Ten Weeks Ago. St. Bart's Pathology Lab
Sherlock had had an awful morning. He visited two clients of "The Woman," all to no avail. On the whole, he'd learned to prefer the ones that attempted to deny their involvement than the ones that were upfront and honest about it. At least with the first type of client, he could be assured of less lurid and disgusting details.
He arrived at St. Bart's hoping to catch Molly before she had had lunch. For the past several days, he had been making a concerted effort to be a kinder, gentler Sherlock when it came to her. When he approached the lab, he did as he often did: he watched her through the glass in the door. He enjoyed watching her in unguarded moments. And he was rewarded today, for Molly had her headphones on while she filled vials with various chemicals. She appeared to be singing along with whatever she was listening to. He crept in, trying not alert her to his presence right away.
She was singing with abandon: "Hey now, you're an all-star, get your game on, go play / Hey now, you're a rock star, get the show on, get paid / And all that glitters is gold / Only shooting stars break the mold."
Sherlock smiled uncontrollably. Finally he slid into her view, causing her to jump back in embarrassment and rip the headphones off her own head.
"Damn it, Sherlock. You scared me."
"Sorry, I was just enjoying the show." Molly blushed. "Don't stop on my account."
"You're a jerk."
"What? I said I was enjoying it."
"Yeah, enjoying watching me make an idiot of myself."
"Not even a little bit."
She smiled in spite of herself. "What can I do for you, Sherlock?"
"Restore my faith in humanity."
"How can I do that?"
"Have lunch with me."
"It's that easy, is it?"
"Probably not, but I'm going to be out late tonight, probably conversing with utterly horrifying people, so I won't see you at dinner."
"Yeah, ok. Which chips shop were you thinking of?"
"Actually, I wasn't thinking chips shop."
"Ugh, I need more than vending machine crisps, Sherlock."
"No, no, I mean a real lunch. I've heard of a good curry restaurant near here."
Molly raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Curry?"
"It's an Indian flavor profile that . . . "
"Yes, I know what curry is. And you want to eat it?"
"With you, yes."
"Is this some kind of game or test or . . . "
"No. I just thought you might like a change."
"Yes, but you hate change."
"I don't hate it, exactly."
"Sherlock? What's going on?"
"Nothing. Why? Is Mycroft the only one that's allowed to feed you interesting things?"
Oh, thought Molly, Sherlock doesn't like sharing anyone. He likes being the center of attention. "Sherlock," Molly said gently, "you're not in competition with Mycroft or anyone else. I don't want you to be anyone else but you."
"Of course, I know that," Sherlock said, unconvincingly, clearing his throat.
"Good, now let's go get some chips. But you're having a salad with them if I have to shove it down your gullet."
"I thought you just said you didn't want me to be anyone else?"
"Yes, but I also want you not to die of clotted arteries before you're fifty. I have a specimen heart from someone that died of heart disease, don't make me pull it out."
Every time John thought he had a potential suspect for the leaks to Irene Adler, something would completely dash his hopes. With so many names still to investigate, John had become a little manic trying to work as fast or even faster than humanly possible. And while he felt the need to work quickly for Molly's sake, he also worried that he'd miss something important in the headlong rush to achieve maximum coverage.
Sherlock had told him that he'd be away most of that evening interviewing more of Adler's clients. He could tell that Sherlock felt ill at ease discussing aberrant sexual practices so frankly. Hell, John thought, Sherlock felt ill at ease discussing any sexual practices. He wondered if he and Sherlock should change assignments for a few days. He didn't want to hear about these people's sexual fetishes either, but maybe Sherlock needed a break. However, he didn't think Sherlock would relinquish control of that portion of the investigation because the detective believed that finding Irene Adler's mythical weakness held the greatest promise in the efforts save Molly.
Looking for the leak was part of the back-up plan, the one Sherlock didn't even want to acknowledge. To Sherlock, finding the leak only meant punishment for the person who gave "The Woman" the Sherrinford file. For John and Mycroft, by contrast, finding the leak might mean the difference between Molly being able to live safely in protection far away from London or being hunted for the rest of her life.
With Rosie napping downstairs at Mrs. Hudson's, John stayed later at the flat than usual, driving himself as hard as he could. Sometimes, when he found himself alone with Molly at Baker Street, he'd find himself wondering whether allowing Sherlock to dictate the boundaries of Molly's knowledge had been the right choice. But, alas, there were no good choices here, he thought, dimly.
"John, you're still here," Sherlock said, sounding bedraggled and beyond miserable. John looked up at Sherlock standing in the doorway and then to his watch.
"Oh Jesus, yeah, I should go soon." But then Sherlock came hobbling into the flat, apparently in a great deal of pain. Both John and Molly, who had come out of the bedroom at the sound of Sherlock's voice, saw the pronounced limp at the same time.
"Sherlock, I thought your foot was better. Your limp looks worse than ever," John said.
"It's not my foot," Sherlock said with evident annoyance as he walked past John and Molly to the kitchen. Once there, he opened the freezer, looked around, and not exactly seeing what he wanted, took a package of frozen vegetables out and walked with it toward his chair in the living room.
"What happened?" Molly asked with concern.
"A woman ground her stiletto heal into my groin," Sherlock confessed as he walked slowly and awkwardly. John let out a commiserating cry at that image and his hand went to cover his own groin, out of instinct. As Sherlock passed John, he whispered to him out of range of Molly's ears, "Apparently she's no longer a submissive."
Sherlock sat down with a moan and proceeded to place the bag of frozen vegetables on his crotch. Molly and John looked at each, confused.
"Oh Sherlock, are you alright?" Molly asked.
"Umm, I'm going to say a big fat no to that."
"John, you should examine it," Molly suggested. John looked horrified.
"Why do you hate me, Molly?" John glowered at her. Sherlock waved her suggestion off as well.
"Either John looks at it or I do," Molly demanded.
Sherlock threw his head back, in both exhaustion and resignation. "Well, you have done the impossible, Molly Hooper, you've convinced me that there is indeed a God and that he hates me. Come now, John, look at my cock." Sherlock stood from the chair and started toward the bathroom.
Now it was John's turn to throw back his head in frustration. If I'd only left an hour earlier, he thought.
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