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When the generic ringtone first went off, nobody knew whose phone it was.

Molly, up to her elbows in a stinky drowning victim, shook her head. Lestrade and John jammed a hand in their pockets to check. Both shook their heads no. They all looked to Sherlock, who stood with his hands in his pockets and a purposely vacant look on his face.

"It's Mycroft, isn't it." John rolled his eyes. "Just answer it."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sherlock said with a shrug.

"He's just going to keep calling."

"He hasn't got the stamina or patience." The phone stopped ringing, and Sherlock gave a smug smile. "See? Couldn't stay the course."

Another ringtone went off, loud and dramatic and personalized. Molly rolled her eyes and tugged off one of her gloves to touch the Bluetooth clipped to her ear. "Hello Mycroft. What is it?"

John blinked in surprise. "Star Wars' Imperial March?"

Sherlock groaned as he leaned backwards dramatically. "Typical. He can't just text me, he's got to be a drama queen and call Molly to distract me and make his point and - "

"Sherlock."

Lestrade's voice caught his attention. Sherlock looked over and saw him staring at Molly. The pathologist's face had lost all color, her ungloved hand frozen between her ear and her shoulder. Sherlock read every bit of information he could. Frozen posture means she wasn't expecting the news. Ashen color indicates horror. Mycroft informing her means that the incident requires immediate notification -

"Sherlock." Molly's voice sounded strangled. "It's your parents."

The next thing Sherlock knew, he was outside looking for the car Mycroft had already sent for him.

Molly sat in the waiting room, nervously braiding a side plait in her hair over and over. It was a nervous tic from her childhood, a familiar task that let her fingers work while her mind sought to organize itself.

Sherlock was still talking to the doctors. From the look on his face, he didn't like what he was hearing.

"Doctor." A steaming cup appeared in front of her eyes. She looked up to see the elder Holmes offering the drink. "Cream, two sugars?"

As if they hadn't had tea every second Tuesday for the past two and a half years. As if he hadn't come to the morgue during random graveyard shifts bearing hot coffee. "As if you don't already know," said Molly with a smile as she accepted the cup.

Mycroft sat down beside her and took a sip of his own drink. "He hates being in the dark when it comes to family," he said, shifting his gaze to Sherlock and the doctors. "He wants all the answers right away."

"I know the feeling." Molly had a feeling he already knew this story, but she kept talking. "When my dad was diagnosed, nobody would tell me he was sick. Mum kept saying it was just a little sickness, something the doctors had to catch. I was nine, I wasn't stupid."

"When did you learn?"

"I snuck a look at his chart and looked up the words I didn't know." She sipped her coffee and sighed. "And Dad never could lie to me. He was rubbish at it."

"My condolences on your loss, Doctor." Mycroft tapped the side of his cup as he watched Sherlock grow more and more agitated. "If you'll excuse me, I need to remove the doctors from my brother's line of fire."

Molly watched as Mycroft directed Sherlock away from the doctors. When the consulting detective noticed Molly sitting on a bench, he walked over and sat beside her. "What are you still doing here?" he demanded, voice sharp as a whip.

"Waiting."

"For what?"

Molly took a long sip of her coffee. "To see if you need something."

"What could I possibly need from you?" he snarled, much like an animal. A wounded animal.

Refusing to be cowed, Molly met his gaze straight on. "I don't know right now. But when you know, I'll be here." Rare courage gave her the strength to place a hand on his back, right between his shoulder blades. "I'm always here if you need me, Sherlock."

His expression never changed, but his muscles relaxed beneath her hand. Not daring to press her luck, Molly removed her hand and took another sip of her coffee. She'd made her point. Sherlock needed to make the next move himself.

"They - " His voice was thick with emotion, croaking like a frog's. "They told me - I'm not sure what the terms mean, actually..."

Molly gave him a gentle smile. "Tell me what they said, and I'll tell you what it means."

A little angst never hurt anyone. Enjoy!

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