IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT: Concerning the point of view of this story: After careful consideration and suggestions from friends and people, I have decided to keep most of the story in first person. Note the "most". There will be exceptions, for example, in relatively PG-13 and R-ish scenes (because it's a bit awkward and less difficult to write that in first person), and sometimes, I will be switching to Sherlock's point of view in third person in a chapter (like this one). So hopefully, I made the right call and I would appreciate your comments on it.

I was, to say the least, very shocked at the question, yet part of me wasn't. It's like eating a food that you don't have a preference for. You're not very surprised that it doesn't taste very good, yet surprised that it was as bad as it is. Then again the fact that Sherlock had been the one to ask the question, but it would certainly shock anyone who knew him.

"Sure, yes, I mean, coffee sounds great," I sputtered.

Sherlock offered a faint smile and regained his seriousness and professionality.

Turning to the glowing laptop, I pointed and asked, "Found anything useful so far? The case? You know you could always just tell Lestrade that you're very sure of the fact that it's him and tell him to take Samuel in for you to question."

"No, he won't listen. But I did manage to get ahold of Samuel's case files from the rehab center. Look here," Sherlock sat down and brought up a page. "Diagnosed with semi-mild narcissistic personality disorder when he was eleven, but his mum never got him treatment. Started on drugs such as cocaine when he was sixteen. Got caught, and was admitted to Green Oaks rehabilitation center with money from his father, Allenston, but Samuel wasn't, of course, aware of that fact."

"What does that tell us?"

"Not much. Which is why I made an appointment to go there this afternoon. I need to talk to him myself. We're going back to uni afterwards, so you should probably pack," Sherlock did his signature thinking pose with his hands.

"We're leaving right afterwards? What if we need to go back? You're that sure you can solve the thing with just one visit?"

"Yes. And I have several conjectures to go off on, so we're not completely starting on a blank page."

I cocked my head, "If you say so. And you should really get some sleep so you don't look like a zombie tomorrow for your father's funeral service in the morning."

"Zombies are green-skinned, rotting monsters with drool hanging out of their mouths and hungering for brains. I highly doubt that pulling an all-nighters would reduce me to that kind of creature."

I rolled my eyes, "Figure of speech, Sherlock!"

He smirked, "I know, just trying to lighten the mood."

I rolled my eyes again, "Sleep!"

"We are gathered here to mourn the loss of Mr. Siger Holmes..." the priest droned on as Sherlock proceeded to wander through his mind palace, out of the loss of interest. It was an exact replica of Buckingham Palace, as he had always loved the grandeur of the place.

Instead of speaking or thinking to himself in words, he had preferred using pictures and images. They were considerably more efficient and detailed.

Several flitted across his train of thought now – the rehab center's website homepage, Samuel Lemming's profile photo, and... Molly?

She was standing right next to him wearing a black dress, as per the usual funeral attire, but she seemed to have a peculiar glow that made her stand out from the countless others who were wearing the same color.

Out of the corner of her eye, Molly noticed and met his gaze, blushed slightly, and fidgeted with her hands nervously.

Their plan had been to get coffee after the funeral, as suggested by him, because there was a decent-looking café right down the street.

But they had to endure through this first.

The whole Holmes family stayed relatively calm and emotionless throughout, except for Violet who was nice to all the attendants and graciously accepted everyone's "I'm sorry's".

There were some comments and questions made on who Molly was, but Sherlock deflected all of the with an ambiguous answer.

After a few speeches from people and a poem reading about how great Siger Holmes was (which Sherlock regarded with disdain), the service was over.

The walk to the café took less than three minutes and both of them placed their orders.

"Black, two sugars," he said.

"Same for me, thanks," Molly stated.

They sat down at a table and Sherlock commented, "Mirroring another's action is often an indication of romantic attraction."
"You're the one who asked me here, don't forget that."

"Fair enough," Sherlock replied as the drinks were readied. "So, Molly, what do ordinary people do on ordinary dates? Can't really say I'm an expert on these kinds of things." He took a sip.

"They talk, get to know each other, and have fun. For example – what's your favourite colour?"

Sherlock frowned, "Getting to know each other by asking about another's preferred colour? That doesn't seem very efficient or practical. There are much better questions, for example, how long do you spend everyday showering?"

Molly giggled nervously, "What? Showering?"

"Yes. I mean, dating is an experiment, really, to find out if a person is compatible enough to live with the other. Therefore, there are more important things that needed to be shared than the favourite pigment of one side."

"Great. Fine. Is it my turn now to ask a question?"

"Is this a game now?"

"It could be."

"I have to warn you, Miss Hooper, I am very skilled at playing games. I've tied in a game of chess with Gary Kasparov three years ago. Although it was a simul, meaning he played several people at once," Sherlock mildly boasted.

"That's all fine and dandy. So it is a game now. And the rules will be if one of us won't answer of a question truthfully, then the other person wins and gets to make the other one do something. Anything they want. Like a warped version of Truth or Dare," Molly grinned.

"Okay, my question is, 'Who have you dated before?'" Sherlock inquired.

"A guy named Justin, but he was just a giant idiot. Come on, you have to do better than that," Molly replied.

"Just testing."

"Alright," Molly wracked her brain for a question personal enough. "Are you a virgin?"

He gave her a look, slightly amused at her choice of inquiry, "Really?"

"What?" She shrugged. "That's personal and embarrassing enough. Are you not going to answer? Meaning I win?"

"What I mean is everyone puts too much emphasis on sex. It's not a dictation of intelligence or self-worth, but everything thinks that is true. But if you insist, my answer would be yes," Sherlock answered. "My turn. What are your thoughts on high-functioning sociopaths?"

"If the one you're referring to is yourself, then the answer would be that he needs to think of better questions if he wants to one-up me on this. My turn. Tell me about your dad. Or rather, why no one in your family seem particularly fond of him, to say the least."

"It's a long story."

"I have time," Molly folded her hands together and leaned forward, attentive.

"My mum, Violet, had gotten pregnant with Mycroft when she was relatively young, and Siger Holmes was the father. It was all just one big mistake, but her mum talked her out of abortion while Siger's parents pressed for marriage," he said solemnly.

"Oh."

"Yes, it wasn't a particularly happy betrothal, but it wasn't too terrible at first. They had me five and a half years later, and by that time, Siger had been in some hot water. He was a 'druggie' – is that what it's called? – and had a handful of affairs, all to my mum's knowledge. She's very smart. The only reason she didn't opt for divorce was because she had no real credentials to get a good job, and while her parents weren't rich, Siger's were."

"So she stayed for his money," Molly concluded.

"More or less," Sherlock shrugged. "Now is it my turn to ask? Tell me your favourite aspect of yourself."

"Myself?" Molly hesitated. "I'd have to say... my intelligence?"

"Good answer. I despise when people say materialistic things like their clothes or makeup or something else just as superficial."

"What's your favourite aspect of yourself?" Molly asked.

"Not very original," Sherlock challenged.

"Never said it had to be," she countered. "And besides, I'm curious."

"New question," he demanded.

"Can't do that," Molly retaliated with. Then something hit her. "You honestly can't think of one thing you like about yourself? What about your deduction skills?"

"Do you know how many people have said 'piss off' to me when I deduce them?" Sherlock almost seemed saddened at the mention of it, vulnerable.

"I can say several things," Molly jumped in. "I mean, you're crazy smart, you have a very snarky attitude, and you've got bouncy hair."

"You like my bouncy hair?" Sherlock reached up and tried to press down the unruly locks.

"It's nice," Molly grinned. "And does this mean I win the game?"

"I suppose..."

"Great! I'll need a while to think about what I'm going to make you do, though..." she looked around for some inspiration.

Sherlock glanced at his watch, "We should leave for the Green Oaks rehab center. I made an appointment to see our suspect in thirty minutes. The cab I called for should be here any second now."

As if right on cue, their transportation vehicle pulled up as they paid for the coffees.

"Green Oaks Rehabilitation Center," Sherlock informed the driver. "We're going to find Samuel's alibi and destroy it."

Thanks for reading, everyone, and I'm grateful to mushsroomsandcucumbers, louvreangel, MorbidbyDefault, musicchica10, Kristina, obsessivefanno.4, SpencerReidFan89, Princess Aziza, and Renaissancebooklover108 for their reviews!

Hope you enjoyed their date, though it was cut a bit short, but you do get to find out a little bit more about Sherlock's past. As for the cause of death for Daddy Holmes, I'll leave that to your own imagination.