Chapter Seven: Baskets

Spring came and left, the leaves falling from the trees as fall arrived. The colours red, orange, and gold dominated London, as were the Halloween decorations that followed. Children shrieked for joy as they plummeted into grand leaf piles, laughing as the leaves scattered across the lawn in a flurry of colours. Though there was one child missing; a small, sweet one, as eager as the rest, and just as kind, fading away with the falling leaves.

When the telephone rang at nearly three in the morning, both parents leapt to retrieve it. Sherlock was the winner, having been partially awake anyways, and snatched the mobile, pressing it to his ear. "What is it? What do you want?" He snapped.

The voice that answered wasn't the one he'd expected. "Hey, I've got a case-" And the call was ended before the DI could finish his sentence.

A few moments later, Greg called again. "Look, Sherlock. Just come check it out. It was two kids."

Sherlock's mouth slid open, but didn't shut. His stomach dropped somewhere around his feet, along with his heart as he began to make small, quick deductions. John gave a wary nod and got up to get their clothes and coats.

"Yeah, we'll be right there. What's the address? Right. See you," Sherlock muttered bitterly. Ending the call, he let the phone linger in his hand for a few minutes, staring at it, before he shoved it into his pocket.

"It may not be him," John said quietly, tugging on a jumper.

"Do you know for sure it has nothing to do with him?"

"No, but.."

"Why do you think he would call then, John?"

"To get your mind off it? Maybe he thinks it'll help."

"Ridiculous. My son is out there, with Jim and you're asking me simply to think of something else?" He paused, shaking his head. "For god's sakes, John. You're worse than Anderson, you idiot."

The detective turned to face the other man, and was confronted with a sock to the face. He pulled it away in puzzlement, and saw John, jaw clenched and his trapped in his tight fist. "I….was trying to help, you know. This is isn't any better for me. But…" He made a frustrated grunt at not being able to form the words. "And you're just being an utter dick about it."

Sherlock's jaw dropped slightly, clearly trying to sort out what to say. In the end, it was only a quiet plea. "John-"

"Forget it," John snapped as he slipped on his coat and shoes, turning to the door.

"No, but-"

"I said forget it, Sherlock. Lets just go."

Darkness came and decorations of evil and fear sprung out amongst the homes in the forms of pumpkins and cartoon-looking monsters. Treats and candy were brought in by the bucket full, with children eagerly trying to sneak a piece from their parents. Laughter was often heard echoing around, mixing with the other, grieving voices.

"Ruby Kohere and Max McDoughall," Lestrade's voice droaned on. "Ages eight and seven. They went missing yesterday, and weren't found 'till this mornin' by a couple a kids."

Sherlock silently crouched by the bodies, going over to them, his eyes taking in everything. He glanced up at the man next to him. "John?"

The doctor sighed and crouched. He took the cold hand of the small boy, studying it, before turning to the gash in the girl's throat. He pushed to his feet again. "Well, they haven't been dead long. And both were abused before they died. The cut and broken leg are old injuries." His eyes lingered on the children a moment longer. He couldn't help but think of his son, his baby, lying there like that, somewhere, and quickly rushed on. "There was blood and teeth, and they're identical to the bites on her throat and shoulder. I'm guessing, in some sick twisted way, they made him attack her, then cut open his stomach, leaving them to die of their wounds."

Sherlock gave a nod, bending again. "They weren't sibling. Friends, more than likely. Both were walking home and grabbed from behind-the marks on their hips. More than likely thrown in a van, from the look of their ankles." He frowned slightly, but the look vanished as quick as it came. His hand slipped in the boy's pocket, and he pulled out what looked like woven grass. John glanced up at him, watching as he slipped it in his pocket.

"Do let us know if you find anything else," Sherlock drawled, turning to tug John away. He magically hailed a cab and they both climbed in.

They weren't in there long before John's mouth opened. "What was that?"

"A pair of dead children."

"I meant what did you find, Sherlock."

"Woven grass. Apart of a basket, more than likely."

"What's the point of that? Its pointless."

"Is it? I would like to think of it as a hint. How Jim does like those. His little riddles."

"A hint?"

"Yes. Didn't you know? Miss Little Red Riding Hood conveniently carried one."

John stared at him, mouth open slightly. "You mean…oh God." He said slowly. Sherlock rolled his eyes and glanced out the window. "Exactly why we're on our way to Bart's."

Molly yawned heavily as she brought in three cups of coffee. "So…." Another yawn. "What did you need me for?"

Sherlock didn't look up from his microscope. "I forgot my keys." He said simply. "And it wasn't as though you were doing anything."

"I was spending the night with my boyfriend, actually."

"Then I'd end the relationship. Clearly you aren't too interested as you were far too interested to come join us. That and he's having an affair with….ah. The coffee shop woman."

John rubbed his temples, eyes shut. "Sherlock…"

Molly set down the coffee roughly, much to roughly for her character, and upset some of the cups, causing Sherlock's head to turn up. "You know…I was just trying to be nice. You've…you've lost your son. And I..I was trying to help. But you're always…always..so mean.." She cast her gaze downwards, shaking her head. "Why..why do I bother?"

"Molly..I'm.."

"No, no, its fine. Let me just get some napkins."

Sherlock stood, going over to Molly, who's face was a dark shade of red. She glanced away, but he gently tilted her chin upwards. "I apologize. I was wrong in my speaking. My mind has been…other places. It seems I have hurt you. I hadn't meant to."

The girl's mouth opened, her blush darkening. "I-I-I.." She managed, and Sherlock dropped his hand, turning back to his microscope. "Don't stutter, Molly. It doesn't suit you."

Molly's mouth had opened to reply when Sherlock made an excited noise, leaping from his chair and calling for John.

The doctor had returned with a flannel, his brows raised. "What-?" He was cut off when his wrist was seized, and he was pulled out the door. "Grass Baskets!" Sherlock declared. "A shop that ran down a few years ago."

"I gather you want to check it out."

"Naturally. The only we lead we have."

"Lets go, then."

Molly watched them disappear out the door, her mouth open in a silent answer. Her hand raised in a good-bye wave, though they were already gone. "I…thought you would have noticed the lipstick," She finished, dropping her hand.

A/N: Woohoo! Finished in time. Sorry for missing the stuff at the bottom (I'm running out of ideas; uh oh. I'll try to add something later. Hope your week goes well!)