A/N: For the February 24th prompt - "Once, in the midst of all the recklessness..." Rated T. Set during "The Lying Detective."
I'm not done with the sequel to Full to Bursting, so I thought I'd post this in the meantime.
Molly was worried sick about Sherlock. She hadn't seen or heard from him in weeks, not since the day she had given him John's letter. The only exception was a single text where he asked her to bring an ambulance to an address she didn't recognize on a day two weeks later.
That was a week ago.
Every time she tried to go to Baker Street to check on him, that guy Billy would turn her away. Mycroft and Greg said their hands were tied. Mrs. Hudson said that every time she tried to go upstairs, Sherlock would send her back down again.
What the hell is he up to?
She woke up that night to the sound of a crash coming from her kitchen. Assuming it was Toby, she marched into the kitchen only to find her biscuit tin on the floor and Sherlock sitting beside it, eating biscuits that had spilled out. His hair and skin were oily, his clothes looked like he'd slept in them repeatedly, and there was sparse stubble on his face. Toby was sitting on the counter, glaring down at him.
Unfortunately, Molly didn't have the luxury of being angry. "Sherlock?" she asked gently. "Are you hurt?"
Sherlock looked up at her, his eyes bloodshot and it took a moment for them to focus on her. "Hurt? No." He grinned. "Hello, Molly. I thought I'd take a break from the case."
He's definitely high. "This is for a case?" She didn't know whether to be worried or relieved.
"Of course." He tried to stand up but lost his balance and fell on his arse. Molly helped him up then held him steady until he could find his footing. He smiled down at her and she felt the same old butterflies she used to feel whenever he did that. "You don't think I'd risk losing your good opinion of me on anything less than an eleven, do you?"
"Eleven? I thought your case scale only went up to ten."
"That was before the most important case of my life."
Molly raised an eyebrow. "I don't suppose you'll tell me any details."
"Nope," he said, popping the P. "Would if I could, you know that."
"I do," she agreed, sighing. "How long are you staying?"
"Just the night, I need to get back to the case tomorrow, but I couldn't go another day without seeing you."
She smiled sadly. "Don't worry, I'm still your goldfish." He had told her what Mycroft had said. She thought it was kind of adorable.
"It's not that," Sherlock insisted. He smiled a bit. "I needed to check on my favorite bolthole."
"I just changed the sheets on my bed this morning, it's ready when you are."
"Oh, Molly," he said, his smile turning soft and vulnerable, "do you really think my favorite escape from a world gone mad is a place?"