Wallflower |:| A Sherlock x Molly Fanfiction |:|

Wallflower |:| A Sherlock x Molly Fanfiction |:| Part IV

John walked through the door, lugging the multiple bags of groceries to the kitchen the next afternoon and saw Sherlock sitting on the couch, carefully examining another piece of evidence that had arrived in their post: a letter, he presumed written by the one behind all the rest of the strange packages.

“What's it say?” he asked Sherlock, as he walked into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of tea.

Sherlock didn't respond for a while, not even registering John's question until about 15 minutes later, when John had already settled himself in a chair, reading the morning's paper. “I feel like I'm missing something, John,” he abruptly stood up and paced around the living room, hands roughly on his hips, evaluating every piece of evidence and every deduction he'd made thus far. “This person—whoever they are—has taken every precaution to not be found out, and it's worked well. I can't seem to get an exact read on anything about them.” He fussed with his hair in frustration. “All that came this time was a letter, a typed letter, from our culprit. This breaks the pattern, he's sent no other items through the post. I fear something might happen, John. One does not simply break a pattern for nothing.” He violently threw himself back on the couch, and lay backwards, looking up at the ceiling.

“Maybe they just got bored?” John answered. “Maybe they're not getting the response out of you that they had hoped for?”

Sherlock scoffed. “No, they are...and that's what bothers me. Never in my life have I shown any emotion for a case besides this one. If they're getting what they want, and they've broken their pattern, it means a second part of this ploy is being unlocked. I just don't know what it is.”

“How do you know you're not reading too much into this?”

Sherlock picked up the letter and tossed it to John, who barely caught it. “Mr. Holmes,” he read back from memory. “It seems you've been enjoying this little game of ours. I'm happy I could entertain you for a while—we both know how it feels to be terribly bored. See you soon.” Sherlock sat up. “And it's signed by no one, and no return address.” He threw John the envelope. “He's plotting something, John, and I haven't the slightest idea what.”

John frowned looking over the letter. “Maybe this person isn't violent at all, Sherlock. Just try not to worry yourself too much,” he set the papers back down on the coffee table.

Sherlock let out a long groan and sighed. “You're right, you're right.”

John didn't say anything about this very rare sentence.

“In order to do anything, one must have a clear mind.” He closed his eyes from looking at the ceiling and let out another long breath. He placed his fingers against one another, and gently pressed them against his lips.

Suddenly Molly came into his mind. That beautiful painted face, her shy little smile, in thinking of her he found his own lips begin to twitch into his own smile. He had left her home last night with the understanding that they were both rather fond of each other. They were too shy to say anything else, not to mention that neither of them really knew what to say, but they were both happy with finally admitting their feelings to each other. They had agreed to take things very slowly, for they knew they both had responsibilities that required much of their attention.

His smile soon faded, though and quickly, he opened his eyes.

Molly.

“Molly...” he whispered, unknowingly.

“You need to go to the lab?” John asked, briefly looking up from his newspaper.

Sherlock closed his eyes once more. “How could I have been so stupid?” he muttered. He had just compromised Molly. “Yes, I need to go to the lab, but I must go alone.” He got up and ran to his room, fetching his scarf and coat, and came out a few minutes later, properly dressed and rushed out the door. He didn't even think of saying goodbye to John, or even telling him where he was going or for how long he'd be gone—all that he could think about was Molly's safety and the idiot he'd been for showing her his affections. If the culprit wanted to get a reaction out of him by somehow compromising people he'd loved, Molly was most certainly included.

He jumped out of the cab and hurriedly made his way to Molly's lab, bursting through the doors, and skidding into the open area. It was completely quiet.

“Can I help you?” he heard a young man's voice call to his side.

Sherlock turned to see, indeed a young man by his side: a lab tech assistant. “Where's Molly?”

“She left a little while ago,” he said. “Can I help you with anything?”

“No,” Sherlock said, taking a good look around the lab before starting back the way he came. “Wait--,” he stopped. “How was she when she left? What was she like?”

The man shrugged. “She seemed okay. Didn't really notice.”

Sherlock nodded, and ran out the door again. He got a cab to her flat and tried to call her on the way: no answer. He tried again: no answer. When he reached her building he pounded on her door.

“Molly!” he called. No answer. He knelt down and pulled from his pocket to picking needles, and quickly, he picked the lock. The door opened to her flat, it appeared to be untouched. He walked in and closed the door behind him, scouring her home for any sign of malice toward her, but found nothing.

Molly had vanished.