Sadie:

*Edit: I fixed a minor continuity error*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Making a trip to the shop was the very last thing that one Sherlock Holmes wanted to spend his day doing.

Maybe not the last thing. Anything that involved his brother would be the last thing. Or helping Ms. Hudson look at carpet swatches (not that the flat needed new carpeting, but did anyone listen to him. No. Of course not). Those would be the very last things.

Sherlock felt the little hand that was held in his start to slip from his grasp, and he gave it a squeeze. “No, Molly.”

“Bu’d Sheeeerrrr’yooooooock!”

…But a trip to the shop with an antsy, active Little who wants to look at and touch everything her grubby little hands can reach while in headspace?

That would be pretty darn close to the bottom of the list.

“Molly, what was my one rule?”

Molly refused to answer him, a sure sign that she was pouting as hard as her little face could.

Sherlock glanced down at the little girl standing stiffly at his side…oh, yes. Face absolutely puckered into a harsh frown and bottom lip jutting out about a yard.

He gave her a small nudge with his elbow. “Molly,” he said again. “What was the rule for coming with me?”

Molly continued to ignore him.

“Hmmm…since you seem to have been struck by a mystery illness and lost your voice, I suppose we should turn around and go home…”

Molly whinged and stomped her foot.

“Molly.”

She had enough experience to know that he wasn’t bluffing when he said that, either. “…S’day wi’f yooooou,” she answered finally, with a more-dramatic-than-necessary sigh.

“Very good, you stay with me.” Sherlock gave her hand another tug, urging her to follow along after him. “Remember what happens when you follow the rules?”

Molly, who’d been shuffling along begrudgingly and dragging her heels while she did so, perked up a bit. “G’ed a pri’ce?” she asked, looking up at him hopefully as they passed through the automatic doors.

“You do remember, you clever girl.”

Molly beamed, and trotted along beside him with a newfound pep in her step.

Sherlock smiled, despite his initial reluctance to be here…maybe it wouldn’t be such a hassle of a trip after all.

He led Molly back to the refrigerated section, where they would find the sole reason for the trip…you guessed it–they had run out of milk. Again.

Molly chattered at his side while he perused the literal wall of milk; “…an’, an’ Pe’bba, she couldn’, um, she couldn’ whi’thle, even though she tried really, really hard! An’, um, then she called–” 

‘What kind did John buy, again?’ He couldn’t remember. All he knew was that it had a cow on the front–which they all did, he noticed with no small amount of disdain.

“–an’ i’d was sooooo fun’nee!” Molly giggled. “An’, an’ then she–!”

Blast it. And John had made it a point to mention the name of the brand no less than four times before he’d sent them on their way. Sherlock let go of Molly’s hand a reached into his pocket for his mobile. He’d have to text him and ask again, damn it all. And John wouldn’t be letting this slide without copping an attitude.

It wasn’t his fault that it was so easy to tune John out when all he did was drone on and on and on–

Sherlock suddenly paused mid-text.

It was quiet.

He looked around quickly–Molly was nowhere to be seen.

Sherlock felt his heart sink to the pit of his stomach (which he’d always wondered how true that statement was, and the answer was ‘very’). “Molly??” He looked around quickly, hoping that Molly had just wandered away a few steps, but she was nowhere to be seen.

The sinking feeling in his stomach was replaced by a heart-pounding panic when there was no answer, and no little girl to be seen. “Molly?!? MOLLY!” he called out, and still–nothing in reply.

‘What are you doing just standing there? Go LOOK for her!’ Sherlock began to hurry to the other end of the store, looking down every aisle and trying to quell the urge to run while screaming her name. It wasn’t a big store, she couldn’t have gone very far, she knew better than to talk to strangers, and…

Each aisle he passed–no Molly. Each time he called out her name–no Molly.

He felt his panic starting to creep up into his chest.

“MOLLY!”

“…Sher’yock?”

The detective literally skidded to a stop, his shoes leaving ugly blacks marks on the lino, and whirled around to see Molly stepping out of an aisle that had been in the opposite direction, a book held in her hands. She looked utterly confused.

The icy grip that had been clutching Sherlock’s stomach released it’s hold, and he very nearly pissed himself out of relief. He rushed back to her and as soon as he was within reach, he grabbed her and pulled her into an enthusiastic hug and held her to his chest until she began to wriggle. “Ou’sh, Sher’yooooooock…you’re s’keeshing me!”

Sherlock made himself release his hold on her…yet he still kept his hands firmly on her shoulders. “Where were you?!” he asked, his breath coming out in one relieved rush. 

Molly’s eyes had grown wide, and had an uneasy look in them as she stared up at Sherlock. “Um, I wen’d, um, I wen’d to y’ook at’ta books,” she whispered, her head dipping lower and lower until she was almost looking at the floor.

Sherlock heaved a sigh of relief. “Don’t ever, ever walk away like that again,” he scolded, letting go of one shoulder to wag a finger in her face. “That was the one thing I told you not to do, Molly…no-no!” He took her by the hand, and continued to fuss as they walked back to the entrance. “You’re going straight to the naughty step the very second we get home, and–”

He was cut short as he finally met her gaze again.

Molly was biting her lip in an effort  not to cry, eyes glassed over with tears, and the poor thing was shaking like a leaf while she still clutched the picture book she’d been holding to her chest.

Sherlock’s resolved wilted, and he loosed his grip on her hand. He bent down close, and lowered his voice. “Look, Molly,” he began, softly. “I didn’t mean to shout. It just gave me a fright when  looked up and couldn’t see you.”

Molly nodded her head, and a tear rolled down her cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, and stood up to give her a less-harried (and much nicer) hug.

Molly promptly buried her face into his coat and clutched the back of it on both hands.

“Just…please stay where I can see you next time, yes?” he asked, petting her hair.

Molly nodded again, and Sherlock kissed the top of her head. “Let’s just go home,” he sighed, and started to leave.

“You know, Molly…”

Molly lifted her head and blinked up at him with her big, brown doe-eyes.

“…This would be a lot easier if you held my hand instead of my coat.”

Those same eyes crinkled at the edges as she smiled up at him, and he smiled back. “S’rr’ee, Sher’yock,” she whispered as she let go of his coat and took his hand instead.

“It’s fine now, darling,” he said, leading them back through the sliding doors…but not before gently slipping the book out of her arms, and setting it aside on a fruit display.

Molly turned to look over her shoulder. “…No pri’ce?” she asked hesitantly, batting her eyelashes at him. 

Sherlock just gave her a look, and she dropped her gaze to the sidewalk. they both remained quiet on the walk home.

They had just turned onto Baker Street, when Molly piped up again in her tiny little voice; “…Sher’yock?”

“Yes, you still have to sit on the step.”

Molly pouted. “Tha’s no’d wha’s I wa’ss gon’na saaaay!” she whinged.

“Mmmmmmm, my apologies. What were you going to say?”

“We, um, we didn’ ge’d any, um, any mil’g.”

“…Bugger.”