John Watson paced the length of 221B Baker Street for over an hour, oscillating between anger at his former flatmate for disappearing and worry about his safety. It had been almost three weeks since he had heard from the detective and, even for Sherlock that was a long time to be radio silent. Mycroft was unreachable in the west, probably negotiating with some of the… more unfriendly countries. Mrs. Hudson was the last to have seen Sherlock and he had been dashing out the door with a briefcase and shouting about musicals. John couldn't get much more out of her, she kept gushing on about babies, biscuits, and her latest beau.

His wife watched him pace from her place on the couch, their daughter nuzzled against her chest, fast asleep.

'John,' she sighed. 'I'm sure he's fine. It's not the first time he's disappeared for a case.'

'He'd better be,' John growled. 'But to not even send a text?'

Mary rolled her eyes and shifted Billie a little higher. John felt the corners of his mouth tug at the sight and his heart swelled, momentarily forgetting his aggravation with the consulting detective.

'Did you call Molly?' Mary asked.

John nodded his head, 'Mike said she was called to Spain for a conference and is staying there for a holiday.'

Mary's eyebrow rose, 'Oh, really?'

'She's entitled to it, dealing with that…' he faltered as Mary frowned and his eyes flicked to his daughter. '…dealing with Sherlock's demands for hours on end.'

Mary's eyes narrowed in thought. Something must have clicked in the former assassin's mind, because she suddenly started grinning widely.

Before John could question her, the door below slammed open and a familiar bellow echoed up the stairs.

'For God's sake, woman, I said I was sorry!'

Two sets of angry footsteps pounded up the stairs. Mary rose, cradling a still drowsing Billie close, and they watched as Molly Hooper stormed into the kitchen, tanned and furious.

An indignant, but sheepish and equally tanned Sherlock was hot on her heels. Neither acknowledged the Watsons in the main room.

John and Mary watched in shocked amusement as the usually timid Molly whirled about, hands on her hips and stared Sherlock down, despite being more than a foot shorter.

'William. Sherlock. Scott. Holmes.' Sherlock's eyes widened, as did John's and Mary's, at Molly's forceful tone and use of his full name. 'If you think for one, bloody second, that a blanket apology, which I know you don't mean, will make this go away, you are very much mistaken. And furthermore,' Sherlock winced, 'your mother would be furious to learn exactly what happened, so unless you dig deep into that recently melted heart of yours and figure out exactly what was so astoundingly wrong with what you did, I will get out my mobile and, so help me, Sherlock Holmes, I will tattle on you!'

The stark fear on Sherlock's face was something John would never forget. He desperately wished for a camera so he could treasure that look for the rest of his days.

'Molly,' Sherlock growled. Molly stood resolute, her back straight. John's eyebrows, if possible, rose even higher at how adamant Molly was being, not at all the mousy and shy pathologist he knew.

'Wait,' Sherlock frowned in thought, before triumphantly clapping his hands together, 'You're bluffing. You are not in possession of my mother's number, nor have you even met her. Your threat holds no water, Molly Hooper.'

Molly scowled, but did not back down.

Back and forth. It was like a tennis match, John thought, or a train wreck. And it looked as though Sherlock would be the victor of this… whatever this was. And John felt disappointed that once again Sherlock had hurt Molly, in some way, and refused to fix it. He made to step forward and intervene, but Mary's free hand stayed him. With a quiet motion, she gestured for him to remain silent.

Sherlock smirked down at the pathologist and waited for her to admit defeat. Instead of cowing under his gaze, as John fully expected, Molly stared back at Sherlock and reached into her pocket. Pulling out her mobile, she flicked her fingers across the screen and then raised it to her ear.

John was surprised at how determined Molly was to go through with her bluff. There was no change in Sherlock's demeanor, though he had now crossed his arms in confidence that she would eventually crumble.

A triumphant gleam sparkled in Molly's eye as the call connected and she smiled sweetly, 'Hello, Violet… I'm well, how are you?'

Sherlock frowned slightly, as did John.

Is she actually talking to Mummy Holmes? In his peripheral, John could see Mary grinning like the Cheshire cat, her eyes sparkling with pride.

'That's wonderful! Listen, there is something I could use your advice on… It's… Well, perhaps Sherlock could explain it better,' Molly silently held her mobile out. Sherlock ripped it from her hand, still confident she was bluffing.

He rolled his eyes, playing along with Molly's bluff and drolled sarcastically, 'Hello, Mummy dearest.'

Suddenly, he stood at attention, his back ram-rod straight. Gulping so loudly, Mary and John could hear it in the next room, he stammered, 'I-I'm sorry, Mummy…. No, I wasn't intending to be disrespectful…. H-how do you and Molly… Since when...?'

A gobsmacked John watched as Sherlock turned into a mumbling mess and Molly stood triumphant.

'Of course, Mummy. No, there's nothing wrong… I'll explain later...' Sherlock glared reproachfully at the smug Molly in front of him. 'I promise…Bye, Mummy.'

Molly held out her hand, still beaming widely, and Sherlock slapped the phone into her palm.

'How did you get her number? How do you even know her?' He growled.

Molly shrugged nonchalantly, 'Mycroft.'

'Mycroft?!' Sherlock sputtered. 'Since when are you so friendly with that fatty?'

She glared at him in silent reproach. 'While you were gone, he asked me to accompany them to Les Mis in his stead.' She shrugged her shoulders, 'I happen to like the play, anyway. Violet and I exchanged numbers. We talk sometimes, usually about my research or her discoveries. Or whenever you're being an arse. So you could say we talk often.'

Sherlock seemed at a loss for words, something that brought a nice, smug feeling to John's heart.

'Now,' Molly tilted her chin up and crossed her arms, 'I'm waiting for that apology. That sincere apology.'

Jaw clenched, Sherlock grumbled incoherently.

'What was that?' Molly leaned forward expectantly, a smile tugging on her lips.

With a huff, Sherlock blurted out, 'I'm sorry, truly, for trying to get you to shag me in the plane's lavatory. And for trying to cop a feel to appease you when you grew angry.'

Unable to remain silent any longer, John and Mary simultaneously gasped in disbelieving surprise.

Sherlock and Molly jumped at the sound, turning to face their previously unseen audience. Both turned bright red as they realized the Watson's had been watching all along. John's mouth gaped open as Mary began to laugh.

Billie, now awake, grinned widely as she saw her godfather, her chubby arms reaching for him. Sherlock stepped into the room and swept the baby from her mother's arms. Holding her hostage, he glowered at the couple.

'Do control yourselves,' he snapped, a smile plastered on his face as he bounced Billie up and down. In the kitchen, Molly struggled to compose herself, anger and embarrassment flushing her face red, before following Sherlock into the main room.

'So,' John waved a hand between Molly and Sherlock, 'the two of you are… uh… yeah?'

'Obviously, John. Do keep up.' Sherlock rolled his eyes. Billie gurgled happily at the action and clapped her hands against his cheeks.

'And these past three weeks, you've been…?'

'With Molly, in Spain.'

'And when were you going to tell us you were… involved?' John asked, his shock fading into anger. There was no case, no danger, and no word from the inconsiderate arse.

'Well, considering we only became involved two weeks ago, I'd say as soon as we came home. And here we are.' Sherlock smiled briefly, (creepily, in John's opinion), bouncing Billie faster as he became more agitated with the line of questioning.

Mary stepped forward, having quieted her laughter, and reclaimed her daughter with a frown at Sherlock. 'And you couldn't text John back that you were safe? He was worried, especially after the last time you went off grid.' Her not-so-subtle implication sent a flash of regret across the detective's face. Coming up behind him, Molly laced her fingers through his in a silent show of support.

Sherlock sighed, 'I did not intend to worry you. It was quite a last minute holiday. And we were quite busy,' he flashed a hungry, smoldering glance at Molly who, if possible, blushed a deeper crimson. He tugged her to his side, his hand disappearing behind her. Molly jumped and gave a slight squeak, biting her lip to keep from smiling.

'Oh, bloody hell,' John groaned as he realized what was on their minds. He turned and grabbed his jacket from where it lay across the sofa, and quickly led Mary and Billie from the flat. 'When your libidos are sated, text me. I owe you a punch in the nose, you wanker.'

'Bye. Sorry!' Molly called as the Watsons hastened from the flat, Sherlock immediately pouncing on her as soon as they were out the door.

'Call me, Molly!' Mary called up the stairs, 'We'll get drinks!'

A muffled thud and multiple groans were her answer.

John shuddered at the thought of what was about to happen in his former flat and eagerly rushed his family onto the street. With Billie safely ensconced in her seat, he tossed the keys to Mary. With one hand on the car, he froze. Mary looked at him over the car in question.

He cleared his throat and pointed a firm finger at her, 'We are never double dating with them. Is that understood?'

Mary giggled and slid into the car, 'Yes, sir.'