How to Play a Game Called Murder

Chapter 23: The First Piece

“I have some questions.” Molly chewed nervously on her lip.

“I have some answers.” Sherlock replied steadily.

“How did he know?”

She didn’t elaborate. She didn’t have to. He knew exactly what she was referring to.

“He said he saw us in the alley. He must have someone watching us when we leave the flat.” Good thing Mycroft has his people shadowing us too.

“How did he get in to leave the gift?”

“He must’ve come in with the men who delivered and installed the bath.”

She shuddered and her eyes darted around the room. “Do you think he can see us now?”

“No, Mycroft’s men swept the flat again this morning before you woke up.” I made sure of that.

“Oh.” She looked down.

“You’re going to be late for work.”

“I know.”

Molly sipped a cup of black coffee as she leaned against the counter, gazing over at Sherlock who sat at the kitchen table, devouring a scone.

“You’re unconcerned about being late? That’s unlike you.”

She sighed, rubbing her fingers on the rim of her cup. “Yeah well, I’m just a bit distracted this morning.”

“Molly, I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” She nodded but Sherlock could tell she wasn’t convinced. Either that or she was concerned about something else.

“I’ll be at Bart’s when you finish your shift so we can go.”

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Sherlock shifted his weight back and forth nervously as he stood at the door to the morgue, peering in through the window.

Molly was chatting amicably with an intern, just having finished her last post mortem for the day. She appeared to have relaxed from her brooding silence of the morning but Sherlock was sure that as soon as she saw him, she would relapse back into it. He felt a stab of guilt for having dragged her into their current situation but he knew well enough that he had by no means encouraged her in the beginning.

He pushed open the doors, noting that Molly had already cleaned up and was waiting for him. Sherlock strolled into the morgue, banishing the intern with just a look and stopped directly in front of Molly. He handed her a leather bag.

“Go shower, I brought you some clean clothes.”

“I have clothes in my locker, Sherlock.” She cocked her head to the side, reading him.

His nose crinkled and he grimaced a bit. “I know but they are all wrinkled and you don’t like them anyway. Wear these.”

She shook her head, laughing. “Alright, whatever.”

Sherlock sauntered into her office and made himself comfortable, putting his feet up on top of the desk. He knew she’d hate it but he’d make sure to take them down before she came back.

His plan was to take her to her to her old home first. The other place, his lab, could wait. Besides, he didn’t want to get there before dinner time.

He picked up a paper off of her desk and started to read.

“Get your feet off my desk, Sherlock.” Molly passed by the door.

He was too engrossed in an autopsy report to notice her return. Tossing it back onto the pile of papers, he jumped up and headed out into the main part of the morgue.