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This prompt asked to reference John Watson's entry in his blog here: The Hounds of Baskerville

John didn't tell everything in his blog entry.

Italics are from John's blog entry. Molly's thoughts are in bold.

Greg Lestrade/Molly Hooper, pre-relationship. This happens after Sherlock, John, and Greg return to London from Devon.


Molly blinked at her screen. Blinked again. She raised a clenched fist to her mouth to keep from screaming. She sat there, riveted to John's words on his blog, about the Hounds of Baskerville. Her eyes kept coming back to two sentences:

"Sherlock denied it at first, but back at the pub he finally admitted to me that he'd seen it. I've never seen him so shaken, so scared. He was actually terrified."

Sherlock? Terrified? Molly had never seen him terrified. Concerned, yes. Distracted, yes. But not absolutely terrified.

John's tone was factual, bland, as if he had been dictating a patient's record. Molly read between the lines, the wealth of meaning in those two sentences. For someone who worked with dead people, she knew how to interpret the living.


She nearly jumped off her stool. Her heart raced at the unexpected voice, loud in the stillness. Molly whirled around, one hand on her chest. "Oh! Detective Inspector! I'm sorry, I hadn't heard you come in." She breathed the words in a complete rush.

Lestrade smiled weakly. "That's all right. I didn't mean to startle you. You looked absorbed at whatever you were reading."

She shook her head and said, "Just John's blog. He wrote up another case."

"Which one?"

Molly frowned as she noticed Lestrade's appearance: face pale as chalk, dark circles under his eyes, hands trembling slightly. She wondered whether or not he'd even slept for the past week. Wait a minute--wasn't he supposed to be on holiday? He was supposed to relax. Did something happen?

"'The Hounds of Baskerville."

He walked over to her and peered over her shoulder at the laptop screen. Molly heard his breathing quicken...fear, he's scared. Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade is scared. Of what? What happened during his holiday? She had never seen him terrified, either, and they'd both been through some hair-raising cases.

"Detective Inspector? Lestrade?" She glanced over her shoulder. At the sight of his expression, she immediately vacated her stool and steered him onto it. Oh my God...he's shaking! He looks ready to faint.

She gripped his hands tightly and tried again. "Greg? Look at me, not at the floor. You'll keel over if you stare at the floor."

"I'm fine," he said flatly.

"You. Are. Not. Fine." She let go of one of his hands and gently placed two fingers under his chin, tilting his head so he could look up into her eyes. It didn't take much; even with him sitting and her standing, the height difference was obvious.


"What's wrong? And God help me, if you tell me again you're fine, I'll smack you."

The vehemence in her tone actually made him laugh a little. It was tinged with a strange hysteria. "I believe you would, Molly. John didn't tell everything in his blog."

She stared at him, then it all made sense. "You were there, on the moor. You saw the Hound too."

"I was there." He looked past her, at the opposite wall. "I saw it. I tried to shoot it, when it attacked us. I missed. Twice. John didn't miss. He shot it dead."

"--the poison, the weapon that H.O.U.N.D. had created hadn't been in the sugar. It was in the fog! We were in a chemical minefield." Molly's eyes widened as she remembered John's words. If Greg had been there, then he'd been affected too!

"What did you see, Greg?" He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut, as if trying to block out the memory. Molly's heart pounded in her chest and she tried again. "Tell me what you saw."

"My worst nightmare," he whispered. He was shaking so badly that Molly thought he was halfway to a nervous breakdown. The confident, calm, Detective Inspector hid so much behind that facade. The fact that he had come here, that he lowered that facade in front of her, made her feel honored, almost humble.

"What did you see?"

"Everyone dead. Sherlock, John, Anderson, Donovan, Dimmock...even you." He forced his eyes open to look at her. "And you all demanded why I let you die. You were crying, Molly, and I couldn't hold you or comfort you..."

Her heart broke for him and she went with her instincts. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight. He shuddered as the sobs racked him; he had to be strong for others, but now she had to be strong for him.

"It's all right, Greg. I'm here," she murmured. "I'm right here."

The storm passed after a few moments. He withdrew a little and frowned at her tear-stained face. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean to make you cry."

Her smile trembled. He was apologizing for more than his little breakdown and she knew it. "It's all right. You needed a sympathetic ear."

She felt something pass between the two of them, something she couldn't define. Molly hugged him again and he returned it.

"Thank you," he murmured.

"That's what friends are for, Greg."

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