Thanks for staying with me whilst we got all the background stuff out of the way, but now I think it's about time to move the story along, dont you?

Chapter 3

Needless to say they did not forget the drugs and the next couple of weeks were tedious to say the least. John insisted on moving back in temporarily to 'keep an eye' on him. It was like being back in jail all over again with John querying what he was doing and where he was going all the time.

It didn't help that they were getting nowhere with Moriarty's appearance. Mycroft's people had worked out how it had been done but they had no leads on the whole. It was all smoke and mirrors, false personas and fake ID's.

Sherlock knew this was a trigger for something to happen he just didn't know what or when it would take place. He had his homeless network looking out for any changes, following key people but so far there had been nothing.

Finally, with Mary's due date creeping ever closer John moved back home. Whilst it was a relief to not have him constantly checking up on him it was also a final ending of sorts. They both knew that this was probably the last time that John would live there and Sherlock knew he would miss him. It brought his mind back round to Molly.

He had tried his utmost not to give her much thought since his return but it hadn't worked. He certainly hadn't seen her and had no idea whether John had said anything about his almost exile or his recent drug usage. He knew absolutely what Molly's opinion would be on the latter and he had a good idea how she would have felt about him leaving without saying goodbye. Neither would be good. Thing was he didn't just need her help with the Mary situation he found he actually missed her. It had been too long.

So, the day after John moved out Sherlock decided it was finally time to go to Barts and pay her a visit. He knew he had some "fences to mend" and he wanted to ensure the visit went as smoothly as possible and to that end he wasn't averse to using sex to distract her and bring her on side. He paid particular attention to his hair and his clothes, picking out a purple shirt, knowing she had a thing for him in that colour, pairing it with an almost uncomfortably tight suit, giving his curls a 'just out of bed' ruffled look. When he was happy with his overall appearance he shouted a goodbye to Mrs Hudson and set off.

He felt a strange sense of home-coming as he made his way through the corridors of the familiar hospital. The last time he'd been here was as a patient so to be walking through the hallways instead of being pushed in a wheelchair was a pleasant return to normality. As was the welcome sight of Molly leaning over her paperwork in the lab as he entered. He saw her glance up and then do a double take as she recognised him.

He also saw the space where her engagement ring had once sat, and the new shorter hairstyle that she was trying out to give herself a lift. New Year and a new start; it was all so predictably conventional but calming just the same.

She smiled at him briefly before frowning; so she was glad to see him on his feet but still unhappy with him. He knew he needed to build some bridges with her he just wasn't sure exactly how he should go about it.

'Hi Sherlock, it's good to see you up and about again. Back in London then?'

He saw the blush that spread over her cheeks as they both remembered the last time they had seen each other.

'Have you come about anything in particular? A case?'

He watched her shuffling some papers around trying to distract herself from how she was feeling about him and he felt a sudden and inexplicable rush of feelings for her. How had he neglected their friendship, her, for so long? He needed her.

He walked up to her desk and perched on a stool opposite her. 'No, no case. I just realised that I hadn't seen you recently and...and I mean to rectify that.'

Molly looked at him with almost comical surprise. 'Oh...I..are you alright Sherlock?'

He laughed at her shocked expression. 'Yes Molly, I'm fine but I see you are busy right now.' He stood up. The next words out of his mouth surprised even him. 'How about dinner tonight? There's a little Italian around the corner from my flat, Angelo's, we can meet at say seven o'clock?'

He saw her nod her head in a slightly dazed way and knew he was treading precariously close to 'date' territory but he found he didn't care. He wanted, no...he needed to make up to Molly for the last few months of disappointment and neglect. She deserved nothing less from him.

He slapped his hands on his knees and stood up. 'Until later then' and with that he took himself off.

As he walked out into the bitingly, cold January air he stopped, pulling on his black leather gloves and tightening his...no Molly's favourite blue scarf. He decided he needed the walk even if it was icy and wintry. At least he was here, in his own city, London. He wanted to feel connected to the place that he had come so close to leaving forever and at least the oft tread city pavements weren't slippy even as he felt himself faltering with his personal life. He needed to understand what he was doing with Molly and fast. He had until seven o'clock and it suddenly felt pivotal.

All his dreams and thoughts from the last couple of months were rolling around in his head. It had become apparent that if he were to start a relationship with anyone it would be Molly. But did he want to start one? Loneliness should not be the reason. But it was more than that; she hadn't been far from his thoughts for months now. Always there just under the surface of his mind and his emotions. Somehow she had become so much more than just a friend, he trusted her implicitly and she had never failed him.

How many times had he failed her though? It was more than she even realised. She obviously had no idea about him nearly leaving or taking drugs again. She wouldn't have been half so welcoming if she had. Was he right to think about embarking on a relationship without telling her the truth, all of the truth? Not to mention the fact that she may no longer want him. He knew she still had feelings for him but that didn't mean she wanted to act on them.

That reminded him and he fished his phone out of his inside pocket, swearing at the weather as he was forced to remove his glove so he could dial. 'Hello, yes table for two for seven tonight and make it your best. The name? Tell Angelo it's for Holmes, Sherlock Holmes. Thank you.'

He hung up and carried on his way, ignoring the constant barrage of shoppers and ubiquitous sale signs in all the shop windows.

Molly had always been there for him and had given him so much but what had he ever done for her? What part of himself had he ever given to her?

An unfamiliar sense of shame spread across him causing him to halt abruptly in the street, a couple of passersby swearing at him as they almost barreled into him. He ignored them as he concentrated on this new feeling. He couldn't really recall having it before except when Molly had slapped him for drug use. He was Sherlock Holmes; he didn't feel shame or regret. The only other time he had come close was when he thought he had been played by the Woman and had let Mycroft and his country down but that had turned out to be both short lived and false.

Before he knew it he was back in Baker St being berated by Mrs Hudson for letting himself get so cold. 'I don't know what you were thinking, Sherlock, walking about in this weather in your condition.'

She pulled his coat off his shoulders even as she pushed him up the stairs.

'My condition...and what condition would that be?'

'John's only just moved out and I know he was here to keep an eye on you. Plus your mother rang before Christmas and told me you were still convalescing. You almost died from that gunshot wound, Sherlock, and you only made it worse when you left the hospital to go gadding about who knows where. Now you sit down in front of that fire and I'll make you a nice cup of tea. Just this once mind I'm...'

'Yes, yes I know,' he smiled at her affectionately; 'you're not my housekeeper.'

'Well, it would do you good to remember it. Now I might have a few of your favourite biscuits downstairs. Back in a mo.'

Sherlock sat looking into the comforting warmth of the fire and contemplated his own sentimentality. Maybe being so close to death twice in the last couple of months had changed him. People often said that it did, although he conceded it was more than possible that they were idiots. He didn't like to consider his reactions as being ordinary, himself as being ordinary. He wasn't sure he liked it.

Mrs Hudson bustled back in with tea for two and Sherlock rolled his eyes, 'no chores to do today Mrs Hudson?'

'No, nothing urgent. Now what's going on with you and John at the moment. Is everything alright with him and Mary now? I was ever so worried when he moved back in here yet again. He's like a boomerang isn't he...keeps coming back.'

'Surely there's shopping you need to do?'

'No, we've plenty of food in. We still have some leftovers from Christmas if you're hungry, chocolates and things. I expect you're missing him aren't you? You liked him being here again, we both did. Maybe you could invite him and Mary round for dinner, I don't mind cooking?'

'Clothes shopping then, there are plenty of sales on at the moment and God knows your wardrobe could do with updating.'

'Shall we say Wednesday? Do you have anything on that night? No, of course you don't. You've been very quiet since you got back.' She patted his knee. 'I understand dear. It was such a shock you almost being sent away and at Christmas as well. Your poor mother, what would she have done?'

Sherlock put his cup down feeling unreasonably frustrated. 'Mrs Hudson I am not quiet and I do have things that I am doing, I'm out tonight as a matter of fact...with Molly.'

As soon as the words left his mouth he regretted it. This was something Mrs Hudson was not going to let go of.

'Oh that's nice dear. Are you helping her with something at work or carrying out some kind of experiment together?'

For some bizarre reason the fact that Mrs Hudson had assumed it wasn't a date irked him.

'As a matter of fact I'm taking her to dinner, at Angelo's.'

'A stakeout then, I didn't know you had another case on at the moment or is it still connected to that man on the telly? He looked very ordinary...hard to think of him being a big criminal, such a short man as well from the pictures in the paper...'

'No, not a case Mrs Hudson, a date.'

'A date? You...and Molly?' The derision in her voice just wound him up even more.

'Yes, me and Molly. Why is that so hard to believe?'

Even as he said the words he was riding a wave of disbelief himself. How had he ended up being so determined to prove to his landlady that this was the one thing he'd been trying to convince himself it wasn't?

'Well, if you ask me Sherlock...'

'I'm not!'

Mrs Hudson ploughed on regardless. 'It's about time you settled down and Molly's a lovely girl. You could do a lot worse and she seems to understand your ways...you know...'

'No, I don't know. What ways?' He grumbled petulantly.

'We all have our foibles Sherlock. Anyway I must be getting on I can't just sit about chatting all day I have a date of my own to be getting ready for. Mr Constantine from the Greek Taverna down the road is taking me out tonight.'

'Hmm, whatever you do don't agree to either marry him or lend him any money.'

Mrs Hudson stood and smiled down at him indulgently, patting his shoulder. 'OK and don't do anything with Molly that John wouldn't do.'

Sherlock smirked. 'That doesn't leave much out then does it?'

As she left the room he turned back to the fire and sank into the peace and quiet of his mind palace.

So, is it a date or is it not a date? Sherlock can't seem to decide so you guys will have to. Hope you're still enjoying it, let me know and I'll be back soon.