It's been a while... I wrote this chapter in November last year _ sorry guys, I've got quite a bit written now I just need to make sure it all fits in together properly. I hope to get another chapter up within a fortnight. If anyone wants to beta for me (I have an offer for one chapter that I'm hoping still stands), then I would be very grateful, I'm struggling at the moment. Love to all 3

Y is for Yarn, Yemen, Yowling

Toby Hooper had appointment with the vet at lunchtime, and as before all his other appointments, Molly liked to keep him in the house all morning to make sure he didn't wander off. This morning, however, it appeared that someone had wandered off with him. She could not find head nor tail of the ginger moggy, and spent over half an hour looking inside and out for him, calling his name, rattling the treats tin to no avail. She sighed, picked up her phone and text Wiggins, as Sherlock was refusing to acknowledge he knew her at the moment, asking what he'd done with Toby.

The reply she got was strange, just a room number, and a hospital name. A chill ran down her spine. She had been his emergency contact for years, and if an ambulance was called for him, she would receive a notification – if he'd replaced her on the form, this was more serious than she had originally thought, and her hopes hadn't been high to begin with.

Just as she was packing up Toby's bits for the vet, her phone rang: Mary. Sherlock had been shot last night, flatlined on the operating table, but was stable and receiving visitors this morning. She gave her the same details Billy had, before apologising that no one had rung her sooner, they had thought she already knew. Molly waved off her apology, it was not a bad assumption to make – or hadn't been, and said she'd be there within half an hour.

By the time she'd arrived at the hospital, Mary had hauled John home to rest, and if the whiff of smoke was anything to go by, she hadn't long missed Greg. She did, however, run into the chief bridesmaid from John and Mary's wedding just leaving Sherlock's room. The two had seemed to get on at the wedding, but it was strange for Sherlock to have continued that friendship afterwards, unless he'd needed something from her. A cursory look at the front page of the paper the other woman was carrying answered that. She had no right to be upset, she had no claim, after all, but it still stung that she hadn't even known about it. Janine was perfectly pleasant, jokingly warning her about 'Sherl' being a grouch because she'd lowered his morphine. Molly laughed with her, replying that she was well schooled in dealing with him like this. Janine narrowed her eyes briefly, as if her off-hand comment had sparked something.

"Of course, you must be Molly. Mike mentions you a lot." She said, smiling at the surprised look on Molly's face. "I thought the two of you were dating until Sherl almost died of laughter at the suggestion."

"Mycroft talks about me?" Molly grinned conspiratorially, knowing it would drive Sherlock up the wall if she tried to fake-pursue his brother. She was about to ask Janine to set them up, when the other woman's face fell, just a fraction, and she excused herself, saying that she had revenge to exact, and The One Show to prepare for. Molly waved goodbye, evidently whatever had gone on between Janine and Sherlock was no longer, and the reason was that he'd very likely done something not-good.

Molly steeled herself a little, before stepping into the hospital room, she hated them at the best of times. She sighed heavily at the sight in front of her, Sherlock lying in the bed, all wired up, dozing or thinking if his breathing pattern was anything to go by. After a couple of false starts where she'd thought him asleep, or dead and embarrassed herself, she had quickly learnt when he was thinking, and when he was abnormally still. She set her bags on the floor, along with the cat carrier, and proceeded to look around the room for said cat, while Sherlock decided whether or not he was going to speak to her. After a fruitless 5 minutes she glared at the patient in the bed, and whistled. Lo and behold Toby appeared from a space he shouldn't have been in, and leapt up onto the bed, looking for treats. It took another 5 minutes to cajole him into the carrier, Toby yowling loudly in protest, pawing at Sherlock as if he'd stop Molly taking him to the vets. The betrayal on the cat's face when Sherlock did not wake up and help would have been amusing had she not been on such a tight schedule, and full of questions about what on Earth Sherlock had got himself into this time.

She placed her hand on the doorknob, ready to leave when he finally spoke. "I need you to speak with Wiggins, and Molly, for what it's worth: I'm sorry."

"Try not to die, Sherlock," was all she said in reply, making her way down to the cab rank.

Wiggins messages did not fill her with hope that he would achieve that in her absence. A crazy plan of smuggling him out of hospital, preparing an ambulance, rearranging furniture, manufacturing a manhunt for a person she wasn't allowed to know the name of. She prepped the paperwork that would follow, to go in the ambulance with the crew, shuffled John's chair back into the lounge, borrowed a defibrillator, and left it the other side of his chair; a seemingly innocent box that would save his life again before the day was out. Then, she waited. She knitted a little, did some baking, tidied the flat, little jobs to keep her focus on anything but what she knew was happening elsewhere. Thankfully, she didn't have to kill too much time, as she was working the nightshift, which would keep her plenty busy.

The next morning she received another text from Wiggins, another room at another hospital. This one, thankfully, had a strict no pets rule so she didn't have to worry about Toby on top of everything else. She packed a small bag, complete with a couple of bits she'd taken from his flat yesterday, and made her way across London.

She hadn't seen him that spaced out for a long time, he spent fifteen minutes telling her to go and take an extended holiday to Yemen, to go and see the salmon, or something equally bizarre. He then took her knitting from her hands, and decided that he would finish it, as he was bored. She smiled knowingly, having packed plenty of yarn in the bag she'd brought for him. It was mostly gingersnaps otherwise, with his favourite mug, and some underwear. He was entertained for all of five minutes, before he insisted she leave, and not come back, for her own safety. Molly sighed heavily, leaving before he started to work himself up into a panic.

Wiggins was waiting for her when she got home, along with a carrier bag full of Chinese takeaway, and a bottle of gin. It was a little overkill, but she appreciated the thought.