A/N: Good news! A post! A LONG post! A pretty good one, if you'll allow me to say. Not sure about tomorrow but will try.

I was ecstatic at the reception my preview got! Sherlock "Utterly Brilliant" Holmes vs. Jack "Sex Incarnate" Harkness… who do you think will win Molly's heart? I know, but I'm not telling! LOL

Now, on to some fic recs!

Good grief! If you're not already, you really ought to check out the following:

"Send Me the Thorns" by Petra Todd, I prefer Dom! Molly but it's quite nice.

"Catalyst" by AndInTimeThisTooShallPass

"Coffee Black, Two Sugars" by ThisLooksLikeAJobForMe

"The Ghost of Manchester" by a woman of letters. Friendship only but excellent.

"Away from the Sun" by T.N. Weston

"Sherlock and Molly that Night" by Dizzybunny

"The Life and Times of Molly Hooper" by Heartgrater

More fic recs to come later. Hope you enjoy the chapter!

S&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&M

Molly gave a small excited squeak when they stopped in front of the restaurant. "Oh! I've always wanted to eat here!" she said happily. She looked at him. "How did you know?"

A little madman told me. "I didn't. I guessed you'd like it," Sherlock said. "Contrary to popular opinion, I do not know everything."

She looked down shyly. "You do know me rather well in some ways."

He shoved down the urge to tell her it was easy to guess she'd like something so cute. Cute. But she was a pathologist. She did autopsies. How had it never struck him before that this was actually an odd combination? He'd ask her about it later.

He helped her out of the taxi and escorted her to the door, opening it for her with a smile. A perfect gentleman.

He didn't hear the soft click of a camera in the distance behind them.

Princess of Shoreditch was a nice place, as Moriarty had said. Sleek, dark wood, textured paint in a modern design, tables and chairs arranged in ways he imagined others would call cozy. The Maitre d' smiled as he led them to a table in the back at Sherlock's request. Molly knew he didn't care for people in general, so it didn't bother her in the least. She wasn't too keen on eating in a crowd, either.

Once they'd been greeted by their waiter, Sherlock flipped a wine menu open with a flourish. He scanned the list for all of three seconds before snapping it shut. "We'll have a bottle of your 2008 Inniskillin Riesling Icewine, please," he told their waiter.

"Excellent choice, sir." The man poured water for them and left.

Molly swallowed hard, looking down at her own wine menu. He had just ordered them a bottle of wine that cost seventy pounds. She felt his eyes on her and hastily closed her wine menu and picked up the dinner menu.

"That is an acceptable choice, yes?" he asked, and she looked up to meet his eyes.

"Oh, I love Riesling. Just um… a bit expensive, that one," she said with a slight nervous laugh.

He raised his eyebrows. "And?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. It sounds delicious, thank you."

"You aren't used to being treated well, are you," he said quietly. It wasn't a question.

Molly felt her cheeks burn and wished she could hide under the table. "I haven't exactly had dozens of suitors," she said, equally quietly. "Most of the ones I've had were during my uni days. And uni students don't usually have a lot of money. Well, the rich ones do. But I never wanted to date any of those. Then you're only something pretty they wear on their arm, like a Rolex, and they'll throw you aside as soon as a younger girl with bigger breasts comes along."

He blinked: whether from surprise at her frankness or the information itself she wasn't sure.

"Money is still no excuse not to treat you properly, Molly," he said gently.

"Oh, there were some that did. One in particular but, well, obviously it didn't work out," she said, cursing herself for being so stupidly stereotypical as to bring up past relationships. "Sorry," she said quickly. "I know I just sounded like the type of woman you detest, talking about an ex. I just… I feel like I can talk to you because you're my friend."

He was staring at her with that look again: the look of trying to figure something out that had surprised him. "You weren't chattering incessantly about it, Molly. Don't underestimate me, please, even though I've given you every reason to. And I'm glad you're comfortable with me."

"Well, I wouldn't go that far," she said, then clapped her hand to her mouth in horror.

Sherlock stared at her and burst into laughter.

"Oh, God, sorry…"

"Don't be sorry," he said when he stopped laughing. "You're being honest. I'd rather have you honest than picking your way through some imaginary minefield."

Molly could only nod her head in wonder. "All right. I'll carry on making a fool out of myself."

He smiled. "Please don't take it that far, Molly," he said wryly, and then it was her turn to laugh.

The wine arrived, and after the obligatory cork sniffing and the glasses were filled, Sherlock declined a starter (after consulting with Molly) waited for the waiter to depart and then raised his glass. "To being us," he said softly.

She smiled and clinked her glass to his. "To being us."

The Riesling was fantastic, cold and sweet with hints of vanilla and apricot. It slid down her tongue like a liquid caress. She looked down at her menu again and he did the same. For about five seconds this time. Then he closed his and looked at her. "Well. Have you decided?"

"Um, not yet. It all looks so good."

Privately Sherlock thought only about four things looked remotely good, but didn't voice the opinion. He wasn't much on eating, eating was boring and food slowed him down when he worked, so it wasn't really the restaurant's fault.

The waiter returned a moment later and smiled. "Are you ready to order?"

Sherlock looked at Molly, who quickly made a decision. "Yes, I'd like the roast Devon lamb, please."

"And you, sir?"

"The same, please."

The waiter nodded and collected their menus. Sherlock looked at Molly in surprise. "I didn't know you like lamb, Molly."

She looked surprised too. "Why would you have done? We've never actually eaten together."

He glanced down. "True. But that's what dates are about, right? Learning things?"

He looked up to see her smiling. "Yes."

"Will you finish your story? About the man from uni?"

Molly stared. "Why?"

He shrugged. "It might help me not make the same mistakes?"

She smiled again. It confused him. "What?"

"That was… that was very nice, Sherlock."

Oh. Sentiment. Well, dates were all about that, too. He smiled. So much smiling required, on a date…

Molly drew a deep breath. "Douglas and I were both studying medicine. He wanted to become a doctor, open a family practice. We dated for a year and he asked me to marry him. I said yes. Not long after, I started noticing things. Things that-well, if I were you, I'd have probably seen in about two minutes. But love is blind and I loved him."

"He'd made jokes about a family before: how I wouldn't have to work, what a great stay-at-home mum I'd be. I'd sort of brushed it off. But it got more serious once we were engaged. Eventually we had a big row about it and he told me he was old-fashioned: he wanted me to stay home and raise a family while he worked. That wasn't what I wanted for myself. I'd worked too long and too hard in uni to just give it all up. So I broke it off with him."

Sherlock studied her curiously. "You don't want children?"

"I don't dislike kids: I just don't want any of my own. When I was younger I thought maybe, but…" she glanced away.

She was shocked when he laid a gentle hand on her arm for a second before removing it. "There's nothing wrong with you for not wanting children," Sherlock told Molly.

She managed a laugh. "Tell that to my mum!"

"I shall," he deadpanned, and she laughed harder.

"You know, this is amazing," she said when she'd stopped laughing.

"What is?"

"I just realized…I'm having fun with you."

He raised his eyebrows. "…Thank you?"

"No, I just mean… I didn't know you could be so much fun. Brilliant, yes and you have a… presence about you. The kind that makes everyone want to stop and look at you for a moment. But you're funny, too. Most people don't get to see that. And they're missing out."

A look crossed his face that she couldn't understand. "Thank you, Molly," he said, and she must have imagined his voice was a shade rougher than normal.

Her cheeks flushed a bit, and she fought the urge to look down. His expression changed from the odd one to one that looked almost… happy.

Molly didn't know why. But Sherlock did.

Because of one small but significant thing.

Molly Hooper had not stammered.