Somewhere near the middle of Chapter 19:
His legs stopped swinging and he glared. “And then you had to go and blow the fucking place apart!” he sounded outraged. “I thought we understood each other,” he complained. “I thought we were on the same page… it was your suggestion that we meet, after all.” He sounded resentful. “You seemed as intrigued by me as I was by you.” He raised his hands in query. “What did you think was going to happen?”
That’s not narrative, those are fucking stage directions. This writing is so dull.
“I should thank you,” he said, his voice very clear and echoing around the room. “If you hadn’t kidnapped John, I might never have realised what he meant to me.”
John glanced round and smiled at him, but he didn’t release Molly. “Look, he even fooled Sherlock,” he said, turning back to her. “What chance did we mere mortals have?”
Not this again. Was the bloody woman never going to get over it?
Oh, for fuck’s sake! If anything, the one Molly has trouble getting over is Sherlock!
“So, what about you?” she [Sally] asked, nodding towards Sherlock, who was waving an image plucked from one of the files and demanding to know why they were employing a visually impaired photographer. “Do you have his heart?”
John smiled again as Sherlock glanced round for one of the ‘Where’s John?’ checks he still hadn’t completely shaken off.
“Oh, yes,” he said. “I’ve got that, all right.”
Oh, good, more wildly out-of-character dialogue from Sally, because that’s been sorely lacking. (That’s the proper end of the whole mess, by the way; fittingly cheesy and awkward for such a cheesy and clumsy story.) And a nipple piercing? John suggested Sherlock get a nipple piercing? And then Sherlock got one? I, I, I… What the fucking fuck.