It's not until much later that he gets the chance to talk to Molly again.

"You okay?" he enquires cautiously. The last few months have been a nightmare for her, and he's not prepared to deal with an emotional scene on her part.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she replies without looking at him. There is something on her mind, that much is apparent; however, he's almost sure it has nothing to do with Jim Moriarty this time.

"If there's anything I can do for you," he starts, and that's when she finally makes eye contact.

"As a matter of fact, there is," she says, nervously biting at her lower lip. "I, hum, need to trace the whereabouts of someone from my past."

That surprises him slightly, but he doesn't show it. "Of course. A friend of yours, I presume?"

"My husband."

He stares at her, completely baffled by the revelation. He's never pinpointed Molly for one to keep such a big secret, but then there's always something.

"We're not talking about Tom, are we?"

She shakes her head, weariness written all over her face. "I've no idea who he is. I didn't even know I was married, until Tom and I went to get the marriage licence."

Oh. And he thought she's been the one to break the engagement. Wrong again, it seems.

"How did you not know?"

"According to the marriage certificate, it dates back to my first year at university. I was going through a rough patch back then, and I – I started taking stuff, for a short while. I can't remember a thing about that period of time."

Molly. Molly Hooper on drugs. Who would have believed that?

Now he can see why she reacted so badly to his relapse; she's been there herself, she knows how addiction can destroy your life.

"Okay," he utters slowly, trying to collect his thoughts. "So you want me to track this man."

"I mean, if that's okay with you."

"Not a problem. I'm going to need a name though."

"That's the only thing I know about him."

She runs through the contents of her bag and hands him a copy of the marriage certificate.

Molly Hooper and William Scott, it reads.

And all of a sudden, he feels like every ounce of air has been knocked out of his lungs.

xxx

He's slumped on a chair, painfully aware of the disdainful look on his brother's face.

"Are you going to help me, or not?" he demands at length, and Mycroft holds his gaze for a silent moment.

"I think married life would suit you, brother mine."

"No, you don't."

"It would serve you right anyway. Dragging a poor girl at a register office, bribing the registrar into conducting a marriage under false pretences. What on earth were you thinking?"

"I wasn't thinking. I was high, very high."

Mycroft only rolls his eyes in annoyance. "Yes, I have some recollection of that."

"You were spying on me all the time. How could you possibly miss something like this?"

"I didn't spy on you – not all the time, at least. And how can you not remember doing the deed?"

He pauses, searching through his mind palace for memories of that time of his life. There's hardly anything to find, he's deleted most of it.

"I don't know. There was a girl from my chemistry class, she was brilliant when she was clean. Must have been her."

"I'll take care of it," Mycroft says, and he lets out a sigh of relief.

Molly doesn't need to know, he'll just tell her that it's fixed now. She'll be free to marry Tom, or whatever ordinary bloke that can make her happy.

His brother is already halfway to the door when he turns around and offers him a wry smirk. "What a remarkable coincidence that it was her of all people."

With that he's gone, but Sherlock knows exactly what Mycroft thinks about coincidences.

His fingers tremble ever so slightly as he lights himself a much needed cigarette.