The next day, Sherlock slept late. He'd been up all night thinking, rehashing his evening with Molly, committing the pleasurable parts to memory while trying to find out where he went wrong in the not-so-good parts. It didn't help his confidence at all when he found that when he was most familiar were the times Molly thought he was a crazy person. Well, I am a crazy person, aren't I? The sooner she can accept that detail, the better!

He tried calling John again after getting dressed, but he wouldn't pick up. After the third try, it went straight to voicemail. Instead, he sent a text, demanding he get in touch as soon as possible. It irked him when he made it all the way back to the hospital without hearing back. Still, he took a steadying breath and walked into the lab where Doctor Hooper held court. With two steaming mugs of coffee, he breezed behind Molly and placed hers on her work station. She turned around with a barely-concealed gasp. Sherlock studied her: dilated pupils, flushed cheeks, twitchy mouth...lipstick?! Hmm...looks like I didn't make such a mess of things.

A smile fluttered at Molly's lips, her hand closed around her mug, and she simply stared up at him for several seconds. "Well, no mystery involved in this one, but at least he managed to die 'interesting' as you hoped for." She let him get a look at her latest subject. "Suspected cult activity. Looks like he managed to chew through barbed wire to saw his head open."

Sherlock's expression certainly brightened. He bent over the grisly figure like a child examining his especially longed-for Christmas toy. "Now this is how you off yourself, Molly! None of this wishy-washy way of sleeping pills like our friend from yesterday. If you want to end it all, go out in style! Finally, someone with consideration for the people who have to deal with him after he's gone!" He carelessly flung an arm around Molly's shoulders, glowing with pleasure. He pulled up a chair and perched eagerly next to her, gazing raptly between the pathologist and the corpse. Molly had never seen him smile so much! He watched eagerly as she performed the postmortem. She could tell from his expression he was committing it to memory. Like a burgeoning cook copying an ambitious recipe from a cooking program, Sherlock memorized Molly's every move.

Hands...dextrous, sensitive, so very keen, he admired, puzzled why he was suddenly recording her movements now. He'd only gone on last night's date with her at John and Mary's urging, but he had to admit that he'd actually enjoyed himself when he wasn't in the grips of paralysing fear or even more paralysing beer. Conventional dating would never be his forte, but he had to admit that Molly had potential. She was certainly an enjoyable companion at the best of times. At the worst...well, he'd be the first to admit he needed a few good slaps to the face now and again.

After finishing up with her 'interesting' subject, Molly removed her gloves, washed up and sat down next to Sherlock, sipping her coffee. "Thanks," she told him simply. He just grunted distractedly as he drank his down, eager for the stimulant to hit his brain. Accustomed to his usual brusqueness, Molly patted his hand with a genial smile, getting a startled look from him in return. He took her positive mood as a good sign and smiled back.

"Now, this is my idea of a coffee date," Sherlock announced contentedly. "This, I can handle. No fussing about to behave. Just you, me, regular coffee that I can pronounce in one breath, and a few good dead bodies to poke around with. This is Heaven!" He exhaled with a satisfied sigh, looking as though all was right with the world. He smiled over at her, and was surprised to see hers fade from her face. "What's wrong? What did I do now?"

She shook her head, setting her cup down. "Nothing. Just..."

He'd already started to guess what the problem was. "This isn't your idea of a date," he filled in dully, growling softly to himself. A blush crept to his pale cheeks as he wondered for the first time if there was really something wrong with him.

Molly saw his signs of distress, and was quick to recant. "It's fine. Really. I had no idea how worried you were yesterday. This is fine, we can count this as a date." Sherlock heaved a frustrated sigh, running his fingers through his hair, staring sulkily at the floor. He felt a pang of loneliness: John had yet to return his messages. Who else did he know who could help him through this? After some soul-searching last night, he admitted that he did care about Molly Hooper, and not just because of her role in his elaborate death-hoax. He remembered her flitting through his mind palace, a solid voice of reason, when he needed her the most. She was part of him. He realized he trusted her, valued her, believed in her abilities and relied on her conscience as his moral compass. He always made her make that look on her face, though. That...disappointed face that made him feel cold inside. Somehow, though, in spite of that, she'd become his friend when neither of them expected it.

She could tell that Sherlock was still upset, and tried to bring him around. For starters, she got up and took his empty mug from him, went out and got them both a refill, stirring in two sugar packets into his. She handed it back to him as he gazed up at her.

He cocked his head at her like a curious puppy. "You know how I take my coffee," he observed with mild surprise.

"Of course I do. You've told me enough."

He gave her a small, uncertain smile. "Thank you." They were both quiet for a while as they felt each other out.

"It's all right, really," Molly assured him, touching his shoulder. He just nodded, and started gulping down his second cup, glad to be having a "date" on his terms. "Sherlock...could you tell me something?"

Calmly, he assumed his usual superior tone. "I could tell you lots of things," he informs her haughtily as he laid his empty cup aside. He already felt the effects of the stimulating beverage. He felt keen, alert, ready to process anything.

Molly smirked comfortably, secure that this was her Sherlock. It was certainly a welcome change from the stammering wreck who'd been masquerading as him yesterday. "Is this some kind of experiment for you? Or...is this something you actually want to do?"

He regarded her with a raised eyebrow. "It's an experiment that I actually want to do."

"So, what's the experiment?" Molly braced herself, certain she isn't going to like the answer. His blunt admission of an experiment already turned her off.

"People...or something close enough. Oh, that's not what I meant!" he drove a hand into his forehead as he calculated how that probably sounded to outside ears. "I meant it as a compliment, really. Here, listen...it's like what I talked to Mycroft about last night. I'm not 'people', he certainly isn't, John may have been once, but he isn't anymore, Mary never was but she had to act like one for a while...and you...you may have thought you were 'people', raised as one, taught to act like one, but you're..."

"I'm what?" she challenged, not getting the gist of it at all.

"You're like me! You're...closer...to being like me than the other way round. Do you understand? You look all unassuming and you fade into the background, but you've proven your mettle time and again. You're not the innocent flower people assume you to be. You notice everything! You use your head! We're the same, all right?! Or...close enough to it. I don't know how to better explain it, if you've never felt different. I can't be wrong about this, though, I've seen it in you. It's why I'm here."

"So, what, this was some kind of quest to find one of your own kind?! Whatever you are? Mission accomplished?"

"Molly, try to be sensible. I didn't mean it like that."

She sat back with a huff, not liking this conversation at all, but acknowledging to herself that she'd asked. "Why don't you just say what you mean?"

"I mean that I'm here, with you because I...because..." he petered out pitifully, then leaned in and muttered to her in an undertone, as though he was unaccustomed to saying such things aloud. "I like you, all right? We're the same, we see each other. We exist here." Again, he recalled when his mind palace had taken the shape of this room. Molly had been there to guide him through his crisis. Calm and steady. We exist here, together! He stood up and stared down at her, taking in her expression as she grasped what he'd been trying to tell her. "You think I'd drop everything and go on a random date with just any normal knuckle-dragging human?! My pool is very selective. I remember finding it incredibly annoying. All of my schoolmates paired off left and right, asking me when I planned to do the same. Next, colleagues from work did, some even tried setting me up with someone and it was always a bigger disaster than yesterday and today were combined! Just picture that! Yes. I've gone my whole life without even the desire to connect with another person. I'd had no reason or use for it. Then he-" he broke off, covering his mouth. Thinking about it like this was painful, speaking of it shook him considerably. It only reminded him how badly he missed John, and how it will never be the same as it always was with him again.

"When you say 'selective' you mean just- ...Oh, Sherlock..." Her whole face glowed with her realization to how small pool was. Her, and John.

"This is not meant as a "rebound"," he assured her, broadly gesturing quotation marks around the last word, as though he'd only just looked it up last night. "I just...wanted... I knew how you felt about me, you made that quite obvious. I wondered what it would be like. I wasn't trying to take advantage." Sherlock sat back down with his face in his hands, sulking again. "Can't do anything right. Stupid."

Molly sighed, placing a hand on his shoulder. He didn't pull away or make any sign of discomfort. He actually arched his back toward her touch, exposing his loneliness as well as his unshakeable trust in her. Sherlock reminded her of a feral cat that had gotten into her yard when she was young. Fierce, scrawny, wary...but she'd gotten it into her head to tame the creature. After a while, it actually came to her hand, allowed her to pet him and gentle him. Molly smiled at the memory, thinking that the experience might help her with this particular project. "You wanted to be with someone whom you knew loved you. You wondered what it was like to have someone love you. That's the experiment." Pity overcame her. Just his innocent curiosity of the idea struck her as sad. When she'd first met Sherlock, she'd taken him as a personal challenge. She'd done her best to get a reaction out of him, to get him to notice her...all the while he'd seemed oblivious. It wasn't true, though. He'd always seen, always noticed her, marked her as one of his own kind. While he'd been unwaveringly uninterested in her, Molly was beginning to suspect that it wasn't out of coldness. He'd just been so frustrated for so long, accustomed to being disappointed by people. He'd given up, but that didn't mean he couldn't observe. His careless, cutting words he'd dealt her now appeared as a defense mechanism. Keeping her away to keep from being hurt, to stop her and himself from caring.

She cupped his cheek in her hand, guiding his head up, and gave him a kiss. When they parted, she smiled dreamily as the oddest expression crept up on Sherlock's face. "Do that again. For the experiment, of course."

"Of course." In that second kiss, she threw aside any hopes or expectations she had of him acting like a normal person. She'd gladly meet him on his playing field; it was what she was used to, anyway. She'd seen his moods, his manias, his bizarre joys and silent sorrows, been at his side for her share of them. "Sherlock, I love you," she whispered against his lips.

"Really?" he whispered back.

"Mmm," Molly hummed pleasurably, drawing a finger down his lips. Sherlock let her kiss him again, leaving both of them feeling strangely breathless. It acted on Sherlock's brain like a drug, like a more potent cocktail than he'd toyed with in his disreputable past. Love...the ultimate human puzzle. Despite all reasons why she shouldn't, Molly loves me. He'd always assumed that love was a weakness, but might it be a strength as well? Love drove Miss Hooper to his side when he needed a confederate. He was grateful for her, truly. He felt warmth creep over him, his super-computer brain went pleasantly fuzzy as he stared at her. This time, his mind shot out warnings to him: don't do anything stupid now! He smiled, tilting his head at her, as he pondered his experiment. He had to call it that in order for it to appear worthwhile. He certainly didn't date people for normal reasons!

"Molly...stop me if I'm doing this wrong." He nuzzled gently into her hairline, down to her ear, her jaw, her neck...just grazing her as he went along. It was not an unpleasant experience, he noted. Beneath the smell of her shower soaps and body spray, he found her own personal scent. He breathed deeply, she smelled fantastic! It was all he could do not to lap at her, hungrily. Why she would want to cover that up with artificial fragrances was a complete mystery to him. Molly did nothing to stop him, she went along with his curious examination with a smile on her face. She stopped herself from giggling at his expense. It wasn't likely to be taken well if she did. For all his brashness and swagger, it struck her as rather sweet that he remained this innocent and ignorant of matters of the heart and the flesh. For some reason, he didn't dare kiss her. He figured they'd done enough of that and any more would spoil what they'd built so far. Still, he enjoyed her softness, her scent...it was strangely pleasant, as different as it was.

By some odd luck, things went well for them for several weeks. It was an uphill battle, with both parties pulling their weight every day. Sherlock, for all of his redeemable qualities, was not an easy person to love. After their first few successful dates, he'd gone back to his old manner of treating Molly. Briefly, she'd allowed it, but then fought back once she realized they were more than just colleagues and she deserved a bit more consideration at this point. It took educating him in good behavior. Everyone from John and Mary to Detective Inspector Lestrade was involved in his tutelage. Together, they groomed him to be the best that he could be. Molly had as much to learn, regarding her new boyfriend. Despite the shift in their relationship, he was still and always would be the same old Sherlock. She learned to navigate his waters, from his catatonic lethargy between cases to his glorious, energetic urgency when he was hot on the scent. She struggled at times at rousing him and keeping up with him in turn; it was like training for a marathon! After much work and a fair bit of trouble, he and Molly were ready to take things to the next level...