I can't apologize enough for the delay in updating. I won't bore you with excuses, only say that I am back to the story now, and have so much in store for our favorite couple! Please let me know what you think, I had some fun writing this chapter ;)
Fear caused a sudden wave on nausea to hit Molly, and she struggled against the feeling of her dinner rising in her throat. She turned away from the screen of her mobile, still held in Sherlock's hand, and slowly sank to the floor.
Sherlock, ever the detective, was gathering what he could from the message. The number was blocked, obviously, and even if it could be traced, would likely lead nowhere. As to setting the song to play when it was received…that could have been a program or virus of sorts, or the simpler solution being…a sudden dread reverberated through him.
"Molly, has your mobile been in your possession all day?" He queried, turning and, to his surprise, finding his pathologist sitting on the floor a few feet away. She didn't answer. "Molly?" he repeated her name, again with no reaction, her eyes having taken on a glazed expression. Perhaps she's in shock? Momentarily unsure as to what his next action should be, he was seized by sudden inspiration and grabbed a blanket off the nearby sofa, and gently draped it over her shoulders. He hovered over her nervously, needing the answer to his question desperately, but trying to behave appropriately.
If it wasn't for the fear radiating through her, Sherlock's awkward efforts would have made her laugh. She wasn't in shock, just deeply overwhelmed and afraid. She ran through her day in her head, intending to give him a precise answer. The only places she had been were home, her morgue, and the cafeteria in Bart's. Her phone she been in her lab coat pocket at all times, and then in her purse when she'd taken that off to go home. She looked up at the fidgeting figure next to her, pulling the blanket closer about her shoulders.
"Yes. I quite certain my mobile has been with me all day. The only place I went was Bart's, then here."
The detective thought for a moment, and then strode to where his own mobile was on the desk, and quickly sent his own text to Molly, testing a theory. Almost immediately, her phone came alive with the tinny sound of the Bee Gees once again. So, it was apparently set to play for all incoming messages. That raised another question.
"I assume this did not play when I texted you about dinner?"
Molly was certain it hadn't, she would have had a similar reaction then as now. "I keep my phone on silent when I'm working. It only buzzed."
Sherlock steepled his fingertips together, touching the tips to his lips, deep in thought. That didn't help much, then. It could have been already set, and she wouldn't have known. Of course, it would have foiled the plans of whoever was responsible if the song played too early, at an incidental message. He began pacing, working through possibilities in his mind. As he turned to cross the room, he remembered Molly, still sitting with her knees pulled into her chest.
He knew he should comfort her in some way. He could hug her, he supposed, that seemed to be the social convention. However, he felt somewhat apprehensive about doing so. What if she didn't want him to? Deciding he needed to do something, he settled on the only other option he could think of.
"MRS. HUDSON!" he screamed, confident that the elderly landlady could hear him from her flat. His sudden outburst appeared to startle Molly, making him feel instantly abashed. She was looking at him quizzically, but made no move to stand or change position. Hearing the welcome sound of feet on the steps, Sherlock went to open the door for the motherly woman, grateful she always came so quickly when called.
"Whatever are you bellowing about at this time of night, Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson asked, adjusting her wrapper around her. She quickly looked at the shirtless man before her, taking in his rumpled hair, and gave him a meaningful look.
"Why Sherlock, been getting into mischief, have we?" Mrs. Hudson asked, smiling. Rather than try to explain, Sherlock merely pointed in Molly's direction, where she was partially hidden by the sofa.
Mrs. Hudson took a few steps in the indicated direction, and quickly saw the girl sitting on the floor. "Goodness! Molly, dear, are you alright? What's happened? What's Sherlock done now?" The older woman rapid-fired questions while kneeling down to examine Molly, shooting Sherlock an unpleased glance over her head.
"I'm quite fine, really. It's not Sherlock's fault, we both had a bit of a scare is all," Molly quickly tried to reassure the kindly landlady, even offering a wobbly smile.
"And what, he just left you on the floor? Sherlock, go make some tea, for Christ's sake. And you, dear, up and on the sofa with you."
Sherlock had been quite uncomfortable during this exchange, lingering awkwardly by the front door. At Mrs. Hudson's request, he quickly moved into the kitchen, glad to have a task to complete. However, he quickly realized he didn't know where the kettle was, or the tea, for that matter. He cleared his throat. "Mrs. Hudson-"
The tiny woman strode forcefully into the kitchen, giving the detective a look of impatience. She immediately grabbed the kettle from its place (the cupboard above the stove, Sherlock noted) and went about making tea.
"What are you doing just standing there, Sherlock? Go sit with the poor girl then!" Mrs. Hudson admonished, clearly exasperated that she had to tell him to do so. Sherlock retreated from the kitchen, feeling more uncomfortable than ever. He paused, noticing Molly was now seated on the sofa, turned away from him. Steeling himself, he crossed the room and quickly sat down beside her, yet careful not to be touching her in any way, unsure. He stared at her openly, hoping for some clue, some deduction he could latch on to regarding how he was expected to proceed.
Molly did him one better. Without thinking, she leaned into the man beside her, resting her head on his shoulder. It was unconscious really, she was lost in her thoughts and drawn to the warmth and potential comfort. For his part, Sherlock responded appropriately, if hesitantly, by putting his arm around her shoulder.
Molly released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "Sorry about…that. Shouldn't have gone to pieces like that."
Sherlock wisely remained silent, knowing too well the replies that came to mind about the tendencies of the female sex to become hysterical would not be appreciated. He just tightened his hold on her fractionally, hoping that sent the message of reassurance which he was unable to convey out loud.
"Here we are dears," Mrs. Hudson placed the tea tray before them, and busied herself pouring the tea.
In response to the landlady's sudden appearance, Molly moved from under Sherlock's arm and shifted slightly away, not wanting to make things…awkward. However, much to her surprise, he followed her movement, maneuvering closer once again and replacing his arm about her shoulders. Molly blushed deeply.
If Mrs. Hudson noticed the climate between the young couple, she pretended otherwise. Handing them each a cup of tea, she settled herself into the nearby chair, clearly expecting some sort of explanation for her presence being required. Sherlock normally would not indulge this obvious social obligation, but he considered that if he did not, Molly would certainly feel the need to. And, for a reason he wasn't going to examine too closely, he wanted to spare her that right now.
"We received a message of an alarming nature. About a case," the detective ventured, hoping this would assuage the older woman's curiosity.
"Oh I see," Mrs. Hudson nodded understandingly, and Sherlock heaved an internal sigh of relief. "Is the case regarding the disappearance of your shirt?"
Sherlock looked down at his bare chest, having forgotten his semi-dressed state. He quickly glanced at Molly, then back at Mrs. Hudson, opening and closing his mouth like a fish, the landlady's eyes twinkling with mirth.
Molly couldn't suppress the laughter that bubbled up. Watching Sherlock struggle to regain his composure, she knew she should likely be embarrassed as well as he, but she just wasn't. In fact, she was beginning to get the feeling that the older woman sitting across from her was quite pleased with finding them there in such a state. Molly wondered if she'd had some hand in it all.
"That will be all, Mrs. Hudson. Thank you," Sherlock attempted to dismiss the matronly figure, having regained his composure somewhat. He suddenly wanted the woman gone, longing to be alone with Molly once more.
"Really, Sherlock, how rude. Calling me up here, just to dismiss me like some kind of servant…" Even as she protested, Mrs Hudson stood to leave, a mischievous grin still in place. And…Sherlock couldn't be sure, but did she just wink at him?!
As the door shut behind their guest, Molly felt laughter rising anew. She shouldn't take such pleasure in Sherlock's discomfort, but, well, it was just too good. Not to mention, the distraction was more than welcome.
Sherlock cleared his throat, shifting his weight from foot to foot, suddenly very tired. He didn't truly sleep all that often, but he had the most peculiar desire to spend the remainder of the night in his bed, with his pathologist in his arms, where he knew she was safe. The thought of asking her for such a thing seemed ludicrous, and sent a wave of nervousness through him. But the idea of her leaving his flat to return to her own seemed unthinkable to him, and he knew he needed to say something.
"You should get some sleep," he stated. She nodded, but didn't move, unsure of his meaning. Did he want her to leave? Her head told her that was most like him, and was honestly the smart thing to do, she had a security detail after all. But her heart, her damn, traitorous heart, wanted to stay the night here with him, and wake to him in the morning. She knew she could never voice these things aloud, her pride wouldn't allow it. So she remained silent, hoping it would force him to be more explicit, she knew he had no problem telling her to leave if that was indeed what he wanted.
"Shall we go to bed, then?" he asked, hoping his apprehension didn't show in his voice. He noted that her eyes widened at his words, and a slight flush crept into her face, as did a small smile. She stood silently, and offered him her hand. He took it, also silently, and, for the second time that night, they headed back towards his bedroom.