I finally managed to keep my attention on one thing long enough to write a chapter story... I'm so proud (LOL!) Heed the rating. There will conversations about homosexuality and hair care products. Naughty language and sexy times.

The unbelievable MrsMCrieff betaed and Brit picked this story. She is truly one of the best friends I've ever had. She has been remarkably encouraging to me (especially in my recent slump) sending me daily reminders that she needs a 'Lil Story'! So this is for her!

She's not the only one though, thank you to everyone who's been checking on me, asking for more stories and generally being wonderful. I love you all.

Now for the business: I own nothing including the lines I borrowed from The Great Game and the location I borrowed from ASiP. (I don't think Mark would mind, he and I have an understanding... sigh)

Enjoy ~Lil~

Molly sighed as she undressed in the bathroom of 221B. She was alone for the first time since her ex boyfriend's (as Sherlock so affectionately referred to him) face had flashed across all the screens in the greater London area. When did this become my life, she wondered. Then promptly answered herself: Oh yes, the day Sherlock Holmes sauntered into my morgue seven years ago. She sighed again as she realised that she didn't have any toiletries and would be forced to use whatever Sherlock had available.

Molly was frugal, not cheap... just thrifty. But when it came to her hair, she splurged. She used slightly expensive salon products. Molly wasn't overly fond of most of her features. She knew she had thin lips (no, she didn't need Sherlock to point that out) and yes her breasts were small, but she was small. She laughed when she considered how funny she'd look with large breasts, immediately thinking of her cousin Jessica who had gotten implants and immediately regretted them. The poor girl always looked like she was about to tip over. However, she was quite proud of her hair. It was thick and soft and so shiny. She took very good care of it. And frankly having to use some unknown products (even only once, since she was promised all of her essentials by morning) didn't make this maddening day any better. She was also concerned that Sherlock wouldn't have any conditioner (something she simply couldn't do without). She was planning on just waiting to wash her hair.

When she got into the shower, however, she not only found conditioner, but expensive conditioner as well as accompanying shampoo and... hair mask? "Good Lord!" Molly said out loud staring at the beautiful amber coloured bottles. She was familiar with the brands and the fact that they cost at least twice as much as hers.

Molly shrugged, deciding she'd enjoy the pricey products and try to salvage the day, somehow. After the high-handed treatment she'd endured from a certain consulting detective, she deserved it.

Once she finished showering, she toweled off and started looking for the 'extra' toothbrush Sherlock had promised he had 'somewhere in there' (his words). She looked under the sink first... nothing. Then she check behind the mirror. What she found took her breath away. Sherlock not only had 'shower' products for his hair, but from the looks of it, the entire line. He had frizz reducer and curl manager as well as pomade and... Ultra-Moisturising, Leave-in Conditioner? What the hell, Molly thought. This man has more hair care products than I do! That's when a memory slammed into her at full force.

"What do you mean gay? We're together!" She had tried to defend.

Could he let it go..? No, of course not! "And domestic bliss must suit you Molly. You've put on three pounds since I last saw you."

And then...

"With that level of personal grooming?" Sherlock scoffed.

Poor John, he tried... "Because he puts product in his hair? I put product in my hair."

"You wash your hair, there's a difference."

Molly shook herself out of the memory as she continued to look over Sherlock's hair care inventory; which, if she were honest, made her a bit jealous. She finally found the elusive extra toothbrush, and was quite relieved to find it still in the packaging. She brushed her teeth then got dressed in the clothes Sherlock had provided. They were enormous but comfortable.

She found Sherlock sitting in his chair tapping away at his laptop. "Well, I'm off to bed," she said as she passed through the sitting room. He grunted in response. "Ah, I'll be allowed to go to work tomorrow... I assume."

He glanced up at her for a split second. "I don't think that's a good idea, Molly. However, I will allow it as soon as I have a better handle on this... situation."

She wasn't pleased with his answer, not even a little. But decided to pick her battles and discuss it with him later. Frankly she was too tired to fight with this insufferable man.

Over the next few days she and Sherlock argued about when she could safely return to Barts. She tried not to put undue stress on the detective, but she had a life and a job that she rather enjoyed; she simply wasn't content sitting around a flat all day. When Sherlock left she was alone in the flat so, she'd asked, why was she any safer at Baker Street than the hospital? Too many variables! He'd argue when she stated these facts. Too many entrances! Too many people! Then, then he pulled out the big guns: Please Molly, I can't do this if I think you're in danger. Soft spoken, pleading eyes... all of his old tricks. She caved, but had a time line in mind of just how long she would put up with this nonsense.

Unfortunately, being left alone gave her a lot of time to think.

A week later she found she was STILL thinking about the contents of Sherlock's bathroom and that conversation about Jim from IT. '...that level of personal grooming?' She heard his words once again. Then of course there were his bespoke suits. He always looked like he had just come from a photo shoot for GQ. Well, that wasn't exactly true. She'd seen him sitting around the house in natty lounge clothes and a slight stubble in recent days. And of course there was that time with the drugs. How does Sherlock delete memories, she wondered.

Perhaps it all made sense. Molly had long given up hope of some kind of romantic relationship with the man, but now she wondered if the reason was his orientation instead of general disinterest due to the Work.

Sitting rereading one of her favorite novels she paused and remembered talking to John about Janine. He'd evidently believed Sherlock, for a moment, before the detective revealed his actual purpose for dating that poor woman. So, if Sherlock is gay, she thought. That would mean that even his best friend wasn't aware. This led Molly down a very depressing path. She suddenly felt an incredible sadness for Sherlock; not even able to be himself with John Watson, of all people. Molly worried her lip as she considered the situation and what if anything she should do.

Several hours later Sherlock finally came barging up the steps in a full blown rage. "I can't keep looking if there's nothing to be found!" he roared causing Toby to jump up from his position on the other end of the settee and retreat to John's chair.

Molly immediately stood up. "W-what do you mean?"

Sherlock looked up surprised, as if he'd forgotten that she would be there. "Oh, I... there's no evidence whatsoever that this is anything more than an elaborate hoax."

"If you're still so certain that it's not Moriarty, then why am I still here?"

Sherlock who had be busy pacing around the room, suddenly stopped and squared on her. "Because what if I'm w-wrong? Or what if it's someone from the network that I missed." He looked away and shook his head. "Not worth the risk."

Molly was shocked to hear Sherlock admit that he could be wrong about... well, anything. Though she hadn't missed him stuttering over the word as if it was almost painful to consider. "Tea! I'll make you some tea and then you can talk over what you've got so far." She started toward the kitchen.

Sherlock flopped down on the settee. "Fine! But it's little to nothing!"

Molly made their tea and grabbed some biscuits as well, knowing he'd not eaten in her presence in at least 48 hours. She also knew, from past experience, that he'd nibble on just about anything she put in front of him, even when on a case if she kept him distracted enough. "Okay, let's hear it." She was standing with her hands on her hips looking down at the disgruntled man.

He sat up and motioned to the settee. "Sit, I can't concentrate when you're looming."

"I wasn't looming."

"Yes, you were!"

After that they finally settled in and Sherlock went over the smattering of information he had so far, which was indeed very little. He finished his tea then jumped up from the settee to fetch his laptop.

"I've been checking my blog..." he said as he sat back down and opened the device.

"You still keep that up?" Molly interrupted.

Sherlock looked slightly offended. "Of course I do. As I was saying, I've been checking my blog to see if this impostor, because I'm convinced that's what we're dealing with, has sent me a message." He pulled up the site, then deflated even further. "Nothing," he sighed."

Molly laughed."I should delete my old blog," she said absentmindedly." Then she turned to him, he was looking at her. "What?"

He shook his head. "Nothing."

Odd, she thought. "I'm sure they'll contact you when they're ready." Molly patted his arm.

Sherlock grunted as she picked up a book and resumed reading. Sherlock didn't get up, he just stayed on the other end of the sofa... thinking, if Molly had to guess. She was doing a bit of thinking, herself back to her deductions about Sherlock and his sexuality. The more she thought the more she wanted to talk to him.

Her second night at Baker Street Sherlock had sat her down and given her a shed load of information about what had transpired over the last six months. He told her about the man he had killed to save two people very close to him (not mentioning names, as if he had to; she knew exactly who he was talking about.). He told her that he was on his way to exile and most likely death, when the broadcast called him back. That explained the strange phone call she'd received from the man on New Year's Eve, saying goodbye and asking her to take care of herself. After the conversation, he seemed as if a weight was suddenly lifted off of his shoulders, she wanted to do that for him again. She knew this probably wasn't the best time, but when was a good time? He was always in the middle of something. Finally she put her book down.

"Sherlock, can I talk to you about something unrelated to the case for a minute?" she asked her voice stronger than she felt.

He turned to her, looked her over for a moment then spoke, "Fine." He sighed. "Perhaps it will help me clear my head."

She smiled. "Good. So, you know you can trust me... right?"

He nodded. "Of course."

"And if you ever felt like you wanted to talk about something- something personal, I'd be more than happy to listen. Even if you think it might make me uncomfortable. I assure you it wouldn't."

Sherlock appeared to be listening, processing Molly's words. "O-kay," he said cautiously.

Molly took a breath, feeling like the conversation was going well so far. "So, for instance..." She thought for moment. "Well, if you needed to get something off of your chest, like a secret, you could tell... me. I know you felt better telling me about what happened with Magnussen, didn't you?"

Though that hadn't been the most comfortable conversation, Molly had appreciated the fact that Sherlock trusted her enough to explain the situation to her. It seemed very important for him to make her understand his reasons, his motivation for his actions. He had been almost vulnerable and pained in his explanation. She listened and in the end they had shared a brief hug. Molly cherished the moment, she knew she always would.

Sherlock's head was motionless, but his eyes darted all over Molly. Finally after thirty seconds or so he tilted his head to the left and studied her a bit more. "I... suppose... so," he said, slowly. "Yes."

"All right, so you know you can trust me and that sharing a secret- a burden, will help you. Is there anything, anything at all that you'd like to tell me. Perhaps something that you've never been able to share with anyone else? Even... John?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and gave Molly an appraising glare. "Right, what is it that you think you've discovered that leads you to believe that I'm gay?"

Molly jumped at his harsh tone. "Um... well... it's just..."

Sherlock shook his head and chuckled. "What Molly? What brought this about?"

There was something in the tone of his voice, was it disappointment? Molly suddenly felt panicky and hurt. She quickly stood up and started pacing, much like Sherlock had been when he'd first arrived home. "Well, it-it was your... your hair-care products." It was of course much more than that, but she was freaking out a little bit.

"My what?" Sherlock nearly shouted.

"Your shampoo, your pomade... your Ultra Moisturising Leave-in Conditioner!" she shot back.

Sherlock stared at her as if he was missing the point entirely.

She held up both her index and middle fingers making quote marks. "That level of personal grooming." She put her hands on her hips. "Ring a bell?"

Sherlock looked away, he seemed to be concentrating. Then he closed his eyes, actually squinting for a few moments. Suddenly he opened his eyes and said, "'Jim from IT'!"

"Yes!" Molly exclaimed.

Sherlock stood up and crossed over to her giving her a bemused look. "Deductions really aren't your area, Molly." He then continued on to his bedroom.

"Don't look at me like that," Molly said to Toby who was still curled up in John's chair.

Okay, there's chapter one! Please talk to me, tell me what you think!

I should say I mean no disrespect to anyone with breast implants. I have absolutely no issues with them whatsoever.

The story is written, updates should be quick. Drop me a review. Thanks for reading. ~Lil~