"I have some questions." Molly chewed nervously on her lip.

"I have some answers." Sherlock replied steadily.

"How did he know?"

She didn't elaborate. She didn't have to. He knew exactly what she was referring to.

"He said he saw us in the alley. He must have someone watching us when we leave the flat." Good thing Mycroft has his people shadowing us too.

"How did he get in to leave the gift?"

"He must've come in with the men who delivered and installed the bath."

She shuddered and her eyes darted around the room. "Do you think he can see us now?"

"No, Mycroft's men swept the flat again this morning before you woke up." I made sure of that.

"Oh." She looked down.

"You're going to be late for work."

"I know."

Molly sipped a cup of black coffee as she leaned against the counter, gazing over at Sherlock who sat at the kitchen table, devouring a scone.

"You're unconcerned about being late? That's unlike you."

She sighed, rubbing her fingers on the rim of her cup. "Yeah well, I'm just a bit distracted this morning."

"Molly, I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

She nodded but Sherlock could tell she wasn't convinced. Either that or she was concerned about something else.

"I'll be at Bart's when you finish your shift so we can go."

Sherlock shifted his weight back and forth nervously as he stood at the door to the morgue, peering in through the window.

Molly was chatting amicably with an intern, just having finished her last post mortem for the day. She appeared to have relaxed from her brooding silence of the morning but Sherlock was sure that as soon as she saw him, she would relapse back into it. He felt a stab of guilt for having dragged her into their current situation but he knew well enough that he had by no means encouraged her in the beginning.

He pushed open the doors, noting that Molly had already cleaned up and was waiting for him. Sherlock strolled into the morgue, banishing the intern with just a look and stopped directly in front of Molly. He handed her a leather bag.

"Go shower, I brought you some clean clothes."

"I have clothes in my locker, Sherlock." She cocked her head to the side, reading him.

His nose crinkled and he grimaced a bit. "I know but they are all wrinkled and you don't like them anyway. Wear these."

She shook her head, laughing. "Alright, whatever."

Sherlock sauntered into her office and made himself comfortable, putting his feet up on top of the desk. He knew she'd hate it but he'd make sure to take them down before she came back.

His plan was to take her to her home first. The other place, his lab, could wait. Besides, he didn't want to get there before dinner time. He picked up a paper off of her desk and started to read.

"Get your feet off my desk, Sherlock." Molly passed by the door. He was too engrossed in an autopsy report to notice her return. Tossing it back onto the pile of papers, he jumped up and headed out into the main part of the morgue.

"Shall we be off?" He motioned for her to lead and followed behind.

"I borrowed a car from Mycroft for the day." He stated as they walked through the halls towards the front of the hospital.

"You drive?" Molly raised a brow at him.

Sherlock nodded. "I can. Not really fond of it though. Is that surprising?"

"No, not really. I mean, on the one hand I would think that you are too posh and too lazy to drive. On the other, you aren't very predictable and driving is a skill I could see you finding useful." She stopped herself from elaborating further, offering instead, "I can drive too. I haven't had a car in years though. No reason living here."

He smiled at her. "I guess neither of us are very predictable."

Molly beamed at him over the top of the car.

"Alright, where are we going?" He asked as they climbed inside.

She gave him a bewildered glance. "The places in the photos, right?"

"Obviously Molly, but I need an address. I don't know where you grew up." Sherlock rolled his eyes but gave Molly a playful grin.

"Oh right." Molly grabbed the GPS that lay on the floorboard and typed in an address, plugging it in and turning the volume up.

It was midafternoon when they arrived at Molly's childhood home.

The house itself was nondescript. It looked just like all the others on the block. A flat, brick façade, showing no personality at all. It was red brick with white shutters and a dark grey roof. Infinitely less personality than its previous resident, Sherlock thought, glancing sidelong at Molly as they walked up to the front porch.

The current residents were friendly enough. Especially after Sherlock flashed Lestrade's badge and id in their faces. He ignored the stern look Molly shot his direction. He'd been doing it for years, why stop now?

Now, they were walking around the house, looking for anything out of place. Molly was chattering about her childhood growing up there.

She'd been an only child. Her mother died in a car accident when she was just seven years old and her father had never been the same. He'd doted on his daughter though. While Molly was still an undergrad student in the University, he father had been diagnosed with cancer. He died just before she graduated from medical school.

Molly pointed out the places she used to play and told him stories of each room they investigated. One room held memories of playing dress up in her mom's clothes and shoes. Another, memories of being engrossed in her first anatomy textbook. Still another, memories of her father's deep voice reading aloud to her before bed each night.

Sherlock worked in silence but listened intently to Molly's voice. He held onto each bit of knowledge, filing it away in his ever-growing room for Molly in his mind palace. Her room was the largest by far, but she never seemed to stay in it. He'd be in another part entirely and look up to see her sitting next to him. Or he'd be frustrated, unable to find something, and she would appear to point the way. Sherlock knew he would never be able to delete her.

They'd been searching for about two hours when they decided to take a break. Sitting on the front porch steps, Sherlock sighed.

"I'm just not seeing anything. Whatever he left for us is escaping me." He put his head in his hands. "I don't even know what I'm looking for."

Molly patted his knee. "Maybe we just need to take a step back and look at the bigger picture."

Sherlock sat bolt upright. "Oh, Molly! That's it!"

He jumped up and ran across the street, dodging cars. He ran to the right, then the left, looking at the house. Suddenly, he grinned triumphantly.

"Molly, come here! Look!" He pointed to the house when she joined him. "Do you see it?" She shook her head. "I see a spot of yellow, is that what you are talking about?" He nodded excitedly. "I recognize that yellow. We need a ladder." He took off back across the street.

Luckily, when questioned, the owners produced a ladder and Sherlock scaled it to the roof, leaving Molly to hold the bottom of the ladder. When his head poked over the edge, he saw exactly what he expected.

There, in what he was sure was the same yellow spray paint, was a cipher, just like the ones he had come across before. He clambered fully onto the roof and gingerly made his way over to it. Taking out his phone, he snapped a photo before heading back down to where Molly waited for him.

"It's a cipher, Molly." He showed her the picture.

"The same one used in the Blind Banker?"

Sherlock smirked. "You've been reading John's blog."

"Of course I have. Don't act like you didn't know."

"Yes, exactly the same. Different book though, obviously."

"What book?" Sherlock shrugged. "I don't know. It has something we both own. We'll have to figure it out when we get back to the flat." He slipped his phone back into his pocket. "Right, off we go."