A/N We meant to save this update for a few days, rather than springing a double update out of the blue… But then we discovered it was Mord-Sith Rahl's birthday, and we did have a chapter written already, so here it is. Happy Birthday, Mord-Sith Rahl!

(PS. To all our other reviewers, frequent or fleeting, we wish you happy birthdays as well for whenever that's appropriate! Every one of your reviews brightens up our days!)

So while I was living out every socially awkward person's worst nightmare, here's what John and Sherlock were doing…

John closed the door on the intervention with some relief, as he'd had enough of those to last a lifetime during Harry's teenage years. Sherlock was already halfway down the stairs, and John half-jogged to catch up with him.

"So what's the plan? We find the waitress, ask some questions, snoop around her house…?" John asked, as Sherlock executed a flawless cab-hailing manoeuvre and hopped into the yellow vehicle. John was about to follow him, but Sherlock cut him off.

"Yes, I'm going to do that, while you are going to talk to Andrews and see if there's been any new developments, any links to the waitress, and so on. We'll meet up at Ted's in two hours." Sherlock announced, closing the car door and barking an address at the driver.

John stared at the taxi, rendered momentarily speechless. He found his voice after a few seconds, and shouted after the retreating cab: "I could just call him!" He sighed. The Holmes brothers should really reconsider their distaste for getting in touch like normal people.

Well, nothing for it but to make that phone call and prove his point.

John flicked through his contacts and selected the number marked 'ANDREWS – NOT ANDERSON'.

"Hello, this is Detective Nathan Andrews, NYPD. Who's calling?"

"Hi, this is Doctor John Watson, we met the other day… You might not remember me but–"

"Oh yeah, what can I do for you, Doctor Watson? Does Mr. Holmes need something? I assume he wouldn't call me himself if he did!" The detective said jovially.

"He prefers to text. You…know who I am? As in you remember meeting me?" John was nonplussed. This was almost unprecedented. Ever since he had met Sherlock, John had become used to people paying attention to the tall, rude genius rather than his short, apologetic friend.

"Of course! How could I forget meeting such an Internet sensation?"

"Well I wouldn't say 'sensation'…" John mumbled. "Um, anyway, yes. Sherlock was wondering if you'd had any luck turning up new leads?"

"Hmm, not really. Nothing directly related." Andrews admitted. "We're looking into a few other disappearances from the area, mostly single women under the age of thirty. But so far there are no clear links to the murder or Ms. MacLaren's kidnapping... Sorry."

"Oh, no, no – that's fine! Call me if anything comes up though, yeah?"

"Sure! I can't wait to read about this on your blog!"

"Uh, great. Thanks Andr– Anders– Andrews." John closed the phone and cursed. Even their voices sounded alike. This was going to be hell when he went back to London and saw his least favourite Yarder again.

But it was interesting… Recent disappearances, plenty of young women reported missing… The kidnapper again? But that would mean he didn't just take Sandy because she was linked to Carl… John's head was spinning, but unlike Sherlock he didn't consider that a good thing. He just couldn't make the puzzle pieces fit together.

And what was worse, he hadn't heard Sherlock when he gave the cabbie Wendy's address and he couldn't remember what it was. John sighed. Maybe Molly or Rob would know. It was a bit of a long shot, but it couldn't hurt to ask. They were just in the building behind him, after all. Sherlock need never know that John forgot the suspect's address…

It was about that point that John came bursting into the apartment. I was still in the kitchen having just made Robin and Marshall some tea.

"Molly!"

I was rooted to the spot. Did somebody actually need my help? This never happened!

"Molly? Are you still here–? Marshall, what are you doing with Rob?" John tailed off into total confusion as he looked at the two of them embracing on the couch.

"It's fine, John, really." I said, hurrying into the room with a mug of tea in each hand. I put them down in front of Robin and Marshall, and then grabbed John's hand. "Let's go and get lunch, I'm starving!" I said, practically dragging him out of the room.

"But it's still the morning!" He protested in an undertone.

"Brunch, then!" I said, as I towed him downstairs. "Definitely time for brunch."

Marshall had the Robin situation under control, and John was clearly frazzled.

It was my task to get Robin the breathing space she needed to talk things through with Marshall. To do that, I might as well find out why John had wanted to talk to me. It'd be killing two birds with one stone.

"Uh, Molly…" John said, as we power-walked down the street.

"Yes?"

"Can you, um, let go of my hand now, please?" He was actually blushing. Bless. "I mean, I can tell you're keen to get some brunch, but really, even Sherlock would've let go by this point…"

"Oh!" I'd totally forgotten that I'd taken his hand. Heat of the moment, I suppose. I let go. "Sorry about that!" I didn't even blush. We both knew there was nothing going on between us, after all. "So, um, how did it go? Did you and Sherlock find Wendy?"

"We split up," John said.

"To look for clues?" I giggled. John smirked as we walked into a diner – yes, a real-life American diner. There was a giant inflatable Elvis in one corner, for some reason, and the floor was covered in black and white checkered tiles. Now that I thought about it, brunch sounded great.

"You could say that. He's looking for the waitress; he told me to contact Andrews but nothing came of it." John said, sitting down and checking the menu. I did the same. Waffles or pancakes? At last, a dilemma with an easy solution. I ordered waffles, John got pancakes, and we swapped half our meals when they arrived a few minutes later. Service in the U.S.A. was fast, and much more cheerful than back at home.

"So why'd you come back to the apartment looking for me?" I asked between mouthfuls of brunchy goodness.

"Because, uh… well to be honest, I forgot where Wendy – the waitress? – lives, and I was going to ask Rob, but she seemed… busy." He paused, his forkful of pancake halfway to his mouth, then set it down and continued. "But, um, now that you're here… I sort of need your advice. About Anthea, uh, I mean Lou–"

"It's fine, John, I know who you mean. What about her?"

"I think she likes me." This remark was addressed to his food, and his gaze remained firmly trained on the table as he spoke.

Yes. It really was an awkward moment.

He took the opportunity to take a few bites of pancake.

It seemed to be my turn to speak… Not that I was particularly tactful about this obviously awkward topic.

"She likes you? Like, she like likes you? Please, from what I've seen she treats you and Sherlock with this sort of disdainful air, like you're little boys she's been lumped with for babysitting. No way does she fancy you, John."

"Seriously, Molly, I think she does." He sounded a bit freaked out by the whole idea.

"Um, I don't want to sound mean, but are you sure it's not just, er, well, wishful thinking on your part?"

"Nope. I tried to ask her out when we first met, got rejected, moved on. No big deal." He sighed. "I mean, okay, it was a bit disappointing, but I got over it in about ten minutes. I don't have a crush on her or anything that could cloud my judgement."

"So why do you think she likes you?"

"It's all Sherlock's bloody fault. He makes deductions about people all the time, and often as not he picks up stuff about their relationships. When you hang around him as much as I do, you start to make little connections as well." John rolled his eyes. "Like, he'll say: 'oh, clearly she likes him, look at her make-up, she's overdone the perfume, she's maintaining eye contact whenever she can' and then I remember it when I see someone with those signs, and I think 'oh, she likes him'. It's actually kind of fun… Until it affects my life. And I think Anthea likes me. It's really awkward. I don't know what it is, but she's acting differently with me. Talks to me like I'm a person, not just some troublesome kid – you're right, she did used to treat me like she was my babysitter – and suddenly there's overwhelming perfume, not just the usual spritz of it, and she's hanging on my every word, not even looking at her BlackBerry!"

"Wait, not even once? During the whole time you were talking?"

"Not even a glance."

"…John, I think she likes you."

It was the only logical conclusion. I had never, ever seen Louise go less than three minutes without tapping away at that thing. I'd just assumed it was an integral part of her existence, like John's hand tremor, or Sherlock's habit of never meeting someone's eyes unless it was at a vital point in a case.

"Exactly, right?"

"Weird."

"Yep."

"Has she said anything to you?"

"Nope."

"Maybe she's in denial?" I wondered. "I mean, it took me a while to admit that I liked Sh- uh, Jim. Though I'm long past that disaster. Sherlock did me a bit of a favour when he warned me about that guy. But you know how it is, sometimes it takes you a while to figure out how you feel about someone." For some reason, an image of Ted flashed across my mind as I said that. "Your feelings can take you by surprise."

Kids, sometimes love is blind. More often, love blinds you to things.

But in hindsight, how did I not realise how I felt about your father sooner?

"So what should I do?"

"Depends. Do you like her back?"

"I, uh… I'm not sure. She's attractive, and smart, and probably one of the only women on Earth who can deal with Sherlock… But most of the time she's really aloof. I don't know if she'd make a good girlfriend."

"Good point… hey, what do you mean 'most of the time'? Louise has always been a bit distant, at least with me."

"With me too… Well, until she walked into MacLaren's and saw the crime scene, anyway. Then she was so freaked out, it was like she couldn't keep up her defences any more. She actually seemed kind of sweet… Oh, what am I even saying? Mycroft would bloody kill me if I asked her out!"

"Well, yeah… but then, didn't he kidnap you within a day of you meeting Sherlock? Even that didn't stop you from becoming his friend. I don't think Mycroft has any extra defences for Louise that he wouldn't have used to try and protect Sherlock – "

"I hope not!" John smirked.

"Aha!" I said triumphantly. "So you do like her back!"

"What?"

"You hope… You want to ask her out, you're just nervous about it. Aww, John, she's already rejected you once, and you survived. I'm sure you can handle it."

"We'll see. Anyway, promise me you won't breathe a word of this to Sherlock – he's insufferable about my love life, and I don't fancy being made fun of over Anthea…"

"I promise."

I broke that promise, but we'll get to that later. It was necessary. That's all you need to know.

Back at the apartment, your father had also been called to the intervention, but had run a little late, and only arrived as Robin left.

No one ever found out what Marshall said to her that day, and neither of them talk about it, but Ted said that as he passed her in the doorway, she looked as though a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

Ted walked into the apartment just as Marshall took Marvin from Lily. She looked as though she had been crying, and Ted was just about to ask what had happened, when she cut him off.

"Ted! About time! Sit down, I'll get you a beer!"

"Lily, it's still morning!" Ted argued, shocked.

"Yeah, well with the sort of morning I've had, and the conversation we're about to have, I'm gonna need one so sit down and shut up, Mosby!"

Ted sat down obediently and looked over at Marshall, attempting to telepathically ask if Marvin had kept them up all night. 'Something like that' Marshall's expression seemed to say, as he bounced his son on his hip.

"So," Lily said, sitting on the couch and handing Ted his beer. "You and Molly."

Ted waited for her to say something else, but she just stared at him intently and nursed her beer.

"Me and Molly… what?"

"Are you going to ask her out sometime this century?" Lily pressed. "Ideally before the wedding so the two of you can go together and… dance… together…?"

"What? Pft! What? No. Me and – No! What?" Ted squeaked.

"Ted." Lily said.

"Where do you guys get this stuff from?" Ted grumbled.

"Ted." Marshall added, letting Marvin chew on his finger.

"Also, isn't she supposed to be John's date?"

"Tah!" Marvin declared, causing all the room's inhabitants to coo at him briefly before returning to their discussion.

"From what I can tell, they're here as 'just friends' and John has the hots for that chick at the crime scene." Lily said sagely, taking a swig of her beer.

"What the hot EMT woman? I knew there was a reason she wouldn't give me her number!"

Marshall and Lily exchanged long-suffering looks.

"No, Ted. She just wasn't into you." Lily said.

"You weren't even there!" Ted protested.

"Marshall told me." Lily explained. "And he also told me about the ring on her finger!"

"Dammit, someone else liked it and put a ring on it before I could!" Ted muttered.

"Ted! You're missing the point!" Marshall huffed. "Molly is completely ring free and she's into you!"

"What? No! Wh–?"

"Not again, Ted. Just accept it. We're right, and you should come to us for all your major life decisions!" Lily smirked, gesturing at him with her half-finished beer.

"How do you guys even know she's into me?"

"Ted! The two of you had a conversation for an hour that consisted entirely of 'Fun Facts' about architecture and dead bodies." Marshall said. "An hour, Ted. Usually you get squeamish watching Scooby Doo! And girls normally tune out after the first two 'Fun Facts'!"

"Bu–"

"Ted she listened and smiled when you told her about the different kinds of Greek pillar, then proceeded to tell you about corpses that get preserved in peat bogs!"

"Hey, the thing about Neolithic and Mesolithic bog bodies was cool!"

"Ted. Ask her out."

"But what if–?"

"Ask. Her. Out." Marshall and Lily said in perfect unison.

"But she's British!" Ted protested, unwilling to start a relationship that would quickly become long-distance.

Which I can understand, because long-distance relationships suck, kids. Even with The One, they're a challenge to maintain.

"You will never find another girl like her. Ever." Lily said slowly and clearly.

"At least she's not Canadian!" Marshall quipped.

"I hate to say this Ted," Lily began, "but she could be The One."

Ted gasped. They were serious about this.

"You really mean that?" He whispered.

"Yes. I do." Lily nodded. "So get out there and go get her number, Tiger!"

"Yeah! I'm going to do that!" Ted stood up suddenly, handed his untouched beer to Lily and marched straight out of the door.

"Job well done, I'd say!" Lily said to her husband, saluting him with her fresh beer and taking a sip. Marshall nodded, then smacked a palm against his forehead.

"Oh, I was going to ask him to take the recycling down to the bins!" Marshall sighed. "I guess I'll just have to do it. Here, Marvin – go to Mommy, okay?"

"Don't be too long, baby. Space Teens is on soon!" Lily called after her husband as he walked down the stairs with two large bags of recycling.

And of course, kids, this is the beginning of the story of how your Uncle Marshall's love for the planet almost got him killed.

A/N Bear with us, readers. We swear there will be plot in the next chapter – honest! There will be plot and words and more words and then some punctuation to spice things up a little and then no plot and then probably beer. Oh, and a guy with a gun.

This author's note was brought to you by Hungry & Desperate to Finish this Fic.