If anyone asked, he would tell them he was bored. He was sure Molly wouldn't care, because she was – well, Molly.

He still wished that Mrs Hudson hadn't walked upon them as they were curled up together in his bed. His landlady had been careful not to mention that little incident, but he could see traces of the sheer shock of it written all over her face.

And she'd surely told John, for his flatmate was currently staring at him with the same interest he usually reserved for beautiful women. As if falling asleep in the same bed counted as a relationship, he scoffed between himself.

(He might have somewhat enjoyed the cuddling, but he was never going to admit that aloud.)

Later that day he received a message from his beloved brother.

Am I supposed to congratulate you on finally finding yourself a girlfriend?

Not my girlfriend, Mycroft, he typed in annoyance, then threw his phone back on the coffee table.

It beeped again only a few minutes later.

You're a naughty man, having dinner with a woman that isn't me.

We didn't have dinner. None of your business anyway.

He hit the send button and flopped back onto the sofa. All of this was starting to get ridiculous.

Even more so when he showed up at a crime scene, and everybody including Lestrade kept looking at him as if he'd suddenly grown two heads.

By the evening he was so tired of it all that he headed straight to Molly's flat.

"Tell them," he said abruptly, barely leaving her the time to step aside and let him in.

"I'm not sure I'm following you, Sherlock," she answered vaguely, and he wondered how she might not get his point.

"That nothing happened between us last night."

Molly tilted her head to one side, staring at him with a curious expression on her face. "Why? Tell them yourself."

"They won't believe me."

"What's the point anyway? Am I really that disgusting to you?"

He raised a questioning eyebrow. "I don't recall ever saying that."

"So what's it all about? The great Sherlock Holmes can't stand the idea of people seeing him as a human being?"

"They're misreading the signs. Wrong deductions, that's what I can't stand."

A tired look settled over her features, and he caught a flash of hurt across her eyes. "Yeah, silly me for not thinking about that. Do you want me to make an announcement over the newspapers, or telling John and Mrs Hudson would actually suffice?"

She looked so sad he felt an unfamiliar pang of guilt stir in his chest. As irritated as he was, he'd just forgotten how much she cared for him – and that meant those rumours only sought to hurt her even further.

"Okay, I'm sorry. Forget it. People would stop talking eventually."

Molly forced a strained smile to her lips. "I'm sure they will. It's not like we're going to give them anything else to talk about, are we?"

"Good," he said, then made to leave. It was only as he was about to open the door that the ironic side of his personality kicked in at last.

"What if we do?" he threw at her over his shoulder.

"We – what?" she spluttered, not quite believing what he'd just implied.

He shrugged noncommittally. "Proving them wrong is far too easy. Boring. What they're not really expecting is to be proven right."

She blinked a couple of times, then he was pleased to see a conspiratorial grin spread over her face.