Chapter Five - Friends and Enemies

John stood up from the small table as Molly entered the cafe. She moved to the table in front of the large window that overlooked the busy street outside. Molly gave John a hug and a modest kiss on his cheek before sitting down.

"Sorry I'm a bit late," she apologized, "I've been running behind all day today."

"Problems?" John asked.

"Not really, just hectic," she explained. "It's been so busy everyone is pulling double shifts. We've done three autopsies this morning already and there are two more scheduled for this afternoon."

"Murder and mayhem rampant in London?"

"It certainly seems so," Molly agreed. "Most of them are routine, if you can call murder or suspicious deaths routine. The last autopsy was a little strange though."

As she recounted the mysterious items found in the dead man's stomach, John wondered how did one swallow three feet of metal chain with a dog collar attached, six wristwatches, and four silver spoons?

"Why do you suppose he swallowed them?" Molly asked.

"I don't know. It makes you wonder what he did with the dog, doesn't it?" John grinned.

"It has everyone befuddled," Molly said. "This is the kind of thing Sherlock was best at solving. He would have taken one look at the man and known why and how everything happened."

John wondered if Molly had realized she had spoken of Sherlock in past tense for the first time. Molly's voice trailed off and faltered. "Oh God, I thought I was past this sort of thing," she said. "I go for days with everything running smoothly, and then something pops up to remind me of him and I start to hurt all over again." A single tear trickled down her cheek.

"John, I'm losing him. I can't remember his voice," Molly said, sounding a little panicked. "Oh, I can still hear it, but it's like an echo instead of how it really was. And his laugh, oh God, I don't ever want to forget his laugh."

John reached across the table and grasped Molly's hands in his own. Her fingers were like ice. He rubbed his thumbs back and forth. Realizing that this time he was the stronger of the two, he gently squeezed her hands and said, "You won't forget Molly. At least not the important things."

"It changes," he continued. "Everything gets blurry. That's life, Molly. It's how we cope, but it doesn't mean we love him any less."

Molly nodded sadly.

The arrival of the waiter with their order shifted their attention. Neither noticed the tall elderly man across the street turn and walk away, blending into the crowd.

Sherlock was not quite sure why he had come to watch John and Molly today. That part of his life was over. It was just that sometimes he had to remind himself of that fact. They looked good. John had put on a little weight; his form was back to his trim military days. Oddly, Molly appeared to have lost weight. She didn't really have a weight problem; there was no need for her to be so slim. Pushing the thought out of his mind, he glanced at the photos he had taken on his mobile. The first was one of John and Molly's hug as they greeted one another. John was smiling. Sherlock couldn't see Molly's face in the photo as it was on the other side of John's, but he remembered her smile as they pulled away and seated themselves. The second photo was of John holding hands with Molly across the small table. It was all very intense and romantic looking. Sherlock immediately dismissed that last thought. There was not enough data to conclude that they were dating. It was the perfect solution though, he told himself. It would be a good thing if his friends found love and comfort in one another. But something about it bothered him. He couldn't quite put his finger on why, but he felt slightly irritated.

Molly looked at John over her cranberry chicken salad. "How did your date with Harry's friend go?" she asked.

John grinned. "Surprisingly very well. It was her friend's little sister." he clarified. "I was a little put out when Harry told me she had set me up with one of her school chum's relatives. You have no idea what Harry's friends were like back then. I fully expected to be going out with anything from an eighties punk rocker to a goth vampire. As it turns out, Mary is really great. She's nice, pretty, and very intelligent. She even laughs at my jokes," John smiled.

Molly chuckled. "Well if she thinks your jokes are funny it proves how intelligent she is. I take it you are seeing her again?"

"Tonight in fact," John said happily. "I think maybe she is going to be kind of special."

"You can tell after only one date?"

"Yes, I can," John said with surprising certainty in his voice. "You know how it is. How long did it take for you to fall for Sherlock?" He winced as he realized he had brought the subject of conversation back to Sherlock again. Idiot he told himself.

"Oh, positively ages," Molly began then corrected herself. "Alright, about five seconds," she admitted.

"Sometimes you just know."

They ate in silence for a few minutes, then Molly asked quietly, "John, are you sure Sherlock didn't say something that day you might have missed? Are you sure he was alone on the rooftop? How about his mobile, did you ever look at it? He might have left something on it for you."

John shook his head. He decided to answer her last question. "Mycroft has his phone. I've not seen it but Lestrade went over it thoroughly. Molly, we've been over this before. Why are you asking this again?"

"I don't know," she lied. Molly glanced at her wristwatch. "Oh gosh," she said, "I've got to get back. Stay and finish your lunch," she said as John moved to stand. "Thank you, John. You don't know how much your words meant to me today."

As Molly hurried out the door, John settled back at the table. He doubted if he had helped Molly. All he seemed to be able to do today was bring up memories that hurt. He thought about her last question. Could there be something on the mobile phone? Sherlock had sent him away on a wild goose chase that day. He had not meant for John to see him jump. He had told him the phone was his note. John stood up. He needed to talk to Mycroft.

ɸ

Jim Moriarty was upset. Sherlock was alive and he couldn't get his hands on him. The man was like an eel. Twice in the past two days he had thought he had him cornered only to find him gone. Moriarty cracked his knuckles one by one thoughtfully. What he needed was leverage, something to draw Holmes out into the open long enough to get him.

Not John Watson, Moriarty decided. He had John watched since the death of Sherlock. Watson was still going around like a sick puppy. Sherlock had made no attempt to contact him that Moriarty could see. Evidently Holmes had used the fall as an opportunity for breaking up the relationship. Poor John, to be cast aside so cavalierly, and for a woman no less! The thought of Sherlock living with a woman was disturbing. Jim had watched and researched Sherlock for several years. There had never been any indication that he was attracted to any woman in all that time except for Irene Adler and Jim had been involved in that. No, it was a complete mystery whom the lady friend might be. The only other women Sherlock had regular contact with was Mrs. Hudson his landlady and . . . Molly Hooper.

Molly Hooper! She was such a mousey little thing. Insignificant except when she could be used to reach a goal. Moriarty had briefly done that to gain access to an unsuspecting Sherlock some time ago. Jim could hardly remember what Molly looked like. She was just so ordinary. Well, there was no accounting for taste. Evidently Sherlock had used Dr. Hooper to help him fake his death. He should have thought of it before now. Moriarty smiled, it wasn't a particularly nice smile.

"Well Dr. Mouse," he said aloud, "I think I'll pay your flat a little visit today and see what I can find out about your ex-houseguest."

If he found evidence that Molly and Sherlock had been together, he would have Molly kidnapped even though it would draw the authorities attention to him. He had to get to Holmes. If Molly didn't know how to contact Sherlock, he could still use her to draw him out. If that failed, he would try John. He must get to Sherlock.

ɸ

Later that day, Moriarty stood in front of the door to Molly's flat. He had just finished picking the lock when the door across the hallway opened. He quickly pocketed the pick and plastered a smile on his face.

"Is there something you want?" The old lady's voice was rough and gravely from years of smoking. She stood in her doorway, a half smoked cigarette dangling from one corner of her mouth.

"Oh, hello there," Jim crossed the hallway and offered his hand to the old lady. "You must be Mrs. Duncan,

Dr. Hooper's neighbor. She has told me so much about you." Thank God he had memorized all the tenant's names from the directory downstairs.

Mrs. Duncan tilted her head and reached up with her left hand. Pulling a tiny hearing aid from her ear, she pecked at it with her fingernail. "Bloody thing goes through batteries like water. You're going to have to speak up." Placing the defective device back in her ear, she looked at him suspiciously.

"I'm Dr. Hooper's assistant," Jim gushed a bit louder, "I'm here to pick up some papers she forgot." Hearing a distinctive sound from the partially open doorway behind him he added. "And to feed and water her cat. Dr. Hooper is being called away on unexpected business. You know how she worries about it."

The suspicion disappeared from the old lady's face and was replaced with a smile. "Oh yes," she agreed. "That's all right then. Tell her not to worry about Toby," she continued. "I have a key and he likes me," she said significantly. "I'll make sure he has everything he needs." She eyed Moriarty up and down appreciatively. "You seem like a nice young man." She patted his arm, then removed her cigarette flicked the ash onto the floor and replaced it in her mouth with the practiced motion of a life-long smoker. "When I saw you standing out here I thought maybe, with all the comings of the past few months, it was starting up again."

Jim placed a politely interested look on his face. Mrs. Duncan looked over her shoulder and leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner.

"You know how young girls are these days. When the first man showed up I just assumed she had finally got a live-in boyfriend. Nice looking bloke, tall with shaggy brown hair. I could see how some women would find him attractive. Too skinny for my taste though." She puffed on her cigarette then continued, "Well, the poor fellow only lasted about a month. Then, my word, it seemed like she had a different fellow over there every night! I've never seen such carrying on. It was positively scandalous. Then as quickly as it started it was over. Things have been quiet over there for a couple months now. You don't know anything about it do you?" Mrs. Duncan gave Moriarty a hopeful stare.

"No ma'am," Jim pointedly looked at his watch. "I really have to hurry. Dr. Hooper is waiting." He smiled to take the sting out of the rebuff. "It'll be my job if I make her late. You understand."

"Yes, yes, go on dear. Be sure to tell her I'll care for Toby."

Jim nodded politely and strode across the hallway and into Molly's flat. As he leaned back against the

closed door, his face deepened into a furious scowl. "Nosy old bat." Now she would be able to identify him to anyone asking about Molly's whereabouts. Damn! He thought, well, it couldn't be helped, must remember to have that detail taken care of later. He was reasonably sure the tall bushy haired man had been Sherlock. The others were probably Sherlock in disguise. Jim smirked at the thought of Sherlock running around in disguises that only gave Molly a disreputable reputation with her neighbors.

It took only a few moments for him to search the tiny living room. He pocketed a picture of Molly from a photo album on the bookshelf. It was a studio portrait, the kind used for photo directories or professional promotions. He was disappointed to find no photos of Sherlock. He moved to the kitchen area, unaware that a pair of yellow-green eyes were watching his every move. Moriarty quickly began searching in drawers and cabinets. Nothing. He was bent over the last drawer when all hell broke loose. With a snarling hiss and a ferocious yowl, Toby launched himself from the top of the fridge, claws fully extended, landing on Jim Moriarty's shoulders. Jim screamed in terror, straightened up, reached over his shoulder and tried to grab the cat, only to be bitten between his thumb and forefinger. Toby sank his claws deeper into the intruder's shoulders. Yelping in pain Moriarty tried again. This time he managed to grab the scruff of the creature's neck as he danced around the kitchen. Pulling the cat away from his back he felt the material of his suit slowly give. Damn, the cat from hell was ruining his coat! Freeing Toby from the material he shifted his grip to the cat's tail, carefully avoiding the thrashing claws, and quickly began to swing the cat over his head like a lasso, using centrifugal force to keep the cat's claws and teeth away from his hands and other body parts. "Meow-eeow-eeow-eeow..." the cat shrieked as he circled Moriarty's head. With a mighty last swing he released the cat and watched as, still yowling and hissing, Toby flew across the room and slammed head first against the wall, then fell to the floor and lay unmoving in a crumpled heap. The God awful screeching stopped.

"Damn you, cat." Moriarty spat. "You've ruined my suit!" Removing his coat his scowl deepened as he inspected the snags the cat's claws had left. "If you weren't dead already, I'd kill you!" he screamed. One did not go about London in a damaged Westwood. He threw the coat down and stalked to the bathroom. After cleaning and bandaging his hand, he carefully looked around but found no evidence of Holmes.

The only room left was the bedroom. He had expected the room to be fluffy and pink, or some other girlish color scheme that jarred the eyes. The room was a cool sage green with beige and teal accents. Quite restful in fact, but Moriarty wasn't in the mood to appreciate the decor. He stomped across the room, surveyed a shelf with a collection of porcelain cats. With a vindictive snarl he swept the delicate figurines to the floor smiling with satisfaction as they shattered. He began yanking open drawers and scattering contents.

He found was he was looking for in Molly's undergarment drawer. Nestled under bits of froth and lace was a postal package. The address was to Dr. Hooper, care of Saint Bartholomew's Hospital. Inside was a box of chocolates that appeared untouched and a small card reading "Sorry. SH"

"Chocolates! Oh, Sherlock how romantic." Jim cooed. "I didn't think you had it in you old boy." Picking up the card, he idly wondered what Sherlock was asking forgiveness for. Underneath the card Molly had tucked a photo of Sherlock. He was sitting behind a microscope head down peering into the eyepiece, one hand on the focusing knob. It was obviously a candid shot. Probably taken on a phone. "Molly, Molly, sneaking around taking pictures of the great man are you?" Jim smirked. Slowly the grin on Jim's face deepened to a full smile. He stared at the chocolates. As the plan formed he laughed aloud. It was absolutely brilliant, better than he could have ever hoped for. Jim did a little dance step grabbed a handful of the chocolates and headed out of the room. Pausing to pick up his ruined suit coat, he glanced at the cat. He was almost sorry he had killed it. He decided after his plans were completed he would buy three new Westwood suits to replace the ruined one. Whistling cheerfully, he left the flat. He didn't notice the feeble movements of the cat as it slowly regained consciousness.

ɸ

"Dr. Hooper?" the man standing in the doorway of a closed shop inquired. "Could I talk with you for a moment?"

Molly glanced carefully around. It wasn't late. The street was busy and the sidewalk was filled with people going to and fro. She had never seen the man before, so she cautiously stepped nearer.

"Yes?"

"A friend of yours is in need of medical assistance," the man paused for a moment and then continued, "his initials are SH."

Molly froze. "How do I know you are telling the truth?"

The man smiled, "He said you might not believe me. He said to give you these and say he's still sorry." He opened his hand so Molly could see the foil wrapped chocolates embossed with the word "Seduction."

She took the chocolates and stared down at them. "How bad off is he?"

"Bad enough," the man grimaced. "Ordinarily, we could have taken care of him ourselves, but we lost our medic in a skirmish last week. You know we can't take him to hospital."

Molly nodded briskly. Sliding the chocolates into her pants pocket she looked up at the stranger. "You'll take me to him? I'll need to get my medical kit."

"No need, Dr. Hooper. We have a well stocked facility. I have a cab waiting if you are ready?"

Molly nodded and followed the man to a cab that pulled smoothly to the curb. Sliding into the interior, Molly noticed someone was already seated in the far corner. Turning, the man placed one hand behind Molly's head, clamping a cloth over her nose and mouth with the other. Terror filled her heart as she smelled the sweetish sickening odor and she looked into the laughing eyes of her attacker. Everything faded to black as she lost consciousness and slumped over to rest her head against his shoulder.

"Hello, Molly dear," Moriarty said gleefully, "It's nice to see you again."