A/N: Alright, I've gone and done it. I will say that I am working on at least a bit more as well. Anyways, enjoy.

"I must say, I like your new rooms." Sherlock mumbled as he ran his fingers over her bare arm, pressing his lips to her collar bone.

"I find that they're closer to work."

"Mmm, among other things."

"Yes, among other things that you shouldn't mention if you wish to stay." Molly gently pushed him off of her and slid out of the bed, pulling a dressing gown around herself. She walked around the room with a match, lighting strategically placed lamps to give the room a soft glow. "Have you solved the case yet?"

Sherlock groaned and repositioned himself on the bed, sitting up against the headboard. "Another for the list of things that shall remain unmentioned should you wish me to stay."

Molly chuckled and climbed onto the edge of the bed. "So you came here for a distraction."

"Everything is a distraction Molly. Some just happen to be better than others."

"I'll take that as a complement." She smirked at him before leaning forward to press her lips to his again. "But you, Mr. Holmes, are changing the subject. What has you stumped? Perhaps I can be of help."

"I don't see how you could be."

"Oh?" Molly snorted. "Do you mean other than the fact that I'm the one that did her post mortem? I think you'd be surprised by my understanding of this case."

But Sherlock had lost focus. "Is that the time? I had better go. Watson will be wondering where I've gone."

Molly huffed, getting out of his way as he climbed out of the bed to dress. "Yes, we mustn't worry Doctor Watson."

Sherlock dressed in relative silence as Molly watched with her arms crossed over her chest. Once he had given his hair one last run with his fingers in the mirror, he turned to face her. She huffed again. "I expect you can let yourself out, given my unbecoming state."

"Yes of course, but first I need you to punch me. In the face is preferable."

"What?"

"Right around here." He said as he gestured to his cheekbone.

"Why on earth do I need to punch you in the face?"

"I need an alibi. Watson knows I frequent the boxing rings. It will make it believable."

"Sherlock, I'm not going to punch you in the face."

"Well I can't punch myself. The bruising will look strange."

With the way the night had ended, Molly didn't need any more urging.

THUMP.

"Christ Holmes. Bad night in the ring?" Watson admired Sherlock's freshly bleeding cut over his cheekbone as he strode into the living room.

"Quite the formidable opponent." Sherlock agreed, with the slightest of smirks before disappearing into his bedroom.