As always, I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed. Immense thanks to all of you for your kind words and support. What struck me in particular about the reviews from last chapter is how a lot of people believe I've done a fairly decent job of writing Sherlock's character. I'm a bit surprised at this - not unhappy - just surprised. My interpretations of fandom characters aren't always up to par or I have instances (like with Molly), where I spike up a certain trait not always common to a character just so the story has an edge or purpose. I never thought I quite mastered exact characterizations, but then again, to write Sherlock completely in character would probably not have proved much of a plot movement in this story. Either way, that's a very kind word on your parts and I thank you dearly. Though, I think I'll always have my own personal interpretation of Sherlock that won't be up to par with the show exactly. I think it's what we all walk away with after watching our brilliant (sometimes stubborn) detective at work and how we interpret why he does what he does or says what he says, that makes for writing entertaining fanfiction. Television Sherlock wouldn't nearly have progressed this far, we've all accepted it, but it's nice to imagine a Sherlock that does. So, without further ado, enjoy!


Chapter 7 - The Tango of Three

"That was a mistake. Oh, dear, that was a monumental, terrible mistake."

Sherlock had the audacity to roll his eyes, attempting to take a step further.

"Don't," Molly yelped, keeping one arm extended before her in a clear warning. "Just don't bloody get any closer."

"Your moaning and full engagement in the kiss, indicated a substantial amount of pleasure. Deny yourself that, Molly, and I might possibly think you the stupidest woman alive."

"Fine, yes, do that!" she begged, supporting herself on the sink behind her. "I'm a stupid, stupid woman. Good, yes. Nothing happened."

"Don't be difficult," he scolded.

"I'm stupid. Stupid people are difficult. That was a mistake."

"If it is any consolation, your stupidity can be overlooked as I still hold the urge to kiss you again."

"Sherlock," she squealed, extended arm shaking, "please, just stay there and let me collect my thoughts."

"I've done all your deductions for you, Molly. Congratulations, it would appear you're still in love with me."

The pathologist paled as horror overtook her features.

Not to worry, that's not what it means. He just surprised me. That's all.

"I'm not overly shocked," Sherlock continued, baritone voice growing more confident. "Yes, time apart can cause people to outgrow dependency and fondness. But you've loved me for years. And you do not take an emotion such as love, lightly. It would be unprecedented for you to lose all your affections in just the period of two months."

"I do not love you."

"No need to be defensive. I'm merely implying that you still retain feelings of intense passion towards me."

This, above all else, was the breaking point for Molly.

With a speedy leap, she wove around Sherlock's looming form and booked it to the morgue doors.

"Now who's running from their feelings?"

Molly froze, feeling like she'd smacked into a brick wall.

"Don't you dare," she murmured in a deceptively timid voice, spinning around to face him. "Don't you bloody dare assume that you running from what I said two months ago in my apartment, is comparable to this. It was an experiment, for heaven's sake! It meant nothing, Sherlock."

"You moaned."

"Because I thought your kiss would be quick! How was I supposed to know you were planning to rob me of my saliva?"

"Now, you are being dramatic," Sherlock reprimanded. "The saliva glands function constantly. It would be physically impossible for my tongue alone to deplete you of your sali-."

"Sherlock! You are missing the point," Molly reasoned swiftly. "That kiss...it had no deeper meaning than just an experiment procured out of boredom and possibly because you're still having a rough time seeing me move on. Nothing more."

"I disagree."

"You're not always right."

"I am a majority of the time. And don't think this is something I will make the mistake of not storing in my mind palace. You moaned when I kissed you, Molly Hooper. By the laws of chemistry, you not only enjoyed that kiss, but still have feelings for me."

"Since when did the laws of chemistry state that?"

"I've incorporated this theory into a law based on my experiment. With good reason."

Shaking her head in exasperation, Molly pestered, "Drop it, Sherlock. Please, for both of our sakes. There's nothing you could do about it even if your experiment was true."

For the first time since he'd kissed her, Sherlock appeared to mentally and physically slow down. His animated features began to neutralize and his eyes reduced to a narrowed, icy blue.

"You will honestly seek comfort in denial?"

"I've seen firsthand that denial for you is a haven from your feelings," Molly pointed out. "Don't blame me for not making your same mistakes."

This seemed to drastically alter the atmosphere in the morgue.

Molly, for one, quite suddenly felt far colder. And she knew a margin of it had to do with her recent statement.

It gutted her to say, but Sherlock's insistency proved to be just about maddening. Followed up by his assumption that she felt the same way he did simply because she shied away from what was nothing more than an experiment in the first place.

Had to do it. Giving him hope, if that's what he's in search of, is far meaner.

Throughout this mental self talk, she had to briefly acknowledge that Sherlock wasn't full of it completely when it came to being reminded of her feelings for him.

While her moan had been a reaction from his consuming kiss, the feelings that stirred up inside her during and in the few seconds after it, no matter how fleeting, didn't seem to have a beginning point. They literally came out of nowhere and left before she could properly mull them over.

Worse yet, Sherlock appeared to be the only witness to them.

It wasn't troubling at this point. She still knew she loved Noah. One kiss from Sherlock wasn't going to change that.

But his sudden desire to actually pursue his own instincts rather than coldly ignore them as he normally did, intrigued her. And made her feel decidedly...warm inside.

Which was bad, but not yet troubling.

This holiday couldn't have come at a better time, could it?

"My keys are on the desk if you need anything," she mentioned, very much hoping he'd be long gone by then. "Good luck with your case."

Before he could respond, Molly exited the morgue.

()()()()()()()()()

"Noah?"

"In the kitchen."

She followed the sound of his voice, smiling at the heavy dose of glazed lemon in the air.

"Smells amazing. What'd you make?"

Upon entering the kitchen, her smile widened. There was something utterly magnificent and domestic about seeing your boyfriend leaning over a stove and cooking you lunch. It almost made the burden of what she had to discuss with him next, disappear altogether.

But of course, Molly knew she'd have to mention the issue. She hated having to do so because it meant so little and if explained the wrong way, Noah might make it out to mean something it's not.

However, she owed this man the truth. Were she in his shoes, she'd expect it out of her as well.

"I initially thought chicken parmesan, but you're due back in less than thirty. So, I've decided on the lemon grilled chicken? That alright?" Noah asked.

"Absolutely. It still amazes me that you didn't pursue some sort of culinary school."

"Only ones I was interested in were filled with snobbish wankers from France. You'd think they invented cooking from the way they showed off."

"Idiots. All of them," she teased.

"Exactly! I've always wanted a girlfriend who would share my hatred of the French."

Smirking, Molly propped her hip against the counter.

"I don't hate all French people. Actually, I think there's a negative astigmatism associated with their attempts at elegance and maturity."

"Molly, it's okay. There's no one French around to hear you."

Chuckling, Molly looked down at her feet. A surprisingly sobering action as her good humor soon died.

"There's something I've got to tell you, Noah."

Her boyfriend nodded to show he was listening, but otherwise, continued browning the chicken.

"It's all a bit silly really...nothing to even worry about. A mistake on my part and an experiment on his. I don't even think-."

"Molly," Noah peered up at her, "is this about you locking lips with Sherlock Holmes?"

She shifted uncomfortably in place, relieved and worried to see such a calm impassiveness resting on his features.

"You...know?"

"Slipped in at the wrong time to come pick you up," he informed, focusing back on the chicken. "Wasn't sure what I saw. Assured myself you'd explain it."

"It meant nothing."

"So you say. But I know a little bit about Sherlock Holmes. An old flatmate of mine, 'round two years ago, went to him seeking help. His sister had been missing for nearly four years. Police just thought she ran away, but Adam, my flatmate, was sure their father had killed her. He'd been molesting her, supposedly, and she was getting the guts to run away."

"Adam didn't do anything about it?"

"Adam was adopted. He was indebted to the man for giving him a proper home and education. Much as he loved his sister, he couldn't find the guts until it was too late, to help her."

Engrossed with the story, Molly edged herself closer to the stove.

"Was she murdered?"

"Don't know. Holmes never took the case. Said it was excruciatingly uneventful and told Adam it was a good lesson in helping people when you had the chance."

"That's a bit...cruel."

"Adam wanted to bust the bloke's nose. Still feels guilty to this day because for all he knows, Janeen could be dead."

Molly's brows furrowed in confusion.

"Hang on...Janeen?"

"Adam's sister's name," Noah clarified.

There's no bloody way. That'd be the holy grail of coincidences that the Janeen I met is actually Adam's sister. Janeen is a common name...sort of.

"Point is when Adam told me of his encounter with the detective, I had a bad impression of him," Noah explained. "Sounded like a cold-hearted bastard. Heard similar stories of his notorious attitude. Then, I began dating you and you told me you two were only friends. I never had much reason to believe otherwise because, well...still thought him a cold-hearted bastard. But, seeing you two kissing today...it made me think that he might lower his guard down very rarely for people he cares greatly for. Seeing one of those people being you...makes me hesitant to believe that you two are still just friends. Or that it didn't mean anything."

"He kissed me to get a reaction," Molly revealed, fully prepared for his doubt. "That's a cold-hearted bastard, not a man who lowers his guard down."

"You seem sure."

"I know Sherlock. He chooses mind over matter each and every time."

It took a minute or two, but Noah eventually looked appeased with this response, corner of one lip tugging up.

"And that's where we are drastically different. As soon as you eat this, I plan on pursuing matter over mind on the kitchen table."

"Kitchen table?" Molly piped in surprise, glancing at the object. "Not sure if it's quite durable enough."

"If it breaks, I'll buy you another. Never liked that table anyway."

"So you'll be sure to try and break it?"

"Of course. Though, we won't have much time, will we?"

When she moved to his side, he snaked an arm around her shoulders, leaning over to kiss her temple.

"On holiday, we can shag until we're sick of it."

"Never be sick of shagging," he vowed, turning off the stove. "'Specially not with you."

"I've already agreed," she noted, pecking him on the side of the chin, "don't need to say anything more."

"Just trying to be romantic."

At this, Molly wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled his lips down to her own.

"What was that for?" he breathed once their lips separated.

Wanting to say a million things at once, Molly opted for simplicity.

"Everything."

With that, she began pushing him further from the stove and nearer to the kitchen table.

"I'm to guess the chicken will be dinner," he mentioned, hands sliding off Molly's lab coat.

"It'll be a lovely evening meal," she agreed, fingers making quick work of removing his t-shirt. "Besides...I was more in the mood for dessert."

Noah laughed, a deep, rich sound invading the room.

"Just trying to be romantic," she added.

Fifteen minutes later and Molly's closest neighbor, a seventy-three year old woman named Catherine Bradley, could have sworn she heard the sound of a wooden table smacking against the floor in agony.

Then again, it could have just been her hearing aid going bonkers.


Lots of questions, hm? And a lot of miscommunication. It's not so easy, Sherlock will realize, to convince Molly that he's sincere. And hey, could the Janeen Noah mentioned, be the one Molly encountered? And if it is, why didn't Sherlock tell Adam that he knew her location? Remember that Molly doesn't yet know that Janeen and Sherlock are acquainted. Oh, dear, I do believe I've created a subplot. How exciting. Next chapter, Janeen checks in with Sherlock. On a side note, I've been reading bits of interviews with the creators of Sherlock (Mr. Gatiss & Moffat), regarding season 3, and they've both admitted that they didn't believe Sherlock to be capable of being in a romantic relationship. His brilliant mind and deducing things is essentially sex for him. Which is understandable. That's him in a nutshell. They also mentioned that Molly is someone Sherlock trusts as a good friend. That was a bit disappointing as I'm a firm Sherlolly supporter and had hoped for some sort of progression in a romantic sense between them, but I trust their direction completely. But then one of them mentioned that Molly will be very angry at Sherlock in this coming season (might last an episode, maybe longer, I'm not sure) for a particular event that occurs. This had me kind of nervous because it might very well be that Sherlock could have said what he had at the morgue on the night before the Fall, just to once again get Molly's help. She might incorporate it to mean something more while he'll have no such business in mind. Granted, it's a stretch, but this possibility had me shaking in anger for a few seconds. From what I've read, it appears Sherlock's reach out to Molly was genuine, but I can't help think it'd be a stunt they'd pull just so Sherlock remains strictly asexual (and because Moffat is a sneaky, agonizing bastard). If that is the case, I might scream. Still watch the show, but scream altogether. And then I'd have to channel my dark side and begin shipping Molly and Jim. God, Jim was great, wasn't he? Well, I guess end of this year (or beginning of next), we'll know. Let me know your thoughts in a review!