A/N: This is a new fic and not a sequel to Hero Worship. This story is set a few months after Reichenbach Fall and Sherlock has been able to resume his former life. It's my first ever attempt to write anything resembling a mystery, and I'm bound to make some mistakes. To preserve elements of future chapters, some things will not be explained at present, either. Please bear with me. Constructive feedback is welcome. BBC owns it all and this is non-profit no copyright infringement intended fanfic.
"Every person has their pressure point. Someone that they want to protect from harm."
Jim Moriarty, Sherlock, "The Reichenbach Fall"
John sighed, wishing he was somewhere quieter and more peaceful. Standing in the middle of a pride of lions, for example. Instead he was on the sofa at 221 B Baker, listening to Sherlock rant and rave.
Sherlock was pacing around and striking things angrily with the end of the broom. "No murders. No heists. No disappearances. What is wrong with the people of England! Don't they know I need something to do?"
"Yes," John said flatly. "How terribly rude of people not to get killed so you can have a case."
Sherlock stopped pacing and shot him a withering glance. "It's been a week, John. A week!"
"Oh, my. Should I fetch you a bottle and teddy bear now or do you want me to give you a few more minutes to act like a baby?"
Another withering glance. Sherlock began hitting things again, punctuating his hits in time with his tirade. "This…is…driving…me…mad!"
"Stop this! Stop it now, Sherlock. Or so help me I'll get a diaper and wrap it around your mouth."
Sherlock paused. With a final heavy dramatic sigh he flung the broom onto the floor and launched himself into an armchair.
"It wouldn't hold," he muttered.
"Try me," John said warningly.
Sherlock was about to risk it out of boredom when John's phone rang. "It's Lestrade," he said, frowning. "Why's he calling me and not you?"
Sherlock muttered something that sounded like "because I threw my phone down the toilet."
John groaned. "You've got to stop this childish behavior, Sherlock!"
"Answer the phone!" Sherlock snapped.
John blew out a frustrated breath and hit the button. "Yes, Inspector."
As he listened, his face immediately darkened. "What?"
Sherlock said nothing, but his entire body tensed.
"When? Is she all right? What happened?"
She. Implies a level of familiarity. Not something ordinary or he'd not have asked what happened. Mrs. Hudson is fine, so that means…
"We're on our way," John said, ending the call and leaping up to grab his jacket.
"What is it?" Sherlock asked, even though he'd already deduced most of it.
But knowing didn't lessen the effect of John's words.
"It's Molly. She's been attacked. She's in St. Bart's."