Basket in hand, Molly stepped out of the cab and gave him his fare and waited for change before reminding him to stay until she returned. Carefully storing the change in her purse around her wrist she walked back toward the house, glad that she had asked the driver to first drive past before stopping a ways away. Ever conscious of her need to be unremarkable she made her way calmly to the house, all the while hearing her beating heart raging in her ears and feeling the great rush of excitement flow through her.

It was dangerous but of so much fun getting to help in this fashion! And yet, still the voice of her former fiancé hissed in her mind that she was sure to mess this up. That she would be proving to Mr Holmes that she was no help indeed to him, and consequently he'd send her away, disgusted and disappointed-

The thoughts threatened to overwhelm her, slowing her pace so that she made it to the address just as the door opened and two bobbies came out just ahead of Inspector Lestrade. The man turned to look at her, redoubling his look as he no doubt struggled to place just where he knew her. "Why hello there, ah Miss..." He stumbled for a name and seemed unsure therefore of how to address her given her somber, unadorned clothes. Indeed, the only distinguishing item about her person was the small arrangement of feathers in an astonishing array of colors. Almost as if some unnatural sickly tropical bird had met its unfortunate end and then ended up on her bonnet. This of course was the opinion of Sherlock Holmes himself as he followed the Inspector.

"Ah there you are, Molly." He said, coming to stand in between Lestrade and herself, "I believe Watson has been most anxious for your arrival. Run on in and give him his food before he snaps at me again." The cad had the absolute audacity to wink at her!

"Ye... yes sir." She murmured, casting her eyes down in what she hoped would pass for a docile maid like manner as she hurried into the residence. The men outside watched her go, Holmes nearly bouncing to hear her assessment of the scene and Lestrade a fair bit gobsmacked.

"Do you think it wise to send her in? Won't the bodies disturb her, Holmes?" The Inspector questioned.

"Oh not at all from her quest I should say." The younger man assured, checking his pocket watch to note the time. Beside him the man chuckled. "Oh is that the way of it is it? And your happily just going to allow it."

"Well why wouldn't I encourage it? It's a most beneficial arrangement."

"It's not a proper one though, is it? And she is a housemaid- Your own bloody maid!" He shook his grey head. "That's very scandalous behavior indeed for Doctor Watson to engage in."

Holmes rounded on him, "I'm sorry, what about Doctor Watson?" As he spoke his voice began to turn dark and dangerous.

"The girls sweet on him, isn't she?" Lestrade squinted. "Isn't it obvious? That's why she's here to deliver him a picnic right? And why you just waltz her straight on up into him." Holmes straightened himself up and looked toward the door. He wasn't sure what course of action to take. In truth, a part of him wanted to defend Molly's virtue but needed to ensure that she would be able to examine the bodies.

"You... you believe the girl is sweet on him?" He asked to try to bide time.

"A pretty girl like that, bringing herself here to bring the poor man food?" He chuckled, "what would you yourself deduce from that?"

It would seem obvious when he heard the Inspectors deduction. Still, he found himself vehemently wishing to deny it, to instead reveal the true purpose of her visit and yet... she was merely supposed to have brought a message to him, and not prepared Watson a basket as though they were off for a jaunt and romantic bloody picnic! Yes, the man had been worn out and in need of rest and substance when he'd met them at the door but that in no way called for Molly to go through he effort unless she has wanted to and if she did care so much about Watson's wellbeing then could there be that she fancied the Doctor? Was Watson leading her on using his notorious wooing charms?

"I'd better go see how they are fairing, if you'll excuse me." Holmes murmured returning to the door, "Lestrade, I would ask for your discretion as a gentleman on this matter."

"Oh yes! Of course Holmes, of course. And after you send her on her way perhaps if your not too busy we could get back to the case?" He chided smuggly. It wasn't terribly often he was the one reminding Sherlock Holmes of The Work after all.

"Of course." Holmes nodded, distracted by his thoughts of what was possibly occurring within.

Once inside he returned to the Dining room where the four dead men sat or lay on their table where they had met their rather undignified endings. Molly was currently making a note on her chantelline note pad of her observations. She whispered over to him. "They're all suffering from very similar but differing symptoms of a toxic reaction to something."

"Any thoughts as to what that may be?" He returned.

"I see no evidence of anything visually nor do I detect any obvious odors. It looks to me like a normal meat pie but I'd like to take a bit with me back to Baker Street and to take a closer look."

Holmes eyes lit with approval and Molly smiled conspiratorially at him before she rounded back to Watson to grab the waxed paper that had held his meal flipping it over to place a bit of the pie before tucking it into her basket of the floor and tucking it back into the crook of her arm just and footsteps could be heard coming down the hall, "unless you need anything else I'd best be getting back, Sir." Molly cast her eyes down, demurring herself and avoiding looking at the table and occupants.

"Holmes! Tell me you haven't forced the girl to see this! It isn't proper to let anyone in, let alone a fragile young miss such as she."

With a polite smile Holmes agreed, "yes I'm sure Molly has many things to attend to back at home." He walked over to her and spun her toward the door ushering her with a gentle hand on her back. After they passed into the entry hall he bent to whisper in her ear. "Wait for me in the kitchen before you go." Once she nodded he turned back.

Quietly she snuck into the kitchen and looked about. The pots and pans used were still sitting in the dry sink, awaiting a good through washing, and oddly there even was a kettle left on the stove that was still warm to the touch but empty of its water. And there, on a table much like the rough time worn table in Aunt Martha's own kitchen sat a plate. The china was a lower quality than that in the dining room but the food was the same, the only other distinction between the two was that of the size of the portion. This half eaten serving was noticeably smaller in size.

Waking around the table, Molly also noted a small pewter cup had been spilled, leaving an unchecked puddle that had absorbed into the wood beneath. Lifting the cup to her nose, Molly determined it had been filled with water, and not wine as the gentleman had been served. Not unusual, but she and Aunt Martha along with many other domestics would usually have a small share of wine or sherry at the evening meal. Perhaps there was a reason for the sober drink or perhaps... following her train of thought Molly opened the pantry cupboard and found it virtually bare of the stock that an actively used kitchen would hold. It's only items were some ground meal, two lumps of sugar and a single potato. Not nearly enough to sustain any person for more than a day or so more.

Once more Molly took a look around the kitchen, going over it with her newer knowledge of cleaning. While the floor was tidy, (absorbed puddle aside) there were cobwebs visible from most corners of the kitchen. Using her finger against the window Molly estimated that it had not had a proper cleaning in two months at least. Or, if it had, it had not been done all too well.

As she slipped out the back, Molly took in other subtle signs of neglect to the gardens out the kitchen door. A nearby pile of discarded weeds was intermixed with healthy looking herbs. Almost as if someone without knowledge of what was edible versus what was a choking weed had been. Beyond the items used to tend and haul about were left rather precariously stacked as if they were left in a hurry.

Returning to the kitchen Molly found Mr Holmes standing over the plate and cup she had so recently examined. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

From his stooped position the bright flash of his eyes looked to her with a smile. "Yes, I wanted to send you some of the wine served at dinner. Would you be so kind as to carry the bottle and a goblet back?" He reached into his suit coat and pulled out a single fine goblet and a small test tube with a cork lid filled with wine.

"Do you think it is the wine?" She asked, her own doubt obvious but she reached for the items anyway. The glass was heavy, fine crystal and she was amazed at how stealthily he'd hidden the object

"Not especially, nor do you I gather. But it would be wise to rule it out on my own. I can't help but wonder if it played a contributing factor."

"You doubt it was Murder?" She saw.

"It's too soon to say." He frowned, "I would very much like to question the housekeeper but she seems to have absconded in a hurry." Holmes motioned to a cloak hanging on a peg near the door. Molly was a bit chagrined to have missed that.

"Guilt?" She questioned.

"Possible, but not likely. If it was guilt she would not have made a plate for herself and would have taken the cloaks. I would venture she heard a commotion then rushed off for assistance."

"If she went for help then where is she now? Who was it that first alerted the authorities?"

He smiled indulgently at her, "You really do have an extraordinary clear thinking head Miss Hooper. It took nearly an hour for Detective Inspector Lestrade to ask where the cook was. And I'm still waiting for him to work out that she's also the housekeeper."

Molly felt her cheeks flush with something all too near to pleasure to be proper. There was some sort of reversed intimacy that washed over her when he called her 'Miss Hooper'; as if it was only then that she was fully allowed to be her true self, and that she was indeed, despite all her self doubts and fears found worthy by such an extraordinary creature as Sherlock Holmes. It left her feeling as though her blood singing through her. Like a plant allowed to be in sunlight after too long in the dark. She wanted to bask in his praise and knew that she would do more to get it.

"Thank you, Sher- ah- um Sir." She Finally answered, but was unable to meet his eyes fully particularly after that stumble on his name. .

If he was offended or shocked he gave no sign. In fact he spoke to her after a moment, his voice unusually gentle "You may call me Sherlock in private conversations, if you'd like Molly. Or simply Holmes as Watson's does if you would prefer instead."

"Th-thank you, Sir, ah-Sherlock." The syllables felt rich on her tongue as she spoke them aloud to his face finally. It was delicious to say, she decided. A rich, rare treat that would need to be savored. It would never do to keep this so too was the look he was giving her that soon had her feeling as though she was being drawn to him, pulled by an unseen force. It was nearly a magnetic compulsion to draw closer to him. One she wondered at as he continued to look at her, his face only just allowing gentle, content smIle to play about his lips.

"I trust you can begin to test the food and wine without my assistance." His voice rumbled lowly.

"Yes sir. It will be my pleasure to." Molly whispered back. The contact he'd kept maintaining on her back along with the low quiet vibrations of his tone as he spoke lowly were making her nearly dizzy she decided.

"Then I shall be exceedingly anxious to return home to you then." He smiled in a manner full of excitement and much to Molly's chagrin far too much charm before he spun around away from her on his heel calling after the detective inspector and Doctor Watson once more. Waving to the waiting cabbie and alighted quickly calling out to return home. And there in the shadow of the box Molly was happy to be alone for that moment because she felt her skin burning bright, glowing and as a rose and knew that the smile she would wish to have kept repressed and hidden from each conversation they shared was glowing bold as the sun at midday from her skin. Heavens! That man! She thought drawing her own cloak around her and sitting back further in the cab.

That man...