Thanks to coloradoandcolorado1, magicstrikes, Rocking the Redhead, chironsgirl, librarygirl157, Empress of Verace, LaserGirl77, starshortcake, varjaks, Way Worse Than Scottish, Lono, Calicar, JadaGable, Someonerandome, SCHDW, musicchica10, AdamPascalRocks12, Blondie, Elliesmeow, pinkphoenix1985, Doctor WTF, Nerdlee, Faye Kinitt, Kitkat84, KendraPendragon, Nami-007, Sharpietattoo, Noxen, Ninuska, supergirlhero, Bloody Nikki, sarabqh, honey sweet liesand for their feedback!

Much love to Lex, Pablo and Petra for the beta and support!

AUTHOR'S NOTES: The timeline of series two is a bit sporked compared to series one. Baskerville kind of exists in this nebulous place. Since Mrs Hudson's dress- which she wore immediately following the first incident with Irene Adler- is supposed to be new in Baskerville, I decided to set it during the whole 'case montage' at the beginning. Just my own judgment call.

PART FOUR
THE HUSBAND IN BASKERVILLE

It had been several months since Molly had moved out of 221B. She was settled in her new-old flat, having snuck her things out of home in increments. No one had noticed her vacate the premises. It was like she had never been there.

It was difficult to adjust to it. While Sherlock did not sleep with her every night, she could usually feel his presence when she slumbered. He would be in the flat, doing some sort of experiment or playing the violin. And every once and a while, when she was really lucky, he would slip into bed with her, taking her in his arms and she would know that he loved her.

Now it was like their marriage had never happened. Of course, she knew rationally that it had- it was still going on, but rationality often went out the window when it came to Sherlock Holmes.

It was just for the time being. Just until Sherlock apprehended Moriarty.

But how long would that be?

And what would happen when Moriarty was in custody? Would things go back to normal? Or would Sherlock have decided that he rather liked living as a bachelor again, dashing about London alongside John Watson?

Sherlock would take the time to visit her. He spent more time at Barts doing experiments. He would linger when they were finished. He would barricade her office door and reacquaint himself with her scent, with her touch. She would slide her fingers into his elegant curls while he nipped at her skin and nuzzled her throat.

On extremely rare and precious occasion, she'd woken up to the bed rustling, Sherlock climbing in alongside her. His long limbs would curl around her. He made no demands of her, just wanting a restful night sleep. The first time he did it, he murmured that he didn't know how to properly sleep without Molly anymore. He had grown too used to her presence over the past year and a half. She gladly accepted him, never feeling more secure than when she was in his arms.

Molly had taken to wearing her wedding ring when she was at home. She couldn't get away with it at work, not with putting her hands into open cadavers on a regular basis. Even with gloves on, she'd rather not wear the elegant ring Sherlock had bought her.

It gave her a connection to him, even when he wasn't there. Knowing that no matter what, she was still his wife.

Molly couldn't figure out if she was really spending less time with Sherlock now or if it was just an illusion. Certainly, they were both busy people. He had always gone out on his cases and she had often worked late. But it was different now. Now, they didn't call the same place home. Now, she craved his presence. He seemed to feel the same. She appreciated how he eagerly kissed her upon seeing her and would text her just to tell her to sleep well.

Sherlock's popularity has skyrocketed since he had begun working with Doctor Watson- John, as he was insisting Molly call him. While she was no longer living at 221B, she still frequently stopped by. Mrs Hudson was fond of having her over for tea and getting her to take away the medical waste Sherlock left in the refrigerator. It would also provide an excuse to steal a moment or two with Sherlock.

She'd finally become acquainted with the man who had effectively 'stolen' her husband.

It was no wonder Sherlock found him so fascinating. He was dead clever, loyal and incredible fun to be around. A bit of a hound when it came to women, which Molly had unfortunately discovered. It was incredibly awkward turning him down for his date offer without revealing she and Sherlock were married, although he quickly figured out the reason for her dismissal of him- in part, at least. While she might have been able to hide their marriage, she was unable to hide her feelings.

Sherlock seemed to be working non-stop now. She couldn't quite figure out his voracious need for work. Oh, of course he'd always been eager to keep busy. However, it had reached new peaks now. Perhaps it was because he had found a good partner in John. Maybe it was that he was just more in demand now with John's blog advertising him. Or maybe- just maybe- he was trying to distract himself from Molly being gone by working all of the time.

Regardless, Molly was getting quite the scrapbook of clippings about her husband. He was actually being written about in legitimate papers, as opposed to blogs. Not that the blogs were anything to sneeze at. The Speckled Blonde, the Geek Interpreter, The Aluminium Crutch... John Watson certainly had a way with words and it made Sherlock all the more popular, something which Molly was taking full advantage of.

"Ooh, it's another picture of you in the hat," Molly teased, her mobile carefully clutched between her head and shoulder and she pulled her knickers on to get ready for work.

"That bloody hat." Molly could hearhis scowl.

Molly grinned cheekily. "I think it's-"

"Don't say it," Sherlock snapped angrily.

Molly giggled softly as she grabbed her bra. "I think it's cute." She pulled on her bra and looked down at the photo from the paper. "There's my man." She traced a finger lovingly over his face.

Sherlock paused for a moment. Molly giggled again, grabbing her jumper.

"I'm freshly showered," Sherlock's voice was low and dark.

"Are you now?" Molly took the phone back in hand. "Just get back from a case, did you?"

"Had to harpoon a pig," Sherlock explained. "Was covered head to foot in blood. Had to take the tube because the cabs wouldn't take me."

Molly crinkled her nose. "Hm. I had thought you were trying to seduce me."

"I was," Sherlock purred.

Molly rolled her eyes as she slipped on her khakis. "Maybe you should have thought about that before you mentioned the pig's blood."

"But I'm clean now," Sherlock replied. "Very fresh smelling. Let me come over and you can find out."

Molly sighed, picking up her satchel. "I can't, Sherlock. I'm just about to head out."

"But I'm bored!" Sherlock exclaimed.

Molly paused as she was picking up her keys. "Sherlock, are you telling me that you would like to have sex to stave off boredom?"

"I believe it goes without saying that your absence is also felt," Sherlock replied tersely. "I want to be with you."

Molly fiddled with her keys, looking down. "It was your idea. All of this. I want to be with you too. More than anything. Why don't we just tell everyone?"

Sherlock groaned. "Can't I just come over, have sex with you and then leave?"

Molly rolled her eyes once again. "You don't booty call your wife."

"Booty call?" Sherlock repeated. "What on Earth is that? It sounds ghastly."

"It's where you call someone with the express purpose of trying to get them to have sex with you without any preliminaries such as a date."

Sherlock paused. "Oh. Well. That actually sounds..."

Molly's eyes narrowed. "Watch it. I will make you sleep on the sofa for a month."

Sherlock sighed. "You don't even live here any longer."

"Don't care. Sofa. Month."

Sherlock went quiet for a long time. "Once it's safe. Once Moriarty is gone. We'll tell everyone."

"Is it ever going to be safe?" Molly questioned. She worried her lower lip. "So it's Moriarty now... But what happens with the next one? And the one after that? You go after criminals. There's always going to be someone who is unhappy with you."

"Let's just worry about this one," Sherlock murmured. "Can I come over?"

"No," Molly replied firmly. "Well, you can, but I'm not going to be there. I'm going out."

"I didn't think you were scheduled to work today," Sherlock said slowly. "But fine. I'll come in. Perhaps I will get a case out of it."

"I'm going to a lecture." Molly locked the door to her flat behind her as she left. "And no, you can't come with. I would actually like to learn something. I don't want you to whisper how the lecturer is an idiot in my ear the whole time."

"I don't do that," Sherlock said defensively.

"You most certainly do," Molly insisted.

"Well, then what am I supposed to do?" Sherlock whined.

"I don't know!" Molly sighed exasperatedly. "Go play Cluedo with John."

"I want a case," Sherlock's voice continued to have a childish demand to it.

"A few minutes ago, you wanted to have sex," Molly pointed out.

"But you're going away," Sherlock huffed. "If I can't be with you, then I want to work."

Well, it seemed that theory was confirmed. Come to think of it, there were quite a few changes to Sherlock that- if he were anyone but Sherlock- Molly would immediately attribute to their separation. He'd put on a good fifteen pounds in the past months. Of course, Sherlock could use the extra fifteen pounds. He was also a lot more irritable about being idle.

"Are you going to be all right?" Molly asked softly.

Sherlock grunted. "What does it matter? You're swanning off who knows where to do who knows what..."

"I'm going to a lecture!" Molly protested.

"...And you're leaving me all alone to fend for myself," Sherlock continued unabated, his words becoming more rapid and anxious. "It's fine. It's perfectly fine."

Molly could hear a rhythmic thumping. "Are you playing with your harpoon again?"

"I'm going to go make John find me a case," Sherlock spat out impatiently.

"All right," Molly replied gently. "If you're free when my lecture is done, maybe we can have some time together then."

"I do hope any case I find will take me longer than three hours, Molly," Sherlock replied tersely.

"Oh," Molly murmured.

Sherlock went quiet for a moment. "But... When I am finished... I look forward to telling you an accurate version of the events before you read a highly colourful one on John's blog."

"I look forward to it," Molly whispered. "Hey. I love you."

"Yes, yes... Enjoy your lecture." With that, Sherlock unceremoniously hung up.

"Well." Molly looked down at her phone now before slipping it into her jacket pocket. "That was rude."

Molly had turned off her phone during the lecture. She didn't want to take the risk that Sherlock would call her in the middle of it, still bored and demanding her attention. He was really and truly like a child sometimes.

Once she was out of the lecture hall, she turned her mobile back on and a message from Sherlock immediately came up. Of course. She hadn't quite been expecting the content however:

Going to Devon for a few days with John.
-S

Molly sighed softly. She had hoped he wouldn't find a case and she'd find him in her flat. Oh well. At least when he returned from his trip, he would be flushed with excitement from his case and most likely eager to give her affection.

Molly smiled softly and returned the text quickly.

Be careful. I love you. xx

Sherlock always found it ridiculous that she signed her texts with kisses, but he rationalized that as she shared the same initials as his brother, it at least made them easily identifiable without caller ID. She took that as the Sherlock way of saying he quite enjoyed it, but was too proper to admit so himself.

Sherlock was not the only one who had delved into work since Molly had moved out of 221B. Of course, there was her work at the morgue. Molly was also working on a paper.

She's been stockpiling research for a while. Being the only Pathologist Sherlock liked to work with (and the only Pathologist who liked to work with him) she was exposed to a myriad of ways for a person to die. It gave her plenty of fodder, but she'd lacked time when she'd still been living with Sherlock. Now, she needed things to distract her from being separated from her husband.

Her current work was on snake venom and how it could present itself physically. Anyone who knew of her work with Sherlock would recognize the case as one John had already covered on his blog. But then, not many people seemed to realize the connection between her and Sherlock.

Should it worry her? That so few people knew they were even friends, let alone married?

The rational part of herself told her that it was for the best. It meant that she would be safe from Jim- Moriarty.

But there was that small voice inside her head, the one that was uncertain about her place in Sherlock's affections. The one that told her it made her easy to dismiss. That when it came down to it, she was just something extra. Someone that didn't really matter in the long run.

She felt stupid for thinking it. She felt horriblefor thinking it. But she just couldn't shake it. Deep down, she would always wonder if she was good enough for Sherlock, if she really counted. Especially now that John was around. Sherlock and the army doctor had sparked just so instantly. It seemed like Sherlock might slip right through her fingers as he gravitated to John.

As Molly worked, she thought about when she used to live at 221B, before John had moved in. When she would work on her laptop and eventually rest her head on the desk to take a few moments to herself. She would inevitably fall asleep. When she awoke, she would be on the sofa. Sherlock would be sitting on the floor next to her. When he noticed she was awake- which was always very quickly- he would turn his head and give her a light kiss on the cheek.

No one expected Sherlock Holmes to be so caring. But he knew Molly's back was often sore from bending over cadavers. Of course, he could have just put her in their bed, but he often liked to talk to her while she was asleep and he was trying to work out a case. She was better company than Billy the Skull.

But now, there was no Sherlock to lay her down if she fell asleep at her computer. If she drifted off, she would be at her desk for the rest of the night.

Despite that thought, Molly rested her head against her arms and sighed deeply. Maybe once she woke up, she'd get back to work. With Sherlock not around, she wouldn't be distracted by sleepy kisses.

Another sigh escape Molly's lips as she closed her eyes and gave herself over to thoughts of her husband.

Molly jerked awake at the sound of her phone ringing. She rubbed a hand over her face and blearily reached for her mobile. Who would be calling her so late? It was rare she would get called into the hospital in the middle of the night.

"Hello?" Molly answered, her voice rough from sleep.

"Molly." It was Sherlock. For a brief moment, she felt herself brighten up at the sound of his voice. But as her mind cleared, she realized how that one word sounded. How he'd said her name so plaintively.

"What's wrong?" Molly was immediately at attention. Sherlock calling at all was an extraordinary circumstance. And hearing him sound like that made it clear that something was terribly wrong.

"I can't explain it," Sherlock murmured.

Molly moved to her sofa, curling up and hugging her legs. The tension in Sherlock's voice was plainly evident. She felt guilty that she was pleased that he'd chosen to call her rather than talk to John. Then again, maybe the problem was with John. "Just try to explain it, Sherlock. Take your time, Love."

"No!" Sherlock snapped angrily. "I can't explain it. That is the problem, Molly! There is no logical explanation for what I saw. But everything has a logical explanation. I can alwaysfind the logical explanation."

"Shhhh..." Molly hummed softly, soothingly. "Just tell me. Tell me everything."

Sherlock took a deep breath and went into one of his rapid-fire avalanches of words. But unlike normal, it was not some stunningly accurate- and usually embarrassing- assessment of someone. It was recap of his day. He and John had gone to Devon to investigate the case of Henry Knight and his devil dog. Sherlock hadn't believed it, but when they'd gone out onto the moor, Sherlock had seen the dog Henry had described.

Molly was silent until Sherlock had finished speaking. She listened to him panting for air, slightly winded from his long, verbose rant. She wanted nothing more than to take her husband in her arms, to card her fingers through his hair and help him calm down. She got the feeling that Sherlock wanted the same. That was why he had called her.

"You saw something," Molly murmured. "Now the question is what exactly did you see."

"Do stop being tiresome, Molly," Sherlock snapped irritably. "I know exactly what I saw. But I can't possible have seen it. Genetically modified devil dogs do not exist. But it was right in front of me. But-"

"Listen to me, Sherlock Holmes!" Molly yelled back at him. "You called me because you want to talk to me about what happened. Now this is me talking. You saw something. But you saw something you couldn't possibly have seen because it doesn't exist."

"You're not helping, Molly!" Sherlock's voice was rising in pitch, the tension getting to him.

"Yes I am!" Molly insisted. "You saw something you couldn't have seen. So what's the problem in that scenario? You. How did you see something that doesn't exist?"

Sherlock went quiet. He was no longer breathing rapidly. He had calmed. He was thinking. "I was drugged."

Molly hugged her legs tighter. She wanted to be there for Sherlock, wanted to help him through this. "Could you have been exposed at the base?"

"Unlikely," Sherlock replied. "I wasn't injected with anything nor did I consume anything. If it were airborne it would affect the personnel." He went quiet once again. After a moment, there was a small. "Ah!"

"Figured it out, did you?" Molly smiled. "My clever boy."

"I need to go," Sherlock said quickly.

"No!" Molly squealed. She knew that eager sound. "You can't go out right now, Sherlock. Whatever you've been affected by, it's still affecting you. Who knows what will happen to you if you go out now? Just stay safe for now. Let it work out of your system."

"What am I supposed to do until then?" Sherlock demanded.

"Sleep," Molly replied, almost laughing. He could be so silly sometimes.

"How am I supposed to do that?"

Of course, Sherlock rarely slept when he was on a case. He'd also admitted to having difficulties without Molly with him. Molly smiled at all of the implications of his question. "If you can't sleep, then at least take it easy until tomorrow morning. Lay down. If you've been drugged, you need to let the drugs pass."

Sherlock sighed. "I don't need you to play doctor with me."

"Shame. We're really good at that." Molly crinkled her nose. "If you didn't want your wife to play doctor, you shouldn't have married a doctor."

"I need to find Louise Mortimer. Henry's therapist," Sherlock muttered.

"Don't talk to her yourself," Molly insisted. "You're pretty wired right now. Get John to go see her."

Sherlock groaned. "And what am I supposed to do if I can't go out and interview a lead?"

"You'll lay down," Molly replied. "Even if you don't sleep. You're going to rest."

"Dull."

Molly sighed. "I'll talk to you while you rest."

"Maybe that's a little less dull."

Molly smiled. "Damn right. Now go find Henry's therapist and send John after her."

Aside from a short text the morning after Sherlock's incident, Molly hadn't heard from Sherlock in a day and a half. Despite his reassurance, she worried about his wellbeing. She always worried about him when he was out on a case. This time it was even worse, knowing what he'd been through already.

Molly was having trouble concentrating on transcribing her notes. She knew she needed to keep focused, but it was difficult with her mind on other things.

She got up from her desk to go get a bag of crisps. Maybe if she got some food in her, she'd be able to concentrate.

Molly strode down the corridor to the vending machines. She frowned when she saw there were no more Quavers.

"Dammit," Molly cursed softly.

She heard a soft chuckle and a bag of the sought after crisps were held up in front of her. "Are you looking for these?"

Molly whirled around to face her husband. "Sherlock!" She cried in ecstatic relief. She threw her arms around his neck, hugging him close. "I was so worried!"

"I'm always okay," Sherlock assured her.

Molly crinkled her nose. "Were you just waiting out here for me to come get a bag of crisps? Quite a lot of work just to say hello. You're sucha drama queen."

Sherlock backed Molly up until she was pressed against the vending machine. "If you say so."

"I do say-" Molly was cut off by Sherlock's mouth pressing insistently to hers. She mewled into his mouth, her fingers sinking into his curls as her mouth moulded to his.

Molly relaxed in his arms, taking in his scent, his presence. He was back. He was safe.

Sherlock pulled away far too quickly for Molly's taste. Of course, she would have been content to be in his arms for hours.

Sherlock smirked down at her, clearly reading her expression. "John's been called off to Dublin. Problem with his former sister-in-law."

"Mmm... What's your point?" Molly said, licking her kiss-swollen lips.

"My point is come over." Sherlock's hands rested on her hips. "Welcome me home properly."

Molly sighed. "You know, we're not hiding from John." She tilted her chin up so Sherlock could kiss her again briefly. "We're hiding from Moriarty. And he might still be watching."

Sherlock scowled. He ran his thumb over her cheekbone. "Come dressed to do an experiment. Bring thumbs with you. He'll think you're assisting me on an all-night experiment if he's surveilling me. "

"You think you're so clever," Molly crinkled her nose again.

"I am so clever," Sherlock shot back. He pressed one last kiss to Molly's lips. "Don't forget the thumbs."

Molly laughed as Sherlock pulled away. "You just want some thumbs to experiment on, don't you?"

Sherlock shot her a cheeky smile. "Well, not just. See you tonight."

Sherlock's appetites were always heightened following a case, both for food and for Molly's affections. She came to 221B with the thumbs Sherlock had requested and some takeaway kebabs- both carefully separated from each other. They eaten the takeaway on the sofa while Sherlock regaled Molly with the story of Henry Knight, the horrible hound, Bluebell the glow-in-the-dark rabbit and drugging John to test Sherlock's theory. Now that he was back in his right mind, the entire story was fascinating and exciting. Molly felt a twinge of regret that she was unable to share in these sorts of adventures with her husband, but she pushed it aside, enjoying just being with him once again.

Once their appetites for food was sated, they retired to the bedroom and spent the night relearning each other's bodies. It had been far too long since they had been together. Sherlock was slow, almost methodical in his lovemaking, seemingly not wanting to miss a single spot that would make Molly moan.

As they drifted off to sleep, Molly thought about how unsatisfying her life was of late. Living outside of 221B. Not being with Sherlock, not living together as man and wife. She never slept better than when she was in his arms.

She awoke when she felt Sherlock slip out of her arms. She blinked and reached to the bedside table, slipping on her glasses. Sherlock was at his dresser, grabbing clothing.

"What's going on?" Molly asked, stretching to work out the kinks in her back.

"Case," Sherlock replied. He walked to the bed and kissed her gently. "Lestrade's texted me the details."

"Oh." Molly nodded. "Of course. I understand." She tried to push down the disappointment threatening to bubble up.

Sherlock turned to slide his pants on, his pale arse on display for Molly. "Shouldn't be more than few hours."

Molly couldn't help herself, not with Sherlock bent over like that. She reached for him, giving his firm arse a good squeeze.

Sherlock stood up quickly. Molly withdrew her hand. She looked up at him guilty as he whirled around to face her. Her eyes went wide. "Uh... Sorry?"

"Whyever would you be sorry?" Sherlock asked, jumping back onto the bed and on top of Molly. She let out a squeal. "I quite enjoyed that."

Molly wriggled beneath him. "You have a case, Sherlock."

"I just got back from a case," Sherlock countered. "You do not need to be back at Barts for thirty-six hours. I should really take advantage of that." He leaned in and sucked on her throat. "Besides, this is a five. I shouldn't leave the flat for anything less than a seven."

Molly was about to say something else, another counter argument, but she realize just before she opened her mouth that any argument was forSherlock leaving the bed- and her. She was perfectly content staying with him for as long as he wanted to remain with her.

Eventually, they rose just long enough to perform an experiment on the thumbs Molly had brought Sherlock from Barts. Sherlock was clad in his tartan dressing gown while Molly wore his grey t-shirt. If she donned one of his dressing gowns, her hands would have been covered and she'd be unable to work.

Once the experiment was over and the thumbs were back in the refrigerator, Sherlock picked up some sandwiches from Speedy's and they ate before returning to bed.

In some ways, it felt like their honeymoon all over. When they were first married and Lestrade was still unsure about bringing Sherlock in on cases, they'd spent days together in their flat, doing experiments and learning each other's bodies.

But there was that voice in the back of Molly's head. The voice that told her they were clinging to something that was rapidly slipping away. That for as much as she loved Sherlock, romance put him in a false position. The past year and a half had been a blip, an aberration. She remembered Mycroft's needling words. That their relationship was nothing but a reaction to coming off drugs.

As Sherlock pulled her into his arms, his breath warm against her neck, Molly tried to push the doubts from him mind. She didn't want to focus on such dark thoughts. Not while she was in Sherlock's arms. Not while she was where she belonged- at least for now.

She didn't know when she had drifted off, but the next time Molly awoke it was to the sound John shouting. "Sherlock! I'm home!"

Molly felt Sherlock's arm tighten around her waist and heard him grunt. He pressed a quick kiss to Molly's shoulder. "Stay right there."

Snuggling deeply into the pillow, Molly felt Sherlock's weight rise from the bed and heard his bare feet against the floor and the door open. "You woke me."

"JESUS SHERLOCK!" John yelped. "Can you at least put a sheet on?!"

"I'm going back to bed. Leave me alone." The door closed again and Sherlock was soon back in bed with Molly.

"We're going to have to get up eventually," Molly pointed out, turning to glance back at Sherlock. "I have work today."

"Do you have work yet?" Sherlock queried.

"Well..." Molly shook her head. "No..."

Sherlock smiled tightly and tugged Molly tight against his bare chest. "Then we're fine. This is the first time we've been together in weeks, Molly. Allow me to indulge myself. Besides, I'm still tired."

Molly couldn't disagree with Sherlock's reasoning. She happily closed her eyes and allowed herself to fall asleep once again.

They were awoken to the sound of shouting about an hour later. "BOYS! YOU'VE GOT ANOTHER ONE!"

Sherlock grunted and nuzzled his nose against Molly's hair. "Client."

Molly grabbed her glasses and focused on the clock. She was going to have to start getting ready for work soon anyway. "Well, if there's a body involved, I'll be in the morgue by one."

"Good." Sherlock kissed her quickly before rising. He tugged the sheet away from the bed and wrapped it around himself like a toga. "You know I hate working with any other pathologist."

Molly squeaked at the sheet was pulled away from her. She grabbed the comforter to cover herself while Sherlock gave her a bemused expression. She knew he was silently judging her for her modesty in front of her own husband. Molly blushed. "You have a dressing gown collection that can only be described as epic. Yet you are going out there wearing a sheet."

Sherlock sighed. "Most likely, this case does not warrant getting dressed at all."

Molly laid back on the bed while Sherlock strode out of the room, only covered by the thin sheet. She could hear him from the sitting room. "Tell us from the start. Don'tbe boring."

Oh, that was her man.

Molly had finally risen to begin dressing when Sherlock wandered back into the bedroom, the sheet still wrapped tightly around him. He wrapped his arms around her waist, tugging at the belt of the dressing gown she'd donned. "Getting ready for work."

"Mm." Molly nodded. "Need a shower."

"I've sent John out to the crime scene. It's a six. The client is down at Speedy's having tea to calm himself and get out of my hair."

"But not in that order," Molly quipped.

Sherlock chuckled and pressed Molly closer. "I'd be happy to join you in the shower while I wait for something interesting to happen."

Molly knew he didn't mean it as a slight against her, but his phrasing made it sound like she was only of use to him when he needed something to occupy his time. She gave a small nod. "All right."

"Is something the matter?" Sherlock asked, his grip tightening slightly.

Molly shook her head. "Of course not. Let's just get ready for the day. Lots to do. I get the feeling you're going to end up being busy."

Molly had left 221B just as Sherlock got the video chat request from John to survey the crime scene. She rolled her eyes as she saw Sherlock was still just garbed in the sheet when he picked up the computer. She supposed he'd eventually find clothes now that she was leaving the flat. At the very least, if the case took him outside of Baker Street he would dress.

As predicted, there was a body and it did come into Barts. Molly did her post-mortem. Blunt force trauma to the back of the head. Strangely, Sherlock did not come into Barts to take a look at it. Usually, he never turned down the opportunity to look at a corpse when it was on her table. He seemed to enjoy at the very least viewing her handiwork. Did the case really lack so much importance?

Molly pushed aside her uncertainty. Sherlock had been working fairly non-stop. If he was content remaining in 221B for a few days, then she wasn't going to raise a fuss about it. He deserved to have a good long break.

After her shift was over, Molly left Barts and hailed a cab to take her to her flat. In the cab, she checked her phone and saw she had a new email message from Greg. It was not unusual to get messages from him in regards to cases he was working in which Molly has done the post-mortem, but this was a personal message. This included a video.

It was of Sherlock. She could hear Lestrade chuckling in the background, but Molly found nothing humorous about it. Sherlock's cheek was bleeding from an injury and he was being half-carried by John. He was obviously drugged.

"Go to 221 Baker Street!" Molly shouted to the cabbie.

Molly threw some bills at the cabbie as soon as they came to a stop in front of Baker Street. She jumped out and raced up the stairs, her heart beating a furious tattoo inside her chest. What had happened to Sherlock? What could have changed so much in just the scant few hours they'd been separated?

John rose from his seat when Molly burst through the door. She took gulps of air, trying to calm herself as she faced him. "What's happened to Sherlock?"

John shook his head fractionally. "How do you-?"

"Greg..." She panted. "He sent... What's going on?"

John's forehead crinkled. "Just had some bumps in a case. Sherlock will be fine. Sleeping off the drugs in his bedroom." He sighed. "Going to have to cancel my date to make sure he's all right."

"I can do it!" Molly blurted out much too quickly. She shrank down slightly, her cheeks feeling warm. "I mean, you really shouldn't cancel a date on account of Sherlock. You do that enough for him as is. I'm a doctor. I can look after him."

John looked torn for a moment. For a moment, Molly considered blurting out that she was Sherlock's wife, that she could take care of him perfectly fine on her own. Thankfully, she was spared making this pronouncement when John nodded. "All right. He should be fine. Most of it is out of his system now. Just let him rest and make sure he doesn't choke on his own vomit."

Molly forced herself to smile weakly. "Sounds like a horrible job to give up a date for."

"Pretty much," John sighed. "Thank you, Molly. Are you sureyou want to do this?"

Molly shrugged. "Nowhere else I have to be tonight."

With that, John smiled and nodded before grabbing his coat. "Just make yourself at home. I should be back in a few hours."

"Not if it's a good date," Molly teased as John strode to the door.

As soon as John was out of the room, Molly raced to the bedroom. She looked down at Sherlock, lying on his belly in bed, still clad in his day clothes. "Oh Sherlock. What have you done to yourself?"

Sherlock groaned. "Woman..."

Molly paused. "What was that?"

"See her again," Sherlock's words were still slurred, only half-conscious.

Molly shut the bedroom room. She caught the scent of expensive perfume. She quickly realized the source of the scent. It was clinging to Sherlock's Belstaff coat.

How could a woman's scent permeated the fabric so much? How close had she been to him? Had anything stood in the way of her body and the coat?

Molly sat on the edge of the bed and gently stroked Sherlock's hair. She then noticed the papers on the bedside table. She picked them up. They were screencaps from a website of a beautiful scantily clad woman. Molly's eyes widened as she read the tagline:

Know when you are beaten.