Sherlock was walking around the flat, thinking. There was something he missed, that he knew for sure. He simply couldn't understand what it was. It took him by surprise. He was definitely not used to not understanding
"Why are you so determined to realize what your brother was doing at the hospital?" John had asked him earlier.
Stupid question. He wanted to know what his brother was hiding, why was he lying. But he missed something.
He looked at his arm, three nicotine patches on. It was definitely a three patches problem. But even the nicotine couldn't help his mind figure out what was wrong.
He laid himself on the couch. The girl. He thought. It had to be something concerning the girl. But who was she?
Searching his mind palace earlier, he knew she wasn't someone he met before, leaving him to nothing but the deduction.
She was not a friend of Mycroft, for he had none. A worker maybe? Yet Mycroft was lying saying that, he knew that for certain. So who was she?
And as importantly, where was she? She and Mycroft had entered the hospital together, but only he was leaving. Was she staying there? And if so, why? Was she out before they had arrived? But then, why had Mycroft stayed past her leaving? And assuming they left together, why hadn't she been seen?
He reached out for his phone. The call was answered immediately.
"Molly," he said with no previous greetings, "I have some questions I'd like to ask you about seeing my brother at the hospital today."
"Yes, of course," she said.
"This woman he was walking with, how did she looked?"
"Quite tall," she replied, "but in a good looking way. The height flattered her. She had dark curly hair. Dark brown, appearing to be black, but I think it was a wig."
"What made you think that?" Sherlock asked.
"She kept touching it." Molly said simply. "You don't touch your hair all the time unless it's quite uncomfortable. Otherwise you just forget it's there."
"Anything else about her?" Sherlock asked, impatiently. "Did you happened to hear what they were talking about?"
"Oh, they weren't talking," she said.
"What do you mean, not talking?" Sherlock asked, surprised. "They simply walked side to side, not saying a word?"
"No," Molly said, "they weren't walking side to side. She was walking a few steps before him, not glancing even a bit towards his direction."
"How do you know they were together, then?"
"Because he was looking at her, all the time. And she was well aware of his presence." Molly paused. "Is that any help?" She asked, hopefully.
"Yes, thank you." He said, hanging the phone before her 'you're welcome' can come and bother him.
The girl was ignoring Mycroft. So that definitely out ruled the co-worker possibility.
And she was wearing a wig. Most likely to hide the damage chemotherapy has done to her hair. So they were there for her.
But why? Why she was there, it was understood. But what was Mycroft doing there with her?
Sherlock sighed. Deduction is like having a pile of puzzle pieces containing two puzzles, when you only need one. Right now he was missing an important piece, yet he couldn't find it not knowing how the puzzle looked like, and he couldn't know that without that piece. He had this certainty that seeing the right piece, he will know it to be true. He just had to find it.
A hunch of his told him that the right piece would have something to do with a quite tall, dark haired cancer patient, who had the tendency to ignore his brother.