Hm, OK, let's try this again..with the right story...so embarassed, sorry...

Dinner Conversation

A/N: By popular demand (hi, SammyKatz, you were the first to ask for this, many thanks to the others who requested it as well!), here is the follow-up to my story "Conversations With A Dead Detective.".

"That dress suits you. Why don't you wear it more often?"

Molly blushed at Sherlock's comment. They were currently riding in the back of the cab he'd summoned, headed for a place called Angelo's to meet up with John Watson, Greg Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson (did she know the older woman's first name or not, hard to remember with Sherlock giving her compliments even when voiced in as critical a manner as that one had been).

"Because it's one I only wear for special occasions. Like going out to dinner with my bo…"

"Don't say it," Sherlock growled, turning to glare at her.

This time, his shift in mood didn't faze her. "Don't say what?" she asked, widening her eyes in a deliberate parody of innocence. As if he didn't know what she was about to say…and as if she hadn't been about to say it just to tweak him.

"I despise the term," he replied with a sniff. "I am hardly a boy, and far beyond a 'friend' at this point in our relationship."

"Well, then, what can I call you?" she asked, still smiling to herself.

This conversation could have been unbearably awkward, considering the mess he'd made of her emotions back in her flat less than fifteen minutes ago, but Molly was still riding the high of knowing that she and Sherlock were in a committed, exclusive relationship. His words.

Oh, and the fact that he'd told her they were going to have sex later that night didn't hurt, either. It had been a long three years since their first – and so far, only – time together. She was really looking forward to sleeping with him in a proper bed, exploring that lovely, lean body of his a little more closely, and having him become more intimately acquainted with hers at the same time…

"Molly Elizabeth Hooper, what would your mother say if she knew you were thinking such things?" Sherlock interrupted her, his voice a faux-shocked drawl.

She flushed and dropped her eyes, wishing he wouldn't keep doing that to her – knowing exactly what she was thinking no matter how private (and slightly embarrassing considering their location in the backseat of a cab, with the driver clearly listening to every word they said). But then, he wouldn't be Sherlock Holmes, the man she'd fallen in love with, the man who was now her…what? What should she call him if she couldn't use the "B" word?

"Does everything have to have a label?" Drat, there he was, doing it again. Seeming to read her mind. She supposed it was something she was going to have to learn to live with…not that she was contemplating living with Sherlock, of course, that was putting the cart well ahead of the horse, but still…a girl could dream.

"No, everything doesn't have to have a label," was all she said, somewhat primly. "It's just that it makes things easier for us mere mortals to understand."

He let out a short back of laughter, either at her tone or her terminology or, perhaps, both. It warmed her from head to toe, hearing Sherlock laughing at something she said – laughing not at her but with her. Not that he'd spent a great deal of time doing either, of course, since he mostly sneered at or ignored her weak attempts at humor in the past, but still…it was another nice, unexpected change.

Of course, she'd never have felt easy enough in his presence before now to deliberately try and tweak him like this, either. Another first. Another good first.

Speaking of firsts…he reached over and took her hand in his, smiling at her surprised expression but making no comment. She hesitated only a moment before scooting closer to him and resting her head on his shoulder. If he could reach out she could do the same, and if he cared what the cabbie thought, well, she certainly didn't.

He didn't pull away, didn't comment…and didn't release her hand.

They spent the remainder of the cab ride in contented (in Molly's case, certainly, and she hoped it was the same for him) silence.

A/N: More to follow, I promise!