The Woman Who Counted (A Sherlolly Tale)

Chapter 31

            Molly paced in front of her bed, still in her pyjamas. She stared down at the photographs in her hand. Who could have taken this photographs, and why? Was it just to scare her? Were the photographs going to be used for black mail?

            I have to call Sherlock. She thought, grabbing her mobile off of her dresser and punching Sherlock’s number in. He answered after the first ring.

            “Molly. We weren’t alone last night.”

            “I noticed,” Molly said. “Sherlock, there was an envelope on my dresser, and inside was a note and two photographs.”

            “You don’t have to work for two hours,” Sherlock said, “Bring what you found to Baker Street and we can compare the photographs to the ones that John received.”

            “John got the photos too?” Molly asked, but Sherlock had already hung up. She put the photographs and the note back into the envelope, and then got dressed.

•         •         •

            Sherlock paced around the sitting room. John kept attempting to ask questions, but Sherlock wasn’t listening. He was thinking; he had to think. The front door opening disrupted his thoughts. He stopped pacing and looked up at Molly, who stood in the doorway.

            She took a few steps in a closed the door behind her. “Sherlock.”

            “Molly.” Sherlock said.

            Molly was silent for a moment, biting her lip, then said, “Why the hell would someone take a picture of us?”

            “I don’t know.” Sherlock said, continuing to pace.

            Sherlock shrugged.

            “I mean,” Molly said, looking down at the envelope, “It’s not like we were doing anything. We were just sleeping. That’s what people do when they are tired. You can’t blackmail with sleeping.”

            “Wait,” John said, “you two aren’t sleeping together, then? And by that I mean–”

            “Yes – I mean yes we aren’t. We aren’t sl–…we’re not having…Um…” Molly’s cheeks grew warm and turned crimson.

            “Sorry,” John apologised. “Your business not mine.”

            “But, we’re not–”

            “Doesn’t matter, you two.” Sherlock said. “The real question is who would take photographs of us?”

            John said, “The note said it was from ‘M’. Moriarty, then?” Molly let out a faint gasp, but Sherlock just shook his head.

            “Moriarty would have just written his name,” Sherlock said. “He has no reason to keep his identity from us. Plus, it’s not his style.”

            “Style?” John questioned.

            “Moriarty,” Sherlock said, “isn’t the kind of criminal who would crawl in through a women’s bedroom window and take photographs of her sleeping with a male. Even if he wanted the photographs for some reason, he wouldn’t do it himself. He would let someone else do it for him.”