Hey guys- I know this is a late update and I am sorry! Anyway- thanks to everyone who reviewed; it really means a lot to me, so here are some shout outs:

magicstrikes: well, you just have to wait and see

Empress of Verace: it is, isn't it? Yupe, I've decided the brother's need some girl power, just to even 'em out. Well we just have to wait and see about their relationship. Thank you! It means a lot to know that my own characters are actually liked. Yes, it's time those two made up, and yeah, someone has some budding feelings ;)

Ssmil: I hope so, I really do hope it's interesting. :D

lostmypen120: hehe yeah- thanks for the review!

friend2friend1: yupe, a sister. An apology to what? Haha, well here is the update!

sheipweiralways: well, I would really LOVE to answer all your questions, but that would be a spoiler wouldn't it? Don't worry, they will be answered soon enough!

Lucy36: you are one of my best and favourite reviewers- thank you so much for the continued support :D

To everyone else who reviewed other chapters, thank you so much- everyone who types in that text box or me, you guys help me continue on this story, so thank you all so much!

Disclaimer: I love Sherlock, blah, blah, blah- wish I owned it but I don't, blah, blah, blah

Enjoy!

"Sherlock. I want the toes in the microwave cleaned out by the time I get back." John yelled to the living room as he grabbed his usual jacket from the coat rack.

"I wasn't the one who switched it on without checking for inhabitants." Sherlock yelled back from his prayer position on the couch. How annoying.

"Sherlock, seriously. Get it sorted."

"Or what John?"

"You don't want to know Sherlock- just get it sorted." John shook his head, heading down the stairs. Mrs. Hudson poke her head out her front door.

"Do keep it down you two- both of you sound like an old married couple." John turned into a tomato at that point. "Sorry Mrs. Hudson, but I can assure you that Sherlock and I are not a couple. By the way, could you-"

"Not your housekeeper John."

"Okay, fine. Bye Mrs. Hudson."

John strolled out of 221 Baker Street and headed down the road. After walking a few blocks, he stopped at a small, quiet yet crowded restaurant, it's name on a big, unlit, neon sign in swirling letters. He walked in, to be greeted by a short pale man, dressed in a vertically red and white striped shirt with a long 50's gangster moustache. The wide hat that topped of the look made it all the more comical.

"Good evening, sir. Reservation name?" the man asked in a nasal fake Italian accent. John stifled a laugh with a loud cough in his hand.

"I think a loopy moustache would work better for the look." John said; he couldn't resist the jab. The man's nostrils flared- short people did have tempers.

"I am sorry sir. Maybe in a few months. Reservations?" the man answered steely, his British accent poking through the annoying fake one.

"John Watson, for two at seven 'o'clock?" he watched the man's piggy eyes widen and mouth open and close. The out-of-water-goldfish look was completed by the man's bloated face turning a bright beetroot red. John smirked as the man fumbled with the menus in his hand, almost dropping them on a tray of full wine glasses. Regaining his balance he muttered "Right here sir, follow me."

The doctor was led to a small secluded area in the restaurant, a shaded area, guarded by a soft curtain. Inside, a small round table stood in front of a soft cushioned booth, the area dimly lit with two small candles flickering romantically on the centre of the table. John smiled; when you help the owner of a famous chain of restaurants with his scandals, you get good rewards. The man bowed slightly before waddling back out of the area. John sat himself down, awaiting his date.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o 0o0o00o0o0o0o00o00o0o0o0o0o0 o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Not even a few minutes later, a small, young brunette entered the little alcove, looking around in awe. A few gold bangles clanged and sparkled as she moved her arm away from the curtain; her warm brown eyes twinkling in the dim firelight; her short, gold dress setting off her tanned skin, hair and eyes beautifully, the dip in the neck showy, yet elegant. John swallowed twice, and got up, an easy smile on his face as he kissed her bangled hand.

"Hullo Mary," John said warmly. The woman in question trained her eyes on the sparkling blue ones of the blonde man.

"Wow, John, how did you get this place? It-it must have caused a fortune!" Mary exclaimed once again scanning the small, secluded area. John inwardly jumped for joy- she was happy to eat here- and led her to the inner seat in the booth.

"Well, running around with Sherlock has it's perks."

"I'll say." The same man from earlier walked in, to remind them of the menus on the table and for their selection of wine. Mary, being absolutely clueless, declined the offer to choose, merely watching the way the light reflected off John's eyes, accentuating the bone structure of his face, the goldness of his hair, his...

"Sorry what?" Mary spluttered, thanking god that her skin was darker than most and that the dim light hid the heat rushing to her face. John chuckled at how cute she looked in a deer-caught-in-headlights kind of way.

"Are you fine with this one?" he repeated his question, indicating to the green long necked bottle. Mary could barely nod, let alone find her voice. She finally took note of the waiter in the room and had to do everything in her power not to laugh. Hold it in Mary. Don't laugh at the man- it's not nice. More importantly, don't scare John away!

Taking a deep breath and biting her lip, Mary smiled as much she could at the short man watching with wide eyes as he bloody waddled out of the room.

John knew what she was desperately holding her laughter about. He was doing the same for the exact reason. Once the man was out of eye and ear shot, he turned to Mary, who had bloated her cheeks and pursed her lips in order not to laugh. She caught his eye, and the look on his face must have been hilarious because she suddenly burst out laughing.

Mary thought she had blown it when she let out the first laugh, but couldn't control herself enough to stop; she nearly choked when John did the same. Normally she would have contained herself, but that waiter belonged in a child's cartoon.

"His...accent" she got out through another burst of giggles, causing John to laugh harder.

"Did you see the...moustache?" he choked out. Mary laughed even harder, before finally getting a hold of herself and calming down. John did the same. Neither realised that while laughing, they had unconsciously inched, just a tad bit closer to each other.

Mary couldn't resist, "You know how that man walked?" she asked John, who shook his head.

"Well, I've seen it." he answered. Mary took a big 'sip' of wine.

"I wouldn't call it a walk." she said casually, noting John's look of interest.

"What then?"

"I dunno- from the way he looked, I'd say a waddle." John immediately burst out into waves of laughter. His laugh was very contagious, Mary had to chuckle.

"Really? I guess so, he does look a bit like a sunburnt penguin on holiday in what he thought was Italy." Mary choked on her laugh and lightly whacked her date on the arm.

"Don't be so mean, John." she said seriously, with a wide smile on her face. John recovered and pretended to look hurt.

"That hurt. And you started it." he said fake pouting. Mary giggled before ruffling his shaggy hair. It was very thick. And soft.

Wonder what it would feel like on her...

Snap out of it Mary.

"Aww is the little boy sad?" she said in a babyish singsong voice. John chuckled slightly. She liked his laugh. Well, she more than liked the husky...sexy... sound that escaped his lips

Mary!

The chubby man reentered the room a few minutes later, not quite understanding why the couple in front of him where laughing, quite hard, as they ordered a pasta bolognaise for the gentleman and a spicy chicken personal pizza for the lady.

"Your food will arrive shortly." he muttered, bowing his way back out. Weirdos.

"So, how was work today?" John inquired. For a pediatrician, Molly led one of the most interesting work lives, ever.

"Mmm, today we had an arse load of mother's claiming that their poor babies-slash-princesses-slash-cutie pies or any combination had a fever-cold-sick blah blah blah and I sat through a whole load of is it serious? Will my baby be alright? Should my princess rest here for tonight?- I swear, mother's are the most annoying things on this planet if you are a pediatrician." John chuckled. Again. Damn his chuckles.

"Despite how amusing that was, the only thing that stayed with me was: arse load?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"I've never heard anyone use the term arse load before." John said, a blonde eyebrow raised.

"Yes, well, now you have. Good on ya mate!" Mary grinned in his face as he chuckled. AGAIN. Was this man trying to kill her here? She had to change the subject. Fast.

"You know I got bitten today?" Mary bashed herself inwardly. Great subject change Molly, just bloody amazing. John's eyes widened, the corners of his long, thin lips dragging upwards.

"Bitten?" John asked, obviously trying to keep the smile out of his 'concerned' tone. Mary couldn't help but smile herself.

"Yeah, bitten. By a kid with a sore throat- viral infection. Honestly, it was a popsicle stick I put in his mouth, not a hot poker!" she said, grabbing a knife and fork to start on her meal; John followed, mirroring her movements with raised brows.

"I don't believe you were bitten by a child. Aren't those injuries reserved for the dentists?"

"You don't believe me? I do have proof you know." Mary answered, taking a mouthful of her pizza. Bloody hell, this food was amazing. John seemed to think the same, by the look on his face.

"This food is amazing."

"I know, isn't it?" John replied, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "I still don't believe you, you know. Where's this proof you've been claiming you have?" Mary raised her right arm, resting her elbow on the table.

0o0o0o0o0o0o00o0o0o0o0o0o00o 0o00o0o0o0o0o000o0o0oo0o00o0 o00o00o0o0o0o0o00o0o00

John watched as Mary slid of a small, gold band off her right index finger.

"I don't normally wear rings, but I had to hide this." John stared, wide eyed at the small but deep, scabbing milk teeth imprints directly over the third knuckle.

"Children are violent." he managed. Mary chuckled.

"They are, aren't they?" she said in reply, looking at the bruise, not realising that she was being watched, rather closely by the man next to her.

"You know, I know a way to make it better."

"And may I ask, Dr. Watson, what this 'way' is?"

"Why tell when I can show?" the man said mischievously, grabbing Mary's palm gently. Mary almost choked, well, fainted, at what happened next.

John brought the palm to his lips and brushed the softest, gentlest chaste peck on the injured knuckle. The tingles it sent through Mary completely threw her of. She sat there gaping for a full five seconds before recollecting herself.

"Well, that, I can say, helped quite a bit." she smiled. Thank god for her amazing recovery skills, but she really had to stop blanking out.

The night went on for the couple in an amazingly positive way. Both adults could never imagine that a second date would be as fun as it was.

After paying, John walked Mary home; a woman in a dress she was wearing should not (well could not, in his case) walk about London at a night time so late. He was sad to know the date was coming to a close, but she hadn't objected him walking her home, so maybe...

No, he shook his head. It was only the second date- Mary was a woman with standard and morale and he had to respect that, although those thoughts flew out of his head as she laced her small delicate palm into his larger one. She leaned against his jacketed shoulder and looked up towards him, a small smile on her face. The couple walked back to the lady's house in comfortable, almost romantic silence; they had spoken enough during the date.

They finally reached the building housing Mary's apartment. The lady turned to him after walking up a few steps to the front door, mainly so that they could stay at height level.

"Thank you for the lovely evening John." she said quietly, her mind debating if she should ask him in, or not. She didn't want him to think her a prude, or a whore for that matter. He wasn't pushing her to do anything she didn't want though, so maybe... a cuppa wouldn't hurt. Right?

No. She couldn't. Not just yet.

"It was my pleasure, Mary." he said. A slightly awkward, heavy silence draped itself around them. John leaned forwards and pecked her on the cheek, leaving her rigid and speechless once more, muttered goodbye and promises to call, and turned to leave.

Regaining her senses, Mary called back, "Wait!" John turned around, a questioning look in his eyes as he gazed up to her. Mary walked down a couple steps before placing a small kiss on his lips.

It was a small kiss, no more than three seconds, closed mouth and very chaste and sweet. But the feelings, and thoughts running through the couple's minds were not very chaste, or sweet for that matter. John's arms moved from their default position to her small, round face. Mary's hands were already rested on the slight stubble on his cheeks.

Mary pulled away, trying her best to keep control. "Goodnight John." she whispered to him, her hands reluctantly pulling away from the textured cheeks before turning and hopping (yes, hopping) back up the stairs.

Mary refused to turn around. She'd probably run back into him and try to ravish him right there. No. She was a woman of class- she had to be, or her mum would have her head. She jogged as fast as she could in the bloody heels she was wearing to her room, kicking them off and proceeding to dial her best's friends number.

"What Mary?" came a groggy, hoarse voice.

"I kissed him! I kissed John sodding Watson!" the rustling in the background probably meant that the listener had woken up and was more alert.

"What? No- tell me everything!" Molly cried, the sleep apparently washed away. Mary fell back onto the couch before she launched into her new tale.

0o00o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o00o0o0o0o 00o0o00o0o00o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0 o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Amelia Lilian Hooper sat in her expensively furnished living room, in her special chair, awaiting her husband. Hearing said man walk in, her already perfect posture straightened even more.

"Matthew, we have to talk." she greeted, with a clipped tone. Matt sighed; usage of his full name meant he was in trouble.

"Fine," he answered, resignation clear in his voice. "What do you want to talk about."

"You know fully well want we are going to talk about. They are NOT going to that party." Matthew cringed slightly at the force in her voice, before leaning forward and covering his face with his palms.

"Mia, we have been through this-"

"No Matt, I don't want them anywhere near that woman."

"That woman, Mia, is the reason why Rachel and Charlie are even in this world." Matthew said, the anger showing in his voice.

"Why are you defending her? That woman was, and is nothing but trouble." Mia cried out, standing up and thundering over to her husband.

"First of all, that woman was someone we went to uni with. The woman you and my sister were friends with-" Matthew said, trying hard not to yell and make things worse. He stood up, so that their heights were more balanced.

" 'Were', being the key word." Mia huffed out, crossing her arms.

"You still were best friends, the three of you. Second, she may have been trouble, but what about now?" he asked, holding his wife's shoulders, gently massaging the flesh with the pads of his thumb. Mia physically drooped from her pristine posture and sighed tiredly.

"I know. It's not." she sighed out, looking anywhere but into her husband's eyes. Matthew was taken aback when he saw the silent tears streaming down her face.

"Hey, hey," he soothed, embracing her softly. He was surprised again when she almost sunk into his arms. Mia was never one to show so much...defeat? No...it was just simple sadness. Her silent tears morphed into body racking, loud sobs.

"I-I don't want to lose the-them. The-They are m-my kids." She cried out, burying her face in Matthew's old t-shirt, soaking it in tears.

"Hey, you aren't going to lose them, Mia- you never will. Shhh." he soothed, not really knowing what to do. It was not everyday when a man had to reassure his wife that their children would not leave her for someone they would meet in a few days time.

He couldn't, however, let her win. Not this time. The children deserved to know who their birth mother is. Where they got their looks, and some of their traits. He took a deep breath.

"Mia, I know you don't like it- and honestly I'm not loving it either, but Enola reached out to them. They deserve to know and you know it as well. Please don't make this harder than it already is, please." a muffled nod and "okay" into his chest was confirmation enough for him tonight.

"I promise, none of us will leave you." he said, pulling away and kissing his wife softly on the forehead.

"Can we go to bed?" Mia asked softly, almost like a child rather than adult. Matthew smiled softly at his wife.

"Of course, after you."

0o0o0o0o0o0oo0o0o0o0oo0o0o0o 0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o 00o0o0o0o00o0o0o00o0o0

The next morning, Matthew left for work, to finish his weekend shift, waving goodbye to his two older children sitting in the small garage given to them by their parents when they decided the car could be parked outside the home.

He smiled as his kids waved back; knowing that there was nothing that would tear his family apart. Not as long as he was around,

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o 0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o 0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

"So what do you think?" Rachel asked, stepping away from a painted canvas, eyeing the mass of colours before glancing at her brother, who stood next to her, staring at the painting.

"Amazing Rachel, seriously. You're getting even better." he said in awe, staring at the semi-abstract piece in front of him. He could make out the blurry lines of what was meant to be the Big Ben and London Eye.

"Thanks, Charles," Rachel said, smiling up at her brother. He was always there when she painted. He was the inspiration for almost everything, including the murderous, bloody clown hanging on one of the non-muraled walls and he had helped, a lot, with the walls that were decorated with random murals; but he was half the thought behind them only-the boy couldn't paint a decent sun to save his life.

"What do you think of that...thing we have to go to next week?" Rachel asked, clearly indicating to the party they would have to attend if they wanted to meet their birth mother. And they did want to. Charlie chewed the inside of his cheek in deep thought before answering

"Honestly, I don't know what to think. I mean, I want to meet her, but, what happens when we do?"

"Yeah I know, exactly what I thought. And why on all days on her brother's bloody birthday party?" Rachel replied, frowning at the random bizarreness of it all.

"Well, I'm guessing she wants her family not so concentrated on us, so she placed it on a big day for them. She may also be really close to this brother of her's, if he knows she's invited us and all that. If the first is true, which it probably is if dad told us the truth, her family will not be our biggest fans."

"Ooooh," Rachel cooed at her brother "Someone's getting intelectual." she teased, poking him in the ribs.

"Shut up Rachel." he replied, poking her back, to which he was greeted with a paint brush whacking the side of his face. He could feel the lime green paint run down the side of his head. Examining the colour, when he wiped the drying liquid from his cheek, and completed canvas he said "Where did you even use this colour?"

0o0o0o0o0o00o0o0o0o00o0o0o0o 0o0o00o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0 o0o0o0o0o00o0o0o0o0o0o

Sherlock strode into the familiar white washed morgue, John trailing somewhere behind. Molly wasn't in, it didn't matter he decided, she had already given him the green light to visit today. He sat at his stool and grabbed his desired culture, examining it carefully. The room was silent- John still wasn't here.

Damn. Sherlock huffed, annoyed. He wanted his coffee! Ever since that date he had with that annoying pediatrician; when was that? a week ago? no...a month. Wait- it was probably yesterday. Sherlock whizzed around his mind palace before finding the answer he needed. John could get emotionally high very fast. So irritating. How did he even meet this one?

Right, Molly's friend. As he thought of her, the pathologist entered, carrying a small paper tray with three cups of coffee. She jumped a little in surprise, before recovering and smiling warmly.

"Morning Sherlock," she said, handing him a cup. "Your usual." she said before looking around the room "Did John not come?" she asked

"He did- he just wants to pursue your friend. From what I can tell, they probably moved into a more physical area in their relationship."

"Well that's one way of putting it." Molly chuckled.

"Shut up Sherlock. I just had to use the WC" John muttered angrily a he walked into the morgue, smiling at Molly as she handed him his Earl Grey, white with one sugar.

"So how was the date? Anything serious?" Molly asked casually, smirking as she watched John splutter

"Um...yeah..it...was...um..fun..er-" Molly laughed at John's sudden lack of vocabulary.

"Yes I'm sure, but anything...physical?" Molly chuckled, watching John's face turn the lightest shade of pink

"Uh...um...er...-" John spluttered again, his face resembling a blonde beetroot.

"Oh it's okay, John. Mary told me everything, anyway." Molly giggled at John's face as it turned into a tomato. It was quite funny how his face resembled various foods when he was embarrassed. Sherlock smirked, watching the entire exchanged in amused silence.

John found a way to change the subject.

"Sherlock don't you have something to ask Molly?" he asked. Sherlock frowned, before frowning even more in disgust when he recalled what he actually was there for. Molly raised her eyebrows, waiting.

"Molly, I'm forced, by my irritating family to throw a party to celebrate yet another year of my very needed life. I'm supposed to invite...friends. Would you like to come?" he said in a monotone, stoic manner. It sounded more like a call into the military, rather than a birthday invite.

"Sure, of course Sherlock," she replied "when is it?"

"Next week, today."

"Oh sure I'll- wait, sorry, I can't Sherlock." Molly answered, an apologetic tone to her voice. Sherlock raised an eyebrow in what was probably annoyance.

"Not to be prying, but why?" John asked in confusion.

"It's fine John, it's just that, well... I have a function to attend. Family matters." Molly answered. She answered carefully; she's searching for words. Fidgeting hands. She lied, but not really. Uncomfortable because full truth not said to close friends Sherlock deduced, watching her movements. He was going to find out exactly what her secret was, at a later date of course. Right now he had very current, pressing problems.

He felt...annoyed that Molly couldn't come to the party. Why though? It wasn't like she was important. Sherlock immediately erased that thought. He had to stop lying to himself. Of course she mattered. As a friend. A collegeauge. The pathologist had helped and housed him when he was a fraud, in his time of need. She was HIS pathologist.

That was it. She was HIS. But why was he feeling this...possession? Another thought clicked. It wasn't annoyance- he was disappointed that she wouldn't be there on his birthday.

But why was he disappointed then? Why did he want her there so badly? Was it her rather silly, not so funny, but endearing (almost) humour? Her constant cheerfulness?

What was it about Molly that was making him so-?

Oh. oh.

Well, this was a situation.

Bloody hell.

Sherlock shook his head as he swooped out of the morgue. He wanted to go home to his mind palace. Maybe for a day or two.

If John left him alone, a week. Maybe even a month. It may take that long to process. Then a lot more to plan the proceeding actions.

But for now the detective had to come to terms that he, Sherlock Holmes, may have feelings for one Dr. Molly Hooper.

Well that's the end. I'll try updating more frequent.

Review?

-Ash