Broken Men

Chapter 3: Risen From the Dead

Sherlock made sure to keep his head down and stick to the shadows as much as possible as he walked the streets of London. He made sure that his collar was turned up against the wind and covered the lower half of his face with his scarf. His hair had grown a remarkable amount since he had been away, so he was fairly certain he was unrecognizable, but that didn't stop him from stooping his shoulders in an attempt to shrink his tall frame. Had anyone that knew him personally seen him snaking around buildings and peering around corners, they would have laughed at the great Sherlock Holmes' fall from grace.

45 minutes later, Sherlock found himself knocking on Molly's door. He only had to wait a moment before he heard footsteps on the stairs and the door opened a crack. Sherlock moved onto the small thread of light that leaked out from the door and lowered his scarf. Molly's eyes widened and she threw the door open just enough to grab Sherlock's arm and drag him into the small hallway. She shut the door quickly behind them and bolted it before throwing herself on Sherlock in a bone crushing hug.

Normally Sherlock would have stood there unresponsive until she got the hint and let go, but she had done so much for him that he instinctively held on to her. It had been so long since he had been in close contact with another person that he felt strange, almost as if it shouldn't happen. Finally she let go of him and gave him a small smile. "Come on" she said to him. She sat him at the small kitchen table and put the kettle on. Before no time the warmth of the flat got to Sherlock and he took his coat and scarf off, placing them on the table. Molly turned back to the table with two teacups in hand and set one down on front of him before taking the seat directly opposite him. They sat in silence for a few minutes, Sherlock sipping appreciativly. It had been so long, too long really since he had been in an environment calm enough to fully relax and care about being noticed by anyone.

Molly though had a nervous look about her and set her half finished tea on the table. She linked her fingers together and leaned back in her chair, waiting for Sherlock to put his cup down so they could get down to business.

"So are you back for good? Or do you need to go somewhere else?" Sherlock drained the last of his tea before answering "To London yes. But I'm not going back home, at least not yet. I have to stay with Mycroft for a while." The look on Sherlock's face told Molly he was less than ecstatic about that idea. Molly's eyes darted above Sherlock's head to the clock on the wall. She was jumpy because John had been due home a while ago and she hadn't heard from him the entire day. The last thing she needed was for John to walk in while Sherlock was just sitting there...the effects would be disastrous.

Sherlock, though a little rusty from lack of sleep, could see that Molly was extremely nervous and concerned about something. "Oh for God's sake, what's wrong?" She looked up at him, biting her lip. "Well...John was supposed to be home a while ago, but he hasn't showed and hasn't called either. And it's Friday. He's bound to show up soon, and Mrs. Hudson...and I don't think it'd be wise to have them walk in while you're just sitting here."

Sherlock looked down at the table, pain suddenly in his eyes. He had contacted Mycroft last week to inform him that he had taken care of everything and would be on his way back. Mycroft had taken that opportunity to give him a progress report on everyone. Mrs. Hudson had fallen down the stairs and twisted her ankle and was currently on crutches, and John...well John was still suffering horribly. His voice was small as he asked his next question.

"Be honest, how is he?"

Molly's eyes got sad and glassed over as she tried to keep tears from escaping. Her hands clutched he tea cup looking for warmth as she tried to find the words to describe the train wreck of the man that had once been so put together. "I'd like to say he's moving on, but we both know that you know it isn't true." Sherlock didn't respond, made no move to look as if he had even acknowledged her response, but on the inside he had set fire to himself and was burning himself at the stake. Molly continued on despite the fact that Sherlock was tearing himself up inside. "I don't know Sherlock. I don't know how to help him. He's in so much pain, and i'm at such a loss. He's hurting so much and I just can't stop the pain."