A/N: So yeah, um, stuff happened and I'm behind. *shrugs* Plus, some people don't really make an appearance and no one gets kidnapped yet because I came up with a brilliant solution to a problem I had planning the plot for this story. So Molly had to get- *cough* Anyways, just read.

Sherlock had left Molly's with her words ringing throughout his mind palace. She loved him.

It truly was an odd thought, because even though he was stunted in the area of sentiment and emotion, he knew that he had to be hard to love. He was cold, calculating, and manipulative. He wasn't mean on purpose, but his deductions had a way of coming like that.

The fact that Molly Hooper, who he had been manipulating for seven years for spare body parts, loved him was a monumental thing that he couldn't quite grasp. Yes, he knew that she thought him attractive, and even had a crush on him. But to actually love him, admit it, but then easily turn him away was incomprehensible. Weren't you suppose to chase after the person you loved?

Sherlock shook his head as he walked out the flat building, banning the thoughts the attic of his mind palace, and going about his planned day.

He hadn't quite expected to be hit with a pan by Mrs. Hudson. Nor to be punched by John. Or even less expecting a hug from Lestrade.

He had expected a severe reaction out of the landlady, given she was a woman. But after the initial breakdown and lecture, Sherlock was invited in for tea and biscuits. Arrangements were made for him to move back into 221b (but not without Mrs. Hudson laying out new ground rules, which he grudgingly agreed to).

(Mrs. Hudson was extremely glad to have her pseudo-son back, even if her walls would take a beating.)

John's reaction, however, did take him by surprise. It had nearly taken the rest of the day to track him down without the help of Mycroft. Sherlock finally reached him at a restaurant, and posed at a waiter. The attack from John and the lecture by Mary, the new Mrs. Watson, was a bit overbearing he thought. It had taken him hours to properly explain himself, but at the end of the night, he was left in front of an all-night sub shop with a bloody nose and his friend driving away.

(Deep down, John wanted to accept Sherlock back then and there, but he just...couldn't.)

He made it to the Scotland Yard car garage before Lestrade's shift was over. Sherlock definitely surprised him, and, instead of punching him in the face or groaning like he imagined, the man hugged him instead.

(Greg had always had a soft spot for the annoying prick.)

Eventually, everyone had accepted him back in good faith (Anderson and Donovan surprisingly included), John had shaved his mustache, and Mary was accepted into Sherlock's circle of friends. 221B was once again filled with pacing and horrid violin noises, primarily due to the fact that the Yard would not let him back on cases so quickly.

The media went berserk. Hundreds of theories were thrown around. Everyone Sherlock knew was being asked for interviews. Sherlock holed himself up in his flat, conducting endless experiments that he had thought of in his time away, ordering takeout every few days, and composing a piece on the violin for John and Mary. Once in a while, John would come drag Sherlock out to eat with him and Mary. (He only resisted enough to not let John onto the fact that he was indeed lonely.)

In a few months time, things seemed to have quieted down, and Sherlock was called in by Lestrade to work on a case. It was only a three, but it was something, and he had never felt more alive.

Lestrade and Sherlock walked quickly down the pristine hallway that led to St. Bartholomew's morgue. Sherlock thought about everything he had been told so far. The body had been found that morning along the Thames: a young university student who had been dressed in a suit and tie (on a thursday night?). There had also been a suicide note left in the man's flat, yet he lived alone. Why would he expect anyone to find it? Not everything had matched up on the post-mortem, so Molly had called the Inspector who was working on the case, Lestrade, who had called Sherlock in return. Now here they were, and he'd finally get his hands on a body, and–

"Lestrade, where's Molly?", Sherlock asked as the doors to the cold room shut behind them.

Molly had obviously not been into work for a while. Her work area was empty, completely empty. Something that had never happened in the past seven years he had known her. It was always full of folders and paperwork and a picture of her and her father (and often, a half-empty and lukewarm Styrofoam cup of coffee). There was no trace of her experiments out on the counters. No scent of her vanilla musk perfume. Nothing.

Instead, a man stood by the body of Samuel Patton as it lay on the slab.

(He's beginning to wonder if he has finally lost his pathologist. If she's run off with this wannabe lawyer who still has over half his student loans to pay off. (Yes, he's looked into the man. Not because he's jealous, but because he wants to make sure that this man is not another psychopath intent on a killing spree.) Maybe she's finally done the thing she should have done years ago, and left him behind without a word. But that's not Molly. She would never leave her job here, or here friends, as a small number as they are. Would she? He's purposefully ignored her for several months, hoping that she can get over this self sacrificial idea of loving him. Or maybe just because he's uncomfortable with it.)

Greg looked up at Sherlock in disbelief. "You are joking right?"

Sherlock turned to stare at the Inspector.

"Haven't you read any of the text messages you've been sent in the past week?"

His hand slipped into his pocket to pull out his phone. Sherlock had resorted to keeping his phone on silent most of the time because reporters and journalists had found his number on his website, and wouldn't stop sending messages or calling. He picked out several texts from Lestrade, John, Mary, and even his brother, Mycroft that had been sent to him over the past five days.

Have you seen news? x Mary W.

Did you hear from Molly? -J

They're taking Molly in. There's nothing I can do about it. She's asking me to see your brother? -GL

Not asking for favours yet, brother dear? -MH

Sherlock sighed. "Don't use unnecessary punctuation when texting."

"Oh, you are bloody kidding me."

"All of you sent vague messages all talking about Molly, or at least I presume so, but none of which are helpful."

Greg ran a hand over his face. "This", he waved his hand to the corpse being studied, "was just to bring you out because you wouldn't answer. We thought you had locked yourself up in 221b or something."

"I normally do. Get to the point."

The detective inspector sighed. "Molly's been arrested."

Sherlock looked genuinely shocked. "What?"

A/N: Sorry it's short. *cringes* I try to at least write at least two thousand words per chapter, but nothing was coming for this just yet, and I wanted to stop at this cliff hanger. Haha. I promise I'll write soon.

x Evy