A/N: Aaand on we go! I am not so sure about this chapter, actually. I like parts of it, but...is it too boring? There isn't much Molly and Sherlock in it, but I like John and Sherlock, too. Let me know what you think.

Thanks for the wonderful reviews to Black Diamond07, MorbidbyDefault (oh, I want to write this so badly, but I think it wouldn't be good for the story ;)), louvreangel (it's a gift. And a curse ;)), a-lonesome-human, Gothic Unicorn (thank you. What a nice compliment *blush*), whytejigsaw, AdaYuki, Rocking the Redhead, Thewondermummy (ehem, actually, I've never written the original stories. Just saw the movies with RDJ and BBC Sherlock ^^'), Benedict-Addict Holmes, jellybeanpanda123, MegHolmes (is that fast enough, Miss?), Melody Starr31 (thanks for the prank! :)), Renaissancebooklover108, Iggylnin20218 (I love John and Mary, too. I hope they get some nice scenes in season 3), lililoop and Guest. You guys are amazing and I am very happy about every review you leave for me. Big hugs!

And another shoutout to MorbidbyDefault for suggesting the worms. :)

If you think for one second that Sherlock Holmes would clean up the mess in his room by himself, you are clearly mistaken.

Sherlock didn't sleep that night, busying himself with his experiments and "The unhelpful notes"-case (John should really get more creative in choosing the titles for his blog) until he could finally call a cleaning service, offered them a more than generous bonus if they would come at once and so three people were busy in his room when Molly finally emerged from her room. She threw him a disapproving look, but he only smiled at her triumphantly.

He had decided to stop apologizing, thinking that he had done enough. If she didn't want to listen, so be it. He surely wouldn't beg and he surely wouldn't continue to feel bad about it (he would just ignore that bloody tight feeling in his chest).

So he followed her into the kitchen confidently and sat down at the kitchen table while she busied herself with making breakfast and coffee…only for herself. The feeling in his chest got even worse. A part of him wanted to be on her good side again, to be shepherded and spoiled by her, her affection for him clearly visible in her eyes. But Sherlock Holmes was a proud man, too proud for his own good, so he remained silent and strictly forbid his chest to continue to hurt.

Sherlock ignored Molly all morning, just like she ignored him. She left the flat without saying goodbye to him and Sherlock had to swallow a lump in his throat. As soon as he heard the door being shut downstairs, he jumped up from his seat and prepared his revenge. The war was back on, Molly had said. And that was bloody well fine with him. He would show her what this really meant.

From now on, 221b Baker Street had turned into a war zone. Pranks were played on a daily basis, at every possible time. No one was save. Nowhere. Both of them pulled out every prank they knew and Sherlock even did research on the internet for more opulent pranks. After some classics like the opened salt shaker (Sherlock), throwing a mentos into diet-coke (again, Sherlock. Acting it out in the lab for their flooring's sake, but still hilarious. She was showered with coke), cling wrap covered doors (Molly, having great fun to see Sherlock twisting and turning to get it off), the cream cheese deodorant (Sherlock, grinning smugly as Molly burst out of the bathroom, only wearing a tight green tanktop and her knickers (Sherlock was momentarily distracted by her firm thighs and the general lack of clothing), yelling at him and attacking him with her smeared armpit, chasing him through the flat) and a living frog in Molly's cleavage (while she was in the kitchen, cooking. The frog survived and was brought back to the park Sherlock had got him from), the pranks were lifted to another level when they included wake-up-pranks in their routines, which turned out to be both their favorites.

Even though both of them locked their bedroom doors before they left the flat, they always found a way in. Molly had no trouble in getting his key from Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock just had one made for Molly's door.

Oh, it started out simple enough with Molly putting a mouse trap on Sherlock's mobile which he used as an alarm clock and as soon as he had reached for it that morning, Molly heard his scream all the way into the kitchen. She suppressed a laugh when he strolled out of his room a few minutes later with his head held high and his night gown billowing behind him.

"Good morning", he said casually and walked past her to get some coffee.

"Good morning."

He carefully sniffed at the coffee and stirred through it with a spoon while Molly watched in amusement.

"Something wrong with the coffee, Sherlock?" she asked playfully, sipping at her own.

"No, everything's fine."

"Yes, it absolutely is", she commented dryly as Sherlock was about to put the mug to his lips. He halted as he saw her evil little smirk before she looked away and he looked at the coffee again. Then he lifted the lid of the coffee machine to find worms mixed with the coffee powder. Sherlock pressed his lips together and poured the coffee into the sink.

"Never thought you would kill living animals just for a prank", he commented as he sat down and reached for a toast and put it on the plate Molly had put out for him. She did this again. Sherlock was relieved.

"I don't. They were already dead when I bought them at the pet shop."

"Who pays money for dead worms? Who sells dead worms? Aren't they supposed to be living bait for fish or bird food?"

Molly put down the mug of her delicious hot coffee and turned a page of her newspaper.

"They were leftovers, Sherlock."

"I see", he replied and his eyebrow twitched.

Molly only shook her head and focused her attention back on the newspaper.

While Sherlock ate his toast, his eyes darted to the steaming coffee repeatedly. He really craved for some, especially after that brutal wake up and with his hand throbbing painfully.

Heavy footsteps could be heard and a few seconds later John interrupted what seemed to be a peaceful breakfast.

"Good morning", John greeted them cheerfully. Molly greeted him just as cheerful while Sherlock only turned his head.

"What are you doing here?"

"Lestrade wants to see us, doesn't he? He texted me that there was another victim."

"What? Why did he text you and not me?"

"Yes, Sherlock, why would he do that?"

Molly grinned and Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her before he jumped up and rushed into his room, ignoring John who wanted to say something.

"What's wrong with him?"

"You mean despite the usual?"

John was astonished at Molly's words.

"Since when do you insult Sherlock?"

"I'm getting better at it every day", she smiled proudly at him.

John didn't know what to think of this.

"I have no messages."

Sherlock said coming back, mobile in his hand.

"Maybe you accidently deleted them?" Molly offered helpfully.

"Sherlock, you texted me back to come here and get you", John threw in.

"Did he? Oh my, maybe you're a sleep-texter."

Sherlock glared down at her, Molly smiled up at him and John looked from him to her and back.

"What's going on here? Are you guys fighting again?"

"No, of course not", Sherlock quickly said, straightening himself. "I just get dressed. You wait here. Molly, why don't you offer John a cup of coffee?"

Hehe, that would show her, he thought evilly and went back into his room. When he came back though, dressed in black pants and a deep blue shirt, John sat at the breakfast table, drinking coffee, as was Molly.

When John found to be stared at by Sherlock, he looked up.

"I took the last cup, sorry. But you said I could have some."

"You let him drink this…"

"…fine coffee? Of course I did."

Molly grinned again and Sherlock understood. A bluff. His eyes darted to the coffee machine. She had put the worms on the coffee powder after she had made a pot. To make her bluff perfect, she had put the worms in water first so they were wet and Sherlock didn't notice. He threw her a death glare.

"Come on, John, let's go. No time to waste."

"But the coffee…"

John sighed as he saw Sherlock rushing out, throwing on his black suit jacket and his coat. Molly smiled at him understandingly.

"Will I see you later at Bart's?"

"No, actually. I took a day off so I can help Mary pick out the bridesmaids' dresses."

"I see."

While they were chatting, Sherlock waltzed back in and grabbed Molly's coffee mug to finally get some coffee into him. While Molly didn't seem to notice, John noticed it very much.

Sherlock drinking from another person's cup. That's something new.

He drank it all up, placing the mug back on the table and wanted to rush off without saying goodbye to Molly.

"Bye, honey. Have a nice day", she called after him and made him freeze. His eyes narrowed again, then he looked at John who was more than baffled by this, and walked back to her.

Molly braced herself for the worst, but not for Sherlock bending down and placing a quick kiss on her cheek.

"Have fun today, darling", he purred and watched with outmost pleasure how Molly turned red in the face.

John gaped openly now, trying very hard not to point from Sherlock to Molly.

Sherlock whirled around and finally hurried down the stairs. John needed a second to realize this before he shouted a quick bye to Molly and rushed after him.

"Cheeky bastard", Molly cursed and tried to calm down her fast beating heart. She shook her head angrily and started to clear the table. Before she went out today she had to make sure that her door was locked and save from that sneaky detective…

~oOo~

It turned out the second victim was a young woman with no apparent relation to the first victim, but also found in a public place, citizens watching how she suddenly fell down, started to cringe and died shortly afterwards. No ID had been found on her. Her pockets had been stuffed with the notes. They spent an hour at the crime scene, Sherlock entering several surrounding buildings to check where he got the best look. Something told him that the murderer liked to watch his victims die, for he had chosen a place both times where buildings where close. John and the police did the same and one of the policemen actually found something.

As Sherlock had reached his position – an ordinary, inhabited flat (family, mother, father, two children according to the photos that were hanging in the hallway). When Lestrade wanted to send someone to arrest the adults living in the flat, Sherlock stopped him.

"Neither of them is the murderer, Lestrade" he said, obviously annoyed.

"What makes you so sure?"

"The murderer does everything to keep the murders look random, which makes it harder to find him or set up a profile. Murdering someone close to his home would have the opposite effect. And he surely wouldn't leave some of the notes lying on the floor by the window for everyone's eyes to see."

"Maybe he wanted us to find these."

"Oh, he absolutely did. Maybe he even wanted to trick us into thinking he would live here, but we're smarter than that, aren't we?"

Sherlock said and raised his eyebrow expectantly.

"I think you're right, still I have to interrogate them."

Sherlock only sighed as Lestrade turned to Donovan and ordered her to bring the parents in. While no one was watching, Sherlock quickly picked up a note from the floor and let it slip into his pocket.

John stepped next to him.

"Isn't that removing evidence from a crime scene?" he asked in a whisper, trying to look casual.

"Yes. But they are wasting time and I decided to take things in my own hands now."

"Sherlock. Lestrade forbade you to do any step without notifying him. We don't want another Reichenbach fall, do we?"

The taller man only rolled his eyes.

"I'm just analyzing a piece of paper, John."

"Yeah, and last time you were just analyzing some dirt. It went downhill from there."

Sherlock rolled his eyes but with John's worried look, he walked over to Lestrade.

"I'm taking a piece of paper."

"Shhhh", Lestrade made and quickly checked if someone was in hearing range.

"Why the hell are you telling me this?! You know I can't allow it."

"John insisted I should tell you."

"I appreciate it, but we both know that I cannot let you take something from the crime scene officially. Please put that note back exactly where you found it."

Sherlock understood, rolled his eyes in annoyance, put the note where he had taken it from, picked up another one quickly and let this one slip into his pockets. Of course Sherlock was wearing gloves. Lestrade had looked into another direction and John watched the scene in astonishment.

As Sherlock wanted to leave, Lestrade stopped him by grabbing his arm.

"Just to be clear. If you find anything, you will tell me immediately. You will tell me everything and you will not do anything on your own. Is that understood?"

"Worried that I make you look bad again, Detective Inspector?"

Lestrade looked at him, his face serious.

"No, I'm worried that I have to go to yet another of your funerals."

Sherlock swallowed, guilt washing over him as he saw the pain in Lestrade's eyes. He still tented to forget that there were people in his life who loved him despite John and Mrs. Hudson.

He quickly nodded before he went out, John following suit.

"St. Bart's?" he asked as they walked through the crowd to the main street to look for a cab.

"No. Molly's not there as you know and I have no interest in dealing with one of the other pathologists."

Sherlock held out an arm and soon enough a cab stopped in front of them.

"Speaking of Molly", John started as they were gliding through the London traffic, "what was that this morning?"

"What are you talking about?"

John rolled his eyes. He hated it when Sherlock played dumb.

"You know, the pet names, the kiss on the cheek…"

Sherlock remained silent, staring out of the window.

"Something is clearly going on between you two. A week ago you were fighting and now you seem to be a happy couple…oh my god", John breathed. "Is that it? Did it finally happen? Did you and Molly…?"

Sherlock looked at him.

"Did we what?" Sherlock asked and John once again fought the urge to punch him in the face.

"Have sex. Make love. Let her make you a man. Stick your baguette into her oven…"

"Oh, for heaven's sake! Stop it!"

John laughed at his disgusted face.

"No, we didn't. And we never will, damn it! Why can't people ever think about anything else than sex?"

"If you had some, you would understand."

"I highly doubt it."

John chuckled again as Sherlock looked at him arrogantly.

"So you are seriously telling me that it never crossed you mind?"

"Absolutely not."

"Not even with Molly?"

"NO!"

"You're a liar."

"I am not. You take that back!"

John smiled at him smugly.

"I can't blame you. She is a beautiful girl. Actually, I was quite tempted a few times when you were dead."

"I do not think about…you were what?"

Sherlock asked with wide eyes as John's words had been processed by his brain. John only smirked.

"You know we spent an awful lot of time together before Mary came along. We got to know each other…jeez, we even cried together. She is the first woman, despite Harry and my mother, who ever saw me cry, I think. We came closer and Molly had given so much of herself, offered comfort where I needed it…I realized what a wonderful woman she is and, yes, it definitely crossed my mind."

"Do you think she would have said yes?" Sherlock couldn't help but ask.

John shrugged his shoulders.

"We were both pretty down back then. But I couldn't do it. The mere thought made me feel like I was betraying you…which is ridiculous, given that you don't have any romantic interest her at all…right?"

"Right", Sherlock said a little too quickly to not to leave some doubt about the truth in his words.

John only suppressed a grin and looked out of his window.

The rest of the drive was spent in silence and when they arrived at 221b Baker Street and John wanted to climb out of the cab, Sherlock slammed the door into his face.

John only shook his head, chuckling, and gave the cabbie his address.

Let him fume, he thought amused. Makes him think about things, hopefully. He might be smarter than most people, but he's still a man. And men normally don't like to share their woman…