Disclaimer: Sherlock and Batman do not belong to me. Oh the fun things I could I do with them if I did though.
Summary: Molly Hooper has successfully hidden knowing Bruce Wayne from Sherlock for a long time. Thanks to a very humiliating Christmas party, getting completely blitzed and a phone call, this will all change.
Please read the AN before tomatoes are thrown at me. Which I guarantee they probably will be. If it makes you feel any better. I. Love. You. All. Seriously. Your responses have been overwhelming and I'm oozing with love and affection for all of you. Shout-outs at the bottom! Any and all mistakes are mine and mine alone!
When it all Begins
Chapter 2
There are over seven billion people in the world. That's a lot of people and while John knows about the six degrees of separation theory and has seen it at its best sometimes, he still just cannot comprehend this. Because seriously? What. The. Hell. Is. This?
Bruce Wayne. Bruce Wayne of Wayne Enterprises. Bruce Wayne who was proclaimed dead only to reappear a year ago (John doesn't know how that works, but when you've got billions to spare, what's the harm in a little experimentation, yeah?) Bruce Wayne who has graced the cover of nearly every single magazine on the face of this earth.
(John won't lie, he's a fan. He's a big fan and not just of the money either but because the man is so well spoken and intelligent and oh, damn…he sounds like a squealing little girl.)
Bruce Wayne is still holding Molly closely to his body and John can see the way she molds herself to him, he can see the familiarity in their embrace and if John can see than Sherlock is most likely ripping it apart in his mind. Which will inevitably come out of his mouth. Joy. (Over seven billion people and an American-billionaire-philanthropist-intelligent-playboy is holding Molly and staring at her like he knows what she looks like without any clothes. He probably does.)
Molly presses her nose to his shoulder. (Oh, he most definitely does.)
John glances at Sherlock because he can't help it. His eyes are still narrowed at the two figures and if looks could kill Bruce Wayne would be way past dead. More like obliterated. (In his right mind, this doesn't make any sense to him because Sherlock only cares about ensuring Molly stays his patholo-oh. Oh. How did he not see this before?)
Okay. Well, he figures that he's done enough ogling to last him a lifetime of embarrassment. "Hullo there."
Molly jumps as if shocked and her cheeks take on a pink hue. "Right. I should introduce you. Silly me. I don't know where my head is at today."
"Possibly enraptured with a well-known playboy. Really, Molly. I thought you had better taste than a American." Sherlock says, his words dripping with ice.
John closes his eyes and prays, just once, you couldn't have given me this one meeting?
Molly frowns and tightens her grip around Bruce. Sherlock's eyes grow fiercer. (John really needs to talk to him about this.) "Bruce, this is Doctor John Watson." John gives a slight wave and shuffles his feet. It's a nervous habit. "And this is Sherlock Holmes."
John can see the recognition flash in Bruce's eyes and John can feel his stomach plunge. Sweet Jesus, neither of them are going to back down. John doesn't know the full story between Molly and Bruce but it's evident from the way he's still holding her that he feels protective, quite possibly possessive, over the young pathologist. John wonders idly what Molly has told him about Sherlock. "What brings you to London?"
"Molly." Bruce replies, his voice is rough and gravelly. "I wanted to make sure that her New Year's isn't as shitty as her Christmas."
Oh, so she's told him a lot, then. Right. Great. Not. John doesn't even have to look at Sherlock to know that he winced slightly. Which is the least he can do.
"Come now." Sherlock says, his voice sounding bored, but John knows better. He knows the deeper meaning, the hidden intonation of his voice. "You mustn't lie. You're here for business as well. Oh. Did he not inform you, Molly? Mr. Bruce Wayne is the guest-of-honor at a New Year's Eve gala, where scientists all over the world will be gathered to unveil a tremendously good deed that our dear old friend has done. Bravo, Mr. Wayne. Bravo."
John sighs. Well, it was good while it lasted.
Bruce doesn't move an inch. In fact, if anything, he smiles. It's a charming smile that oozes charisma with a hint of darkness in it.
Molly frowns and looks at Bruce. "I assume you were going to ask me at some point?"
Bruce's smile grows lighter. "After dinner tonight. Guess Sherlock Holmes beat me to it. What do you say Molls? One more night for old times sake?"
This is definitely not going to Sherlock's plan. John thinks. He knows how Sherlock wanted Molly to react. He wanted her to feel used. He wanted her to feel like she didn't matter. That in the grand scheme of things, Molly doesn't matter, especially not to a man like Bruce Wayne. Kind of like the way Sherlock makes her feel all the time. (Fuck talking, John is punching Sherlock in the mouth, as soon as they get back home.)
"Bruce I hate these things. You know I hate these things."
They're having their own conversation with each other, ignoring the two other men in the room. Hmm…is Sherlock's eye twitching? While John has been in situations where he has been ignored, Sherlock hasn't and this conversation that Molly and Bruce are having is revealing. As in, Molly has known Bruce for a long time. Long enough to attend galas. Long enough to not feel snubbed. Long enough to know not to rise to Sherlock's bait. It becomes clear to John that Bruce knows a side of Molly that he and obviously, Sherlock don't know.
"Yeah, but there's no one else I trust." He shifts and looks down at her. "Besides, one of scientists attending, his name is Professor Higgs. Ringing any bells, Molls?"
Molly goes still, her mouth gapes. "The God Particle. He's really going to be there? You're not just having me on, yeah?"
"I would never lie to you." Bruce says.
Even Sherlock cannot miss the intensity behind those words. This is getting messier by the minute.
"Then yes." She breathes. "Dear God, Bruce, yes!" She squeals and wraps her arms around his neck. "This is the best thing you've ever given me."
"Great," he laughs, "The key to your heart would obviously be a theoretical-overage-balding-scientist. Couldn't you have just liked the diamonds?"
Molly grins cheekily. "Oh no, I like those too."
John's head is spinning. Key to your heart? Diamonds? He glances at Sherlock and he can see that Sherlock is furiously cataloguing their every movement and everything they say.
"Doctor Hooper?" A lab technician pokes her head in and then blanches at the three men in the room. "Doctor Saunier told me to come and get you. He says he needs your help and it's important."
"Be right there." She answers and disentangles herself from Bruce's embrace. She looks at all of them but her head is staring at Bruce and Sherlock. Sherlock and Bruce. "Bruce…I need to…"
"Go." He says pleasantly. "I'll stay here. I'm sure the two of them will be happy to keep me company. Isn't that right?"
"Of course." John answers eagerly. "He's in good hands."
"I'll be back as soon as I can." Molly promises and then she turns to leave, only for her wrist to be caught in Bruce's hand. He pulls her towards him easily, Molly not putting up a fight.
He leans his forehead against hers. "Have you given up on me yet?" He asks her, quietly. It's not quiet enough; John can still hear every word he's saying.
Molly cradles his cheek with her free hand. "Never. You're stuck with me."
It's a very intimate moment between two people who obviously know so much about each other; John makes himself look away. Sherlock doesn't and somehow, John finds himself unsurprised when he hears the low growl that rips from Sherlock's throat.
Then Molly leaves.
And Bruce Wayne turns around to face them, eyes hard, smile dropping off his face and staring directly at Sherlock. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to meet you."
John 's pretty sure he doesn't mean for tea.
Lovely. Just great.
When Bruce Wayne first met Molly Hooper she had just lost her mother and her father sent her thousands of miles away so he could deal with his depression over losing the love of his life. She was younger than he expected and definitely smaller. Tiny, even. Fragile, is the word he would commonly associate Molly with when they were younger.
But not really, because Molly Hooper is everything but fragile. She's been through her share of heartaches and disappointments and she's always come out on the other side. She put up with the constant teasing whenever she came back to Gotham to visit him and her uncle. Bruce would always do his best to protect her but she often stopped him, told him to forget about it, she's used to it. He thinks its those four little words that made him slam two teenage boys against the wall and threaten them within an inch of their life if they ever came near her or even breathed in her vicinity ever again.
They left and Bruce never told Molly what he did. That night though, while they were scouring the fridge for a midnight snack, she grabbed his hand and squeezed it, letting him know that she knew what he did and she's thankful. Molly has always been thankful.
He supposes it was an arrangement born from her father and her uncle that allowed her to come back to Gotham every summer. Despite having Rachel around, Bruce would somehow always long for the petite British girl. Molly helped him through his darkest days, first when his parents were murdered and she crawled into his bed and held him tightly, intertwining their fingers and then when revenge clouded his mind in a haze of blood and all he wanted was to kill the man who killed his parents. She was always the light in his darkest days. She never judged him, she never tried to stop his plans, she would hear him out, lay her head on his shoulder, intertwine their fingers and listen to him.
(He thinks she's one of the main reasons why he hasn't lost himself completely.)
When he disappeared for seven years, he always thought of her. He always thought of their last conversation where she begged him to come to London, to stay with her, please, please, wherever you're going, come back. Be safe. I love you, Bruce.
(One of the first things he did, when he officially resurrected, was catch a flight to London and knock on her door. She stared at him in shock, slapped him, cried and then pulled his lips down to hers. It had been so long since he felt anything remotely and inherently good that he lost himself in the moment. In the few hours that followed it too.)
Then she tells him that she met a man, a brilliant man and I think I love him. Bruce's heart doesn't break. They have an agreement that has stemmed from when they were teenagers and their hormones were set on fire. He's happy for her. Hopes this man is a better man than Bruce could ever be. Turns out he's not. Molly tells him everything about him, what he's done (and continues to do), what he's said to her in the past five years she's known this Sherlock Holmes.
And Bruce knows that Sherlock Holmes is going to break her heart. Break the Molly he knows and loves. Which is why it doesn't surprise him but completely fucking infuriates him when she calls on Christmas completely and totally blitzed, sobbing out a story that makes Bruce's hands tighten into fists. He has to convince Alfred to stay, the man loves Molly like a daughter, instead of a niece and Alfred would kill to protect Molly. Like Bruce would.
It all works out in his favor when Sherlock Holmes and John Watson come barging into the lab as if they own it. Bruce isn't stupid, nor is he blind, he can see what Sherlock Holmes hasn't even admitted to himself when he glares at Molly and Bruce. Most particularly, at Bruce.
"So," Bruce says, after a moment of silence, "you're the self-diagnosed high-functioning sociopath I've heard so much about."
"And you're the billionaire playboy with, what is it they say about you? Ah, yes, the heart of gold." Sherlock responds. His voice is cold and indifferent but Bruce knows better. Not just from listening to Molly but from his own research. He's always looked into her boyfriends. He makes himself forget about Jim. Jim was a mistake, one that Bruce will ensure, Molly never has to deal with again.
"Is that part of your magic trick then?"
He gets indignant. "Magic trick? I assure you, it is not a magic trick, I observe and deduce, correctly."
He leans against the counter and his arms hang by his side, "of course. My apologies. Go on, then. Observe and deduce. I know you want to." He's itching to know what Sherlock can tell about him. From all that Molly has told him and all that he's researched about the man in front of him, Bruce knows that he's a genius. Beyond genius really and if he didn't make Molly cry so many times, Sherlock Holmes would prove to be a great ally. But, not-so-surprisingly, all Bruce wants to do is knock this guy's lights out.
Sherlock sucks in a deep breath. "It is evident from your interactions that you have known Molly for quite some time. The way you hold her and the way she touches you tell me that physicality is an important part in your…friendship. The softness, the sentiment, reinforces your friendship. Your need to constantly be around her is to ensure yourself that she is and will be always there for you, even after you were proclaimed dead. She mourned you and to a certain extent, she still mourns you. You've changed; it's in her body language. Her hesitancy towards you may not be evident to simple-minded people, but it is to me. Because, unlike you, I have been around her for the past five years."
"She's also keeping something for you. A secret. You are holding a secret and she is the keeper of it, which is why she ignores all the magazines that John always brings in with you on the cover. She's never said anything about you; never let it be known that she knows you, because she knows she'll become a liability. But for what? For who? Your enemies? I highly doubt rival businessmen would take interest in a British Pathologist. You're cleaning up the streets of Gotham, however, the mobsters you have crossed and destroyed, well, they may take issue with Molly."
"Gotham is a dark city and one that Molly has been to many times before, how do I know this?-John you're wondering that very same question-don't deny it, I know you are. Galas. She is your date to galas and parties because normally, a woman would be excited about the gala in and of itself, not the scientist attending. You know I hate these things, is exactly what she said, which means that she not only abhors the tediousness of them, but she hates them in general. Despite being around you, Molly has never, even though you may believe it, felt as if she is part of your world. It is why she declines moving to Gotham every time you ask. Ask me how I know this, please do. She loves London. She loves Bart's and Mr. Wayne, Molly Hooper loves working with me."
Bruce wants to laugh. He wants to tilt his head back and laugh hysterically. He already knows all of this. He knows Molly's insecurities and her fears, he knows how much she loves London, Bart's and she doesn't just love working with Sherlock, she loves him. The man is brilliant in his own right, Bruce will give him that, but he never looks beneath the surface. Even an idiot would know that Bruce has been trying to convince Molly to move to Gotham.
Sherlock doesn't know who Bruce really is and he most certainly doesn't know the extent of his relationship with Molly. And throughout all of this, Sherlock never once touched on him and his clearly evident issues that he lets the world see. No. He chose to center his deduction on Molly and Molly's presence in his life.
It speaks volumes to what the Consulting Detective will never allow himself to admit and Bruce will take it and run with it.
"Lovely," Bruce admits, "I suppose what they say is right. Can't get anything past you. However; you missed one thing."
"Enlighten me."
"Molly and I? Our physicality is on a much more intimate level than you think." The moment the words leave his mouth, Bruce studies the man before him. He sees his fists tighten, he sees his eyes blaze, his nostrils flare. He sees his cheeks, take on a light pink hue and he sees him looking him over. Trying to deduce if Bruce and Molly have recently had sex. Bruce almost feels bad for the man. Almost. "Another thing, you missed. While Molly hates galas and generally hates anything that has to do with large sums of money, she goes for me. She does everything for me because she is one of the few people who count in my life. And I let her know that."
He breathes in deep and stares into wide crystal blue eyes. "I should thank you really. You're right; I've been trying to get Molly to move to Gotham for a long time. Life…is just so much complete with her by my side. You broke her, Mr. Holmes. Christmas. Your insults were one too many and than the dominatrix, Miss Adler, was it?" She's not dead, Bruce wants to let Sherlock know that he knows, she's not dead. "Final nail in the coffin, so to speak."
"What are you saying?" John asks, his voice tight.
"I'm saying, you're going to have to find a new Pathologist. Because Molly is moving to Gotham." Molly would never leave London, not while Sherlock Holmes is alive and breathing and he'll probably have to explain to Molly why he's doing this, but she'll forgive him. She always does.
Got you. Sherlock's face falls for just a moment and his eyes hold a sense of desperation and maybe even a sense of fear of losing the one person who has never given up on him.
Then his face becomes a mask of clear emotion. "Weak." Sherlock responds. "Molly would never leave London. She'd never leave Bart's and she most certainly would never leave me."
"Why would she?" Bruce concedes, "when you keep on dangling her by a string, using her for your own purpose."
He looks affronted. "I do no such thing."
Right. Bruce has reached his threshold for British Consulting Detective assholes. "Listen to me you pompous piece of shit." He hisses, "I don't care who you are. I don't care who brother dearest is, you make Molly cry, ever again, and I'll kill you." Molly, your taste in men seriously needs to improve. Pronto.
"Quite a bit of darkness in you. Does Molly have any idea who she's gotten in bed with?" Sherlock sneers.
Bruce counts to five. "More than that, she likes it." Then he grins. "It's killing you, isn't it? You're angry at yourself because Molly Hooper beat you at your own game. She has this entire life you knew nothing about. All this time, you thought you were the center of her world and now you know you're not. I am. How does that make you feel, Sherlock?"
He plans on ripping this man apart for all the heartache he's put Molly through and by God, Bruce is going to enjoy it. But then Molly comes into the room.
She stops and assesses the room, her brown eyes going from John to Sherlock to Bruce to Sherlock to Bruce. "Oh Lord."
Bruce grins at her. Well, really, what did she expect? That he'd moon over how brilliant Sherlock fucking Holmes is? Molly knows him better than that.
"Molly." Bruce says brightly, he lifts his arm and Molly curls around him, like before. Bruce almost laughs at Sherlock's expression. "We were just discussing you."
"I'm sure you were." She says dryly. "What exactly were you discussing me for?"
"Oh," Bruce says conversationally, "about how I'm going to make you dinner tonight."
She lifts her eyebrows. "You're cooking?"
He rolls his eyes. "I'm not completely hopeless."
"Could have fooled me." She smiles sweetly when he glares at her. Ah. This. This feels good. This feels like the old days before he was Batman and before he supposedly died. He's got seven lost years to make up for.
"Lamb good?"
"Molly doesn't eat lamb." Sherlock states.
"Oh, she does." The Bruce grins, "Something about it being so tender that it comes apart in her mouth. Right, Molly?" Nasty Bruce, apparently wants to come out to play. Fine then.
He winces when she pinches his side. She sighs and nods. "It would be nice to not have takeaway. You still have my key, right? And you know where the-"
"Molly." Bruce interrupts her, "Don't worry. I'll mange. See you soon. Gentlemen, it's been fantastic. We should do this again soon, right Sherlock?" Bruce turns around and places a quick kiss on Molly's lips. "Love you." He mutters.
"Love you too." She says back.
He picks up his duffle bag and leaves the lab.
Sherlock fucking Holmes. God, he should have known from meeting his brother that he wasn't going to like the man.
"Bruce Wayne has a key to your flat?" John asks.
Molly nods and goes over to her station. She left the three men alone for a half hour and God only knows what Bruce said during that time. She knows Bruce. She knows that he can come off as being smug and generally a bit of an ass and she knows Sherlock and well…that just speaks for itself, right? There were a number of reasons why she never wanted the two of them to meet. World War Three of the Minds is one of the main reasons.
She knows that Bruce is protective of her. He always has been and he most definitely has no problem letting her know about his feelings on her boyfriends or her crushes. He's like Sherlock that way. And oh God. She has a type. Tall (well, medium, she supposes in Bruce's case), dark, mysterious and a case of identity crisis on the side (obviously.)
"Yes." She answers John. "It just makes things easier. He's got a place to crash whenever he comes to London instead of having to go to a hotel. I've got a set of keys to his place too." She sneaks a glance at Sherlock and sees that his back is turned to her. His muscles are tight and tense and Molly really wants to know what was said when she was gone. "Look," she says to them, don't say it Molly. You don't need to say it, in fact, you shouldn't, at all. "Bruce is very protective of me. He can be a bit…intimidating and well, I'm sorry if he said something untoward." There. Words out and she can't take them back. She won't.
Then Sherlock makes a strangled noise that sounds oddly like a snort. "He's a possessive egotistical American with obvious anger issues, a dark side to rival the moon and money he has no idea what to do with. You'd do well to never see him again."
Right. She takes them back. She's not sorry at all. "Sure." She says sarcastically, "I'll get right on that."
"I knew you would see it my way."
She frowns, "are you mental? I was being sarcastic. I'm not cutting Bruce out of my life just because you said so."
"And why ever not? You've done so with every other man, for the main reason that you cling to hope of me reciprocating your feelings."
Ah, yes, the proverbial knife. She was wondering when she'd see that again.
"Sherlock!" John hisses.
And this is her life. Her life keeping one man's secret and trying to catch the heart of another who wants absolutely nothing to do with her. It hurts a lot more than she thought it would. "And that will just never happen, will it?" She says and she's horrified to find her voice breaking. Sherlock twirls around in his seat to look at her. His eyes taking in her every flaw, her every breath. She wonders if he can see her heart break. She wonders if he even gives a fuck. "I'm nothing to you but means and access to things that no person in their right mind would let you have. I'm a tool."
She winces at the sudden truth…at least she's not stuttering. She just feels like she's breaking.
"Bruce-"
"Don't." She snaps. She takes in a deep breath. "I may be nothing you admire in a person. I'm not as clever as you, or as smart as John and most certainly not as beautiful as Irene Adler once was…and you can say all of that. Truly you can. But do not ever, and Sherlock, I do mean ever, say anything about Bruce. He's…he's…twice the man you'll ever be."
And because she feels the telltale signs of tears pooling in her eyes, she leaves the lab.
(She leaves a trail of the broken shards of her heart as she walks. She doubts anyone will notice. She doubts anyone will care.)
He almost rears back at the sudden feeling that intensifies and bursts within his body when he sees Molly in a man's embrace. He's met her boyfriends before, he's the main cause of the reason why they never work, but he knows without even talking to this man, that this man is different. That he means something entirely different to Molly.
Her familiarity with him and the way she ignores Sherlock makes him hate this man even more. He sizes him up, picks him apart and waits for the right moment to tear him apart. And he does. His intelligence is enough to scare most people away but not this man. Not Bruce Wayne.
He just smiles at him and goads him.
He feels something (not his heart, most definitely not his heart) fall into his stomach when Bruce tells him that Molly is leaving London to live in Gotham where life is so complete when the two of them together. Sherlock has never wanted to snarl and break someone as much as he does this man. It's only when he apprises the man that he realizes he's tricking him into a reaction, which he undoubtedly gave away, even if for just a second. (Oh, he's good. He's very good. Mr. Wayne, you're most certainly what you appear to be, are you?)
In seriousness, Sherlock doesn't see what the big deal is with this man. He knows who he is, vaguely, because John cannot shut up about the man, but he cannot see the appeal. So, why on earth, does Molly? It's not his money. It's not his fame. It most certainly isn't his personality; he's American for crying aloud.
Sentiment, then. Molly has known him for a long time. He relies on her and Molly is too nice of a person to let him go. That's all. He's certain that's all. He's familiar to Molly.
So, he lets Molly know, like he did with all her other boyfriends, that it's okay to let Bruce Wayne go.
Which backfires spectacularly.
It turns out Bruce Wayne means more to Molly than just sentiment and Sherlock is not comfortable with that. At all.
(She thinks awful things about herself. He's made her think awful thinks about herself and suddenly, Sherlock knows why Bruce threatened to kill him. It's not about possessiveness but protectiveness. It's an instinct to protect.)
What infuriates him though, is that despite everything, Molly still believes in Bruce Wayne. The fact that she can stand in front of him and tell him that Bruce is twice the man he'll ever be, does something to him. It makes him…feel something in the pit of his stomach and it churns and twists when he sees her brown eyes pool with unshed tears.
Molly Hooper has kept an entire life away from him. She's dropped her stuttering for the first time in five years and she's letting him go.
She, Molly Hooper, is letting him, Sherlock Holmes go. Because of Bruce Wayne.
Well, that's not going to happen. He's not going to lose the best Pathologist he's ever had because of feelings. Absurd, really. He takes out his phone and sends a text.
"Do you have plans with Susie on New Year's Eve?"
"It's Sarah and yes, we do have plans." John responds brightly.
"Cancel them. We're going to a gala."
"What? No. No. Sherlock. Don't you dare. Just let her go. Let her let you go. You're killing the poor girl."
Why does everyone see but not observe? Yes, he wields a knife and he's quite good at cutting people down but Molly Hooper, well, she holds one too and it's dangling dangerously close to him. (Not at his heart though, definitely not at his heart.)
Right. Okay. So, it goes like this. Bruce was all like 'Me Batman, you, poopoo head' to Sherlock and Sherlock was all like 'Me smart, you dumb dumb.' Then fists were supposed to fly. Seriously. But then, I was thinking and thought to myself, "these are the world's two most intelligent and really fucking scary guys to be around. Their words are their weapons. Their cool and elusive personalities, their armor." Which is why the smack down, turned out not to be so much a smack down as just the two of them pulling their dicks out and measuring. With poor John rendered speechless.
I wanted punches to be thrown. I wanted Sherlock to admit his love for Molly and I wanted Bruce to kick his ass. Of course, they would be sophisticated to not come to physical blows. Assholes. They ruined my plans.
So, this is me, apologizing for probably disappointing the lot of you. Seriously. I am so sorry. I still hope that you guys enjoyed it because honestly, I did enjoy writing it and hopefully, you'll see where I'm coming from.
Also, a most lovely reviewer brought this up: how does John know about Bruce Wayne? To me, Bruce is like…a better version of the Trumps. He's known everywhere because Wayne Enterprises stretches everywhere and he's essentially the poster boy, making Wayne an extremely well-known figure. Hopefully, this clears up some confusion, but if I've managed to confuse anyone, feel free to PM me!
Thank you guys for being awesome. Also, I am utterly flabbergasted and really shocked at the response to this. Like HOLY SHIT I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS HAPPENED kind of shocked. EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU IS AWESOME. Which leads me to a HUGE KICK ASS SHOUTOUT TO MY REVIEWERS: Guests, Toys R Us NOT, Zora Arian, suki2618, J, magicstrikes, varjaks, Diana Holland, Keira-House M.D, LewStonewar, Rantress, hihiyas, Calicar, Lian, Mione W.G, katdemon1895, Sherloky, Heather Snow, thefadingdaysofMay, crooney83, SammyKatz, CreamCrop, Rocking the Redhead, starryeyedgeek, Anonymous, Attracted2Insanity, wisehealerwarrior, , AlexaClyne, lucyyh and Lou. If I missed anyone, I apologize greatly. You are all AWESOME. Also, HUGE SHOUTOUT to everyone who has alerted/subscribed/followed/favorited, all of you AWESOME!
Thanks again and much love!
P.S. Sherlock, Molly, Bruce and John at a gala? With Mycroft present? Hells to the yeah. This is what the next two chapters will be about. Hopefully, if they cooperate with me. LOL.