Sherlock's Dad was a dear, she decided as the old gentleman greeted her shaking her warmly by the hand. His mother, on the other hand, was a bit of a daunting figure; luckily enough she was busy swapping stories with Mrs Hudson, even if Molly wished she would spare her grown son the embarrassment of sharing his childhood endeavours before his friends and the stunning woman that was his former girlfriend.

All in all it was a lovely evening; Sherlock was surprisingly polite, and dropped a gentle kiss on her cheek as he wished her a merry Christmas. It was a pity that neither Greg nor the Watsons had been able to make it to the party, but she was glad she'd got to meet Sherlock's parents at last; they were a nice couple, and she hoped that their son would eventually follow in their footsteps and find his own happiness.

(And maybe she herself would meet the right person someday, though she'd better not hold her breath on that one.)

xxx

Molly woke up on New Year's Day wondering whether what had happened the night before was nothing but an uncanny delusion, courtesy of her subconscious and the years she'd spent pining after a man that was never going to reciprocate her feelings. However, the man in question was still snoring lightly at her side, and she had to quell the sudden impulse to flee as far away as she could.

She settled for throwing on some clothes and seeking a temporary hideout in the kitchen, where she put the kettle on and scrolled through the contacts list on her phone trying to decide whether she was allowed to text either John or Mary this early in the morning. Or Greg – yeah, that was probably her better option, all things considered.

Any ideas what's wrong with Sherlock? Oh, and happy New Year, by the way.

Her phone buzzed with an incoming text message mere moments later. Hello, happy New Year to you too. About a dozen things, I dare say; you'll have to narrow it down.

You said you were seeing his brother. Do you think that's why he's – not quite himself?

Peter Pan has finally found his way back from Neverland then? Now that's something.

She paused, staring at the screen of her phone. As far as she'd gathered the relationship between the two brothers was complex to say the least, and it was entirely possible that Sherlock was subconsciously following suit his big brother's example for some reason.

How do I know whether he's up to no good?

The reply took a bit longer than before. I think he's not, not this time. Good luck with him, Molls.

Thank you, Greg, she texted back, then poured herself a much needed cup of tea.

(And while she rolled her eyes when Sherlock wandered into the kitchen and snagged the cup from her hands, she couldn't help but smile at the casual way he brushed his lips on her brow when he did as much.)