"Testosterone, oestrogen, dopamine, norepinephrine, serotonin, oxy—" Sherlock was cut off by John noisily closing the newspaper.

"Is there a point to this, Sherlock?" John sighed.

"Be more quiet, John, you'll wake Rosamund," he scolded. "And yes, there is a point; these are the chemicals that make up love. It is translated by the thalamus. Anyways, it has always been interesting that dopamine plays a major role in romantic attachments, seeing as it is also activated by nicotine and cocaine."

"Sherlock," John warned.

"Not to worry, John, I'm no longer interested in relapsing," Sherlock paced. "As I was saying, Norepinephrine is the adrenaline pumping in my veins when I'm around her; heart and mind racing. Serotonin works as a neurotransmitter and has been known to send people temporarily insane; strange, as it is an important chemical of love." He froze in place. "All that leaves is oxytocin and vasopressin."

"And what do they do?" John asked.

"Vasopressin and Oxytocin are both released post-coitus. Though, the latter is a result of orgasm which apparently deepens the bond of a relationship," Sherlock rattled off, his neck flushed slightly at the explanation. He cleared his throat as a way to change the subject.

"Yes, right, well, that was more information than I needed," John remarked. Sherlock's phone went off then.

"It's Lestrade," Sherlock told him before answering the phone. "Brilliant! We'll be there!"

"Should I have Mrs. Hudson watch Rosie, then?" John asked.

"Yes; it seems we have another strange case on our hands," Sherlock grinned.

"Bloody hell," John murmured when he and Sherlock arrived at the scene.

"Someone's channeling their inner Victor Frankenstein," Molly remarked.

"Are you replacing Anderson?" Sherlock asked, his eyes lighting up.

"Nope, 'fraid not," Anderson smirked. The smile on Sherlock's face dropped.

"I'm just here as supervising pathologist," Molly told him.

"Mr. Williams was dismembered and sewn back together again; Molly has already confirmed they are all still his own body parts," Lestrade told them. Sherlock bent down next to Molly, examining the handiwork of the stitches.

"These are too professional," Sherlock muttered. "Must've been done by—"

"An actual surgeon," he and Molly said in unison.

"What did I tell you?" Anderson asked Greg. "Sherlolly is real." The couple in question turned their heads back at him. "My theory had truth to it."

"You're never going to let that go, are you?" Lestrade chuckled.

"Never," Anderson answered.

"Leave the premises," Sherlock told him. "You're putting me off." Molly gave him a look similar to the one John gives him when he's 'a bit not good.' "Fine, you can stay…I guess."

As Molly prepared for the autopsy, Sherlock swept in with his Belstaff flying behind him.

"May I observe the autopsy? Anderson won't shut up and it's driving me insane," he told her.

"Sure," she giggled.

"Are you finding this to be humorous?" Sherlock asked.

"N-no," she stifled her laugh. "Though, you'll find this to be the humerus." Molly said this as she pointed to the correct area on the cadaver. Sherlock kept a straight face for as long as he could manage before chuckling at her awful joke. "You've never laughed at my jokes before."

"I was holding back before," he stated matter-of-factly.

"I love your laugh," Molly smiled. He flashed a warm smile of his own. All was quiet as she cut into and examined the body. Sherlock watched as she performed the tests on Mr. Williams's blood. He noticed more about her now, like the way she bites her bottom lip when she's in deep concentration or the way her eyes light up when she's onto something. Her small fingers were quick and nimble as she worked.

Every now and then, Molly caught Sherlock looking at her with the utmost adoration. It took every effort for her to slow down her heart rate. Her relationship with him was still so new and unbelievably real, she sometimes felt she was living in a daydream. Reality was much better than her dreams of him ever were; his lips tasted better than she imagined and his hugs were so much warmer.

"Poison," she muttered.

"Hmm?" Sherlock asked.

"He's been poisoned by arsenic," Molly told him.

"So why even bother with the dismemberment?" Sherlock wondered aloud.

"Maybe just to show off?" she suggested. "Or it's their calling card as a new serial killer?"

"Both are plausible but what would a professional surgeon need to do this for?" he asked. "I need to go. Will you come by Baker Street after your shift?"

"Sure," Molly replied. "Thumbs again?"

"Nope, just you," he winked. She couldn't help but smile.

Molly ventured up the stairs once Mrs. Hudson let her in. She could hear a beautiful melody drifting through the air from his violin. The door was cracked open and she took a moment to take a snapshot in her mind of him playing by the fireplace, all aglow.

"You can come in, you know," Sherlock told her, his back still turned. He must have caught her in the mirror. She stepped inside slowly, noticing that the flat was more organized than usual. The coffee table was cleared off with the exception of takeaway from Angelo's set in place, ready for consumption. His Bunsen burner was used as a makeshift candle, set in the middle of the table.

"What's all this for?" she asked. His playing stopped abruptly when he turned to look at her.

"For you; well, us," Sherlock answered.

"You don't eat while you're on a case," Molly pointed out.

"I'm making an exception," he replied, setting the Stradivarius down. When he approached her, he cupped her cheek with his hand and leaned down to press a soft kiss to her lips.

"I have to say I'm surprised," she told him. "Thank you, this is lovely."

"I would have set up the kitchen table, but I still have an experiment I'm working on and—" he stopped talking when Molly held her index finger to his lips.

"It's okay, Sherlock," she spoke softly. "It's perfect." He sat down beside her on the sofa and they ate their meal together. They discussed the current case they were both working on and theories of who and why.

After eating, Molly noticed his unease. She placed her hand on top of his, attempting to comfort him and spoke up, "What's wrong?"

"I don't want to screw this up," he admitted.

"Hey, don't be like that," she told him. "Look at me, Sherlock." His eyes gazed into hers as her hands held his face, thumbs tracing his cheekbones lightly. "You're not going to screw this up."

"I'm not wired for this," he told her.

"All human beings are wired for love; and yes, you are human," Molly explained. "You've just got extraordinary intellectual abilities, but that doesn't mean your heart isn't valid." She took a steady breath before continuing. "You've been through so much, what with learning about what happened to Victor and all. You were once an incredibly emotional being and you always have been, though you tried to control it all these years. I don't expect anything other than for you to just be yourself."

"I am not exactly versed in the topic of romance," Sherlock remarked. "It is something I had deemed unimportant. You deserve more." She laughed then.

"Sorry, it's just that spending time with you is all I require," she told him. "We watch murder documentaries for fun and work on science experiments together; well, with snogging on the side. I couldn't ask for anything better."

"I suppose we aren't a typical couple," Sherlock chuckled.

"Exactly; we're not. We enjoy much different things than everyone else," Molly smiled. "That doesn't make it any less romantic." He hugged her close to him, her back against his chest and buried his face in the crook of her neck. She was amused to hear him quietly reciting all of the chemicals involved with love in her ear.

"What happens if I do this?" he whispered. Before she had a chance to ask what he was talking about, his full lips were pressed against her neck, trailing down the side of it. She leaned her head back against his shoulder, tilting it slightly to give him better access. A shiver ran through her when his tongue traced patterns on her skin. She could feel his warm breath against her as he hummed in satisfaction, the vibration running through her. His lips moved back up and hit the sensitive spot just below her ear.

"Sherlock," she moaned, feeling him smile. He turned her face to his and leaned down until he was hovering just above her mouth.

"I love you, Molly Hooper," Sherlock told her before snogging her tenderly. She carded her fingers through his curls, resulting in a positive response from him as he hummed against her mouth.

"I love you too, Sherlock Holmes," Molly breathed out when their kiss was broken. "Just the way you are."

Author's Note: Who's behind the stitched up murder? What will Sherlock do next? lol