Chapter 2: No answer in sight

6 months earlier -

As he entered the building of his former flat, John Watson could hear strains of Sherlock's violin floating down the stairs. Well familiar with his friend's odd habits, there was a concern on his face that matched the look on Mrs. Hudson's when she came hurrying out from her front door.

"I got your message, what's happened then?"

"I went to my sister's yesterday morning, around 10 or so and spent the night. Sherlock was playing when I left. When I got back this afternoon, he was still going. I don't think he's stopped once. I was hoping you would go and talk with him, I'm awfully worried that whatever's on his mind is eating him up."

He gave the older woman a reassuring pat on the back and headed up. He used his old key to get in, unsurprised to find his best friend by the window furiously playing one of his more complicated pieces.

He sat down in his old chair, shooting a text to Mary that Sherlock had a spot of trouble, nothing serious and he would be home in time for dinner. This done he picked up the paper, content to skim through until Sherlock deigned to acknowledge him.

Twenty minutes later or so, Sherlock was putting his instrument away. Having used all his patience to avoid demanding the detective open up, John leaned forward now, waiting expectantly.

"Well?"

"Well what? Mind you while I appreciate your presence, I'd rather you had called first-"

"You wouldn't have answered. What's going on?"

Sherlock gave him a passing glance, sitting in his own chair.

"It seems fatherhood agrees with you, though I'm sorry the offspring has colic."

"Stop that and talk to me."

"And not to worry, you're a doctor. Should she fall seriously ill, you know what to do."

"How did you know Elizabeth had a cold?"

"Obvious really. Your-"

John held up a hand, suddenly realizing Sherlock was once again trying to deflect from himself.

"Stop being a git. You said no more secrets, remember? You swore."

As he knew it would, the reminder made Sherlock stop any rebuttal. While he'd forgiven him for the fall, he was also wary of anything but frank communication with the famous detective. That's what had caused all the trouble last time. As if weighing his words carefully, Sherlock very slowly made eye contact.

"I require information."

"Course. What sort?"

"I need- I'm doing an experiment, of sorts."

"Okay. Is it it medical, scientific-"

"Human relations."

Both men were quiet. Sherlock, from discomfort. John, from surprise.

"Err… right. Right, okay. Human relations. What about them?"

"I.. I am in need of information concerning the female mind and as you've had multiple failures over the years I thought I might benefit from your mistakes."

While normally he would have a snappy comeback, John was still trying to figure out the angle Sherlock was playing.

"This isn't gonna be another Janine situation is it? Cause I'm not helping you break some poor-"

"No, nothing like that. For instance, your relationship with Mary, how did it progress?"

"Well.. err, normal? I guess? I mean it all seemed normal, having dinner and spending time together-"

"A moment John, if you would."

Sherlock headed over to the desk, almost eagerly, grabbing a pencil and pad then hurried back to his chair. Flipping it open, he scribbled something and then nodded.

"Please continue."

The air stung the inside of his nostrils, but Sherlock hardly noticed. His fingers were itching for a cigarette, more to calm his nerves than anything but that was out of the question. Molly would be so disappointed if he smoked, he'd managed to avoid it for at least a month or so now.

Molly.

For the umpteenth time, he took his little notepad out of his coat pocket, opening it to his notes on his conversation with John. The consulting detective had little idea how to deal with his pathologist as of late, since his feelings towards her had begun to.. change.

Lately, his mind palace seemed full of her. Sherlock had grown rather feverish one evening when mind palace Molly became suddenly amorous. Since then he'd replayed it over in his mind a total of 1,167 times. He'd also begun going out of his way to go to the morgue, even when he had no current experiments. On occasion he'd even picked her lock, (really he'd have to have some put better ones on, a child could get into Molly's flat at this point) knowing she wouldn't be home but satisfied by her scent alone.

After hours of internet research, a short recon to see if she might still care for him, (it appeared she did, thank heavens meat dagger was out of the picture) and a careful study of the woman in question, Sherlock was still at a loss. So he turned to his best friend, making a checklist of sorts. Clearly, this was the best thing to do as it had resulted in the married union of one John Watson to Miss Mary Morstan. And it seemed to be a happy one, since Mary had recently given birth to the offspring.

With this belief firmly in mind he looked at number one on the list.

ENGAGE IN CONVERSATION YOU BOTH WILL FIND INTERESTING

Easy enough. One of the reasons he'd become so attached to the small pathologist was that she was miles ahead of most everyone else. He could actually hold an intelligent conversation with her and be interested in what she had to say. With this in mind, he strode into St. Bart's, making a beeline for the morgue.

As he pushed open the door, he made a point of turning up his coat collar since Molly's behavior indicated she found it attractive. The woman in question was elbows deep in a corpse, cheerfully humming something he assumed was pop trash.

"Oh hello Sherlock. I've got a foot for you today."

"Excellent. Anything of interest?"

"Yes actually. Take off your coat and come see this intestinal tract."

Conversation, check.

Three bodies and two fingers later, Sherlock feigned washing up so that he might check his notepad once more.

2) ASK HER OUT TO AN ENJOYABLE ACTIVITY,FOLLOWED BY DINNER

"Molly, are you free this evening? I'd like to begin experiments on Mr. Miller's foot at once and your assistance would be valuable."

"Well, I need to feed Toby-"

"Of course. Would you come by Baker Street at 4? I will, of course, provide dinner should the experiments run more than two hours time"

She offered a sunny smile and nodded.

"Sure. Take away? I could go for Chinese."

"A sit down meal would be more appropriate, that way if we wish it, we can resume the experiments with little clean up time. I think Angelo's would be satisfactory."

Her smile grew about 100 watts brighter.

"That would be amazing, their carbonara is positively sinful."

"Excellent. Four o'clock then."

Having thus made the arrangements he left, internally grinning. He had done it! What's more, she accepted! It was a date.

Present day-

Having heard Sherlock's explanation, Molly took a sip from her cup, trying to process it all.

"So… six months ago. You asked me out. For experiments and Italian food."

"Yes."

"And since then, we've been a couple?"

"Technically speaking, we've been a couple for five months and twenty four days after our first kiss."

Her eyes widened and she nearly spit out her tea.

"Kiss? What kiss?! I'm pretty sure I would have- oh. Ohhhhhhh…. Sherlock! That wasn't a dream?!"

He frowned, unsure of why she was suddenly yelling at him when seconds ago she'd seemed well enough.

"I was there in the morning, I assumed you realized there was no need for discussion."

"Sherlock you don't just.. you can't just go kissing people-"

"I didn't kiss people, I kissed you. There's really a very big difference."

She made something between a groan and a squeak before covering her face with a pillow. Sherlock, while amused by this little outburst found himself rather curious. Had she not liked kissing him? Her cheeks had developed two spots of color and she was hiding away.. embarrassment? Perhaps he would need to put her at ease.. most people grew comfortable when considering themselves equal to the one they were speaking with. Thus, he needed to make them equals.

"I had hoped you would enjoy kissing me, as I certainly enjoyed kissing you."

There. He'd made the admission. She peeked out, staring hard at him but saying nothing. Clearly, she was thinking but for once he couldn't read the small pathologist.

"What do you remember about that night?" She asked finally.

He took a breath, irritated to find himself nervous about explaining the event.

"Well…."