Sherlock lay on the sofa staring up at the ceiling. The steady whump-whump-whump as the ball hit the ceiling was soothing as he gathered his scattered thoughts. Thankfully, Molly was still at work so there was no danger of her coming down from her room and demanding that he stop throwing the ball. "John proved completely unhelpful. Not a single useful suggestion." Restless again, Sherlock caught the ball as it rebounded, stuffed it in the pocket of his navy dressing gown and jumped up from the sofa. Prowling the room, he groused, "His first suggestion was to bribe her with a piece of expensive jewelry." Stopping in front of John's old chair, he demanded, "She barely wears any jewelry. Have you ever seen her wear an expensive piece of jewelry?"

When the chair's occupant didn't deign to reply to what was obviously a rhetorical question, Sherlock continued his complaint, "Flowers, chocolates and romantic movies were amongst his other brilliant ideas. Do women really fall for those tricks? I think Molly is more intelligent than that, don't you?"

The only response Sherlock received was a bored stare delivered with an infinitely superior attitude.

Sherlock recalled John's last recommendation. The one John had termed his nuclear option-the one guaranteed to wipe out all hostility residing in a female of the human species. Sherlock snickered as he recalled John's earnest insistence that this was the answer to all of his problems. Obviously, marriage has thoroughly addled John's brain. He scoffed, "John wanted me to frequent a place called Victoria's Secret and purchase Molly frilly undergarments. Molly Hooper, the most practical woman I know, in silly nightgowns and thongs? Can you see her wearing those things?" demanded Sherlock of his companion.

A bored yawn met his frustrated questioning.

Sherlock flung himself into his chair and bitterly complained, "You are of no assistance at all. Of what use are you? I only have a few hours to find her a suitable gift. Don't you have a single suggestion?"

Mrs. Hudson came bustling into the room carrying a tea tray. "Yoohoo, Sherlock dear, I've brought you tea." She looked about the room in confusion. "Sherlock, who were you speaking to?" Following his gaze, she found her answer. "Toby? You were speaking to Toby, Sherlock?' She laughed and teased, "Next you'll be asking him to do your texting for you."

Sherlock rose from the chair, ostensibly to take the tea tray from her, but he really did so that he had the advantage of height. He looked condescendingly down at her and drawled, "Of course not, Mrs. Hudson. Unless Toby is secretly employed by Cravendale, he does not have the requisite thumbs for such an endeavor." He winked at her before heading towards the kitchen.

Following him, Mrs. Hudson clapped her hands in delight, "Oh Sherlock, I love those commercials. So clever, aren't they?" Noticing the mess, she scolded, "Really, Sherlock, you need to make more of an effort. Poor Molly can hardly feel at home here with you keeping it like a bachelor pad. She's not John you know. Anyway, you'd best get a move on. Here you are lounging about in your dressing gown and the party is only a few hours away."

Sherlock stilled for a moment before setting the tray down with such force the cups rattled. Whirling around, he grabbed her by the shoulders and planted a kiss on her cheek. "You are marvelous, Mrs. Hudson. Absolutely marvelous. No time for tea. I've a present to go purchase."


The party was in full swing and more successful than Mary had anticipated. If she were of a mind to be cynical about it, she would attribute the excellent attendance to the promise of free food and drink. Lord knew the Met officers had descended on the buffet table like a horde of locusts. They devoured so much that two hours into the party she'd sent John out on a run to replenish the noshes. However, a table overflowing with gifts for Molly bore testament to the real draw of the party. Everyone here obviously adored her. Mary suspected that the anger they'd all felt upon learning of Sherlock's faked suicide would be nothing to what would occur if Sherlock ended up hurting Molly.

Thankfully, after a few furtive glances towards the door in the first half hour of the party, Molly appeared to take Sherlock's absence in stride. During the past hours, Mary had seen Molly laugh, chatter with everyone, dance a bit and even engage in some light flirtation with Greg. Without Sherlock in the room making her self-conscious, Molly absolutely sparkled. Glancing at her watch, Mary grimaced. There was no use putting it off any longer. Sherlock or no Sherlock it was time to cut the birthday cake and open the presents.

There was a great deal of laughter and teasing as everyone gathered around the cake and the candles were lit. Anderson even made a clever quip about fire hazards. It was during the second chorus of Happy Birthday that a melodic baritone joined in. Mary breathed a sigh of relief and scanned the room to find Sherlock at the back of crowd gathered round Molly. Her eyes met his and she gave him an approving nod and smile. Sherlock, looking inordinately pleased with himself, nodded back.


Molly was having a fantastic time. The evening had been great fun and things had become even better now that Sherlock had finally shown up. The two of them had not spoken since their spat at the morgue. When she'd arrived home tonight and he was not there, she'd assumed he would was not going to attend at all so she made arrangements for Greg to escort her to the party. As irritated as Molly might be at Sherlock, she took his warning to heart. There was no sense in going out alone and tempting Moriarty, not when she had friends on the Met to squire her about.

As she started to open another present, it occurred to her that she was perfectly comfortable as the center of attention. Strange that. Growing up, she'd always felt uneasy with being in the spotlight and that had stayed with her well into adulthood. Oh, she'd grown more confident in medical school and wasn't nearly as shy as she'd been as a child, but it wasn't until fairly recently that she'd begun actually enjoying social occasions. Even Sherlock's presence no longer reduced her to a stuttering fool. It seemed that having the world's greatest detective trust you enough to help him outwit a master criminal and fake his own suicide did wonders for a girl's self-esteem.

Pulling the paper off, she revealed three boxed sets of Quincy DVDs. "Thank you, Greg! How did you know that I adore this show?" She gave him a kiss on the cheek.

Lestrade flushed with pleasure. With pretend modesty he revealed, "It was nothing, Molly. I heard your ringtone on Sherlock's phone and deduced it must be a favorite of yours."

From the corner of the room, Sherlock's voice acerbically commented, "Ah yes, brilliant police work that. The criminal element of London had best beware."

Molly shot him and quelling look and addressed Lestrade again, "It is a very thoughtful gift, Greg."

A lovely pair of earrings, two scarves and a book entitled How To Tell If Your Cat Is Plotting To Kill You later, she found a large box on her lap. The package was beautifully wrapped with an expensive paper and pale green grosgrain ribbon, but there was no tag attached. As she carefully untied the ribbon, intending to keep it for use in her hair, she noted that Sherlock had moved much closer to her chair.

"Sherlock, is this from you?"

He looked uncharacteristically unsure of himself. "I do believe it is customary to give gifts at birthday parties."

"Yes, it is, brother mine," a voice from by the door answered. "Not that we'd know much about birthday parties. Never much went in for them, did we? Still, when in Rome…" He produced a small package and held it out.

"Mycroft!" Molly set the partially open box down on the floor and went to the elder Holmes brother. "How lovely of you to come. I never thought you would but am so glad you did. Would you care for a drink?"

"I've got it, Molly, sit down. It's your night." Handing a glass to Mycroft, John commented, "I doubt it's up to your usual standards but care for a scotch, Mycroft?"

"Thank you, John. Don't mind if I do. Please continue with whatever you were doing, Ms. Hooper. I didn't mean to cause a fuss." He took a seat and gestured towards the box on the floor.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "How long were you waiting for the right moment to make a dramatic entrance, Mycroft?"

"Sherlock, be nice," Molly chided. "Mycroft, please call me Molly. We are family after all." She picked the present from Sherlock back up and continued to unwrap it, eager to see what he'd bought for her. Lifting the top of the gift box, she parted the tissue paper to reveal the contents. "Oh, they're absolutely beautiful, Sherlock," she exclaimed lifting out of black and white patterned men's style pajamas. She fingered the material. "They're silk! And look, there is a matching dressing gown." Molly pulled out the robe and several of the women crowded around to admire it.

Picking up the box lid from the floor, Sally whistled softly. "Derek Rose? That must have set the freak back a fair penny." At Molly's censorious look, she grumbled, "Sorry, fr- I mean Sherlock. You've got good taste, I'll give you that."

"As valuable as I find your approbation, Sergeant Donovan, Anderson would benefit from it more than I if the smell of his aftershave on you is anything to go by."

Molly smiled. There were times when being around Sherlock felt like being a referee in a series of grudge matches. Distraction was the technique which worked the best and this time it was easy to provide. "Thank you, Sherlock. I've never owned anything so luxuriously decadent before. They're absolutely perfect."

"I'm glad you like them, Molly. You deserve some spoiling after putting up with me." At Molly's astonished gaze, he couldn't resist smirking and adding, "Besides, you needed something that won't scare away clients."

Giggling, Molly demanded, "Are you ridiculing my footies?"

Sherlock smiled broadly. "I'd never do that, Molly." He winked at her and they shared the private joke in the midst of the party.

"What, pray tell, are footies?" inquired Mycroft.

Molly explained and the pained expression on Mycroft's face was a source of amusement to all. A quarter of an hour later and there was only one gift left to open- Mycroft's. She unwrapped the tiny present rather gingerly. Mycroft buying her a gift was a complete surprise and she had no idea of what he would consider a suitable present. Inside was a black velvet pouch. She opened it and found a thin gold chain with a pendant. Pulling it out, she examined it. It was a tiny clossinae goldfish. The detail of the individual scales was exquisite. "It's lovely. Thank you, Mycroft."

As the gift was passed around for everyone to see, Lestrade commented, "It's a fish. I didn't know you enjoyed fishing, Molly."

The necklace had reached Sherlock and he was studying it closely. "She doesn't." Sherlock's eyes met his brother's and held. "This is an antique and quite rare. Rather an unusual choice, Mycroft."

Mycroft raised his brows and drawled, "Merely a little reminder for all of us. Something as mundane as a goldfish can be beautiful and precious sometimes, can't it Sherlock?"


Several hours later most of the guests had departed. Everyone pitched in to assist Mary with the cleanup and soon the house was back in order. John built a fire and now the remaining few were having a last drink before departing. Naturally, the talk turned towards Moriarty and what to do about him.

"Well I can tell you that I don't like being led by the nose by that maniac. But it is heartening to hear that we didn't miss the trail for two whole years. In spite of Sherlock's belief that the Met is full of idiots, I'd like to think we're more efficient than that," Lestrade commented.

Mycroft took a sip of his scotch and considered how much he should reveal of what Sherlock and he had learned during the past twenty-four hours.

Reading his brother's mind, Sherlock voiced his opinion, "We might as well tell them, Mycroft. They've a right to know since Moriarty is bound to involve them. I learned after last time that people get rather aggravated when you keep them in the dark. Besides, one or two of them might even prove useful."

"Sherlock, rude again," tutted Mrs. Hudson.

Feeling a touch like a bug under a microscope with five questioning gazes focused on him, Mycroft sighed, "Now that you've left the proverbial genie out of the bottle, Sherlock, I don't have much choice, do I? Very well then. Lestrade, your officers were not only thorough in their initial investigation, they were correct."

Mary was the first to put the pieces together. "What you're saying is..."

Sherlock cut her off, "Yes. Richard Brook was, in fact, Richard Brook. An actor who started in children's shows and then moved on to the greatest role of his life. The one worth dying for, though I doubt he started the job believing the literalness of that thought."

Silence met this announcement as each of the room's occupants struggled to make sense of the revelation.

"Moriarty is alive because it was never Moriarty who died. It was Richard Brook." Molly's voice reflected the wonderment she and the others felt. Weakly she joked, "It seems that I don't have such a thing for sociopaths after all."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that, Molly Hooper. After all, there is always me." Sherlock smiled for a brief moment and then grew serous again. "Brook was not a sociopath but he was unhinged at the end. I saw it in his eyes. Whether it was because he'd truly gone mad enough to believe he actually was Moriarty or because he was terrified knowing Moriarty would kill him for accidentally revealing the weakness in his plot, Brook willingly shot himself."

Mary nodded her head thoughtfully. In an almost admiring tone, she concluded, "Clever that. Moriarty hiring an actor to play him and then accusing you of the deed. There's always an element of the truth in the best of lies."

"So, we're back to square one? Moriarty alive. Only this time we've no idea of what he even looks like. It could be anyone." John couldn't keep some of his despair from leaking into his voice. It was bad enough when he and Sherlock had to deal with that nutter, but now there were several additional targets, not the least of which was his infant daughter.

Mycroft, reading the fear in the room, sought to reassure, "We've several people working on identifying and locating him. Not just our government but others as well. He'll be found and dealt with accordingly. It's merely a matter of time."

The ex-agent aspect of Mary came to the forefront. "That's all well and good, Mycroft, but it's us he'll want to play with. I'm certain of it. I'll place my money on Sherlock and the rest of us in this room. If any group of people will find Moriarty, it's us."

The group spent a few more hours making plans to both seek out Moriarty and make sure everyone was safe. By one in the morning, they all were tired and ready to call it a night. Molly began gathering up her gifts.

Lestrade plucked them from her arms, "Here, let me. I'll run them down to the car and then take you and Mrs. Hudson home."

Flustered, Molly protested, "Oh, that's sweet of you, Greg, but I'm not sure..."

"Nonsense, it's no bother at all. It's right on my way home."

Sherlock came up behind them. "Yes, but it is my home so your chauffeuring services are not needed. I'll see Molly and Mrs. Hudson safely to Baker Street. We'll grab a cab. Be a sport and fetch one for us, won't you?" he asked and smiled his patently insincere smile; the one designed to interdict any questions or objections.

The cab ride home passed in silence. Mrs. Hudson fell asleep and Molly was wondering what had gotten into Sherlock. He seemed rather preoccupied about something but she had no idea what. Finally she decided to write it off to his concern about Moriarty being back, not that anyone could blame him.

When they got upstairs, she made to head to her bedroom and fall into bed. Sherlock's hand on her arm stopped her. "Shall I make us a cup of tea before bed, Molly?"

Molly couldn't help herself. Her mouth fell open. Sherlock never offered to make tea. Because she really was exhausted, she declined, "Thank you, but I'm knackered." Noticing that he now looked like a seven year old who had just been deprived of his favorite toy, she relented. "All right, one cup. Decaffeinated, right?"

Sherlock beamed. "You go in and sit down. I'll be right in." He headed towards the kitchen.

Molly entered the dark sitting room and made towards her usual spot. Not wanting to once again end up atop one of Sherlock's discarded experiments or Toby, she clicked on a table lamp before sitting. The sight that greeted her was a shock. Gone was what she and everyone else called John's chair and in its place was a lovely oversized, cream velvet wingback. She looked up to find Sherlock standing at the threshold to the kitchen expectantly watching her.

Overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness of his gift, Molly felt tears begin to form. Blinking them away, she smiled tremulously. "Thank you, Sherlock, I've been positively spoiled tonight but this… Thank you."

Sherlock came and stood before her. "You're welcome, Molly Hooper. I should have done this sooner. I am forever in your debt and not only for your assistance with my disappearance. You're not John, and you need to know that you have your own place in my life." Staring intently at her, he began to lean in towards her.

Having been in this situation with him before, Molly swallowed the sudden pang of longing she felt. Closing her eyes, she offered her cheek up for his kiss only to be surprised by his hand on her chin gently turning her head and the feel of his lips on hers.