Molly was in the lab, again, helping Sherlock, as always. John busied himself with whatever Sherlock needed. Every so often, Sherlock would mutter something to himself before going back to his microscope. Molly popped a crisp in her mouth, glancing at the clock. John followed her line of sight. "Expecting someone, Molly?" he joked.

"Actually, yes," a young man answered, pushing open the door. "Hullo, Molly," he breathed. In an instant, it was obvious he was just as awkward as Molly. John gave him a cheery hello.

"I'm John Watson, and that over there is Sherlock – you probably know about him. And you are?"

"Oh, Crieff. Martin, that is, Martin Crieff." Martin shifted from foot to foot, running one hand through his flaming red hair. Freckles stood out on his cheeks.

John offered another smile, then a tentative chuckle. "You look just like Sherlock! A little more ginger, maybe, but – look, Sherlock!"

Martin's cheeks were on fire by now. Sherlock's answer was terse and unamused: "I suppose so, yes."

"Martin's an airline captain," Molly said proudly, breaking the awkward silence following Sherlock's comment.

"Oh, no, it's just one plane. Carolyn – she calls it an airdot." His cheeks went pinkish, no longer bright red.

"Yes, only one plane, and a rather shabby one. How's the engine doing after last week? I hope you're not letting that idiot anywhere near it? You've really not got the best cabin crew. You, an idiot, an old grump – and Carolyn, oh she must be stingy…That's why your also a man with a van, is it not?" Sherlock piped up.

"I – I'm sorry, do you two know each other?" Molly asked, stammering slightly in her shock.

"Quite contrary, Molly. Simple observation and deduction." Sherlock rose from his chair, offering his hand for a shake and one of his odd smiles. "Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective."

Martin shook the other man's hand warily. "Yes. Well, nice to meet you. It – it was a pleasure." Molly smiled up at him. She might have said Sherlock flustered him, if he hadn't always been a little flustered. With a quick goodbye called over her shoulder, Molly led Martin out the doors into the cool London air.

"Sherlock, really?" John scolded.

"What?" Sherlock responded, all seriousness – but John could see the twinge of a smile on his lips.

"You idiot," he laughed. "You'll be the death of me, I swear it."

….

Molly jiggled open the door of the flat, pushing against it as it stuck a bit. "Here we are." She took in the blank white walls and boxes stacked to the ceiling. "God, Martin, how much stuff do you have?"

"Oh. Well, see, really I don't have much at all, but – well my van's in for repairs and some of the customers are very not happy, but I can't move their things, without a van I'm just a man, and that's not very good at all for moving things and well…"

Molly let loose a laugh, loud and sweet. "Martin! That's a bit not good, but it's the funniest thing I've heard all day," she said.

Mumbling, Martin answered, "You haven't spent much time with Arthur."

Molly set her bag on top of a box, pulling a larger, sturdier one out a little ways from the others. She unwrapped their meager lunch, laying it out nicely. The simple sandwiches were eaten with cups of tea, the noontime sun sifting between the boxes and bouncing off the white walls. It was the best lunch Molly'd had in a long time.

When the trash had been cleared away, Martin pushed the boxes to the centre of the room. He cracked open a paint can and clattered some brushes to the ground. He turned to Molly. "Ready?" Two brushes were dipped into the red paint, splattering droplets on the drop sheets as they smeared colour onto the walls. For a few moments, they worked in silence, slowly banishing the whiteness.

"What made you decide to move to London?"

Martin paused a moment. "I don't know. It's not as close to MJN's airfield as I was before. I – well, I don't have much money. Obviously."

"I'm glad you've come," Molly smiled. "It's lovely, really. Once you get to know Sherlock, you'll even like him!" She coaxed a soft laugh from Martin. The soft swish of brush bristles on the wall filled the air. Molly spoke again, "What's it like, flying a plane? It must be fantastic."

"It is. I – really it was all I wanted to do, since I was six. It's a bit exasperating, though, with Douglas and Arthur, Carolyn…I wouldn't give it up, though." He paused, sighing, then glanced at Molly. "What about you, working with the famous Sherlock Holmes?"

Molly stopped a second to consider. "He's – Oh, I don't know. I love helping him with the mysteries…but, well, he's got John. He doesn't seem to need anyone else, even if he's got them. And with Moriarty – I had gone out for a date with him! I thought he was just Jim from IT, and he nearly killed Sherlock. I guess that's the one good thing I did, though. John says I saved him."

Martin nodded. He spun to face Molly, about to respond when his brush fumbled out of his hands. A bright splash of colour sunk into Molly's shirt. "Oh! I'm – I'm so sorry, let me just – I didn't mean to, do you want to wipe it off? No, I suppose that wouldn't do much good – sorry…!" He looked completely flustered, so much so it was almost laughable, his face apologetic. Molly laughed and swung out her paintbrush, catching Martin's cheek.

For a moment, Martin looked shocked – Molly found herself wondering if he would be angry – but the next he held his brush like a sword. "This means war, Hooper."

"As you wish, Crieff!"

Their paint job was haphazard, only a few random splats landing on the wall. Molly's shirt swarmed with red dots and dashes. Martin's jeans were smudged and smeared the colour of country barns. His hair was matted down with red flecks, making it look carrot-orange. Laughing in fits and barely breathing, they chased each other around the crowded room, swerving to avoid boxes, tripping over them, landing in paint puddles. Neither could remember having such fun in a long time.

When they'd worn themselves out, they collapsed in a heap under the window. Late afternoon sunlight streamed in, lighting on the carnage of their paint war. Molly sat half in Martin's lap, half on the floor, his arms around her. She looked up at him sweetly, shyly, and met the adoring look in his eyes. Breathless and smiling foolishly, Martin reached out with his finger and bopped a red spot on Molly's nose. "I win." A girlish giggle escaped her throat. Tenderly, maybe a little awkwardly, Molly craned her neck upwards, touching her lips to Martin's quickly in a soft kiss.