This quite diverges from Season 2, as you have no doubt noticed. I had quite the hiatus between chapters 6 and 7. I was planning to wait until I saw season 2 to see if I could make my story and that one mesh. *One year later* Doesn't look like it, but I'll finish this anyway. There will be a distinct influence of Season 2, though. Sorry for the wait. Sorry, sorry, sorry. Here's another chapter. These characters still do not belong to me.

I Want to Know, Too

Arranging Lunch

Sherlock left the morgue without a new case. The "double" murder was only one murder and one terminal case of stupidity. For the sake of keeping up the goodwill gor access to her lab, he pointed out that there should be a shoe with a broken heel. Molly confirmed. He stated that there was an expensive red wine bottle at the scene. Molly confirmed. It was suspected poisoning, possible residues found on wine glasses. She confirmed, but the toxicology report was still on order. The woman appeared to have suffocated, but had no bruising around her neck. Molly confirmed. Trauma to the back of the head, but not deadly. Molly confirmed.

"There will be a strawberry lodged in her throat. When you get back her blood work you will see she was intoxicated. She fell down because she was not sensible enough to wear shoes appropriate for a wet deck while making a drunken get away from the body of the man she had just poisoned." Molly had stared at him flustered for a moment before starting to write notes on his quick analysis.

He answered the follow up question before she could ask it. "Strawberry seed caught under her nail. Index finger tinted from stirring poison into wine with her finger. She will have trace amounts of the poison because she will have instinctively licked off the wine, rather than waste it, in the later glasses when she was becoming intoxicated. Bunions and a twisted foot."

Though Sherlock thought this sufficient Molly opened her mouth a second time after finishing scribbling notes. Of course, it was a curious thing to do after getting away with murder.

"She thought she was being clever by eating the rest of the strawberries. If anyone linked her to it, she could say that their evening had been over and she had left while he was still alive. The shoes were new. A gift from the banker. She wasn't used to them. They were too big. Or rather the right fit. She wore shoes too small. Conscious about the size of her feet. Nothing else happening? Nothing… interesting?" He scanned over clipboards.

"How did you know he was a banker?" Molly's question made him cringe. Had they not had this conversation before? Bankers had been in previous cases. Were they not paying attention? He had opted to ignore her question and told her to have a wonderful day.

Now Sherlock was sitting in a restaurant waiting for food and his dining companion to arrive. The people at the table beside him were growing annoyed at his constant stream of text notifications he was ignoring. The woman had given him a sneer of a smile while asking him to silence his phone. Sherlock told her that she was correct that her husband was sleeping with his brunette secretary, but that she should be checking his pants for burgundy lipstick stains, not his collars. That was why he had switched to dark under garments recently. After that, the couple were too busy to notice the continued chiming of his mobile.

John nearly walked by his window seat at the table. Sherlock gave him a little wave. The obscenities were muffled by the double paned window, but Sherlock could still read them on his lips. Sherlock looked away from the door and allowed John to get stopped by the hostess. John's instinct to be kind to strangers would cool him down. Then Sherlock waved and the hostess allowed John to came over and start spewing facts about the day they both knew in the form of questions.

Sherlock, you didn't go to your doctor's appointment.

"Where have you been? You didn't go see Dr. Pazzi." John announced with tinted cheeks as he sat down.

"I was hoping for something interesting to work on. Getting a little exercise." He finished the water in his glass.

Why weren't you at the morgue?

"Why weren't you at the morgue? I was right behind you. Molly said you were there for ten minutes." The waitress came by and refilled Sherlock's drink while John glared at him waiting for an answer. Sherlock belayed it by taking a slow sip from his glass.

"Well, I had to do two minutes of pleasantries with Molly. It took four minutes to explain the thing to her. It should free up their time in case something more interesting comes in."

That's not what I meant. Why haven't you answered my texts? Where were you?

"That's not what I meant. Where have you been since then? Why haven't you answered my texts?" John's voice became particularly threatening at the last question. He had considered waiting and sending a text from the restaurant, but he was afraid John would not come.

"I have been here waiting for you. I knew you would walk by. I didn't need to text you my location." The waitress stopped John's crude reply about where Sherlock could stick his knowledge. Instead, John balked at the expensive crab with a side of saffron yellowed wild rice being placed in front of him.

I can't afford this.

"I can't afford this, Sherlock." John hissed across the table as Sherlock cut into his crab cake.

"I noticed, but we're celebrating the end of my infirm." Sherlock slid John's wallet across the table. "Don't worry. I have done some long distance consulting while I was home bound. Something we must consider with less interesting cases."

'Why did you have my wallet? I was stranded at the morgue.'

"Why the hell did you take my wallet? I hopped into a cab and didn't have enough for a ride back from the morgue. I could have been stranded anywhere, Sherlock." John snatched the wallet from the table. Sherlock noted that John did not open it and check the contents.

"You wouldn't have seen me from a cab. You always keep enough money for a cab ride home in your pocket. In this case to the morgue. And where else would you have gone? I told you I was at the morgue." Sherlock noticed the couple leaving from the table next to them.

'You could have just messaged me. Answered one of my texts.'

"You could have answered any one of my texts. Normal people would just tell their friends to meet them for lunch. Or better, ask." John cracked into a claw with a little more ferocity than was necessary. Sherlock scoffed at 'normal people'. He had thought they were passed that kind of comparison.

"Normal people don't discuss the possibility that one of their friends nearly had them killed." Sherlock hailed the waitress and asked for tea while John waited impatiently for him elaborate. When the waitress left and he did not continue John leaned across the table slightly with raised eyebrows and an expectant expression. Sherlock looked him in the eyes before saying nothing as he finished his food. It was so tedious trying to catch people up constantly. With a heavy sigh, John also returned to his food without a word, but it was plain to Sherlock that the list of their acquaintances was being run through for possible malice.

John's internal laughing over the entirety of Lestrade's division wishing him ill made the corner of Sherlock's mouth quirk slightly. John was a wonderfully easy read and he said what was on his mind. This was one reason Sherlock could stand his constant presence. Sherlock was not having to continuously distinguish between what John was thinking and what he was saying. Having to wade through the little lies normal people were constantly filtering into conversation was exhausting. John could do this with others, but he had dropped such pretenses with Sherlock.

When tea arrived for them both, John thanked the waitress and finally asked the question that had been on his face since they had finished their meals, "Who?"

Sherlock put sugar into his tea. "You did not even consider her. I am a little disappointed."

John's head moved backward slightly in shock. Thankfully, it was not that Sherlock had known he was considering their friends. It was the person that came to his mind.

'Mrs. Hudson?' Really, John?

"Mrs. Hudson? Sherlock, she doesn't have to kill you. She can evict you for any number of reasons any time she pleases."

It was physically painful to hear John jump to the absolute wrong conclusion. John's text alert went off. Reflexively, John checked it and then glared at Sherlock. John put the mobile in Sherlock's face. He knew what the screen read.

Wrong -SH

"Really, Sherlock? Who else?"

"Come on, John. Who else is there? Why might I have not told you that we were meeting?" Having to drop that kind of hint for John disappointed Sherlock.

'Molly?' The thought from John was deafening, but also relieving. Sherlock was beginning to worry about possible brain damage John might have had in the blast.

"Molly? Why would you think she is trying to kill you?" John squinted at him in disbelief as thoughts such as 'But she's in love with you. She nearly passes out every time you are in the room ignoring her.' quickly flitted across John's face. Thankfully, he did not voice them.

"Tried. Failed. She read papers by my doctor. She said he was 'brilliant'." This had been a big tip off to Sherlock.

'He is brilliant. He is a leading doctor in his field.'

"So? He is the leading doctor in Neurology. How did you know she recommended him?" John put his palms down on the table. As if his face was not broadcasting the disapproval loud enough.

"She had read his papers. His most recent papers are not so brilliant. He has undiagnosed Alzheimer's. His recent papers were published by his name alone. The debates about them are kept quiet, but they are voluminous on the Internet. And Lestrade had his mobile stuck in speaker phone mode for two days."

'That's all?'

"You are accusing Molly of trying to kill you because she read papers from the top Neurologist in London and recommended him for you." John did not ask this, but stated it with disbelief. He still did not grasp it.

He had not seen the surprise on Molly's face. It was not the surprise of seeing an acquaintance after long absence. It was of seeing someone you expect to be elsewhere. It was the way she pronounced Dr. Pazzi, like she had been corrected by him personally on the pronunciation of the 'a'. He had heard this several times in the hallway with Lestrade. Then there was the nagging feeling about her connection to Moriarty.

Sherlock requested the check, but was informed that the woman in the table next to him had paid his tab and left her thanks. He collected his things and rose to leave.

"That's it?" John asked. Sherlock could see John's slightly open mouth in question, though he had already walked passed him.

"For now."

John's sigh was not one of resignation. It would not be a silent cab ride home.