Sherlock glanced over at the first table. Specifically, he focused on the vision in yellow. He remembered something else from the Stag Night. Oh, there was no way he would include it in with 'the good bits'. This was something just for him. He was the only one who remembered and that's the way it would stay.

Sherlock laid back on the uncomfortable bed in the tiny cell. He had a case he was supposed to be working on, didn't he? Why was he just laying on the ground?

John sat on the floor, by his side, back supported by the wall. He rested his head on his hands. "That was... Not what I was 'pecting frommer stag night."

Sherlock brought an arm up to cover his face. "From me or in... y'know overall."

"Both," John giggled.

Sherlock giggled along with him. He rolled over onto his side. "I think Molly got the form... formul... Drinky thingy... Wrong." He smiled. "Pretty though."

John's brow furrowed and he turned to Sherlock. "Huh?"

"Molly!" Sherlock waved his hand. "S'pretty. N' sssssssmart. Even if the drinky thingy was wrong." He crinkled his nose in a dramatic grimace. "She wuz too busy havin' lots o' sex with Tom."

Sherlock sat up, continuing to wave his arms. "He looks like me!" He called out. He pointed a finger at himself. "Never said nuffin! Was good. Let her be happy. Having sex." He grimaced again. "Wif Tom."

Sherlock threw herself back down on his back. "I could've had sex wif her," he grumbled. "The Woman liked havin' sex wif me."

John blinked blearily at Sherlock. "Irene? Really?"

"One time!" Sherlock held up a finger. He paused. "Kay... Three times, one night." He curled up. "I'd have five wif Molly." He suddenly sat up again. "NO! Not five! All! I'd have all the sex wit' Molly."

With that proclamation, he laid back down and drifted into his mind palace. It was a mess, but it was easy to find what he was looking for.

Molly... Girl... Pretty... Dead Body Cutter-Upper... Pretty... Smart... Perky breasts... Off-limits... Pretty...

He was torn from his Mind Palace by a question from John. John thrust a hand up in the arm. "Just thought a'this..." He turned to Sherlock. "Are you in love wif Molly?"

Sherlock bobbed his head. "Hadda plan. Take her on cases. Then... Teller. But stupid Tom... So... Pfft!" He waved his hand dismissively.

He looked over at John. He should ask John for help. John had gotten a nice lady. John could help him get a nice lady. "John?"

"What were we talkin' 'bout?" John asked. His head then listed and he let out a snore.

Sherlock sighed. He closed his eyes. Well. Now he could go back to thinking. Molly... Girl... Pretty... Dead Body Cutter-Upper...

Greg was surprised when not half an hour after he arrived at Scotland Yard with the attempted murdered, Sherlock Holmes strode in still dressed in his morning suit.

"Don't you have a wedding to be at?" Greg asked.

Sherlock looked cold. "Not my thing. Any trouble with Smalls?"

Greg eyed Sherlock carefully. "You know, I think Meat Daggers is on the way out. Molly really didn't seem happy with him today."

Sherlock's gaze narrowed and his brow furrowed. "And why does that matter?"

Greg smirked. "Well, you would like to have all the sex with Molly."

Sherlock went still, his eyes widening in horror.

Greg laughed heartily. "Yeah... I was watching you guys for a while."