How to Play a Game Called Murder

Chapter 7: Calling in the Cavalry

Sherlock stomped up the stairs to the flat, exhausted and hungry after three days in Cardiff for a case.

It had been fairly straightforward, most of his time had been waiting for the right moment to jump out and nab the surprisingly stupid drug cartel boss. (He was sure Mrs. Hudson had been better in her day.)

He was brimming with pride and couldn't wait to dazzle Molly with his brilliance (he WAS brilliant) only... only Molly wasn't actually in the flat.

Sherlock stopped and sniffed.

Perfume. Molly's. But Molly doesn't ever use perfume unless... Sherlock's eyes narrowed.

A date.

Molly went on a date.

And she did it while he was out of town.

Coffee guy.

He scaled the stairs to her room, two at a time in his rush, and opened the door to her room. Shopping bags were strewn all about the room, on her bed, on the floor, and price tags were scattered all over the place.

Hmmm, concerned about this date, she bought new clothes for it. A lot of new clothes. She must have gone with someone, she would never spend this much money if she was shopping alone. She second guesses herself far too much. He leaned over and picked up a light green, sleeveless, chiffon top and studied it. Not her style either. So she asked someone for advice. About bloody time. Her fashion sense is atrocious. He grinned, remembering about all the fruit adorned items of clothing that Molly owned.

Going back down to sit in his chair, he contemplated what to do. He could easily figure out where they had gone. Molly was an open book, and he knew there were few options she would be comfortable with for a first date.

Giving it a bit more thought, and checking the time, he decided that instead he would use the remaining period she was gone to gather some intelligence on a subject that he had to admit, he was quite lost on. Sweeping up his phone, he sent a quick text and ignored the subsequent responses.

Sherlock had just finished eating two sandwiches (which he wheedled Mrs. Hudson into making for him) and downing a large bottle of water when he heard John come through the front door and run up the stairs, shouting for him. The army doctor screeched to a halt as soon as he saw Sherlock standing in the kitchen and stared for a moment before closing his eyes and breathing out a long breath.

"Sherlock. Please tell me there is ACTUALLY an emergency and I didn't just leave my pregnant wife at home alone two hours after I got from being away for 3 whole days?"

Sherlock's head snapped up. "Of course there's an emergency. Sit down."

John sank into his chair in the living room and put his chin in his hand with a long-suffering sigh.

Stalking into the room to stand in front of his friend, Sherlock stated, "I need data."

"Ummm, ok?" John was thoroughly confused. Since when did Sherlock think that John knew more about a subject than he did?

Sherlock began to pace and speak at a pace that John vaguely held should not have been humanly possible. "Every time I see her speak to another man or smile at him or god forbid, try to flirt, my chest gets tight and I can't breathe and my stomach churns and I want to tear him apart with my bare hands. She doesn't smile at me like she used to, John, and I want her to smile at me and get me coffee and stutter when she sees me wear that purple shirt and--"

Sherlock took a breath and John jumped in. "Wait, are we talking about Molly?"

The consulting detective shot him his patented 'do keep up' stare and collapsed into the chair opposite John. "Of course, who else gets, well, got, me coffee?"

John Watson sat up very straight, very quickly, his sore muscles (the drug lord had not been keen on being arrested) complaining. "Sherlock? Do you fancy Molly?" Sherlock groaned and gave him the stare again.

John was flummoxed. "Ok, wait, this isn't for another case, is it? Because if you do that to Molly, I'll kill you myself and I'm pretty sure Greg will help."

"Of course this isn't for a case, John! Do you think I would do that to the woman who saved my life, literally, twice now?"

"Twice?"

Sherlock blushed.

He actually blushed.

Then, he cleared his throat. "When your wife," he waggled his eyebrows at his friend, "shot me, Molly appeared in my mind palace and told me what to do to stay alive. It isn't the first time either. She's there more and more." He paused and made eye contact. "She's becoming the voice in my head."

The doctor sat back, stunned. For Sherlock to say something like that, well that was serious. "Alright, so what do you need me for?"

Sherlock rubbed his face with his hands. "As much as I loathe admitting it, I really am at a loss as to how to proceed. Molly insists on being difficult and not catching any of the hints I give her. She even went on a-" he shuddered, "date tonight with some boring bloke she met at the coffee shop the other day."

"Yeah Mary told me. She took Molly shopping today to help her pick out clothes for it."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Oh, well tell her that she did a good job. Molly's new clothes are leagues better than the ones she picks for herself."

John chuckled. "No fruit?"

"No fruit." Sherlock laughed outright before becoming solemn again. "Well, are you going to help me?"

John nodded yet again, eyeing his best friend. It was going to be a monumental task teaching Sherlock how to behave towards the woman he desired. This brought up another thought.

"Sherlock, ummm..."

Sherlock interrupted him there. "No John, despite what people may assume, I am not inexperienced. I haven't indulged in years but did you really think I could make it through my drug using days without experimenting?"

John pondered this and then shrugged. "Yeah, I guess not." He checked his watch. "Ok, I've got to be home within the hour so listen closely."