Sherlock Holmes awoke that Saturday morning wrapped around Dr. Molly Hooper like a cocoon, his limbs entangled with hers lest she escape just as the butterfly eventually does. But their would be no escape for Molly, he had decided. She was stuck with him.

They had been together for just over three months, and had yet to come out to their family and friends. This was entirely Molly's doing, since, despite all Sherlock's assurances to the contrary, she was never really convinced that his brilliant mind would not become bored, and his attention eventually drift from her to something, or, even worse if less likely, someone else. The detective had assured her that he was never going to give her up, that she was his last and greatest addiction, and that he loved her more than he loved his heroin. Not exactly romantic, but, to Sherlock's way of thinking, a declaration of something far more permanent.

The relationship had begun as a once-a-week tryst. The small group of friends had began to gather each Friday evening at the flat on Baker Street. John and Mary Watson had instigated these gatherings, hoping to prevent Sherlock from drifting into a state of reclusion after their marriage, and the birth of their daughter, Claire. When Sherlock had soon convinced Molly that her search for someone with whom to share her bed should end with him, these gatherings turned into the Friday night sleepover, unbeknownst to anyone but the two individuals involved. But Sherlock, ever the addict, shortly began to experience what his brother had once called "danger nights", and he would then go in search of a fix, straight to Molly's flat. He was always welcome, and the visitations became more and more frequent, until they hardly spent a night apart.

And so it was this Saturday morning that the two were in Sherlock's bed, as customary, Molly still sleeping in his arms, when the detective heard a sound from the sitting room. Mrs. Hudson never appeared in his flat on Saturday, as she was always up and about early, running errands. And since the unfortunate incident when she had let herself in to find him boiling a human foot in a giant pasta pot on the kitchen stove, she had been very careful to knock and wait for permission to enter. But the sound did seem like footsteps, woman's footsteps, in fact, to Sherlock. He listened for a bit longer, until he heard a female voice call, "Willie!"

He roused Molly quickly, and rasped at her to hide as he pushed her into the wardrobe, and slammed the door. Returning to the bed, he barely had time to pull the sheet around his naked body, when an elderly woman stuck her head through the just opened bedroom door. "Still in bed, then, Willie?"

"Bloody hell, Mummy, can't you knock? I'm naked in here!"

"For god's sake, Willie, it's nothing I haven't seen before. I used to change your nappies, remember?"

"Well, thankfully, there's a lot more to see now, Mummy. And don't call me 'Willie' !"

"I've put the tea on, love. Care to join me?"

Mrs. Violet Holmes closed the door, and hurried back to the kitchen to prepare tea. Sherlock leapt out of bed to dig his naked pathologist out of the wardrobe, and offer some explanation of what had just happened.

"Mummy is paying me a visit. She's making tea. Care to meet her?"

Molly Hooper felt like she was hyperventilating. She could barely manage to bleat out, "No!"

Sherlock tried to calm her. "Molly, love, you'll have to meet her eventually. She's much nicer than me, actually, and you seem able to tolerate my behavior."

"Sherlock, you just shoved me naked into your wardrobe. She saw that there was no one in your bed. From where is she to assume I appeared? I don't relish explaining to her why I was hiding. And besides, you've told me how the woman frightens Mycroft. And you! Please, not now!"

"Alright, alright. Calm down. I'll go face her on my own, although I have no idea what she's doing here. Mycroft usually has the decency to give me a heads up when she's in town. Perhaps he doesn't know," Sherlock mused. "Maybe I should warn him." But he thought better of it. Let his brother find out on his own!

Sherlock wrapped a dressing gown around his naked form, and went out to face his mother as if girded in armor. "Good morning, Mummy. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Willie…"

"The name is 'Sherlock'!"

"I named you 'William' and I…"

"Yes, Mummy, you named me 'William', a perfectly acceptable name. Even 'Will', as it is sometimes shortened, is acceptable. But 'Willie' is hardly an appropriate name to be saddled with when one is packed off to an all-boys boarding school at the tender age of eight. To bear the same name is a scatological term for penis is hardly wise. I have preferred to use my second name since that rather traumatizing experience. So humor me!"

"Well, Wil...Sherlock, I just dropped in to see how you were doing…"

"To check up on me, you mean," Sherlock said with a slight sneer. "I assure you there is no reason to be concerned, Mummy."

"I'm certainly happy to hear that, dear. I must say, your flat is looking a bit better. And all your experiments seem to be properly stowed in the fridge…"

"Yes. I have turned over a new leaf in my middle age. I have turned to domesticity as an outlet…"

"Oh, Sherlock, do stop prattling on! When you want to tell me what is going on, I am sure you will. Until then, please try to adhere more closely to your usual standard of behavior. You're frightening Mycroft. Evidently, you were almost pleasant to him at your last meeting. And you actually texted him a birthday greeting. He's been almost beside himself with worry!"

"Maybe that's why I did it, Mummy. Perhaps I believed that my dear brother needed a bit of mystery in his life!"

"Your brother lives on a constant diet of international intrigue, national crises, and political pratfalls. The last thing he needs is his little brother stirring his pot by being nice to him. Stop it immediately! Go back to being yourself, you miscreant!"

Violet Holmes then rose from her chair opposite the detective, patted him on the head, kissed that head, and took her leave. "I must be going. People to see, errands to run. Behave yourself, Willie!"

Sherlock put down his teacup and returned to his bedroom immediately, to find Molly standing by the door, a sheet wrapped around her, struggling to hear everything that had passed in the other room.

"What was all that about, Sherlock?"

"She knows," the detective stated simply.

"How can you be so sure. I didn't hear her say anything…" Molly plopped down on the bed, and slid, once again, under the duvet.

"Trust me on this one, Molly. She knows." Sherlock assured her, as he leaned back against the bedroom door.

Molly sighed, resignedly. "Come here, willie," she said at last.

"On my way," he responded with a seductive smirk.

"I wasn't talking to you, Sherlock!" Molly giggled naughtily.

But before the detective, and his willie, could get any closer, his mobile indicated an incoming text.

PLEASE BRING DR. HOOPER TO TEA AT MYCROFT'S HOME THIS AFTERNOON. I THINK IT'S ABOUT TIME WE MET, DON'T YOU? - MUMMY

Sherlock flashed the message at his pathologist, as he adopted his usual I told you so! look. Not his most attractive, to be sure, but Molly thought it would do for the moment!