An Awkward Situation....(a Sherlock story)

The phone call

Molly checked her watch, then her phone, then her watch. Again. She'd gotten a call from Sherlock the night before about needing to meet, and she'd canceled a date just so she could be there on time. But two hours had passed, and Sherlock was a no show. Typical.

She'd often told herself that she was over Sherlock, she'd moved on and she'd find a nice, normal, non-sociopath man to date. But every time she looked into his eyes, every time she heard his fast witted voice talking at such a quick rate surely no one but him understood, she couldn't help but let her heart flutter. It was stupid.

"Molly," one of the interns, an awkward young girl with round glasses poked her head into the door, "Are you talking to Mr. Jenkins remains?"

"No!" Molly discarded the jar of ashes before facing the intern, "What is it?"

"The Holmes boy is here."

Molly's face lit up, but then she controlled it. She was going to play hard to get, she wouldn't help Sherlock on any of his cases until he made it up to her, "Fine, but tell him I'm very disappointed in him."

"Yeah...alright." the young girl muttered, giving a very confused look before disappearing into the hallway.

Molly turned her back to the door, grabbing her pen and clicking it as she nervously played with her hair. She had to pretend like she'd been doing something. She began to poke awkwardly at an elderly man's foot when she heard footsteps behind her.

"I'm not talking to you," She announced, "you said you'd be here two hours ago, and personally I was rather looking forward to my date. I hope you have a good explanation."

"I was going to ask the same thing. What on earth are you talking about?"

Molly winced, biting her bottom lip nervously as she turned to see Mycrofts face-which always reminded her of someone sucking on a lemon-staring at her, "Hi...Mycroft. Erm...thought you were Sherlock."

"I assumed," Mycroft muttered, shaking his head before walking past her, "Where's Mr. Harrison and Mr. Steven's Autopsy records?"

"Away..." Molly watched as Mycroft began searching her desk, "Why? Didn't Sherlock solve those cases? Surely you could talk to him?" Stupid Sherlock. He'd probably been to busy and sent his brother instead of going himself.

Mycroft laughed, "Ask for help from Sherlock? I'd rather sell my cake recipe. And he's missing, thought you knew!"

"I'm sorry, what?" Molly gasped, poor Sherlock. Was he okay? How long had he been gone? Was he hungry? Had he been drugged? Sherlock would never be late, she should have suspected something was wrong!

Mycroft, for once in his life showing a hint of desperation in his eyes as he met hers, walked up close to her. Very close. Since when had Mycroft been using women's perfume? It was probably just Lestrade (hehheheheheh). "Yes, he's missing. He's been missing for a few hours no, so if you don't mind I'd like to figure out where he's gone before he gets murdered or gets himself killed!"

Molly thought of telling him that getting yourself killed and being murdered were sort of the same thing, but she thought best of it. She hurried into the file cabinet and searched. Once she found it-cursing the spots of mustard and ketchup where she'd had a late lunch on it-she gasped as Mycroft snatched it away from her so fast, he was like an otter diving in for fish as he violently examined the paper.

It took a few minutes, Molly anxiously checked her phone for texts from Sherlock. Why would she get texts from Sherlock if he was kidnapped? She didn't know, but it made her feel better looking at the vague, usually one worded messages Sherlock sent. Her favorite was when he'd accidentally sent "Gone down to interrogate the Moffat," Instead of, "Gone down to interrogate the murderer." She wasn't sure what a "Moffat" was, but it sounded dangerous to her.

"Idiot!" Mycroft shouted, so suddenly that Molly accidentally grabbed Kelly Brishwood's foot- some poor chap that had died from a rather serious case of a heart attack when her favorite character from a show had died.

Molly backed away a few steps, suddenly fearing for her life, "What? Did you find something?"

"Yes! Yes, oh brother dear, your such a fool. I can't believe..." His voice trailed off as he faced Molly suddenly, his eyes bright, "Can you operate an helicopter?"

"Yes...well...no, what?"

Mycroft muttered something under his breath as he grabbed Molly's arm, dragging her out of the door, "Well, you'll learn. I need to get Lestrade to get a warrant. I'm afraid Sherlock may have gotten himself stuck in something very deep. Such a little-"

Molly wasn't sure if Mycroft was excited, mad, hopeful or furious as he pushed past the intern, who had so obviously been eavesdropping. She was about to get in the passenger seat in Mycrofts stupidly fancy car-complete with a chocolate cake bumper sticker and a "no stopping this rich chic" sticker on the side of the car-when her phone buzzed.

"Molly, what are you doing? Get in here, now!" Mycroft shouted.

But Molly had pulled up the phone to her ear, mouthing to Mycroft "It's Sherlock." Before picking up.

***

"Sherlock?"

John preformed a weird little dance, which was cool until Ludovic joined in, practically screaming, "Molly? Molly, thank goodness!"

"Oh. John. How are you?" Molly asked, sounding so obviously disappointed.

John frowned, "Has no one noticed we'd been abducted?"

"Abducted? No, only Sher-oh. Have you been kidnapped as well, John?" Molly asked, sounding more and more bored. Was that Mycroft screaming in the background?

"No," John said darkly, "It's not like we've been looking for coverage in a tiny cell for an hour or anything..." This, of course sarcasm, was in fact what they'd been doing. They'd discovered Sherlock's phone-he must've sneaked it into Johns pocket before he got taken-and walked around the cell for an over an hour, trying to get coverage. John knew Sherlock refusing to get unlimited data because of the cost would end up getting them in trouble someday.

"How unfortunate, have you seen Sherlock? Is he okay?" Molly's voice suddenly sounded frustrated and strained, like she was holding back a monkey from a pile of bananas.

John stared at the wall, dumbfounded, "Didn't care to ask how I-" but his voice trailed off as a loud whooshing sound exploded through the phone and Mycrofts voice-which was very out of breath-blared through like a fire siren, "John! How dare you let Sherlock get into S.P.R.A. is he there with you? Make sure he's in fine condition, because I'm going to beat the living crap out of him when I-"

"Can we talk about getting us out first? And what the devil is S.P.R.A.?" John interrupted, shaking his head. It was like he was just the sidekick to Sherlock.

Mycroft's voice was suddenly frantic, "You don't know? What kind of a doctor are you? Listen, tell us where you are, immediately."

John scoffed, like he was going to a wait an hour before informing the rescuers where he was being held captive, "A-a facility of some sort. Scientific lab thing?"

"359 north IOU road," Ludovic gasped, snatching the phone.

John stared, "Did you just say-?"

"Yes," Ludovic held up a hand, "yes, but hurry. Sherlock's being held somewhere else. Why? Erm...well he's had a bit of a...yeah, he is actually kind of acting like a toddler, more of a eight, nine year old way though. What? No, no of course not. Okay."

"Well?" John asked as Ludovic discarded the phone and slumped to the ground.

"Sherlock's brother sounds absolutely terrifying!" Ludovic replied, "He sounded like he wanted to strangle me or wack me with an knife umbrella!"

Noticing Johns look of I'm trying so hard not to murder you head tilt and smile, he cleared his throat. "Oh. You mean about being rescued and all, yeah, their coming."