What is this? A reasonable length of time between updates? Look out your windows, pigs are flying... Anyway, my sister genuinely accidentally locked herself in a suitcase, and my dad locked himself out of a suitcase and opened it by cutting the zip fabric with a steak knife. This chapter is dedicated to them, and to SammyKatz for inspiration. Also, I WON NANO! Many thanks to all of your for your support as always, especially my reviewers, enjoy!
T is for Toby, Tom, Turds, Tantrums and Travel
Tom had gone away on a conference for a week, and Molly was unashamedly excited about having some time to herself. Sherlock had been very focussed on John's wedding recently, and she was hoping that this meant he would be too busy to bother her, and she could make good use of her alone time, instead of just running errands for him. To top it all off, the dog was with his parents, as she couldn't guarantee to be able to walk him enough, so she could spend some time with Toby. Or so she thought, the cat had gone missing again. She'd checked the camera feed, and he'd gone into her bedroom several hours ago and not come out, despite definitely not being in there now. He had been known to climb out of the bedroom window before, able to get down into the garden of the flat downstairs on the right, but he usually stayed there until either Molly spotted him or the lovely old lady who lived there let him through her flat so he could climb the stairs back up to Molly's. The only other place she could think of him being was back at Baker Street, as even though she'd been very careful lately to make sure he hadn't followed her out of the door, there was the possibility that Tom hadn't been so cautious, so she put on her coat, grabbed her keys and hailed a cab. She let herself into 221B, not knowing whether Sherlock would be home or not, hoping that he wasn't with a client.
As she opened the door, John stormed out, his face a Sherlock specific shade of puce. Molly laughed inwardly, watching the doctor storm off down the road without so much as a nod of acknowledgment towards her. It wasn't the first time she'd watched him do so, and she was sure it wouldn't be the last. She climbed the stairs slowly, unsure of what sort of mood Sherlock would be in, but was pleasantly surprised to find him fully dressed, drinking tea on the sofa like a normal human being. She'd half expected him to be sporting his bedsheet-come-toga ensemble, violin in hand, oblivious to the world. He gave no greeting, simply looked her up and down, before rolling his eyes and answering her unasked question.
"No, your cat is not here, and no I don't know where he is." He said in a bored tone of voice, turning his attention back to the unlit fire, trying to appear entirely uninterested and dismissive – which he managed for all of twenty seconds before jumping up off the sofa and declaring that he would take the case. Molly then gabbled all her information about Toby's habits, favourite places, and that he was last seen in her bedroom according to the cameras, but definitely wasn't in there now. Sherlock frowned briefly, before getting her to recite the whole day to him.
Tom was not fond of going away for any length of time, he missed Molly's cooking, his dog, and of course Molly herself. He would not miss, however, Molly's friends and their propensity for unusual activity. He was quite sick of their antics intruding on his life and messing with his Molly, who was becoming more distant and behaving more strangely as the months went by. He sighed to himself, and hoped that a week of respite for both of them would refresh them, as her shoebox flat did not help matters at all, but finding anywhere else to live was far too expensive or too far away from where they worked. His mum wanted them to move closer to her after they were married, for him to commute and Molly to transfer hospitals, but as much as he would like that, he knew she'd never agree to it. There was no point in causing argument over it yet, but that didn't mean he wouldn't have a chance in the future.
He'd got to the conference centre in Edinburgh in reasonable time, with the trains running almost to schedule (for once), checked into his hotel, and gone out with some colleagues for dinner; no dramas in this Sherlock-free zone. He was feeling quite relaxed, and ready for the start of the busy day tomorrow, but alas, it was not to last. He opened the holdall he'd taken his clothes in for the week to get his pyjamas out, only to find a very unhappy cat glaring up at him from the bag. Toby immediately hissed at him, jumped out of the bag, and bolted towards the door, meowing loudly. He had no idea how the cat had manged to stowaway for the entire journey without being noticed, surely he wasn't that oblivious? Or maybe the cat was just out to get him… The latter thought was reinforced when he noticed the smell coming from the holdall, hoping beyond hope that the blasted cat hadn't used his clean clothing for the week as a litter tray, he peered in. He was not in luck. Somehow the animal had managed to ruin every piece of clothing he'd brought, the underwear only spared by the plastic bag he'd put it in.
Sherlock had a good idea of where the furry fiend had got to, and although he didn't delight in Molly's near hysteria, he was looking forward to the phone call that would confirm his suspicions. If anyone asked why later, he would say that he had hoped the cat found because it meant not trekking around London with an overly anxious Molly trying to find said moggy, it was definitely not because of the amusement that the finding of the cat would generate. He was not disappointed, as just half an hour after they'd been through the camera footage of her flat, his flat and the surrounding buildings, when Molly was on the cusp of making posters to put up, her phone rang.
"Molly! Your bloody cat got in my bag and has ruined all my clothes! I need you to pack me another bag, bring it up and take the damned thing back to London." Tom seethed on the other end of the phone.
"TOBY! What a silly cat, have you given him some water? Is he ok? I hope he didn't get squashed by someone else's luggage," Molly gabbled at high speed, relieved that the cat had simply gone adventuring, rather than run away.
"The bloody cat is fine, as am I, thank you for asking." He answered sarcastically,
"Oh don't be like that, he probably just wanted somewhere warm to sleep, you know we have to keep lids on the washing bins for a reason." She bit back, how he hadn't noticed the large fluffy, ginger mass was beyond her, and he should have at least noticed that the weight of his bag was unusually heavy.
"How quickly can you get up here?" He asked, ignoring her previous statement, the shops were shut now, and he wouldn't have time to get something new in the morning. His panic was disrupted by a sharp knock on the door, so he put the phone down momentarily, shut Toby in the bathroom and opened the door, hoping it was one of his colleagues. He was greeted by an older woman with a cat carrier and a small suitcase,
"Hello Thomas, I'm here for Toby." She announced, barrelling in, and shutting the door behind her. Baffled, but resigned to this having something to do with at least one Holmes, he opened the bathroom door and let the angry feline into the room, where he was promptly scooped up by the older woman in question and bundled into the carry case.
"Ah, yes, Mikey said to give you this. Take care, and have a splendid conference," She said, handing over the suitcase before disappearing out of the door, leaving Tom concerned, relieved, and confused. He picked up his phone from the bed, hoping Molly would at least be happy that someone had her cat.
"Hi, err, an old lady just turned up and took your cat," He said tentatively, concern rising as there appeared to be a tussle on the other end of the phone, but immediately dissipating as Sherlock's voice responded,
"What did she say? What did she look like?" Sherlock demanded, manoeuvring out of the way of Molly's futile attempts to regain her phone.
Tom quickly reported the short encounter with the lady, too confused to be angry that Sherlock was on the phone, or that he appeared to be taunting his future wife in some manner, if her indignant background shouting was anything to go by. He could almost hear the other man's eyes roll as he sighed and declared that the woman in question was his 'meddling mother'. Tom thanked the detective, hung up the phone and collapsed onto the bed. Even 400 miles away, he couldn't escape the madness.