A large crash, followed by a half-hearted apology a loud yet dismissive insult from Sherlock was what Molly woke up to. She jumped up a bit, groggily dropping her head back onto her pillow and curling into herself, eyebrows knitted together in sleepiness and annoyance. As she reached a state of true consciousness a few minutes later, she listened on what was happening downstairs.

"One of us has to find something!" Lestrade? What was he there for? Had Sherlock already called in for help in finding Moriarty? She figured he'd want to continue the somewhat solo game the two of them had always played, only involving the Yard when absolutely necessary. It wasn't like Sherlock to work with them until he had to.

"Possibly if you weren't all ramming yourselves in my flat, there would no longer be anything left to find!" came the irritated reply. Molly blinked in confusion. How many of them were in there?

"Oh, don't act like you don't need this!" Anderson's voice snapped. She could practically picture the sneer on his face. "You look like death, it's for your own good."

What was for his own good?

Molly froze. God, no.

He better not have.

Quickly, she sat up and shoved herself off the bed, pulling on trousers and a jumper rather ungracefully, not bothering to attempt anything with her hair. If that man had gotten high while she was sleeping, if he thought the Yard was being annoying, she would be a complete nightmare in comparison.

She trotted down the stairs hastily, already grumbling to herself about what could ever compel that man to believe that substance usage was going to help anything. Was it really that impossible to teach him a lesson? What was so bloody hard to understand about drugs being bad for him? That was all he needed to understand, that was the thick of it! Drugs. Bad. That would be enough to stop some people. Just not addicts, she supposed. He may swear up and down that he doesn't have a drug habit, but if that were the case, then what exactly did he call this?

As she entered the living room, her eyes widened at the amount of people inside. There were at least twelve of them, most of which she recognized from the Yard, but a few that she hadn't seen before. One woman with pale skin and curly red hair and a man with dimples and sandy blonde hair were talking to each other by the window, typing away on a tablet.

"Amy and Peter." Molly jumped and turned around to see the detective standing next to her, hands folded behind his back. She saw grey circles under his eyes, and he looked very exhausted and a bit paler than usual.

Her eyes narrowed, and she glared up at him. "Come with me," she ordered, pushing against his chest and shoving him into the kitchen, going unnoticed by everyone but Anderson, who raised his eyebrows in amusement before getting shoved in the arm by Lestrade, clearly annoyed that he'd lost his attention on whatever he was doing.

"Molly?" Sherlock questioned as she flicked on his microscope. "Shut up," she snapped, fetching a small beaker and passing it in his direction. "Urinate.'

"I'm sorry?"

"Is the word 'urinate' not one you are familiar with?"

Something flashed in Sherlock's eyes, and he smirked. Her expression darkened, much to his amusement and her aggravation. "Sherlock, this isn't funny!"

"I believe I have to disagree."

"Sherlock!"

He arched an eyebrow, setting the beaker down. "Yes?"

Molly stared at him for a moment, then at all the people crowding the living room. He waited patiently for her to realize that nobody was scouring his flat, or looking underneath floorboards, or swabbing down the furniture. One of her hands fumbled to switch off the microscope, and she cleared her throat, looking up at him again. "Then...what's-"

"Unfortunately, Moriarty has managed to contact the Yard about himself. I'm supposing he wants to slow me down, by the looks of it. Considering a crime has indeed been committed by him, the Yard has rights to investigate, which is highly annoying, especially since they wish to do so within my flat," he said the last few words slightly louder than necessary, only earning a few minor eye rolls from some of the members who were bothering to listen to him at this point.

Molly swallowed, opening her mouth as he turned back to her. "Oh, God. I'm...I'm sorry, Sherlock, I thought-"

"Perfectly fine, Molly," he said dismissively, beginning to move away from her.

"No, it isn't, I just thought...well, Anderson-"

"Anderson is here because Anderson is annoying, and for whatever reason, Lestrade is allowing him to be annoying."

"I'm only here to help," Anderson called over to him. "You're making it very hard for me to redeem myself to you, you know."

"Maybe it's the beard," Sherlock retorted facetiously, turning back to Molly. "Basically, this is a tracking session. We're all attempting to figure out Moriarty's whereabouts." Molly nodded, her eyes moving back over to the pair by the window. "Peter and Amy, you said?"

Smiling a little fondly towards the window, he nodded. "First two members of my homeless network. Very trustworthy, possibly not as much as you, but they've always been quite accessible and willing to do whatever I ask of them. Relatively normal backstories; simply never had enough going for them to earn enough income to live somewhere. Though they've always been willing for any sort of work, and have always accepted such from me. They've done some rather grueling tasks as well. Seem unaffected by most of it, if not happy."

Molly tilted her head as she looked at them. "So then, they're helping look, too?"

He nodded. "They've already secured three areas that he is most definitely not in, which is far more than the police have done in here so far-"

"Oi," came Lestrade's voice. "Watch it, Sherlock."

"Or what, you'll leave?" Sherlock snapped, eyes shifting to the inspector, who muttered something under his breath and went back to working.

Just then, Peter and Amy crossed the room, Peter with a steaming mug in his hands and Amy with the tablet over to Sherlock. Amy handed him the tablet and Peter the cuppa, before Amy extended her hand to Molly. "Hello," she said with a bright smile, giving Molly no time to dwell on the fact that Sherlock hadn't thanked them for either of the objects as he sipped at the coffee. "Amy Hemsworth." Molly returned the smile and courteous gesture. "Molly Hooper," she replied, her eyes turning to Peter as Sherlock stepped back from the three of them, observing what was now on the screen before him. "And you?"

"This is Peter," Amy interjected. "He doesn't talk, or at least, not unless he absolutely has to. Don't take it personally." Peter smiled politely to her, shaking her hand. "Right," Molly replied. "So, you're members of his ho-erm, network?" she asked conversationally, leaning back against the kitchen bench.

"Homeless network, yes," Amy said, looking amused at the pathologist's caution. "Have been for a very long time. Probably smell the best out of all of them, too," she beamed before laughing at her own joke. It only resulted in a disagreeing hum from the detective, which Molly promptly elbowed him in the ribs for. He glanced up at her in confusion, before seeing her stare and lifting his head to Amy and Peter. "Apologies," he mumbled, head instantly dropping back to the tablet.

"You made him apologize?" Amy asked incredulously. "How'd you manage that?"

Molly paused a moment and blushed. "Oh, well...I've no idea. I didn't realize I-"

"Molly keeps me in check with politeness," Sherlock answered flatly. "Mainly giving me a look when I'm unnecessarily rude to someone."

Molly blinked, and then smiled bashfully. "I do?"

Sherlock hummed, and handed the tablet back to Amy. "You're positive he's not in any of these areas?"

Amy and Peter both nodded. "Positive. And he won't be, either. We've got people stationed, as you've asked."

"Good," he answered. "If anything changes, come back here. I do not care what time it is."

"Well aware," Amy answered, tapping Peter on the arm before they both turned to scurry away. "We'll go walk about, check the two other leads." Sherlock grunted in acknowledgement before they exited, finishing off the cup of coffee and setting it on the bench, along with the tablet.

"They seem...kind," Molly commented. "And rather patient."

"They are," Sherlock replied. "Now then, lots of tracking to do; you should most likely lay down again, surely your hips are sore today."

Molly hadn't really been too aware of it until now, but there was a dull and rather unpleasant ache in them, and Sherlock began to step away, content with being immersed in trying to track down Moriarty again. Reaching out, Molly caught his arm before he could walk off. Turning to her, he looked down at her. "Yes?"

"Just...sorry again," Molly said. "I shouldn't have made the assumption you were using, that was just what it sounded like, and I-"

"You were worried," Sherlock uttered. "I assure you, I will not be using drugs anytime in the future, nor do I have plans to. It was a somewhat reasonable conclusion to come to. Do not worry about it too much. Now," he bent down, pressing a kiss towards her jaw, pulling away with a triumphant smirk on his face. "Go rest, Molly."

She only nodded in answer, watching him walk off and feeling a slight tingling sensation where his lips had been, and a faint grin spread over her features before she moved quietly back to the upstairs bedroom.

Hello! :D I hope you enjoyed the chapter. As I said before, planning is finished so I hope to be posting chapters frequently. This is also now officially my longest story on here, which I am taking an enormous amount of pride in, for whatever silly reason. Either way, thank you for reading and responding!