Summer is finally upon us, and that means...more updates! Thank you to all who have supported me. Continue and enjoy the story.

Molly was closely watched by Mycroft and his team after the kidnapping incident. Security cameras all around the city watched her safe passage to and from work, and they continued to diligently watch her on her casual nights out. After a few weeks, the tight security began to let up a bit. But still, members of Sherlock's homeless network discreetly followed her everywhere she went. None of this went unnoticed by Molly of course. And although the scrutinizing attention sometimes annoyed her, she was glad to know that Sherlock and Mycroft cared for her well-being to that extent, and it made her worry less to know that she was safer.

One day, Molly came home from work and stepped into her apartment. Her concern and anxiety of who Cam was slipped away day by day as nothing eventful happened in her life. Molly casually strolled into her living room and she stopped in her tracks when she saw red peonies in a vase sitting her living room table. She grimaced. Red peonies were her dad's favorite flowers, and her most painful memory of them was at her dad's funeral, where they were scattered about on every surface in her father's memory. Set right next to the vase were her set of keys that she lost weeks ago. Molly's palms began to sweat. Perhaps someone found them and sent them to her with flowers? As she cautiously moved closer she saw that the vase was set on some paper, with its corners sticking out from underneath. She gently picked up the vase and saw that under it was a picture of her deceased father.

Goosebumps ran along Molly's arms and she set the vase of flowers down quickly for fear that it would slip from her sweaty grasp and then shatter into a million pieces on the floor. She wiped her palms on her pants, feeling as if she just touched something filthy. Toby trotted into the room, sensing Molly's distress. He pawed at her knees until she finally picked him up and cradled him in her arms. Her anxiety went away some as she stroked the dark fur of her cat.

Whoever set the flowers on her table wanted to make a point. They wanted to show Molly that they could get in and out of her home with ease, and that they could swipe something as close to her as her keys without her noticing. She had a gut feeling that whoever was behind this was also behind her kidnapping: Cam. But why would they remind Molly of her father's death? It was, after all, several years ago. Molly's petting of Toby became more frantic. But what if they knew? What if they knew the true circumstances surrounding her father's death? What if whoever sent the flowers knew that her father didn't die of cancer, like the record said? She shook her head furiously. No, it wasn't possible. No one could have known. Doubts began creeping into her mind. Unless…the person who performed the autopsy. A sick, crushing feeling rose in Molly's chest. She paid him to put cancer on the cause of death. The pathologist who performed the autopsy could have told someone…

Molly could feel Toby's calming purrs resonating in her arms and she held him even closer. There was no proof. There is no proof that her father died from anything other than cancer. His body was in the ground and too many years have gone by for anyone to even consider reevaluating the cause of death.

Guilt crept up on Molly and attacked her like a rabid dog. She shouldn't have done it. She should've waited a bit longer; if she did, maybe her father would be alive today. She sunk to the ground in tears. Whoever Cam was, he knew the truth about her father's death. She didn't know what he wanted, but she did know that she was helpless to do anything about it.

Mycroft slammed his glass down on his desk. He pressed his fingers against his temples and took a deep breath, trying to calm his anger. He knew exactly who Cam was. What surprised him was how long it took him to figure it out. What infuriated him was the fact that he could not take any action against Cam. Mycroft picked up his phone to text Anthea to set up a meeting between him and Cam. He needed to set some things straight.

Molly hurriedly dumped the peonies into the dumpster near her apartment. She had already burned the picture of her father, and she stuffed her keys into the back of a sock drawer in her room. Molly knew she was being a bit irrational, flowers were just flowers. If anyone came over, they wouldn't be the slightest bit suspicious. She could also just say that she just found her lost keys under some furniture; not that anybody knew she lost them in the first place. And as for the photo, well, who didn't have photos of their father in their home?

But despite all these objects being harmless to others' eyes, they were an awful reminder to Molly of Cam and what she did to her dad. It was best that they were gone and out of sight. She considered telling the Holmes brothers about this, but again, the objects weren't even the slightest bit threatening. How could she call Mycroft, the man who practically was the British government, and tell him to investigate some flowers? Sherlock and Mycroft would see how nervous she was about something as simple as flowers, and that would lead to questions, and more questions, and she really wasn't good at lying. Of course, before destroying all the evidence, she placed all the objects on her table exactly as she had found them, and took several photos of it at different angles.

Molly brushed off her hands and left the dim alleyway. She had already made sure that no members of the homeless network were following her, and she took caution to avoid the cameras of the government. Molly thought for a moment while walking back to her place. Perhaps it wasn't so smart to go into a dark alleyway without the watchful eyes or protection of the Holmes brothers.

Molly turned a corner when suddenly a dark figure crashed into her. Molly let out a small yelp as she fell sideways. The arms of the dark figure enclosed her and caught her before she fell.

"Molly?" asked a familiar voice.

Molly smiled as she recognized the man as Sherlock. "Sherlock!"

"What are you doing here?" Disapproval and worry sounded from his deep,baritone voice. What was she doing in a dark alley all alone? She should have at least have had someone accompany her; there were people after her for unknown reasons.

Oh no. Questions. "I was just-" Molly stuttered. "Taking a walk." Terrible excuse, she scolded herself. "And I had to toss something in the dumpster." That's better.

"Right," Sherlock said with a tone that clearly conveyed that he didn't believe her. He narrowed his eyes at her but didn't say anything more.

"So what are you doing here?" Molly asked in an attempt to change the direction of the conversation into something more casual.

"Just investigating a case. Nothing of use here though. I'm done." Of course he made plans to later come back and investigate whatever it was that Molly was doing here. Sherlock gestured to the exit of the alley. "Coffee?" he offered.

"Sure," Molly said, glad to finally be able to leave the alley.

Sherlock and Molly sat at in an outside table at a café, quietly sipping their hot coffee. They had the air of a comfortable silence around them, simply enjoying each other's company without needing empty conversation to fill the air and watched the people walk by. Molly sat with her legs crossed, at ease leaning back in her chair, enjoying the interesting quirks and uniqueness of every individual that passed them in the streets. Sherlock sat with his elbows on the arm chairs, deducing any passerby, looking for clues and suspicion.

Sherlock was glad to be able to enjoy this with Molly. It had taken a while for them to move out of their angry, post-breakup phase, and into their finally friends again phase. Of course, he still wanted Molly back, but since she didn't mention anything about it after he had confessed his feelings outside the ambulance the day of her kidnapping, he had assumed his feelings were unreturned and that Molly just wanted a friend. Sherlock would gratefully accept anything Molly wanted him to be, whether it be friend, lover, or brother, just as long as he could be near her.

Molly had gotten exceedingly good at hiding things, especially since the time that Sherlock faked his death, but looking at her now, Sherlock could see that something was bothering her, despite her current nonchalant attitude. While they were together, Molly would come to him about anything and everything, even if it was just boring useless information about her routine. He would never have to ask about anything because Molly would tell him before he would even have the chance to ask. But this, this hesitance, reluctance to tell him, was this what friends was being like? Because this lack of closeness and openness was infuriating. He would now have to go through and deduce her like one of his clients in order to figure out what she was hiding.

And this secret of Molly's, whatever it was, made Sherlock feel an emotion he didn't feel often: fear. He wasn't scared of what the content of the secret was, but the fact that Molly was hiding it from him. What did this mean for their relationship? What if they could never again reach the same level of closeness they had when they were dating? This thought made Sherlock fill with dread and regret. He should have never let Molly go, and he should have never underestimated her and her capabilities. He missed her more than he cared to admit. He missed coming home to her and finding her baking or cooking. She was the beautiful stability in his life, and without her constant presence, his life felt jumbled and confusing. His thought process was always better and clearer with her around.

Sherlock dazed from the real world while he was lost in thought. He stared emptily at the people passing them on the street, and he looked up in surprise when Molly tapped him on the shoulder.

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm?" he said, regaining his composure.

"I have to go now. Bye, see you soon."

"Catch. You. Later," Sherlock smiled at her until she turned and left. He then steepled his hands under his chin, closed his eyes, resumed his train of thought, and resumed his façade of being okay.

Molly shrugged on her coat and stuffed hands into the pockets. That was nice. Molly thought about the words Sherlock told her weeks ago for some time: I love you. It wasn't the "we're friends, I love you". It was the I love you I love you. They could've gotten back together at any point after that confrontation, but Molly decided against it. She forgave him, but the fact that Sherlock thought he could dictate her life and her decisions wasn't what a relationship was supposed to be. A relationship was about being equals, being able to lean on each other and depend on the other. Sherlock's enemies were her enemies, and vice versa. It was her privilege to handle cases together with Sherlock, and no matter what happened, she knew that she would always make it out okay. Sherlock and his cases were a constant source of excitement for Molly in her otherwise dull life. When Sherlock said that they needed to end it for her safety, Molly was beyond furious. She would trade limbs and organs to be with Sherlock, and she thought he knew that. He told her to go find someone dull, normal, and most importantly safe. Safeness and health didn't guarantee happiness, Sherlock did. Maybe they could get back together sometime in the future, but certainly not now.

Molly continued walking, thinking deeply about her problems, and braced herself for the upcoming east wind.

The east wind...sound familiar? Anyways, please review! I love reading what you guys have to say. Also, polite constructive criticism would be helpful and welcome, as always.