AN- Thank you for all your support! I will never tire of it. :-)

A reminder! Viola has discovered the cause of death in a murder investigation after just three minutes. Molly and Sherlock have kissed. Lastly, Molly has discovered a photo of Sherlock and Viola on a body at work and has called John in panic.

Off we go...

Tangible excitement danced in Viola's stomach.

She was sat in a surveillance van, watching Scotland Yard carry out the arrest of the murderer of the two victims' found that morning. Anderson was sat next to her, seemingly have become her 'guardian'.

She watched as Sherlock appeared at the front of the group, waving his arms and ordering them about.

"So," Rudely, Sally addressed Viola, "You're the consulting detective's spawn."

"Is he always the," Viola paused, finding the word and ignoring Sally's comment, "Boss?"

"Boss?" Sally laughed snidely, "No, although he likes to think he is."

Viola grimaced at woman's impolite tone. If her English was better, she would have had some fantastic retorts up her sleeve. Telling herself to learn some English insults for future reference, she decided to focus upon the operation. Nine minutes later, a lady was arrested, kicking and screaming. Viola thought of the dead couple and their pained expression and was proud. She's brought them justice.

John dashed through the underground station. He fumbled aimlessly for his Oyster card, flicked through the barriers, and made his way through the grey cave of St Paul's station into the light. To St Bartholomew's Hospital.

To Molly.

Molly had never been so relieved to hear familiar footsteps. Her right hand which had been gripping onto a scalpel for protection instantly relaxed.

John Watson burst into the morgue.

For a moment, they stood still.

Heart in her throat, and the feeling of Sherlock's lips on hers running through her head, Molly wordlessly reached into er pocket, and held out the photograph. She felt sick with guilt. She wanted Sherlock by her side.

John cautiously took the photograph from her small hand. Molly saw his lips part, his eyebrows rising and then falling, and his body stiffen.

His voice was hoarse when he spoke, "Where was it?"

"On Mrs Wiltshire's body," Molly clarified slowly, "It's from- "

"Today, yes I can see that." John took in a slow deep breath and stepped next to a slab that was devoid of human matter. The photograph burned through his palm. John placed it down and seemed to vibrate with tension. "Does Mycroft know?"

"Not yet."

John nodded, stilled, and then with the force of a caged animal, swung his fist down on the table. The metal cried out, and Molly jumped.

"Jesus," Hissed John, "What the hell do we do?"

"…I don't know."

John turned the photograph over and read the words on the other side.

'A poor woman had to crash to deliver this… Oh well. Did they like my gift? Oh, and please, ask Viola a question for me. Ti sono mancata?'

"Ti sono…" His eyebrows fused together, "What does that mean?"

"I," Molly forced down a wave of hot tears, "I searched it. It means 'Did you miss me?'"

There was an elongated silence.

"No," John shook his head with a dark laugh, "I'm not doing this. No."

"John- "

"I'm telling Sherlock. He needs to know. No- Sorry Molly, this has gone too far. He's in danger-"

Molly urgently approached, slamming her hand over the photograph. "-You know we can't."

"Why not?" His voice raised, "Christ, Molly! Don't you see? Mycroft is an idiot; Sherlock's life is in danger and we're letting him swan around like a free man. He has a daughter, for God's sake." John ran a hand through his hair, "If Viola is hurt he will never stop blaming himself, he won't stop blaming us."

Molly winced. She knew it was true. A tear fell.

John saw her expression break, and his anger dissipated. Quickly, he wrapped Molly in his arms. She buried her head in his shoulder, and he felt her shaking.

"What if they hurt him, John?" She murmured, lifting her head a little, "Or me, or you, any of us… Mycroft is clueless you know, his agents are stumped."

John relented his grasp on her, "He's made no progress?"

"I saw him earlier," Molly lamented, "It's got worse."

Johns face twisted with curiosity, so Molly filled him in. As John heard about the break-in of one of the flats on Baker Street, decorated with one of Sherlock's scarves, he paled. This must've been planned for a while. Years ago, Eurus had met with Moriarty for five minutes. They thought she had only gone as far as to plan the events at Sherrinford, but did it go further than that? John still didn't know how either party had discovered Viola, or how this could have been orchestrated. They were facing an unknown stalker, or stalkers, decorated with the dark cloak of Jim Moriarty.

John spoke gravely, "Sherlock's going to be broken if he realises he didn't destroy Moriarty's network completely." His eyes betrayed his grief, "...He literally gave his life to ensure it."

Nodding numbly, Molly met her gaze with John's. "I'm terrified of how far he'll go to protect us this time."

A wave of silent understanding passed over them both.

No, they couldn't tell him, not yet.

Together, they contacted Mycroft, who sent over a team of four special agents to the morgue. It was at this point that John suggested they leave, the less they saw the better. The more they knew, the more Sherlock had the potential of seeing. Molly saw Mike Stanford, lied about her being shaken after nearly being knifed the day before- and he gladly let her go.

More lies, she lamented solemnly.

Viola followed Sherlock down the paved street. They remained quiet. Sherlock moved between tourists and commuters with an aloof demeanour. It was almost as if he couldn't see them. Viola, however, found the multitude of human activity disarming; constantly altering her gait to avoid an accidental collision.

Viola found herself wondering how a person could reside in a city like this and be acclimatised. She glanced at Sherlock, with his collar towards the sky. She was in awe of his confidence. London was his home. He was as one with the skyline as the very Tower of London.

After a couple of minutes, Sherlock finally tilted his head down in her direction and led them over to a short wall overlooking the Thames.

As the sunset drew close, a beacon of blistering orange cut across the river, against the blue and grey in the sky. Buildings were transformed into silhouettes. Viola found herself gazing at the illustrious shadow of the Houses of Parliament, dominated by Big Ben.

Placing his hands against the railings, Sherlock spoke in Italian, "That's the London Eye, over there."

Viola glanced at the huge structure, the cause of the crowds, and smirked, "I didn't realise you dragged me here to go sightseeing."

Sherlock matched her smirk, "Tedious. I thought you'd enjoy the view."

Viola watched the sun's rays dance upon the water, "Is this Westminster?"

"No. The Southbank. Westminster is across the river, it's a relatively small area considering its importance."

Sherlock looked out at the water, "You acted successfully today."

He was talking about the case. "I'm surprised you seem impressed."

"You are?" He frowned, "Well, one could attribute it to beginners' luck if one believed in such a notion."

"You don't?"

"Obviously not."

Looking up through dark eyelashes, she glimpsed at the detective curiously, "…Is this some ill-fated attempt at a compliment?"

"You're very intelligent, Viola. More than I gave you credit for."

Her cheeks coloured, and she stood a little taller, "Like you, you mean?"

"Don't flatter yourself, I said you were clever. Not a genius."

Viola rolled her eyes and laid her arms against the stone. Her expression became pensive, "Sherlock, why did you ask me to come today?"

The detective stilled, and she noticed. Deep down, he was considering why himself. When he had awoken with Lestrade calling, it had been a welcome distraction. Despite feeling oddly attached to Molly Hooper's proximity, he was itching to get away. This venture they had stumbled upon together was more intense than he'd ever imagined. It turns out, spending time with his daughter was less terrifying than staying with Molly. Taking Viola to the case was a welcome distraction.

"Considering the evidence, I must say it's because I wanted to."

Puzzlement laid on her for a moment, "I presumed it was because you were trying to get information out of me."

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow, "What sort of information?"

He knew what. The reason behind her panic the day before.

"Sherlock you don't know me very well at all. There's a lot you don't know."

Registering the defence in her tone, Sherlock found himself compelled to be honest. If she didn't react well, then so be it. He wanted to demonstrate that he could be trustworthy. "Your mother told me you had a stalker."

Viola's face flushed with pure panic as if she'd been doused in hot oil. Sherlock saw her eyebrows raise, eyes widen, and jaw drop. Everything was subtle and passed within a moment, but it was raw. …Too raw.

"Why did she tell you that?"

"Maria considered my knowing to be in the benefit of your wellbeing."

"Rubbish," She admonished sharply, "She's trying to scare you off."

"Well, that was never going to work. Viola Seraphina, I've dealt with a lot worse. Some man being obsessed with you years ago is hardly going to put me off getting to know you."

Viola was shocked again at Sherlock's want to know her. Part of her worried he'd deduced the note that she had found in John's house, but his indifference on the matter suggested otherwise. In a smaller voice, she began, "He was my friend for years before it happened. It… It was meant to be different."

"Different how?"

Her eyes watched a small boat passing by. "I've found myself going through funny phases growing up, reactions to mamma's drug problem. She'd constantly switch from being overbearing to totally indifferent. There was a period when I'd act like a hopeless romantic just to feel wanted." She caught Sherlock's eyes, drenched in curiosity, "I sought the affections of person after person, just to prove some point about my independence to mamma-"

The detective saw her blush.

"-But it ended in tears, of course. I'd go crying to my best friend, Matteo. He knew me better than anyone. …He was the only person I told about you after your brother informed me who you were." Viola's blinked away sadness, "After a while, we found each other, and it was… Good. I noticed signs of toxicity, but I ignored them. Until he started asking things of me I didn't want to do, and not backing down. "

Sherlock's palm gripped the wall tighter as a wave of protectiveness hit him at the underlying meaning of her words. It shocked him that he felt so angry.

"I broke it off. But he wasn't going to take it so lightly. It started with apology letters, then him 'accidentally' bumping into me, the feeling of being watched…" She sighed, "I hid it from mamma as long as I could. But, then the photos started. I'd find them everywhere, photos of me going about my life with little notes behind them-"

"What did they say?"

Viola paused, but the words fell from her lips like waves. "'I miss you', 'I love you', 'I want you'… They gradually got worse. Threatening. In the end, it was caught out just in time. My Papa," Sherlock frowned, "No- my step-papa, he caught him… In the house, waiting for me to come home." She shivered, "He was arrested, and he's still serving time." Yet his handwriting arrived on the doorstep yesterday, and you have no idea how.

Sherlock's focus on her story was momentarily swept away when the word Papa fell from her lips, and it struck him with a funny emotion that it wasn't in relation to him. But, he efficiently flicked his attention back to her. How did he act now… Sympathetic? Clinical? He wished Molly was there to help him. The story was hardly relevant to anything, but he saw what it meant. It showed Viola opening up to him, it showed she was starting to trust him.

Carefully, puzzling over his facial reaction, he spoke, "I'm… Sorry, you went through that."

She turned her head to face him fully, deep, anxious, and sorrowful. Then, Viola laughed softly, surprising him "You really hate the sympathetic act, don't you?"

The tension seemed to dissipate. "Navigating that area of human reaction is awfully confusing."

Viola opened her mouth to speak but was cut off as Sherlock's phone sprang to life.

"…Aren't you going to answer that?"

"No."

"It could be important?"

"It isn't."

Viola's hand fell on her hip, "Why not?"

Blue eyes met blue. He stood straighter. "It's my parents. Trying to come and meet you. I don't wish to give them the pleasure."

"Your parents… My-"

"Grandparents, yes."

Viola was shocked. She hadn't even considered grandparents in this whole situation. Her heart tightened nervously. Growing up, it had been her nonna that raised her. A kind lady with white hair and olive skin, grounded by strong opinions. She loved her, more than she did her mother. Just over a year ago, she had died; Viola had accepted the independence that fell upon her as it did. Knowing she had other grandparents felt partially like an invasion, but also, an opportunity she couldn't pass. She'd give anything to see her nonna again.

Sherlock watched the colours of her face shifting rapidly. He hadn't expected her to be so affected. Eventually, she spoke, Italian tones falling from her slowly, "Why can't I meet them?"

"Viola, they were the orchestrators in this plot to keep your existence hidden from me. Mycroft, as controlling as he is, didn't make the original decision. They did."

Are they good people?"

Sherlock froze, "Clarify good?"

"I mean, are they… Decent? Do they treat people kindly? Do they care about you?"

Viola watched the detective's cheek twitch, and she saw he wasn't used to being confronted like this.

"They are not bad people."

"I want to meet them."

Sherlock spun to look at her fully, "Viola-"

"It's not your decision, Sherlock." She looked up at him decisively, "I'm an independent adult and if I would like to meet my grandparents I will do so."

"It's because of their abhorrent behaviour I have missed the last two decades of your existence."

Viola tried to ignore the emotions raising within her at the depth of betrayal in his voice. "Just tell me this, did they think it was right because they cared?"

Reluctantly, Sherlock turned away from her. "They thought me being ignorant would help preserve my life."

"Then I shall not hold it against them."

Resolute silence hung over them for a few minutes, both inundated in their own heads. Sherlock pictured Molly and pondered what she would make of this situation. Part of him ached to see her, an absurd reaction, he thought.

With deft hands, he reached into his pockets. "I have a present for you."

"For me? Why?"

"Because you single-handedly helped catch a criminal today." With one hand, Sherlock withdrew a small dish, passing it over to Viola.

She took it, stared, and her head lifted in shock, "You stole the contact lenses?"

"Anderson looks over his evidence containers with zero care. Plus, it's only two of the four."

"It's evidence," She chastised, but she was grinning, "Someone's alibi could depend on this!"

"But you solved the case." Reasoned Sherlock smoothly.

"Yes, I suppose, but why-"

"I figured you could run a toxicology report on it. Conduct research."

Her face lit up, and Sherlock decided he liked that expression. Viola gazed between him and the small container, "You're such a bad influence."

"Come on, Molly should still be working. Let's go and run some tests." Swiftly, Sherlock spun on his heel and started walking away.

Viola blinked, laughed, and jogged after him.

A man watched them walk away. Jealousy bit his skin like ants on the surface. Quickly, he removed a mobile from his pocket, punched in numbers, and held it against his ear. "Ahmed, it's me. Yeah. They've left, said they're going to that hospital again- yeah pal, of course. We need something bigger, something that's going to reach the news- What do you mean, not yet? We don't have- Ah, yeah, I see. Have you got someone on the elder Holmes too? Good. Sherlock's not going to know what's hit him. He'll see us soon."

"Molly?" Sherlock's deep baritone echoed through the laboratory.

It was deserted.

Viola, following behind the detective, found herself admiring the equipment in awe. Molly kept everything meticulous, even for a specialist registrar. She wondered if at some point they could work together.

Sherlock's mind was furthest from Viola's, as anxiety started to emanate from his skull, and drip downwards. Where was she? He saw the remnants of lunch on her office desk, and a cup of tea that had gone ice cold. He shouldn't worry. She was fine. She'd just be-

A tall Asian man walked in, dressed in a tailored suit. Sherlock was there in an instant, deducing frantically, "Where's Doctor Hooper?"

"She left, sir." The man replied, no semblance of emotion on his face.

"And why did she leave?"

"I was informed it had something to do with an incident that occurred yesterday, sir."

Images of Molly kissing him filled his head, but he shook them away. The man was clearly suggesting the incident that had nearly got her killed. But Sherlock didn't believe it. Molly had been surprisingly okay. Why would she leave because of- Oh.

"You're one of Mycroft's men." It wasn't a question.

"It is not in my job description to discuss certain people, sir."

"Why did my brother send you here?"

"I am not at liberty to discuss that with you, sir."

If Viola hadn't been there, Sherlock would have been very tempted to grab the man by the lapels and make him talk. But he didn't. He bristled with frustration. His voice dropped an octave, "Where is she?"

"I believe she left with a Mr John Watson, sir."

John? Why John?

Confounded, Sherlock took a step back and met the man in a hot stare. "Do tell your employer I will be demanding a full explanation for this. Also, do inform him that his staff can address me not as 'Sir' but as Sherlock Holmes. It's not an obnoxious prick like my brother." An evil smile pulled on his face.

The man, at last, hesitated, lifting his chin a fraction. "I shall inform him, Sherlock Holmes."

As Sherlock and Viola approached John's home, they discussed her research into Migrant identification, and the detective found himself enthralled by how 'not boring' she was. Viola seemed more carefree now, whether from the adrenaline of the case, or the fact she'd been able to open up to him, he wasn't sure.

It didn't, however, help him relax. Something was going on with Molly. His spine teemed with suspicion. Sherlock felt guilty for harbouring such doubt. He trusted her. But he had a sinking feeling, one that felt like standing on an edge, ready to fall. No- You're just trying to talk yourself out of sentimental entanglements. Molly wouldn't keep secrets from you.

Sherlock forced denial on himself. Don't worry, she'll explain herself.

The detective opened the door and allowed his daughter to enter first.

As Viola wandered in, Sherlock took notice of his surroundings.

He recognised Mrs Hudson's shoes, placed neatly next to where Viola put hers. John's coat laid on top of Mary's red one- which John never dared to move- on the bannister. Another small jacket and scarf lay on top of that.

Molly's.

Sherlock stiffened, before removing his own coat and scarf, delicately placing them next to hers. A strange thought struck him; they looked perfectly fitting together.

"Sherlock, what are you doing lingering in the porch?"

The detective pulled out of his fervour and gazed at Mrs Hudson.

"Ah, Mrs Hudson. I do hope your sister is coping well in your presence. Considering you've ate three pieces of cake today, one would presume she's enjoying your company. Or perhaps your consuming extensive amounts of food to alleviate your stress."

The elderly lady smiled, walked, and put both hands against his cheeks. He cringed at the cool contact. "Oh, Sherlock I've missed you." She leaned in, "And no, just missing my Baker Street boys, it's awfully… Mundane, without you around."

"Isn't the 10pm news keeping you company? Or the herbal soothers?"

She swatted him playfully, "I'll have none of that, thank you!"

Together, they laughed.

"Awful business yesterday those men threatening you and Molly like that," Mrs Hudson commented caringly, "She seems alright though, she's ever so strong."

A peculiar expression flashed over Sherlock's face; if she seems alright, then why is she lying? "I suppose she is."

The older woman reached out and held his arm, "How's Viola?"

The detective clasped his hands behind his back, "Considering the circumstances, I must admit I'm finding her presence a positive one. She's remarkably intelligent."

Mrs Hudson's eyes sparkled with pride. "I'm so proud of you."

"What for?"

"For not running away, in fact, for embracing it. I never thought I'd say it, but I'd say you were born to be a parent."

"I'd hardly go that far-"

"No, Sherlock, I mean it. You, young man, have come so far since…" She trailed off, and Sherlock knew what she was referring to.

The drugs, the instability, the recklessness. Deep down, he knew he was still that person. Given the right vice, he could easily fall back into old habits. Mary's death had proven that. It was an argument that pestered the back of his brain relentlessly.

Instead of divulging his doubts, he offered his landlady a small smile, and they went to join the others.

It was a scene of domestic bliss, Sherlock mused, but certainly not in the stereotypical sense. John sat on the settee, flicking through the television guide idly. Viola had knelt on the carpeted floor carefully, letting Rosie grab onto her hands. On the baby's opposite side, Molly sat cross-legged. She held a blue elephant above Rosie's face, shaking it, emitting a small jingle. Mrs Hudson moved into the room, plumping up one of the cushions.

Sherlock felt a wave of anxiousness hit him for the lack of social skills to navigate these situations. Yet, his neuro system protested he could be content if only he let himself relax. Molly's presence felt like a drug being dangled in front of him.

It was at this moment, that John saw him, "Hi, mate. Good case?"

Saw five clients at work. Left four hours ago. Creases on shirt, left in a hurry. Anxious. Hasn't eaten. Worried about something. Professional body language. Trying to look unassuming.

John was nervous.

Sherlock's head swept around to Molly. She offered him a gentle smile, laced with unsureness after the night before. But she didn't blush. In fact, the smile was forced.

Hair loose, let it down two hours ago. After she left work. Wasn't intending to go back then, Stamford must've cleared her absence- God, I want to kiss her- Nervous about seeing me- Focus, Sherlock!- Due to the kissing? Partially. Heart rate has increased. Tense body language. But clothing is more focused. She wishes to impress me. Whatever is on her mind, she doesn't want to get in the way of our venture. Forced confidence. But she doesn't want me to know.

"Sherlock?"

"Mm."

John tried again, "I asked if your case went well."

"Oh," Sherlock shrugged his shoulders, "Yes, solved. An optician poisoned her clients contact lenses after finding out they were sleeping with their husband. She also gave her husband the same pair."

"Poisoned contact lenses?" Gasped Mrs Hudson, "Dearie me, whatever next?"

"I can't take all of the credit," Sherlock cut in, "Viola identified the cause of death within three minutes of walking into the room."

All heads turned to the young woman, even Rosie seemed to slow down.

"Three minutes," John's eyebrow's shot up, "You're giving Sherlock a run for his money there!"

"Run for his money?" Viola frowned, not understanding the turn of phrase.

John started to laugh, "I bet Lestrade's face was priceless!"

"Mm, you could say that." Sherlock smirked, "Although I worry Anderson may be a little bit in love with her."

Viola rolled her eyes.

Mrs Hudson chuckled, and John threw his head back in laughter. Molly, however, was smiling at Sherlock so warmly it coloured his cheeks. She looked proud of him.

"Well, Viola isn't this nice! You and your dad off to solve crimes together." Mrs Hudson clapped her hands excitedly, "You could make a musical about this!"

"Mm, well isn't this lovely." Sherlock interrupted impatiently, his head fixed towards Molly's, "A word, please."

He saw her flinch, "Now?"

"If you wouldn't mind."

The tone of his voice suggested she didn't have a choice. Molly's stomach dropped, but she stood and followed Sherlock out of the room and up the stairs.

Molly gasped as Sherlock pulled her into John's bedroom, closing the door behind them.

"Sherlock, what's wrong, are you-"

She was silenced as Sherlock's lips captured hers. After a moment of shock, she caved in. She wound her fingers in his hair, it felt like silk on her hand. Sherlock's hands found their own paths, one held the small of her back, the other drawing lines up and down her back. He felt the white noise descending, and marvelled at it. She was addictive.

Molly didn't think she'd ever get used to this. For a moment, her worries dissipated.

She gasped as dominance started to take over Sherlock, he grasped her waist and held her to the spot.

"Molly-"

A moment later her back was against the wall, his body flush against hers. A noise escaped the back of his throat that was practically carnal. Molly found herself grasping his hips and pulling him closer without thinking. Say it like you mean it, I love you. A moment later, tongues met, and electricity ran rampant. She'd never tire of this.

Sherlock's palm cupped her cheek, and he edged them apart. His pupils were blown against his irises. He was the most beautiful thing Molly had ever seen.

How could she be lying to him? The thought soured her lust instantly, and Sherlock saw.

"What was that for?" She managed.

Sherlock held her in place, and spoke deeply, "Isn't this how people in romantic relationships greet each other?"

She blinked, "You're joking."

He paused, then snorted, "Of course, I'm not an idiot."

Sherlock let her go, and the cold air greeted her with ferocity.

"I wanted to," He reached out and smoothed a lock of auburn hair out of her eye line. "I was also hoping you could give me some information."

Flushed, she smiled, "What's that then?"

"Why did you leave work with John today? Why were Mycroft's agents at the morgue?"

It was like she was painted white. She stiffened immediately. Sherlock's eyes narrowed, he watched her like an experiment unravelling before him. Fear anxiety guilt danger-

FLASH

It was like a flicker. A spark of electricity. They both saw it, and wordlessly moved towards the window.

On the street opposite, there was a man, features covered in a large hoodie, holding a camera up to the window. To them.

Molly felt like a car crash occurred inside her head, everything crumbling to a complete stop. It was them. It had to be. In plain sight.

She saw tension visibly take over Sherlock's every single feature, a storm thrashing to the surface. His eyes darkened, anger raised.

"Stay here."

The next thing she knew, he was bounding down the stairs, throwing open the door, and charging onto the street. Molly called after him, but it was no use.

They had been trying to get Sherlock's attention, and now they'd played their winning card.

A review box, just for you? Amazing!

This chapter was a slow burn, but it's important considering where the plot is going to go. Lots of twists and turns ahead, folks!

See you at the next update.

E