A/N: Sooo sorry for the delay. October has been really really crappy. Hope you guys can forgive me. Now, where have we left off? Oh yes, Sherlock has solved the case, the murderer being a woman who is very similar to him, John and Mary fought about Sherlock (hot kitchen sex! ;)) and Molly had lightened Sherlock's mood with a little Paintball-battle.

Thanks to everyone who was kind enough to leave a review. This really brightened up this horrible month. Let's hope November gets better. :)

Oh, one more thing: I'd like to dedicate this chapter to the wonderful morbidmegz, who's birthday has been some time ago. You are the sunshine of our ship. :) All the best, dearest! :)

"Oh my God! I'm marrying in two weeks. TWO WEEKS!"

Molly flinched and pulled the phone away from her ear.

"Yes, Mary, I know. No need to yell!"

"Sorry. I'm freaking out a little."

Molly grinned and shook her head. This wasn't the first time Mary had called her in panic.

"Take a deep breath", she ordered and heard Mary do so.

"You love John. You want to be his wife. You wanted him since the day you met."

Mary chuckled.

"That's true."

"He's a good man. He is handsome and attentive, intelligent, has a great sense of humor and he is one of the few men out there who doesn't run screaming when he has an emotion."

"Hey! Back off, sister! He's mine!"

Molly laughed.

"Exactly."

Mary laughed, too.

"Thanks, Babe."

"You're welcome. Oh, by the way: Are you sure you don't want a hen night?"

"This is not about wanting one, Molls. Apart from you and Martha, I don't really have girlfriends."

"What about your sister?"

"I don't follow."

Molly giggled.

"You're really mean to your family, do you know that?"

"Oh, whatever. They are worse. Mum invited 200 people, Molly! Two hundred! I don't even know that many people! Gosh, I should never have allowed her to do the planning."

"Then why did you let her?"

"She used her dark magic against me, like she always does. She always says these things and looks at me like a hurt puppy until I feel so guilty that I let her do it. And the worst part is, she knows as well as I do that we will fight all day long. But she wants to do it, anyway. I don't get this woman and I think I never will."

"Mothers", Molly only commented, thinking of her own.

"Yeah, they're a pain."

Mary sighed.

"Let's not talk about her now. It just makes me angry...What were we talking about, anyway?"

"Your hen night."

"Oh, right. Let's just hang out with the guys in the karaoke bar. It will be fun."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

"Great. You have their numbers, right?"

"Yup. You gave them to me two weeks ago."

"Right."

A short pause.

"You don't remember, do you?" Molly asked, smiling.

"Not really. My head is overcrowded with this wedding crap. She-who-shall-not-be-named calls me every two minutes to talk about flowers, caterers, hairstyles, makeup, the menu and whatnot. Yesterday she actually asked me if I wanted acrylic nails! Like, hello?! Have we just met yesterday, or what? Seriously, sometimes I think my own mother doesn't know me at all! I think she is trying to drive me crazy. If all goes wrong, your flat mate soon will have a case of mother slaughter."

"You really shouldn't say things like this, Mary."

"I'm the bride. I can say whatever the heck I want."

"Being a bride doesn't mean you have jurisdictional immunity."

"I really think it does."

Molly laughed. There was no arguing with this woman.

"Fine, whatever."

"See?!" Mary said, her smug grin audible.

"I'm hanging up now."

"No, wait a second. I need to talk to the otter."

"The otter? What otter?"

Mary sighed and Molly could literally hear her eyes roll.

"The guy you live with."

"Otter? Sherlock doesn't look like an otter!"

"Yes, he does."

"That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"Half of Britain agrees with me on this, Molly."

"How do you know?"

"Don't you google him?"

"Do you?"

Molly was truly surprised.

"From time to time, when I'm bored and need to feel better about myself. Wait a second..."

While Molly was still grasping the fact that her best friend who stubbornly claimed to dislike the man in question like a werewolf dislikes silver (she really shouldn't have watched that Jack Nicholson movie with Mary...although it was quite good...), was taking time out of her day to look him up on the internet, Mary reached for her mobile and sent her a picture. Molly picked up her phone and opened the file, seeing a pic in which was Sherlock wearing the deerstalker and next to him was an otter, also wearing that hat.

"Where did you get this?"

"You know, considering that you are one of the people who are closest to Sherlock, you really don't know what the press is talking about him."

"I see. No, I don't, and I don't want to. They called him a fake and they should all go to hell for this."

"Oh, my, how very unforgiving, Miss Hooper. I didn't know you had it in you."

"Well, now you know."

Mary chuckled.

"Okay. Anyway, I would like to talk to him. Without him being a pest. Is there a way you could help me with this?"

"I'll see what I can do."

"Super. Thanks, honey."

"Bye, love."

She heard Mary giggle again before she disconnected.

Then she picked up her mobile and looked at the otter picture one more time. For the life of her, she couldn't see why they ever would compare him to an otter...

~oo~

Not an hour later Molly had to extinguish the next fire. The slamming of the door downstairs caught Molly's attention and she went down to see Mrs. Hudson wringing her hands, standing in front of the closed door.

"Is everything all right, Martha?"

The woman turned around, tears in her eyes.

"That horrible Mycroft."

"What did he do? Is something wrong with Sherlock?"

"No. But there will be."

The older woman sighed and waved her into her flat. They sat down in the small kitchen and Mrs. Hudson put the kettle on.

"Mycroft wants to buy the house."

Molly's eyes widened.

"This house? Oh, sorry. Of course", Molly said, shaking her head at her own stupidity. "Why?"

"His lawyer didn't say, but I am sure he wants more control over Sherlock."

"Oh, dear. Mycroft owning Sherlock's flat. Just thinking of it makes me shiver."

Mrs. Hudson nodded and poured them their teas.

"Well, you don't have to sell it to him."

Mrs. Hudson balled her hands into fists.

"He's the only one who offered."

Molly gasped.

"You don't think he..."

She looked at the younger woman.

"Of course he has."

"Wow. That's rough. Even for Mycroft. Sherlock loves this place. But he'd rather sleep under a bridge than to be at his brother's mercy. He must know that."

Mrs. Hudson shook her head.

"I don't understand why he can't leave Sherlock alone."

Molly bit her lower lip. She really shouldn't ask, but curiosity got the better of her.

"Do you know why they have such a cold relationship? What happened between them?"

"I don't know. Sherlock never told me. But I'm pretty sure that it has something to do with Mycroft's habit of trying to put Sherlock on a leash."

Molly sighed.

"When I hear things like this I'm really glad about the relationship between my brothers and me."

Mrs. Hudson smiled.

"What's it like to grow up in a hosehold with so much testosterone?"

"Stuffy."

The women laughed and for a while they put the issue with Mycroft aside and chatted about their families until they heard the front door open and close and footsteps walking up the stairs.

"The master's home", Molly joked and put her mug into the sink.

Mrs. Hudson accompanied her to the door. She could see how distressed the woman still was, so Molly put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Don't sell to Mycroft, Martha."

"I don't want to, but that lawyer made it pretty clear that no one else will make an offer and I need the money to set up a new life in Australia."
Molly sighed.

"You know what, we should call Mycroft and talk directly to him, make him realize that buying 221 would only drive Sherlock out of the house."

"I already tried. His secretary never put me through."

"Well, we'll see about that", Molly said with determination in her voice, hugged the landlady and went up to her flat, cursing Mycroft for being so short-sighted.

She was seriously considering whether or not to tell Sherlock about it as she completely lost track of her train of thoughts at the scene before her.

Sherlock was standing in front of his chair, looking down on at the sleeping Toby.

Molly leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms in front of her chest, smiling, while Sherlock was contemplating what to do.

After a minute or so Sherlock bent down and touched his ear. It twitched. Nothing else happened.

Molly bit her lower lip.

Sherlock repeated his action a few times until Toby opened one eye.

"Get off my chair."

Toby closed his eye again.

"You're not allowed to sit here."

No reply from the cat.

"Acknowledge my existence, cat!"

Sherlock went back to touching Toby's ear.

Finally, Toby moved and sat up. Sherlock straightened up, thinking the feline would give in and jump off his chair.

Molly only shook her head.

People who don't own cats.

Toby looked at Sherlock for a second, then turned his back to him and lifted one leg to lick himself, cleaning his most private parts.

That's how impressed Toby was by the cosulting detective.

"That's not funny", was Sherlock's comment. "You don't want to challenge me, cat. I'm higher evolved than you are."

"And still, he sits in your chair while you helplessly stand in front of it", Molly chirped and walked into the room.

Sherlock only grumbled and turned his anger towards her.

"You have to control your cat. If it doesn't behave, you have to lock it into your room."

"I won't do such a thing."

"I insist."

"No. We are not your guests, Sherlock. I pay half the rent. And if you would make an attempt to get on Toby's good side you would see how lovely he is."

"He's intolerable."

"So are you, yet I don't lock you away in your room, now do I?"

Molly inwardly patted her shoulder proudly for such a sassy remark and lifted Toby off the chair and put him on the ground.

"Are you hungry?"

"Yes."

"I was talking to the cat."

"You spoil that thing."

"It's a cat. Not a thing."

"According to law, it is property."

"And I don't spoil him as much as I spoil you."

She walked into the kitchen, Toby close on her heels.

"Excuse me?! How exactly do you spoil me?"

"Seriously?!" Molly asked over her shoulder while she opened a can of catfood and poured it into Toby's dish.

"Yes!"

After she put it down on the floor, she turned around to face the impossible man, one hand on her hip.

"I do everything in this flat. You don't have to take care of anything! I keep things clean, I cook, I wash. And what exactly do you do?"

"I clean up my experiments, I put new sheets on my own bed, I wash my underwear and I don't walk around naked at your insisting request."

"Is this what this is about?" she suddenly asked. "You want to walk around naked?"

"This is my flat! I want to be free and able to do what I want in my flat!"

"FINE! Go ahead then, take off your clothes. I can't wait to see what's underneath them, even though your tight shirts don't leave much to the imagination."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that for a man who doesn't want to have intimate relations you display way too much."

They had walked towards each other during their quarrel and now Sherlock took one last big step until he was mere inches apart from her.

"You have never complained before" he said smugly and grinned.

But then suddenly, he became very aware of how close she was now, feeling her body heat and breathing in her flowery fragrance. It was his bad luck that Molly licked her lips and drew his attention to her mouth, her lips now glossy from her saliva.

Sherlock was not prepared for this.

When her breath hit his lips he realized he had leaned in...to do what?!

What the hell was he doing?!

He snapped back like a rubber band and stepped away from her, clearing his throat.

"You're right, running around naked isn't a good idea. I'm going out. Don't wait up."

"I'll always wait up", he heard her say as he had already descended half the stairs. He turned around and there she was, in her simple jeans and her red long-sleeve-shirt, and looked at him with her gentle big brown eyes.

"I can't sleep when you're not here."

He swallowed again.

Caring...Worrying about him...it made his insides feel uncomfortably warm.

"I'll...I'll keep that in mind" he said hoarsely and hurried down the stairs and out of the flat.

Molly was left behind, staring into the empty staircase for a second before she sighed. Feeling Toby brush against her leg, she bent down and scratched him behind the ears.

"Well, we knew what we'd get ourselves into, didn't we? Always expect the unexpected when it comes to Sherlock Holmes."

Toby agreed with a twitch of his ears.

"Would you like anything to eat, Mr. Sherlock?"

"No."

"You've been sitting here for over two hours. Let me entertain you to a meal. How about the Lasagna. You like the Lasagna."

Sherlock, who had been looking out of the window, sitting at his usual table at Angelo's, turned his head to chase Angelo away with an angry stare.

Angelo had his own way to deal with the detective.

Instead of hurrying away, he pointed at him with a smile and a wink.

"I'll bring you a salad."

Sherlock sighed inwardly. He knew declining it would be in vain. Angelo rarely listened to him. It was really annoying when he did this.

While Angelo was barking orders to his chef, Sherlock uncovered his open pocketbook and looked at the words he had written on the blank page.

Freedom.

Cat.

Flat.

Sharing.

Caring.

Sexuality.

Man.

Woman.

Molly.

He bit his lips as he read the words, trying to sort out his feelings and thoughts, trying to find out why it felt so strange when he was close to Molly. He had been close to her before. It had become a habit to invade her personal space. It didn't bother him at Bart's, for example. What was different?

The professional enviroment?

The cut open body?

Work?

He was always working when he was at Bart's. He wasn't working at home.

He scribbled down more words.

Bart's – Work.

Baker Street - Home.

Job - Privacy.

Professionalism - Intimacy.

It must have had something to do with their surroundings. He should try to get close to her at Bart's more often, see why it felt differently to get close to her there. Last time, he remembered, his heart rate didn't speed up. His mouth didn't go dry as he breathed in her scent and his cheek certaintly didn't heat up when she accidently bumped her head against his, not having noticed him looking over her shoulder with his face next to hers. She got lost in her work easily. Just like him...

"There you go, Mr. Sherlock. Ceasar's Salad and some garlic bread. You must be starving."

Sherlock looked at the food. Angelo put down a glass and poured in some red wine.

"What's with the wine? I didn't order wine."

"On the house. 'Tis the right thing for troubles with the ladies."

For once, Sherlock was stunned and he looked up at Angelo, who smiled smugly.

"I've been in this business for quite some time now and I can see when a man had a quarrel with his woman."

Sherlock could protest. He definitely thought about it. But this actually was a great opportunity, for Angelo was quite an expert when it came to women. Every time he dined here – or watched John dine here, there were traces of a different woman on Angelo's clothes. Today, it was a stewardess, black, 5 years his junior, stayed for three nights.

If a man could give him insight in relationships, the Italian was a good choice, Sherlock concluded.

"Sit down", he ordered and Angelo obliged.

Sherlock folded his hands over his pocketbook, ignoring the delicious garlic smell of the warm bread that filled his nostrils and made his mouth water.

"Have you ever lived with a woman?"

Sherlock knew he was officially single and lived alone two blocks away from the restaurant.

"Yes."

"Without being intimate?"

"You mean sex?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Obviously."

Angelo grinned cheekily.

"Not for long."

Sherlock rolled his eyes once more.

"Ah, so you live with a woman now", Angelo began to grasp the nature of Sherlock's problem.

"Yes."

"And you don't have sex."

"No."

"But you want to."

"NO!" Sherlock said a little too loud and a little too quick.

Angelo grinned again.

Sherlock tried his hardest to ignore this.

"On the contrary, I am looking for a way to..."

"...avoid sexual tension?"

Sherlock clenched his jaw.

"Yes."

"Well, it is very simple. Do you feel attracted to her?"

A million pictures flooded Sherlock's mind as Angelo asked this: Her eyes, her nose, her lips, her hands holding her tools while she worked, her long hazelnut hair, shining like silk, her wet blouse clinging to her perky breasts, her bum as she leans over the kitchen table and wipes it clean...

Sherlock swallowed hard.

"Yes."

"And do you want to keep living with her?"

Her laughter, a dish set out for him, delicious food, eating in silence, a clean flat, humming 90's pop songs, her tooth brush next to his, her smile when she comes home after her shift, her cheshire grin when she pranks him, her warm body so close against his while she sleeps in his arms on the couch...

"Yes."

Sherlock's voice sounded hoarse.

Angelo leaned forward, a glint in his eyes and Sherlock hoped that this man had the answer to all these disturbing feelings.

"You're screwed."

Sherlock blinked, then he released the breath he had been holding and narrowed his eyes angrily.

"Perfect."

Angelo lifted his hands defensively.

"It's the truth. It's nature. Men want to make love to women and you want to make love to your lady. This is not something you can just turn off with a switch. It's instinct."

Those words naturally put a picture in Sherlock's head how he made love to Molly and the clarity and the details made him jump up from his seat. He angrily grabbed his pocketbook.

"Well, we'll see about that! I am the most brilliant mind in the UK, if not the whole world! I will turn this damnable instinct off! Just you wait!"

With that being said Sherlock grabbed his coat and stormed out, Angelo looking after him through the window, biting into one slice of garlic bread.

"I'll give him three months, at most."