A/N: Soooo...remember how I said this was going to be a two parter? Well, after talking things over with my partner in crime, asteraceaeblue, we agreed that it really needs to be at least three parts. So here is part 2, hope you like it!


After John left, Sherlock spent a great deal of time in his chair, unmoving, considering the advice his friend had given him. Could it really be that simple? Dinner (prepared by him, not as much of a chore as John seemed to believe, cooking was merely another form of chemistry), conversation regarding (he shuddered) feelings…much more complicated, that bit, but he suspected if he tried to skip over it John would rate it Not Good and Molly would leave. Not the desired outcome at all.

Actually, it probably wouldn't be all that difficult, since he'd already expressed his interest in altering the nature of their relationship, back in the lab. He relaxed slightly; that meant the hardest part was essentially already taken care of, and he could concentrate on the dinner and the mood-setting and the…what had John called it? Oh, yes, the 'lair of love'. Good name, that. He approved, and had every confidence that Molly would as well.

As he reviewed his actions and the conversations of the day, a frown gradually took over his face. Neither John nor Mary seemed too terribly surprised that he'd decided to initiate a romantic relationship with Molly Hooper, once their initial shock at his announcement had passed. Nor, for that matter, had Mrs. Hudson. He had the distinct impression that John had no interest in seeing him again today, but Mrs. Hudson was still in her flat. He bounced to his feet and headed back downstairs.

This time when he knocked, instead of opening the door for him he heard his landlady give a muffled call from her sitting room. Rounding the corner, he beheld the sight of his landlady testing out the 'Liberator Hipster', her bum in the air and a frown on her face. "Sorry, Sherlock, I should have put this on the bed rather than the floor," she said as she attempted to raise herself up.

"Mrs. Hudson, I appreciate your desire to test the functionality of my gift, but why didn't you remove your apron first?" he asked curiously as he offered a hand to his landlady.

She gave him a cheeky wink as she allowed him to pull her back to her feet, smoothing down the crumpled, frilly garment in question. "Oh, my butcher has a thing for aprons, dear."

He made note of that fact, filing it away for future reference – and possible use with Molly. Really, he should have made out a questionnaire for her to fill out, it would have made things like his shopping trip so much easier. Ah well, hindsight was twenty/twenty and all that. "Mrs. Hudson, why weren't you surprised that I'd made some purchases at a sex shop for Molly?"

"Well, I just assumed you two were already sleeping together," she replied equably as she bustled about her kitchen, filling the electric kettle and setting out two mugs on the counter. "You do run off to her place so often, at all hours! Not to mention all the personal deliveries for you 'experiments'…" Mrs. Hudson turned to smile at him, actually raising her hands and making air quotes, as if she disbelieved that his experiments were real in spite of the evidence she'd seen with her own eyes – and repeatedly complained about.

"Actual experiments," he corrected her amiably, leaning back on the counter and snagging a chocolate biscuit from the plate she set out. "And no, no sex with Molly yet. But if you see me carrying in some bags from Tesco's in the next few days, I'd advise you to double up on your 'herbal soothers' to help you sleep through the noise!" He made the same air quotes gesture she had, then grinned and popped the entire biscuit into his mouth, chewing noisily as she chuckled and swatted him on the arm with a tea towel.

oOo

John sighed with relief as he parked the car. Home, safe, no more insane friends dragging him out to sex shops. Just nice, peaceful home, with his wife and daughter. Yes, he got bored when his life was too 'normal' but this sort of excitement he could pretty much do without.

He unlocked the front door and pushed it open, not calling out to Mary as he usually did in case Ellie was asleep. He certainly hoped she was, as he looked forward to seeing Mary in the lacy negligee he'd purchased for her. He placed his keys on the table by the door, toed off his shoes and brought the bag into the parlor. Mary was seated on the sofa, flipping through a magazine, and he could see the baby monitor next to her was lit up, meaning Ellie was asleep in her cot upstairs.

"Hello, wife," he greeted her, kissing her lips as she set the magazine aside.

"Hello, husband," she replied after the kiss ended, smiling brightly as he seated himself next to her. "Good to see you made it home safe and sound! So how's our lustful cock monster doing?"

If John had been drinking anything he would have spat it all over his wife; as it was, he simply choked a bit and flailed. What had ever possessed him to think that the subject of Sherlock's hypothetical sex life could be set aside now that the man himself wasn't around? "Mary," he sputtered after a moment, "can we please just…not?"

"So what did he buy?" she asked, ignoring his question and reaching out for the bag he still held clutched in his hands. "More importantly, what did you buy?"

Her soft gasp of pleasure told John that he'd made the right choice, and as she held the flimsy garment up to her chest, he noted proudly that it exactly matched the blue of her eyes. "Any chance you might, um, want to try it on now?" he asked huskily as he reached out and ran one finger across the back of her hand.

Mary nodded. "Ellie's just gone down for another nap, right after her feeding," she replied with a soft smile. "Would you care to join me for an impromptu modeling session, husband?"

John's answer was a warm and enthusiastic kiss, which Mary returned just as warmly, and more than enthusiastically. It had been months since they'd had sex and he could tell she was just as eager for them to resume that part of their relationship as he was. Hand in hand, they dashed up the stairs to their bedroom, Mary clutching her negligee and John carrying the baby monitor.

Thank God their own sex lives would take up Mary's time for a while, he thought with no small amount of relief as he shut the door behind them. Sherlock's could go hang.

oOo

Molly tapped on the half-open door and peered inside the flat. No sign of Sherlock, but that was typical; he was always asking her over to help out or drop off body parts and then forgetting about her. She'd give him ten minutes, maybe have tea with Mrs. Hudson, and then text him and see if he was even still in London.

She was certainly interested in knowing what the barrage of texts she'd received the past few days had to with this new case; what on earth did Sherlock need her measurements and weight for? She'd sent him back a tart response of 'none of your bloody business' but he'd insisted it was important and so of course she'd given in. But one word – just one single word – about how much weight she'd supposedly gained, and she would clock him one. As for the other texts…why the hell he'd thought she'd have an opinion on 'manscaping' was beyond her. Was his latest case something to do with a sex club? She grinned at the thought of him going undercover as a stripper; oh, she'd pay good money to see him prancing around in a mankini!

As she entered the flat she heard what sounded like a muffled curse coming from the direction of Sherlock's bedroom. Curiously she walked to the short hallway leading to his room and the loo, doing a double-take as she saw the elaborately set up kitchen table. Then Sherlock's voice caught her attention again, and she continued on her original course. "Damned buttons!"

"Sherlock? Is everything all right? D'you need some help?" she called out as she edged closer to the partially open door.

"Yes, it's these damned cuffs, smaller buttons than I'm used to, come in," he said impatiently, and she pushed the door open, stopping in confusion at the sight that greeted her. Sherlock was standing in front of his dresser, struggling to close the buttons on the cuff of what appeared to be a brand new aubergine shirt – her favorite color on him, she noted automatically – but for once it wasn't the yummy looking consulting detective who held the majority of her attention, but the very odd contents of his bedroom: every flat surface, including the bed and several square feet of the floor, was covered with…boxes of condoms and sex toys?!

"Sherlock, exactly what sort of a case is this?"

He squinted at her in confusion. "Case? What are you…oh, that," he said, taking note of where her attention was currently focused. "Sorry. That just sort of…happened. We'll sort it out after dinner."

Before Molly could ask what he meant by that, he had taken her by the elbow and was escorting her back out of the room, snagging his jacket on the way and shrugging into as she obediently moved back into the parlor. "So, tell me about the case," she tried again, only to turn and see that Sherlock had bustled into the kitchen.

A remarkably clean kitchen, she noted as she wandered slowly after him. She paid closer attention to the white cloth on the table, which she now realized was laid out with a setting for two including wine glasses, an unlit candle in the middle, and a small bouquet of flowers in a low vase next to that. She was distracted by a rather heavenly aroma coming from the oven as Sherlock opened it and peered inside. "Sherlock, really, what sort of a case are we working on? Is this a re-created crime scene you need me to act out with you or something?"

Sherlock straightened and closed the oven door, peering at her with even more interest than he had the roast she'd caught a glimpse of. "Roleplaying, Molly? Is that something you'd be interested in? Because my research has given me some very intriguing ideas. Are you familiar with the term 'Daddy Dom', for instance?"

"I, uh…"

Molly just stood there, staring across the table at Sherlock, stammering and gulping for air as realization suddenly dawned on her. None of it was for a case. It was for her. And Sherlock Holmes was currently asking her what sort of preference she had for… Well, of course, she knew what he was talking about, but why in hell was he asking her if she was familiar with it or not? It was insanity, why on earth would he care about her interest in things like that?

"Sherlock, this… I mean, what is all of this? What are you doing?"

The look he gave her was patented Sherlock Holmes: a slight tilt of the head, straightening of the mouth, narrowing of the eyes, all to let her know that he somehow expected better of her intelligence.

"I made it quite clear to you the other day, Molly. I explained my reasoning in detail, right down to our compatible mental prowess and the fact that you can fulfill my fantasies of having intercourse in a morgue wearing nothing but a lab coat. I told you I would buy all the sexual things, all the things…" Molly gaped at him, vindicated that the look she had been fixed with was completely unearned. She had no bloody idea what he was talking about, and he was beginning to realize that fact as well. "I didn't say it out loud, did I?"

Molly shook her head, her lips pursing tight. For a man as outspoken and, well, brash as Sherlock was, it would stand to reason that a conversation that important had gone on entirely in his head. It was John Watson's wedding speech all over again, she thought in a combination of equal parts fondness and exasperation.

Sherlock frowned at the revelation, but recovered quickly. "Well," he said brightly, gesturing towards the chair in front of Molly. "No reason we can't discuss everything over dinner!"

In a sort of dreamlike state, Molly sat down and watched as Sherlock crossed to the counter to uncover a platter of something that instantly filled the room with a divine smell. He turned with a slight flourish and placed the platter in the center of the table.

"Quinoa with roasted butternut squash and shallots," he announced proudly before crossing to the fridge and procuring a (rather expensive looking) bottle of white wine.

It all started to sink in while Molly watched him pop the cork and pour the chilled liquid into two glasses: she was being wined and dined by Sherlock Holmes. Oh holy Mary…

"So," she said after taking a few bites of the quinoa – perfectly prepared and sinfully delicious. "You think we're compatible?" Her mind flashing to the bedroom full of paraphernalia, she clarified, "Sexually compatible?"

Sherlock, who had been tucking in with what looked like unfeigned enthusiasm, nodded. "Obviously. I should have seen it years ago, but of course the work was paramount, couldn't let myself get distracted even though it was clear you were interested in me as a possible romantic partner. Plus I spent far too long listening to my brother spout off about how sentiment was a chemical defect and caring wasn't an advantage and people were just goldfish. Stupid, now that I think about it, but until recently I didn't have any personal evidence – aside from our parents, of course, but one does tend to dismiss one's parents under such circumstances, doesn't one…where was I? Oh yes, Mycroft and evidence. After becoming friends with John, and understanding that I had already formed close bonds with Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade before that, I came to the conclusion that Mycroft and I were both wrong," he said emphatically, locking his gaze on Molly's face and giving her a winning smile.

Molly couldn't help but smile back in spite of her continuing confusion. "So that made you change your mind, did it? About sex?" Molly asked, fascinated and a bit put off by Sherlock's rapid fire explanation. Any glimpse into the complexities of his mind, seeing how he thought, was by definition fascinating, but to hear the concepts of love and even simple caring dismissed as negatives…off-putting to say the least.

"It opened my mind to the possibilities of engaging in a sexual relationship with you," he corrected her, pinning her with a smoldering look that would have collapsed her knees if she'd been standing instead of sitting. "Not just sex, of course, but all of it." He waved one hand in the air, the one still holding his fork, then frowned and set the utensil back on the table. "Romance, love, sentiment…all of it. And all because of you."

It was overwhelming, to say the least, but Molly did her best to get her short-circuiting brain to start functioning again. "So you want to have sex with me," she said slowly.

Sherlock nodded and leaned forward. "Very much so," he assured her. "And as soon as possible; considering how much time I've already wasted, I have no interest in putting it off any longer than necessary."

"And you want to be involved in a romantic relationship with me," Molly plugged on, doing her best to ignore the flush in her cheeks and the rapid increase in her heart rate. She looked at him, meeting his eyes squarely as he nodded again. "And…love?"

He huffed and sat back in his chair, arms folded across his chest and a rather adorable pout on his lips. "Yes, Molly, love," he repeated. "As in, you love me, I love you, dinner's been marvelous so far, but if you're ready, we can skip right to dessert." He stood up while Molly continued to stare at him, crossed over to her side of the table, and swooped down to pull her to her feet, her hands settling on his chest as he held her closely.

"So, Molly Hooper, have I made my intentions clear enough? No misunderstandings, no questions left to clarify?" he asked huskily. He tilted his head downward, brushing her left ear with his lips and whispered, "I certainly hope not, because I would very much like to kiss you now."

"Um, okay," she breathed, mind whirling. And then his hands were cupping her face and his lips were touching hers and her mind went mercifully blank as her eyes fluttered shut. She returned the kiss, obediently opening her mouth when his tongue touched her lips, pressing her body against his and feeling very satisfactory evidence against her hip that Sherlock was just as affected by all this as she was. He groaned into her mouth as her arms wrapped around his waist, and his hands wandered down her body, stopping to cup her breasts briefly and wring an answering moan from her lips before settling firmly on her buttocks.