I want to thank my Beta for reading over my work and making it sound a billion times better! Sorry for the late update, I'm slowly getting through all my fics. Slowly, but I'm getting there!

Chapter 3

A pounding on the door riled Molly up from her sleep. Lately it seemed that people knocking on the door was the only reason she kept being woken up. The pounding continued and Molly couldn't help but stare, dumbfounded, at it. She had always known what she was supposed to do when someone knocked on a door, but now she was alone, in a house operated by an easily irritated fire demon, she found herself hesitant to do anything. The knocking continued, more impatient this time. What was she to do? Should she go and check who it was? Heavy footsteps coming from upstairs caused Molly to finally tear her eyes away from the door and up at the ceiling. Soon, the footsteps grew louder and closer until she saw a figure rushing down the stairs. Molly quickly leaned back on her chair and closed her eyes in an attempt to seem asleep.

"Hey... who's this lady?" said the voice of a young boy.

Another knock on the door caused John to speak up.

"Edinburgh door!" he announced, almost cheerfully. The young boy sighed and the sound of his footsteps echoed against the floor as he rushed to the cluttered table.

"John? How did she get in here?" he asked. Molly risked a peek and watched him as he grabbed at a long grey cloak. He was a wiry young boy about the age of eleven. What was he doing in a place like this?

More questions spouted in her mind as soon as the young boy put on the cloak. Somehow, he had taken the appearance of an old man. Was he a wizard too? The young boy walked over to the door.

"Stand by," he said in a gruff tone, and Molly soon realized he had spoken to John, not her.

He placed a hand on the handle and Molly noticed a small colored wheel on the top corner change from green to blue. With it, the lighting that streamed from the window immediately changed from a gentle sunrise to the warm sunshine of the afternoon. The young boy opened the door. Standing there was a stout bearded man, clearly anxious.

"Oh, Mayor, hello," said the young boy.

"Good day sir. Would the great wizard Holmes be at home?"

"I'm afraid he is out for the moment," replied the young boy. "I speak for him in his absence."

The other man nodded and took out a letter from his jacket pocket.

"An invitation from Her Majesty, the Queen; war is upon us and it is requested that every witch and wizard aide our home land."

Finally, Molly opened her eyes and let out a sigh. She stood up to grab a few pieces of fire wood before tossing them in the fire.

"Ridiculous," she muttered, "all this talk of war..."

The sound of the door closing again caused Molly to look up. The young boy walked over to the table and set the letter down, which immediately got lost in the pile of junk.

"What are you doing here, old lady?" said the young boy as he turned around. Molly smiled at him and gestured towards John.

"He said I could come in."

The fire looked briefly at the young boy before he glared at Molly.

"I did not!" he whined. "She just wandered in here from The Waste! Senile old woman."

The boy took off his cloak and looked up at Molly.

"From the Wastes?" He looked at John, his expression curious. "How do we know she's not a witch?"

"Do you really think I'd let a witch in here?" scoffed John, causing Molly to giggle. There was another knock on the door. John sighed.

"Edinburgh door, again."

"Hm. Must be a costumer."

Molly watched the young boy put on his disguise again and he walked over to the door. She watched curiously as the boy attended to the costumer, more than a little amused at how he acted. He was languid yet interested at the same time; as if he was above and equal to the people he talked to. She walked over to the window and looked out to see a variety of shops and people milling about.

"It's not the Wastes..." she whispered to herself.

Now rid of the customer, the boy walked up to her.

"Get away from the window," he hissed.

"Why are you wearing a disguise?" she said suddenly. The young boy however only looked at her and smiled.

"I'm practicing my magic. I'm Master Sherlock's protégé; that means when he dies, I get all his stuff."

"Nope," said John from the fireplace.

"And his job."

"No." said John again.

"Well… I help out," the young boy said in an admittance of defeat.

"Closer."

"Well – I'm here so there's that." He said with a huff.

Molly looked at the young boy in amusement.

"What's your name?" she asked him curiously.

"You're the one who broke in – I should be asking you what your name is." He blinked rapidly and stepped back a bit.

"What is your name?" he said sheepishly.

"You can call me Molly."

"Oh. I'm Wiggins."

Molly nodded and turned her attention to the door.

"So, about the door..." she began.

"What about it?"

"John mentioned Edinburgh, but we were just in the Wastes!"

"It's a magic door, grandma," sighed Wiggins. Molly decided not to argue against his jibe. Instead, she walked over to the door. Again she spotted the wheel at the corner, compromised of only four colors: red, blue, green, and black.

She opened the door and popped her head round. There, she saw the small shops and took in the smell of the water, the sound of birds in the air, and she quickly concluded that this particular place was beautiful. She popped her head back in and changed the color back to green. Once she opened the door, she spotted the familiar sight of the Wastes, grey and cold and that eternally whistling wind. Closing the door, she tried another color and opened the door.

"London!" she gasped as a familiar red bus passed down the street. She'd missed the sight of those. "Wow, this is amazing!"

Wiggins sighed from inside. "Come on," he told her.

"And leave the door alone, I'm getting angry," he huffed.

"Oh, would you calm down," she said with a teasing grin, causing Wiggins to let out another disgruntled huff of air.

"So tell me," she said, slowly making her way back up the stairs. "Where does the black one lead?"

"Only Master Sherlock knows," he said as he made his way to the cluttered table, grabbing a few pieces of bread and cheese before he plopped on the floor.

"I'm starving," he muttered as he took a bite of his bread.

Molly cocked her head. "Don't you want to have some real breakfast? Something you know – cooked?"

Wiggins nodded as he took another big bite of bread. "Yeah, but we can't use the fire unless Master Sherlock is home."

Molly walked over and grabbed one of the pans on the wall and smiled.

"Don't worry – I can cook a pretty decent meal," she said innocently as she made her way to the fire. Wiggins shrugged.

"It doesn't matter if you can cook. John doesn't listen to anyone but Master Sherlock."

Molly continued to ignore the young boy as she set the pan near the fire.

"Now don't be stubborn, John," she told him. "Let's make Wiggins a nice breakfast shall we?

John glared daggers at the old lady. "I don't cook!" he hissed. "I'm a powerful fire demon! Who doesn't cook!"

"So you said," Molly muttered, glaring as she set the pan over him. She scowled when he protested by spitting out long lengths of flame at her.

"John Watson, how would you like a cold bucket of water in your face?" She shifted closer, lowering her voice. "Or perhaps I can tell Sherlock about our little agreement?"

John frowned.

"Fine," he muttered bitterly. "I never should have let you in here."

"That's a good fire," replied Molly, ignoring his last comment as she put the pan over his head.

Molly cooked silently as Wiggins watched in awe.

"So are you just going to stand there and stare?" she asked after a moment.

"I, uh—"

"A nice cuppa sounds nice. Do you have a kettle?"

Wiggins nodded and hurried to find a kettle among the piles of trash. After some moments of rummaging, he emerged with a kettle and went to fill it with water before handing it to her.

"Wiggins! What are you doing?! Whose side are you on?! You traitor!" hissed John, making Molly burst into giggles.

The sound of the door caused everyone to look towards it. In came Sherlock. Wiggins immediately went to his side. Meanwhile, Molly stared at the man she had bumped to only a day ago. She had completely forgotten just how utterly handsome he was. Molly blushed. She was an old woman now and old women didn't openly gawk at men. She turned her attention back to the food she was cooking.

"Master Sherlock," said Wiggins. "There was a letter brought for you – they want you to report to the castle as Holmes."

Molly shook her head. Sherlock ignored the young boy as he made his way up to her. Molly froze in her place but the food continued to cook.

"John?" he said, his baritone voice sending a thrill through her spine. "You're being so – obedient."

"It's not my fault! She bullied me!" huffed John.

Sherlock's brows shot up and he turned to Molly. His eyes briefly looked her up and down before he let out a small, almost approving hum in the back of his throat.

"And you are?" he asked curiously.

Molly's eyes widened.

"I uh... I – I'm Molly... You can call me Molly!" she squeaked nervously.

Sherlock nodded. "Alright... Molly. Why are you here?"

Molly blinked and looked over at John.

"H-he hired me as your new cleaning lady," she blurted out.

"What?!" shouted John in the background, incredulous, but of course he was ignored.

"Y-Yes, he did!" she said quickly. "He's tired of seeing such a mess all the time."

Sherlock hummed and glanced at John.

"Tea," he said suddenly. "I'll be in my mind palace."

"Mind palace?" she repeated.

"Yes."

Molly watched him walk over to the couch and lay down and her eyes narrowed as he tucked his hands under his chin and let out a breath before closing his eyes.

"What's a mind palace?" asked Molly as Wiggins came to her side to pour Sherlock some tea.

"It's a memory technique," he told her. "It doesn't have to be an actual place. The way it works is, you put information there, and theoretically you'll never forget it – you just have to find your way back to it."

"So this imaginary place could be anything? A house? A park?" she asked.

"Yeah," replied Wiggins as he padded over to the still Sherlock.

"But he – he said palace. He called it a palace," she said as she turned to look at John.

John gave a sudden chuckle. "Yeah, well. He would, wouldn't he?"

Molly again looked over to Sherlock. It wasn't every day that she heard about someone having a mind palace, but then again, you didn't meet people like Sherlock Holmes every day.

"How curious," she whispered to herself. Sherlock Holmes truly was something new.