Hello everyone! Sorry for taking so long with an update! This has been one of the more difficult chapters for me to write, mostly because I suck at it and didn't know where this was going, exactly. But we're back on track now!

Thanks for all the lovely reviews Growl Snarl, booda77, Mid-Nite-Potter, Noctornias, eccentricpetal, PurpleYin, Mrs Max McDowell (thanks for all the baked goods, love!), Hellscrimsonangel, Petra Todd, rory'sfan04, AnastasiaBeaverhausen01, Lannie, and Mione W.G! I am chuffed you guys like it here. And since The Full House is angst city right now, I figured this might help (bet you guys even forgot that Sherlock ever lived at Molly's flat, didn't you?).

Special thanks to Emcee Frodis for being my soulmate, rewriting bits of this to make more sense, and for generally putting up with me.

Disclaimer: I own NOTHING. Really. It's a bit pathetic.

HOOPER HOUSE RULES

based on "The Full House" (Chapter 8)

Ch. 3 Classical Appreciation

Sherlock needed to think.

Cold showers were helpful in getting him to concentrate on something besides the way that his body was rebelling, particularly whenever he'd watched Molly move around the flat.

She'd been on her imposed leave from Barts and had been... Quite frankly, looking a bit lost.
Since their... Encounter, he'd avoided her as much as possible within the small flat, but he kept a watchful eye on her.

The first day, she'd gotten out of bed at her usual hour and dressed, only to sit quietly in her kitchen, staring at a mug of tea for entirely too long. She'd spent the rest of the day distracted, seeming as if she was looking at her things through the eyes of a stranger.

Sherlock frowned, going back to doing his best to NOT think about Molly Hooper. It was already proven she had far too much power over him, if the kiss they'd shared was any indication. His body was reacting without his consent and even his brain was wandering off into momentary oblivion. It simply would not do.

He'd tired of searching the internet Sebastian Moran- he'd have to wait until the Woman returned later to find out more- and dealing with his current situation with the Pathologist who stood in the kitchen, feeding the cat twice as many times as normal.

He picked up his violin, going about tuning the strings and applying resin to the bow in long practiced movements as his mind worked through the information he'd gathered. His fingers slid easily over the strings in movements practiced over a lifetime that had always proved useful for focus. He chose a melody at random, something complicated and deeply classical, making the memory of his mother's stern voice creep up to remind him that he was wanting in all the ways that mattered.

"That's lovely."

Molly's voice interrupted him abruptly. That was new and a bit unsettling. He turned to look at her sharply. She reddened under his gaze, but continued on, "What you were just playing. It was really lovely. It seemed...I dunno, sad, though."

Sherlock frowned, finally noting that it was dark in the flat now. He'd been playing for several hours intermittently. Despite that, he wasn't any further along in solving his problem. He took a moment to recall what he'd been playing that was so "sad", as Molly had observed. It had been something from the book of his own compositions. He now realized that he had subconsciously selected the piece he'd written about the Woman to be able to navigate the pastel room that was reserved for Molly Hooper. Needless to say that it hadn't actually worked.

"Yes," he replied to Molly's comment finally, only to notice that she had left the room, now completely dark.

He put the violin and bow down, his shoulders and joints protesting at the prolonged position. He stretched himself out on the couch, listening for Molly within the house, noting the sounds of her shifting in the bedroom. Sleeping by now, he realized, if the hour on the mantelpiece clock was anything to judge by. She had been in the habit of sleeping early, putting her hair up in a loose braid most nights. He imagined her nestled down into her pillow, blankets pulled up to her chin. How easy it would be to simply slip in beside her, mold himself against her and get the rest that he so often thought unnecessary. Perhaps, she would wake and be willing to experiment with kissing again.

Bollocks.

This was not the way to delete their encounter from two days ago. It didn't usually take him this long to delete an experience.

His eyes flew open as he reached a realization.

He didn't want to delete it. The thought was... Honestly, he wasn't sure what it was. Another thing to add to the pile of data he didn't know what to do with.

With a growl of frustration, he stood up from the couch, peeling off nicotine patch he'd applied that morning and dropped it to replace it with a fresh one. Sherlock hated all the uncertainty, the feeling that it produced in him. It threw him off balance, made him completely unable to focus properly. It didn't help that he seemed to have no control over his bodily reactions.

Sherlock paced the floor of the small sitting room. He knew that this wasn't about a solution. Rather it was a decision that he had to make and he would have to make make soon, before Molly made it for him. Which would probably mean him having to leave the flat.

An unacceptable outcome.

"Sherlock!"

His hands stilled on the bow. He hadn't noticed when he'd picked up the violin again. Irene flipped on a small light, making him blink to adjust his eyes to the light. Not that it was really necessary, as he briefly noted the dawn beginning to push through the curtains.

"Sherlock, this is no time to be playing that damnable thing," Irene hissed, walking over and snatching the bow out of his hands. "You will wake the building at this rate and then our little game of house will be over when they call the police on a noise complaint."

Sherlock did his best to keep his face impassive at being chastised like a child. "I need to think."

"People need to sleep, starting with the woman in the next room," Irene said pointedly.

Sherlock glared at her, snatching back the bow from her hand and moving to put it and violin away. "I haven't heard any complaints."

"Honestly, the two of you are ridiculous," Irene said in exasperation, snatching a pen from the table next to the phone and walking purposefully into the kitchen. She was back a moment later, throwing her coat across the back of the couch. "There," she said with a sigh before she stripped off her dress and let it pool on the floor.

Sherlock frowned. "Rule number one, Woman."

"I'm going for a shower," she replied, walking down the hall towards the bathroom. "And you should check rule number five."

Sherlock waited until the door shut behind Irene before stepping over to the kitchen, flipping on the light and peering at the paper with the house rules. He knew very well what rule number five said, but he'd ignored it, brain work taking precedent. Rule number two was more paramount for him to follow. He noted Irene's script beside Molly's, tilting his head to consider it. The corner of his mouth twitched a bit.

He'd be interested to see how Molly would react.

He found himself looking forward to it.

# 5 No violin playing. from the hours of 11 pm to 8 am.