It's taken me ages to think up a new chapter for this series, and then I came up with an idea that I just couldn't wind up in one chapter. So here is Part One. Part Two will be coming in the next few days.

000

She reeled in through the door of their flat, feeling utterly dazed. To her relief, John was home already, and in the midst of cooking dinner. Mary collapsed into a kitchen chair, emotionally exhausted.

"Hello, love," John greeted her with a kiss. "You look done in. Pleasant luncheon with Molly?" She mustered up the energy to groan in answer.

Molly had called her that morning and invited her to luncheon. Luncheon had stretched into an entire afternoon's ordeal. Molly had had a great deal to talk over with her friend, and Mary was not certain what to do with the information.

"How did you like Molly's new flat?" her husband asked, turning back to stir the concoction on the stove. "She's certainly coming up in the world—Marylebone district! Must be fantastic!" Mary covered her face and remained silent.

Concerned, John turned down the heat under the pot on the stove and sat beside his weary wife. "What's happened? Is she all right? What's going on?" he asked solicitously.

Mary sighed. "I'm confounded, astonished, befuddled, disturbed, and utterly floored. Molly is seeing someone," she reported soberly.

John frowned. "You mean, as in, a boyfriend?" he ventured.

She nodded, understanding his hesitation. They both knew that Molly's taste in men ran to the dangerous and unpredictable. "She says she's given up on Sherlock. And I don't blame her for that; he's completely oblivious. But the first words out of her mouth when she told me about this new one was: 'He's not a sociopath.'"

"Right," John nodded, sceptical.

"His name is Tom. He's a pharmacist at St. Bart's. They met through friends. They like the same pubs." Mary listed the facts as she knew them dispassionately, trying to remain objective. "She's met his family, and they seem normal to her. And, um," she searched her memory for more information, "oh, he has a dog."

"Sounds . . . respectable," John suggested.

"He does, doesn't he?" Mary agreed reluctantly. "'I'm moving on,' she said to me. 'I'm getting on with my life. I want what you and John have before I get too old to enjoy it,' she said. Well, who could blame her for that?" the corner of her mouth quirked in a wry smile.

"So, what is it that worries you?" John asked gently, looking relieved. "Are you upset that she isn't hanging on to her hopes that Sherlock will notice her one day?"

"No, no, it's not that. I thought it all sounded lovely, at first. I was very happy for her. But then, after she told me all these wonderful things about him, she showed me his picture, and that's what's confounded me. Feature this, Captain: he's very tall and slender, has black, curly hair, light blue eyes, high cheekbones, and in this picture at least, he was wearing . . . ."

"Don't tell me! A Belstaff overcoat," John groaned. "Did he come complete with the correct wardrobe, or did she give it to him?"

"I didn't dare ask. But, oh, he looks more like Sherlock's brother than Sherlock's brother," Mary worried. "'Moving on' my arse! What can we do, Captain?"

He looked at her, amazed. "Nothing," he said firmly. "We're not going to meddle in Molly's private life. It's none of our business, is it?"

"Of course, it's our business! She's our friend, and she's going to be hurt. Or Tom is. Or both of them, most likely," Mary fussed.

"Maybe he really is just a nice, normal bloke. Just because he physically resembles Sherlock doesn't mean she's not moving on. I mean, maybe she just has a type," John reasoned.

"You know she has a type!" Mary reminded him. "Dangerous and unpredictable."

John grinned at her suggestively and waggle an eyebrow. Mary snorted a short laugh.

"Okay, so she's not the only one," she admitted. "And it's not a bad type, I suppose. But when I asked her to tell me what she liked about him, her answer was unsettling to me."

"Well," John prompted.

"Cute, cuddly, harmless, avoids dangerous situations, keeps regular hours, a real stay-at-home. Oh, and they have lots of sex."

John burst into hysterical laughter and nearly slid out of his chair. Mary frowned at him in disapproval, and tears ran down his face as he tried to control his hilarity.

"John! This is serious!" Mary scolded, trying to hide her own smile.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! It's just," John gasped for breath. "It's just, he sounds the perfect rabbit," he managed to say.

Mary could not hold back a snigger in response. "He does, doesn't he?" she admitted, her dimples showing. "You see why I think they can't be happy together? It's obviously a purely physical relationship. They have nothing whatever in common. I asked her if she really thought she could base a serious relationship on just those characteristics, and she couldn't answer me. Deep down, she knows he's not right for her. She'll be bored to tears in a month."

John visibly struggled to get control of himself once more. "So, it'll be over in a month. No need for you to stick your nose into it, Mary. Just stay out of it, and the situation will take care of itself."

"We can't stay out of it," Mary declared flatly. "She wants him to meet all her friends. We're going over to her flat on Friday for dinner. Sherlock and Greg as well. Mrs. Hudson is out of town, or she'd be invited, too. She's serious about this, Captain. We have to go, and we have to behave ourselves. No sarcastic comments, and absolutely no hysterical laughter!"

"I think I can vouch for you and me, and probably Greg. But will Sherlock behave?" John wondered doubtfully.

"Will he even go, is the question? And should we encourage him to, or encourage him to give it a miss?" Mary mused. She groaned again and covered her face dramatically. "I wish you hadn't put that 'rabbit' idea into my head. Now all I can think about is that rabbit poem."

"What rabbit poem?"

"Oh, you know the one: 'The rabbit wears a charming face. His private life is a disgrace. I really dare not name to you the dreadful things that rabbits do.'"

This started John off laughing again, to her dismay. "John, really! What if he is a dangerous psychopath in disguise! It would explain why she's attracted to him, wouldn't it?"

"His charming face explains why she's attracted to him, love," John said dryly. "And rabbits are meant to be good luck, aren't they? But we'll go have this dinner and vet him for ourselves. We can't really make any judgements before meeting him, can we?"

Mary stubbornly thought that she bloody well could! But she nodded reluctantly. "Rabbit, rabbit," she muttered ironically. "Feed me my dinner already, why don't you? Being confounded is hungry work!"

John chuckled and agreeably fed his confounded wife.

000

For those not in the know, saying "rabbit, rabbit" first thing when one awakes on the first day of the month is meant to bring good luck for that month. I've no idea where this superstition came from. If anyone can enlighten me, I'd be grateful!