Molly lay down on her bad, resting on her forearms, watching the Moriarty video as it was projected onto her sole empty wall. She slowed it down, video on mute and squinted. She slid off the bed and shoved her glasses up her nose as she stood right in front of the projection. As evil as the man was, she had to admit, he did have rather excellent taste in suits.

This was she was noticing, case related clues, she was not.

A sound caused her ears to twitch and she stilled before jumping up to turn off the projector and to roll up her notes and tuck them into some of the drawers. She turned to the wall above her bed, climbing onto it and closing the artsy wooden case, that so happened to make a very handy hiding spot for key hunter notes.

As she stepped out of the room leaving the door open, no one really goes prying in a room that was carelessly left open after all, and wandered into her kitchen to see Sherlock trying to shimmy his way in. She sat down on the table, skirt slithering up her legs as the man in question struggled to get in.

'Why didn't you open the window fully?' Molly asked the question as cutely as she could manage, swinging her legs to and fro.

'Someone may have painted it shut.' A lesser person would have sworn up and down that he grunted it out as he wiggled his way in.

'Oh that's unfortunate.' He crashed to the floor, yet managing to roll and sit up, barely wrinkled.

'Very.' One eyebrow quirked upwards, as he stood up, taking off the belstaff and smoothing down his jacket. He made to walk past her but her swinging legs seemed to stop that. He puffed up slightly, Molly had to marvel over the fact that his shirt was managing to stay on. How was it that his shirts managed to defy the strain being put on them and she couldn't get trousers with pockets that could fit more than a packet of gum?

In order to get past her, he actually had to stop her legs with his hands, getting right up into her space. He walked slowly around her living room, criticising her possessions no doubt. Molly spun round on the table, watching him as he paused stilling and looking around at her bland smile.

'You do of course realise that breaking into a woman's apartment is not a way to win her over? In fact it's a sure fire way to get kneed.'

Sherlock turned looking at her wonderingly, he was unsure as to whether she was trying to get him out. It was amazing how slow the genius could be.

'The door is thataways, you can go now.' She gestured over at the door, though she was acting pissed, she really wasn't that mad anymore. However, she needed him out of her house before he noticed something was off about how she was acting.

'You really want me to leave?'

'I really don't know how to make it simpler.' In truth as Sherlock watched her, not stepping into her personal bubble as he usually did, she wondered if he had actually bought it.

He ducked his head in what she had to assume was a bow of sorts and he walked out the door. She slid of the table and walked into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

Truthfully, Sam was due to check in any minute and she need Sherlock out.

She could hear the door quietly behind her, the soft click causing her head to drop back hitting the door behind her.

Shit.

'Molly?'

'Sam. Hi.'

Two hours later Sam was hitting his head off of the table in front of him, hitting a book off the back of his head. Molly was feeling exactly the same to be perfectly honest. This case was going nowhere; all they had was the trace of sulphur and the missing notes. Sam and Dean had been asking around but given they were the other side of the Atlantic, it was no surprise to her that they hadn't gotten anything helpful.

'There has to be something we're missing!'

'Wish I could say I had gotten anywhere with Dad's old contacts but...'

'Didn't you say you farmed out cases?'

'Taking cases from me is not the same as helping me with one.'

'Nothing?'

'Dad was more than efficient with his salting and burning of the earth and any bridges that may have connected me to any particular land mass.' She groaned, rubbing the back of her neck and stabbing one of her many notebooks repeatedly with a pen.

She was hidden in one of Sherlock's safe houses, one of the one's his barely used. Little place in Piccadilly. Molly had to marvel at the fact that he managed to find one there, the man was nothing if not tenacious. It also had amazing WiFi, thank god for Billy.

Few tips and tricks about handling Sherlock Holmes, and some good food and Billy was hers.

'Thorough.' Sam's voice broke through her train of thought and her head drop towards her chest in aggravation.

'Damn that trait we shared.' She muttered under her breath, glaring at nothing in particular.

'So have you booked your flights yet?' Sam shook his head, rolling his before turning to something behind him and staring back at her with a rather weary expression.

'Dean's a bit weird about flying.'

'They don't even really know how it works!' Molly recoiled from her screen as the other brother's face appeared looking quite, scared.

'You're afraid of flying?' She tried not to sound quite so amused by this little fact, but as Dean glared at her she knew that she had failed. Of course Sam wasn't helping as he shook in suppressed laughter behind him.

'Yeah, well you're the hunter who can't hunt by herself.'

'I'm a smart woman who knows when to ask for help, so, you know,the people she happens to care about don't end up dead. Weird I know, right?'

As Dean bristled, puffing up, what was with men and that move, her actual phone rang and she stared down at the screen in confusion. She was sure that he had no contact picture on her phone, so why was one of the recent shots of him in his deerstalker coming up?

Kissass.

She shushed Dean, mostly as she was not interesting in listening to his ramblings and answered the phone.

'Yes?' She snapped, watching as both the Winchesters blinked at each other looking at her strangely.

'No hello?'

'You dislike pleasantries, why are you calling?'

'John's rather insistent that I make amends.'

'But you don't want to?'

'I do, but I-'

'What the hell is she doing? Molly!' She made a claw with her right hand and glared at Dean who just glared back at her.

'Who is that Molly? It's not a voice I recognise.'

'Because you've never met him. And if you so much as hint at "rebound", know the next body part I "lend" you will be yours.' Again both boys looked baffled and looked awkward as they listened to the argument taking place on her side of the video link. Sherlock was huffing on the other end, and Molly bounced the phone off her forehead before turning away from her laptop.

'You need to back off Sherlock, I am mad, and hounding me isn't going to make it better, I'm not John.'

'Who is he?' The tone in his voice was not something would associate with him and her. She had to be imagining what she heard. Yeah, most definitely.

'Honestly, he's such a pretty boy, how can he be so brilliant?'

'Did he just call me a pretty boy?' Molly's eyes twitched as Dean rolled his eyes whilst looking at something on another laptop, probably googled Sherlock. Sherlock on the other hand, was indignant, mumbling something about throwing accusations around without decent information to back it up. And that he wasn't pretty, physical attractiveness was for the mentally inferior, or something. Molly wasn't paying all that much attention to what he was saying she was once again wondering how she managed to get into this situation.

She froze for a moment, hanging up on Sherlock and standing to one side of the window that was really just a hole in the wall. She pulled her M&P out and held it to her side as she peered down into the street.

Someone, a male someone, not Sherlock, or Billy was outside looking for something. She had to admit, being one of London's best pathologists had advantages for the job. Even from a distance, Molly knew that unfortunately, it was a demon and the corpse it was riding.

She went over to the laptop, muttered demon and slammed it shut. One demon, hopefully he was alone and a runt. She pulled on a long black coat, tucking a couple of blades into her boots and strapping on a bag on her leg that looked like a holster but she made into one. Joke present from Greg last year.

If only he knew.

Time to go hunting.