the day before I went into labor. I was in no condition to take care of a child." She explained, her voice tense.
"So you grew up in a broken home. How interesting." Sherlock muttered, his eyes narrowing. Molly was about to interject that her home was not broken until a few years ago, but Sherlock spoke first. "What do you know about James' family?" He plopped back down in his chair, tenting his fingers under his chin and appearing to concentrate very hard.
"Erm, nothing really... I mean he had a mum that babysat Janie a lot, but I only met her once. I know that he had some brothers and sisters but he never really spoke about them. He also had this au-"
"So his father was not in the picture either. Which, statistically, leads to drug usage, promiscuity, and abandoning responsibility of children. But he wouldn't have done that without cause, not after a year of taking care of her. So now the question becomes, did he voluntarily leave or did someone forcibly remove him?" Sherlock jumped up once more, and consulted his wall, which so far only contained pictures of James and last known locations pinned out on a map. Molly was familiar with three of the pins: the pub that they had met at, James' house, and the daycare center that he dropped Janie off at the day he poofed off of the planet.
"Where's that?" Molly asked, pointing to the last pin, a purple one halfway across the map.
Sherlock, jolted out of his mind palace, glared at her for a minute, then looked back at the wall. "His work." Sherlock said, dismissing her.
"Er, no it's not. He worked at Jones&Burke, on the East side." Molly said, confused. Sherlock's head snapped around so quickly that Molly feared his head might sail clear off.
"How would you know? You said you barely knew him." He said, his voice accusing. Molly became indignant.
"Because I had to go there for paperwork three times after he disappeared. And because every court document listed that as his employer. You can go there and ask; everyone knew him and Jane." She said, more forcefully than she meant to. Molly had a very long fuse, but this week had burned most of it, and Sherlock was now on her last inch.
Sherlock turned back to his wall, and she could almost see the gears working in his head. Or, him turning down the hallways in his palace. She didn't quite get the concept of a mind palace, but if he wanted to be a princess then that was his own business. Molly didn't judge.
Without a word, Sherlock pulled on his coat, sent a text, and stormed out of the apartment. Molly sat in the chair for a moment, confused. Mrs. Hudson handed her a cup of tea on a saucer, and sat in the chair opposite. "Always on the run, he is. Can't keep up with him. I always tell John..." The old woman rambled on as the evening gave way to night, and Molly strained to "mm-hmm" and "yes" at the right times as her mind wandered to places far away from 221B.