"Really, Molly. Have you learned NOTHING?" Sherlock was genuinely dismayed.

"What the hell are you talking about now?" was the acid reply. Molly was busy in the lab, trying to wrap up her tasks for the day so she may get home to prepare for her date that night, and Sherlock was working her last frayed nerve.

"Molly, I appreciate your desire for an active romantic life and… other pursuits. But I hardly think Craig is the match you really want."

Molly took a deep breath, gathering her patience. Setting down the vial she had in her hand, she turned to look Sherlock in the eye.

"And how would YOU know what I really want?"

Sherlock smiled brightly. He thought she'd never ask.

"Well, I have observed you in the past making… poor substitutions in your choice of partner. Really, could you not see the similarities between myself and Tim? Or think I wouldn't notice?"

"TOM," Molly said with mild annoyance. "Anyway that was ages ago. I've moved on from both him, and you. Though admittedly I never felt any desire to stab YOU with a fork." Molly couldn't help the hint of a smile at Sherlock at this admission.

"No, I'm sure your choice of weapon in stabbing me would have been much more… pre-meditated, not to mention effective" Sherlock grinned. "To be completely fair, I would imagine you harbor a rather strong desire to stab me with something right now."

Molly once again attempted a blank look, but the gleam of well-meaning mischief in Sherlock's eyes was beginning to wear her down. "Perhaps," was all she would say to that, her mouth twitching.

"So anyway," Sherlock continued, "back to my point. You wanted me, and you couldn't have me. So you made a substitution. An ill-advised one, at that. He was an idiot if I ever saw one."

Molly finally allowed a crooked smile to flash. "Yeah, he was a bit… thick, wasn't he?"

Sherlock smiled smugly. "Not as thick as you're being right now, Molly Hooper. You substituted Tom for myself because you couldn't have me, nor would you have had me even after I returned from the dead, as I'm just not wired for romantic entanglements. Now you're substituting someone else for Greg Lestrade, the chief difference being that you actually COULD have him if you wanted to."

"Greg? He's seeing someone though, isn't he?" Molly said as she picked up a clipboard.

"Broadly speaking, yes," Sherlock conceded. "And she's a damned poor substitute for you, as well. Holly is her name. For two ostensibly intelligent people you and Greg are certainly not demonstrating it very well. Holly and Craig? SERIOUSLY Molly? Is that the best the two of you can do?"

In spite of Sherlock's earlier prediction, it did appear that Greg had, in fact, arranged a third date with Holly. The world's only consulting detective had shown up at Molly's lab that day with an ulterior motive and the firm knowledge that technically, he hadn't been wrong about that third date, as it had been the result of Sherlock's urging.

"Well, what would YOU suggest then, Romeo Holmes?" Molly was seeing less and less charm in her casual dates with Craig.

"A double date," was Sherlock's rapid reply. A little too rapid, if you asked Molly about it.

"Well… what the hell, why not," was Molly's response, punctuated by a nervous laugh and a shrug. She was about to start running late, and at this point, she really only wanted to wrap up for the day so she could head home. Agreeing with Sherlock's suggestions, no matter how dodgy his plans may be in retrospect, seemed the fastest way to accomplish what she needed to at the moment.

Three days later, Molly Hooper and Greg Lestrade would find themselves sitting in a restaurant, both having just been ditched after the appetizers by their dates, who had suspiciously decided that they needed to visit the restrooms at the same time - a mere 20 minutes after they'd all arrived.

Upon their arrival at the restaurant, Molly had noted with smug satisfaction that Holly had split ends and poor eyesight marked by a perpetual squint – clearly a vain attempt to get by without glasses. Greg had smirked privately to himself that Craig's hair was not only silvering, but vanishing into a receding hairline. The man also appeared to have bad hearing, as all he seemed able to do was smile and nod.

"This is a rather nice wine, in my experience," Molly said with a shrug, as she twirled her glass.

Greg nodded, their awkward realizations that Holly and Craig had permanently buggered off on them beginning to dissolve into the romantic ambiance of the restaurant. "We haven't ordered our main courses yet," Greg pointed out, a smile beginning to form. "I'm still rather peckish, don't know about you."

"I'm famished," Molly admitted. "And we do have this lovely table, and the candlelight, and this second bottle of wine. Be a shame to waste it, I think, don't you?" She raised her eyes to look at him with a mysterious expression, somewhere between bashful and come-hither.

Greg nodded thoughtfully, flashing the smile he was famous for in his circle of friends and colleagues. "I shaved twice today," Greg admitted with a chuckle. "Be a shame to waste THAT too," he winked. Molly smiled broadly and giggled.

"Well then, since we're here anyway and the night is young, would you care to have dinner with me, Gregory Lestrade?"

"It's a date, Molly Hooper," he said, raising his glass to clink against hers.