I hope you enjoyed reading it and your thoughts would be appreciated ^^

Disclaimer: I do not own anything that looks familiar to the world of Sherlock.


"Think, Sherlock, think," muttered a figure that was pacing the living room.

The figure was momentarily lighted by the first rays of the morning light. A tall man with an angular face and dark, curly hair stood puzzled as he pressed his hands against his temple and willed himself to come up with an answer. The man shook his head in frustration and took a few quick steps to the window and was about to reach for his violin that was resting against the window but something made him pause. He shook his head and continued to pace the length of the room once more.

He stopped near one of the bedrooms and nodded his head, almost in a way that seemed like he was pleased with himself. Then he walked to his favourite armchair and flopped down on it, bringing his hands together and resting his chin on the tip of his fingers. A small nerve was bobbing up and down near his temple and he closed his eyes. He needed to figure it out. Now. He couldn't help her if he didn't even know what the matter was. Of course, she could tell him but that would destroy the thrill of solving the mystery.

The mystery of why Molly Hooper turned up at 221B Baker Street in her nightdress and begged him to let her stay the night.

Sherlock ran his fingers through his hair and held back a large sigh. She had obviously been crying before she came and, not to mention, there was a weird sort of welt on the right side of her neck. Her fingernails looked chipped like as if she had been biting them off and her hair was in a big mess.

"It can't be… no, it can't," he murmured aloud, frowning.

A clattering noise was heard from one of the bedrooms. A door was roughly pulled open and out stumbled a sleep-deprived John.

"Sherlock."

Sherlock looked enquiringly at his friend. "It's too early for you to be up. Go back to bed."

John, groggy-eyed and slightly dazed from his sleep, held out a hand in defence. "It's my business what time I wake up."

"You're disturbing me."

"Fine," said John. "I'll leave soon. My train is at six anyway."

"What train?"

"I told you I was heading to Reading for the weekend."

"No, you didn't, and –"

"If you had just kept your mouth shut for awhile longer, you would have heard me tell you that I was leaving."

Both men stared at each other and a long silence passed over them. Finally, John sighed and turned around. "I'm going for a shower."

"I don't need to know."

"And why is the door to this room closed?" asked John, gesturing at the guest room. "I thought it was always open."

"Molly is in there."

"Wait, what?" exclaimed John, turning back around. "But how come I didn't know she was here?"

"She came after you returned, John."

"But why –?"

"That's what I can't figure out! She didn't even tell me!" ranted Sherlock, waving his hands madly in the air.

"You know, I was walking with Mandy last night –"

"Mandy?" asked Sherlock looking suspiciously at John, thinking that 'Mandy' sounded close enough to 'Molly'.

"My date, remember?"

"Oh, another candy of yours. Go on," said Sherlock, nodding.

"Shut up and let me finish. We walked past Guthrie Lane and I saw that Drake guy coming out of that lane," ended John, rubbing his eye sleepily. "I wonder if it's relevant at all."

"Who is Drake?" asked Sherlock, raising an eyebrow.

"That new guy at the morgue who said you were 'too cool to be true'," replied John, rolling his eyes. "Honestly, anyone would have thought he was interested in you!"

"Ah. Drake. Morgue. Molly. Guthrie Lane. Molly. Drake. And me," mumbled Sherlock.

John shook his head at his friend's incoherent words. "What are you talking about?"

"Drake is an undercover journalist. He works for The Grand Canyon, a newspaper that targets men and women of all ages. It is best known –"

"For being the so-called 'best' tabloid," completed John. "But how do you know that Drake is," paused John, "whatever he is? He might really just be an ordinary bloke."

"I can tell," said Sherlock, smirking.

"And I don't want to know how," muttered John under his breath. In a louder voice, he said, "Then what was that string of words you were saying?"

"Drake was made to work undercover at the morgue and befriend Molly Hooper, who would then introduce him upon his request to Sherlock Holmes. Drake would then express a fake interest in Sherlock so that he could possibly gain access to Sherlock's life. In order to deepen this friendship and ascertain that Molly will succumb to him, Drake would try to woo Molly at her home in Guthrie Lane. However, things did go as planned and Molly ended up running to me."

"How could it have gone as planned?" asked John, confused.

Sherlock chuckled. "Drake probably wanted to see what the relationship between the Pathologist and the Consultant Detective is."

John cocked his head and leaned against the wall. "So what you are trying to say is that –"

But John was interrupt by the sound of the guestroom door opening and a meek Molly walking out.

"Hi," she said softly, not looking at Sherlock.

"You're up early," commented John, smiling kindly at the lady.

"Yeah, well," said Molly, shaking her head, "I thought I should leave early since I'm probably an inconvenience."

"You are," replied Sherlock, examining his fingers.

"Bloody hell, Sherlock!" exclaimed John.

Molly's lower lip trembled. "I'm sorry. I'll go now."

"John, you are much of an inconvenience as well," commented Sherlock, examining his wrists this time.

John stared at Sherlock. "What? What. All right then. I'm going to get ready and leave now."

"Molly, you are an inconvenience because I can't play the violin when you are here. John, you are n inconvenience because you hinder my thought process with your snores."

Both John and Molly stood staring agape at Sherlock. Both of them looked at each other before bursting out with laughter.

"What?" asked Sherlock. "Just go, already."

John nodded and Molly smiled. Molly came forward to Sherlock and said, "Um, Sherlock, the reason why I came here –"

Sherlock smiled. "It's all right, Molly. I figure it out."

"You did?" she asked. "Well, I'm not surprised because you are Sherlock Holmes after all."

Sherlock lifted his hands to his cheeks casually. "Well, thank you."

John watched this exchange with interest. He could have sworn that Sherlock's cheeks had a tinge of pink to them. He cleared his throat.

"I'll just be getting ready to leave then," he said, pointing towards the bathroom. "See you around, Molly."

Molly nodded and John walked off to the bathroom. He stopped behind the wall and waited, wondering what would happen next in the living room.

"I'll be leaving now, Sherlock," came Molly's voice.

"Do you need a coat or something? It's cold," a concerned voice replied.

John rolled his eyes.

"No, I'm all right. See you, Sherlock."

The sound of the door opening echoed through the house and John distinctly saw a lanky shadow move across with a shorter one.

"Take care, will you?" came Sherlock's voice.

"I will."

John covered his eyes with his hands. If he told Sherlock what he managed to analyse from his friend's sleepless state in trying to come up with a deduction and that concern in his voice, Sherlock would definitely brush it aside and refuse to acknowledge that he had feelings and emotions.

It would take a very artful woman to woo Sherlock.


If you've spotted an error in spelling and such, please let me know ^^;