Yep. It was originally supposed to be a oneshot. Yes. But I had some gorgeous reviews on it and somebody recommended I write a chapter seeing what happened when Lestrade or somebody see's the mark on Sherlock's neck. I thought Molly would be a good one, because obviously her love for him etc. Plus I do love the Molly/Sherlock dynamic (mostly because my name is Molly and I secretly want her to get with him lol). But yes.

Please enjoy, let me know what you think :) More JohnLocky moments.

xx

P O I S O N

R E P E R C U S S I O N S

Sherlock sat in the lab, inspecting the dart while John busied himself with a newspaper in the corner.

"So it wasn't the bloke we were chasing?" John asked again, for the umpteenth time that morning. Sherlock glared over before twisting the lens of the microscope.

"No man who'd run that fast would've been able to master such as steady shot." Sherlock answered.

"Could have been a marksman. Shooting well under pressure-"

"No. His thumbs." Sherlock answered dismissively. After a pause from John he sighed, "No indents on the pad or around the joint; he's probably never even seen a dart like this."
"But then who-"

"I've got a lot of enemies, John." Sherlock stated, his eyes fixed firmly to the microscope. John huffed dejectedly and buried his head back into his newspaper. As if on cue the door to the lab swung open, and Molly bounded in, two cups of coffee on a tray.

"Morning!" Her face was too fresh and happy for somebody who sliced cadavers for a living. Sherlock's rude silence pushed John into answering for his friend.

"Good morning, Molly. That for me?" He motioned towards the cup on the tray.

"Actually, I thought maybe Sherlock…"

"Busy." Sherlock interrupted not even acknowledging her efforts. Molly looked down at the cups, a little forlorn and shrugged.

"I suppose you could have mine, John. I don't take sugar."

"Perfect." John answered, taking a sip. "Just might go and add a tad more milk."

Molly rounded on Sherlock, making it her business to have a look at the papers scattered on the table.

"New case?" She asked Sherlock. Silence. She looked around awkwardly, "Greg said he might pop in later. I think he wanted to see you."

"Who?" Sherlock asked, attention not moving from the microscope.

"Greg?" She paused, it soon became blindingly obvious that Sherlock hadn't the foggiest what Lestrade's first name was, "DI Greg Lestrade?"

"Oh." Sherlock sniffed and pulled away from the microscope, "Probably nothing important. Did he say what time he'd be here?"

If Molly had a tail it probably would have wagged at the fact Sherlock had asked her a question. Even the dullest, rudest question meant he'd generated some sort of conversation with her.

"I don't know, um, about two o'clock I think."
"Oh well we better be making a move. Where is John?" Sherlock briskly spun around on his stool, slightly alarmed at the close proximity Molly was to him.

"Well Greg will be here soon…" Molly said, slightly perplexed.

"All the more reason to be making a move, then." Sherlock leaned over the desk, collecting together all the loose articles of paper and the dart. Squinting her eyes, Molly moved closer before gasping a little.

"Oh my God, what have you done to your neck?" She moved closer and tilted her head slightly, "It looks like a…oh." She quickly retreated, embarrassed if not slightly hurt.

"It's nothing." Sherlock stuffed the dart into his pocket and turned to leave. "I'm fine thank you, Molly."

"Who…who did that?" Molly asked before her brain could edit her words. The door flipped open and John walked back in stirring his coffee, Lestrade in tow. Sherlock's eyes rolled to the ceiling. Great.

"Sherlock do you not answer your phone anymore?" Lestrade stood beside Molly as looked at the papers Sherlock had collected, "Going somewhere?"
"Yes." Sherlock said quickly, no time for niceties, "John, you ready?"

"Sherlock's hurt his neck." Molly whispered to the DI, swallowing as she looked with hurt back at the detective.

"I said I'm fine, Molly!" Sherlock barked back, trying to ignore the awkward way in which John's face had blushed.

"What?" Lestrade angled his head slightly to see the mark, confusion etched on his face, "Is that a…"

"No." John answered for him. Molly and Lestrade looked between the two men, with some confusion.

"You two?" Lestrade cried, the shock evidently taking a hold of his vocal chords.

"No!" The men shouted again in unison, perhaps with a little more protest than necessary. John stumbled forward, "I can explain. He was shot, with a dart and the poison…it, well I had to suck it out and it just, the mark, just…"

"Wait, wait…" Lestrade held up his hands, "Let me get this straight. You were shot with a dart."

"Yes." Sherlock nodded, failing to see the failure to comprehend.

"And you," Lestrade pointed a finger at John, "Had to 'suck out' the poison."

"Yes." John answered, his face flushed, "Yes, that's it."

"And the dart went in his neck?" Molly interjected, still not entirely convinced. Sherlock pulled the dart from his pocket and handed it over, "There you go."

"It's very bruised." Molly noticed, "It must have had a lot of poison in it."

"Enough to kill a man." Sherlock turned to John, "Right, now that's cleared up, we better be off. Have a nice day inspector. Molly."

John placed his full cup of cold coffee on the side and nodded an embarrassed farewell to them, hurrying after Sherlock who was winding a scarf around his neck.

"Why didn't you just explain that to them yourself instead of being all secretive and awkward?" John snapped, pacing after the detective.

"Tell them what? You told them what happened." Sherlock pointed out, "Do they need to be told twice?"
"Only after everyone thought I'd given you…you know."
"What?" Sherlock genuinely looked confused, "It's perfectly obvious that I've been shot in the neck and you've sucked the poison out."

"To you, perhaps and your weird observing eye."

"What else would it be?" Sherlock stopped momentarily, pulling on his gloves. John paused, open mouthed.

"Really?" John shook his head, "Oh God, really? I'm not spelling it out to you."

"Whatever, John. Hurry up, I don't want Lestrade catching up with us." Sherlock practically sprinted out the door, "And John? My observing eye is not weird."

Lestrade held the dart up to the light. "The things Sherlock Holmes will do to get himself out of bother is beyond me."

"What do you mean?" Molly began collecting the mugs from the table.

"Bring a dart and fill it with poison to make it look like he'd been shot, all to hide a lovebite." Molly felt a pang behind her ribs at Lestrade's words.

"But John said that he'd been shot."

"Oh come on Molly, you can't be that naïve, surely." Lestrade threw the dart onto the table and sighed, "I always wondered who'd be the person to crack Holmes. Never thought it'd be a soldier, though."

"You don't think they…" Molly trailed off. She'd never really noticed anything like that between them. She wondered if it was because she was blinded by her own attraction to the detective.

"You've known Sherlock about as long as I have," Lestrade reminded her, "You know he can barely stand the company of most people for more than an hour. So why is Watson so special?"

"I just thought they were friends." Molly sighed innocently. "He never looks that way at anybody."

"Hmm." Lestrade sniffed. He had the feeling he'd upset her. Everybody knew she liked Sherlock, and this, well it must have been a bit of a surprise to her innocent mind. Shit. He hadn't meant to upset her, but it was finally like years worth of speculation about Holmes and Watson suddenly had some new, unarguable evidence.

"Come on, Molly." He held the door open, "Let me take you for a coffee."