Hey guys! Sorry this is so late! Until AP Exams are over here, I'll probably only be able to update every two weeks :o I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! I tried something different with this one, and there's multiple perspectives here. Special thanks to everyone who reviewed; your reviews honestly make my day (I grin like an idiot after each one). Some people were also wondering how Irene knew that Mary was "different", but not to worry...all shall be unveiled in due time winkity wink ;)

Special thanks and loads of cookies to my lovely beta lavanyalabelle :)

The world's only consulting detective must have noticed that something was different between the two women the next morning. In an unusual display of tact, however, he chose not to comment on it. Instead, he settled for aggravating Molly and Irene to the point of no return. Unlike Irene, however, Molly had the fortunate luxury of being able to escape his torment to go to work.

"Sherlock, I can't sneak out any more organs for you!"Molly snapped, for what seemed like the thousandth time that morning. His incessant pleas only seemed to aggravate her more, and she slowly exhaled to calm herself. Although there were other ways he could acquire an organ (god knew Mycroft probably had a few spare ones lying around), for some inexplicable reason, he had made it a point to get them from Molly. His organ smuggler in question glanced at him. The disappointed look on his face nearly broke Molly's heart, and for a second, she almost reconsidered.

"You could if you wanted," he grumbled. She strengthened her resolve and glared at him.

"This is your third kidney this week. No."

Huffing, the consulting detective flopped into his chair and pouted like the overgrown baby that he was.

"John was right; you are such a drama queen." Molly knew perfectly well about his alternative (albeit possibly illegal) methods of acquiring organs. She also knew that he preferred her...St. Bart's organs, and secretly enjoyed watching him sulk. Molly picked up her purse and coat and prepared to leave for the morgue.

"Lestrade will call with a case, don't you worry."She pecked him once on the cheek and left.

After Molly left, Irene looked at Sherlock."She can do so much better than you."

He didn't refute it directly, but said, "Well so far, her 'better' has consisted of psychotic serial killers."Irene laughed.

"Well, you've already got the psychotic part covered." She said, clearly amused.

He rolled his eyes. "High functioning sociopath. Obviously." Scoffing, he hopped out of his chair and headed for the kitchen.

"Hmm, that's what you tell yourself anyways." She walked towards the kitchen. "He's going to do something soon." He flicked his eyes towards her, instantly understanding to whom she was referring. "Obviously he's going to want to make the first move," Sherlock didn't respond, instead focusing the bulk of his attention on the beakers before him. "He's not going to forget Molly this time, you know." He dragged his eyes away from his experiment to look at her.

"I am well aware of that."

"You would risk putting your precious pathologist in danger?" Beside her, Toby mewed and rubbed his body against her left leg.

"She would be in more danger otherwise. At least I can manipulate the situation accordingly this way." He said gravely.

"And I suppose; you can't tell me...or anyone...your plan, then?" She took his silence as confirmation.

"Not yet."

"You love her." She smiled when he twitched in surprise. "You're not the only one that can deduce, Mr. Holmes." Irene spared another glance at him. "Surely I don't need to remind you of the consequences. Moriarty will burn your heart out if you don't play your cards right. Except this time, he won't make any mistakes."

If Molly was having a difficult morning, the bustle of the morgue more than made up for it. Her workload was just enough to keep her distracted, yet not so much as to overwhelm her. She had just finished her second autopsy of the morning when her desk phone beeped. Yanking off her contaminated gloves, she peered at the screen curiously before answering the call.

"Hello?"

"Hey Molly, just wondered if you were free for lunch sometime tomorrow? I'd love to catch up." Molly struggled to keep her features nonchalant. Mary never called; usually their lunch dates were planned by text.

"Erm.. yeah, that should work. How's John?" It was system they had worked out after Moriarty's return. Molly would inquire over John. If Mary's response was over three words, no one was in immediate danger. Molly and Mary both knew that if she was really inquiring over John's health, she would have asked Sherlock instead.

"Oh, he's fine. Bit cranky though." Mary laughed. Mary's response was six words long. No one was in danger,at least not yet, anyways.

Molly relaxed marginally."Well that's great. Listen, I'm swamped today, but I'll talk to you later, yeah?"

"Right, see you tomorrow then." With a swift jab of her finger, she ended the call.

Although she desperately wanted to know what was on Mary's mind, she refused to let it show. Instead, she skipped her lunch break to sneak into the lab to swab some organ cultures for Sherlock, and placed them in her locker. He probably didn't deserve the efforts she was making to keep his brilliant mind occupied, but she didn't want him to do something like shoot the wall. Again. When she returned to her locker two hours later to check her mobile, she noticed that the cultures had been replaced with two packages of her favorite crisps. She peeled off the note taped on top. Written in the familiarly sloping handwriting that she knew almost as well as her own, it read, "For heaven's sake, Molly, do try to eat something." Smiling, she returned to work, crisps in hand.

Sometime around two, Irene noticed, Sherlock had disappeared; presumably to pick up supplies for his latest experiment. Although she knew that she was being watched, she was still surprised to find that Sherlock had no qualms about leaving her alone. Instead, she carried out the necessary surveillance and occasional blackmail that Sherlock had requested of her. In her musings, she briefly wondered why she had never thought to become an intelligence officer, before realizing that the legal lifestyle was entirely too drab for her tastes. She also wondered where Sherlock really was, but figured he was at Bart's poking around the cadavers. Bloody git.

A few hours after Molly had left for work, Sherlock decided he would stop by Bart's. Stamford wouldn't be too keen to see him after the 'incident' in the lab last week, but at the very least, he figured, he could borrow their equipment to work on his cultures. And maybe check on Molly. He walked a few more blocks and tapped in Molly's pin number at the back door. When he arrived at her locker, he found several petri dishes of organ cultures. A series of rapid deductions left no doubt in his mind that she had skipped her lunch break to safely smuggle out these dishes, and he was suddenly overwhelmed with a strange and not entirely unpleasant feeling. Gratitude? Affection? Either way, he decided to make an effort not to pester Molly for at least another week. He turned down the hall and stopped in front of the vending machine. As he stacked the petri dishes in his coat pocket, Sherlock replaced the cultures with the newly purchased crisps. After a moment's hesitation, he scrawled a quick note to Molly before swishing away.

Elizabeth 'Liza' Sherlock Watson was a fussy baby. In particular, she seemed to have a penchant for waking her two parents during their well deserved rest. Perhaps the similarity between her and her godfather was more than just the name, for she was an incredibly perceptive and mischievous 15 month old.

"Mummy," She gurgled, raising her chubby arms up. She must have recognized the faint signs of distress on Mary's face. The last time she wore that look, Uncle Sherlock was waving around a bag of fingers (human, mind you) and ranting about rabid dogs. Murder was a word he liked quite a bit. "Murder?" Mary chuckled and kissed the top of Liza's head.

"No, dearie, not this time. Mummy's just wondering what shenanigans your Uncle Sherlock and Aunt Molly are up to this time." Liza just wrinkled her little button nose at Mary before blubbering nonsensically into her blouse.

And in the midsts of all these events, an unfamiliar man sat in his chair, pondering over the miscellaneous photographs and newspaper articles sprawled all over his desk. The still faces of Molly, Sherlock, John, Mary, even Liza, peered up in an eerie candidness. He sat there for several moments thinking; plotting. When someone finally knocked on his door, he calmly slid the photographs back into the drawer, one by one.

Sherlock's was the last one to be put away. He narrowed his eyes at his picture.

"Did you miss me?"

Sooo what'd you guys think? Let me know if you think the plot's moving too fast; I really want to have some nice character and plot development :). Please leave your thoughts and advice and if you want a particular scene, PM me.

Love,

Audrey