The Woman Who Counted (A Sherlolly Tale)

Chapter 14

           “How was the couch?” I ask Tom in the morning.

            “Hell.” He answers.

            “Next time, stay out of my business.”

            “Not a chance.” I roll my eyes at him.

            I look at the clock. Shit. I’m almost late for work.

            “Damn it,” I say. “I woke up late. Good thing I’m already dressed.”

            “Yeah, I guess so.” Tom said, standing up and walking over to me.  He placed a kiss on my lips, and I smiled at him.

            “See you after work?”

            “See you.”

            I grab my coat and walk out of the door.

~         ~         ~         ~

            The day goes by slowly, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing.  I’m still cross with Tom for telling me to stay away from Sherlock. It’s none of his business. Well…maybe it is, but what is there to worry about? Sherlock wouldn’t hurt me, would he?

            No, of course he wouldn’t. Why would he?

            “Hello, Molly.” A baritone voice says, snapping me out of my thoughts. I turn around, and see Sherlock standing behind me,

            “Sherlock?” I say. “Are you on a case?”

            “Kind of,” He says. ”Someone kidnapped John last night and put him in a bonfire, and I’m trying to figure out who did it.”

            “Oh my god, is he okay?”

            “John? Oh, he’s fine.”

            “Good.”

            “Do you know who would have done that?”

            “How would I know?”

            “Well, maybe you noticed something, or someone that has to do with this.”

            “No,” I tell him. “I have no idea. Sorry.”

            “It’s fine. I’ll figure it out.” He says.

            “I hope so.”

            “Molly?”

            “Yes?”

            “We are having a bit of a get together at Baker Street tonight,” He says. “Mary, John, and Lestrade will be there, along with Mrs. Hudson of course. Would you like to come?”

            “I’d love to, but Tom and I were going to go out tonight.”

            “Tom?”

            “My fiancé.”

            “Oh, of course,” Sherlock says. “He can come too.”

            “Let me ask him,” I say. “No promises though.”

            Sherlock gives me a smile and then leaves the morgue, leaving me to my autopsies and thoughts.