Sorry for the long wait. Unbetaed.

Molly sighed and glanced at the door.

The moment they'd pulled up in front of Baker Street, Sherlock had bounded out of the car, opening the door for herself and John, then jumped back in the vehicle. John had yelled at him, but the look Sherlock gave them both through the window made the doctor subside into silence. They'd watched until the car disappeared around the corner and John had turned to her with a forced smile.

"Well, let's see if Mrs. Hudson has any biscuits for us, hmm?"

"You didn't know. Tell me that you didn't know."

"I didn't know."

Sherlock slumped back in his seat, a weight taken off of his chest. He made a show of not caring for Mycroft, but in the end, family was important to each of the brothers and they would defend each other at all costs. When Mycroft had caught on that Molly had seen Irene faster than Sherlock, the younger Holmes had worried that his brother had known all along. If he had known it would mean that he'd locked Sherlock away knowing that he hadn't committed the crime of which he was accused.

Sherlock was relieved, to say the least.

"What do you think she wants with Molly?" Sherlock frowned pensively.

"I have no idea brother. Unless it is to deliver a message from Moriarty."

Sherlock jumped, as if startled, and glared incredulously at Mycroft.

"Surely she's not working with him!" he barked. "Irene wouldn't, she couldn't…"

"She's alive," Mycroft quietly reminded Sherlock. "She's alive and well and left you to your imprisonment when she could have cleared your name. She planned it. There's no way that particular series of events could have happened without careful preparation on SOMEONE'S part and considering she is the liar here, I'd say it was her. With some help obviously. And there's the matter of her knowing you'd come back to the flat at that particular time infected with this… illness. So of course, it was all set up from the beginning."

Sherlock stared dumbfounded at Mycroft, his mental world crashing down. It had all been planned from the beginning. Nothing was coincidence, and Sherlock knew deep down that Irene being alive was the thread that unraveled his entire life for the last few years.

"So you think…" he began, but was cut off by Mycroft.

"Yes. Moriarty is the only one with those kinds of resources. Your woman sold you out to the enemy."

Sherlock growled, surprising Mycroft. "Not my woman. Molly is mine."

Mycroft sighed. "Then I suggest you make it so, and quickly, little brother."

Now it was Sherlock's turn to be surprised. "You DO know what you are saying, right? You are telling me to give in to sentiment and to mark her as my lifemate?"

Mycroft sighed heavily, then nodded.

"You're no longer able to resist and keep your sanity intact while doing so. Believe it or not, your head will be clearer if you are assured that she belongs to you."

"She's not a possession Mycroft," Sherlock mumbled.

"No, of course not. But she belongs to you, just as you belong to her. There's no changing that. But the… wolf, within you. It will rest easier if it is assured of this fact."

Sherlock nodded as the car pulled back up in front of Baker Street, right on cue. He reached for the door handle, then turned back.

"Yes, I'll do everything in my power to find out what their plan is." Mycroft spoke before Sherlock had the chance. "And you will have the next," he consulted his watch, "twenty-four hours undisturbed. I suggest you act on your urges because you won't have another opportunity if things go south as fast as I anticipate they will. Molly meeting Irene is the first domino to fall in this intricate plot, and it will cause a ripple effect. Brace yourself Sherlock, the end is coming."

Sherlock and Mycroft sat staring at each other for a long moment before Sherlock climbed out of the car. He heard laughter as he opened the main door, and smiled warmly as he caught Molly's giggle. He paused, thinking over his conversation with Mycroft, then drew in a deep breath, striding to the door to the main flat.

"Ah, there you all are," he said, unnecessarily. John stood. "John, don't you think it's time for you to get back to Mary? And Mrs. Hudson, it's been a while since you visited your niece, hasn't it?"

Both John and Martha stared at him before paling as they simultaneously realized why he was shooing them away. They were both out the door within ten minutes, with John carrying Mrs. Hudson's hastily packed suitcase. Sherlock had gone upstairs immediately, but Molly had stayed to help their landlady pack.

Molly climbed the stairs slowly. She wasn't sure why Sherlock had not so subtly hinted for her companions to leave or why they hadn't argued against it, but she had a feeling that her unexpected meeting earlier had spurred Sherlock into some kind of action.

She stepped into the sitting room and found Sherlock in his mind palace, sitting frozen in his chair.

"That wasn't very nice," she murmured, and stood looking at him, brow furrowed. She wanted to be near him, to feel his warmth close to her but he was in his chair. She contemplated climbing in his lap for a moment, but dismissed the idea with a giggle.

He probably wouldn't know what to do with that… Or maybe he would.

Her breath hitched and she shivered at the sudden wave of arousal. She took a deep, calming breath and decided to seat herself on the floor next to his feet. She could easily lay on the couch or take the other chair but somehow just being in the same room with him wasn't enough. She wanted to feel him.

The world slowly came back into focus and Sherlock became aware of a warmth leaned against one of his legs. He glanced down and smiled at the sight that greeted him. Molly was seated on the floor next to his chair, her back braced against his legs. She was engrossed in a book, unaware that he was watching her. She chewed her lip as she concentrated, and Sherlock shifted slightly.

"Oh," she exclaimed, blushing as she snapped the book shut. "I'm sorry I don't know why…" She scrambled to stand. "I just, uhm, well I wanted to be near you, for some reason."

Sherlock examined her curiously. He'd felt the same on more than one occasion, but he'd so far resisted the urge to hold her. Now though, in light of his brother's advice and his own feelings for the petite woman, Sherlock consciously made the decision to give in. He wordlessly held his arms open and Molly barely hesitated before climbing into his lap and curling into a ball. He stroked her hair softly and thought about what he was going to say.

"Molly," he began, his voice soft. "Something is going to happen, soon. I don't know what or when but Mycroft is certain that it will come quickly. You meeting Irene is not something we can take lightly. Whatever she may be, Irene is not a fool. She would not expose herself without a good reason, especially knowing that Mycroft and I would undoubtedly pursue her."

He fell silent again, thinking.

"But whatever her reasoning, we're now aware that things are in motion. I need to be able to think, to solve this. But I can't. All I can think about is you."

Molly looked up at him, and Sherlock became uncomfortably conscious of how others felt when he deduced them. Her eyes narrowed and she examined him closely.

"Molly, I…" he trailed off, looking down at her.

"Sherlock." Molly shifted to straddle him in the chair. Her eyes were wide and her lips parted. He was sure that he looked similar as he struggled to keep his breathing steady. "Don't you think that it's time?"

They stared at each other a long moment before Sherlock slowly nodded, a grin spreading across his face. She understood. His beautiful mate, she understood him. Any doubt that lingered was washed away and he wrapped his arms around her waist, smiling up at her.

"Yes, it's time," he agreed.