A/N: Anybody still there? I am terribly sorry for the long wait. Due to some family events and cultural holidays, there was significant reduction in my writing time. Nevertheless, I still tried to work on this chapter, fleshing it out bit by bit. I really love their moments together in this one. There is a lot of reference to some past events and it's always nice to connect to nostalgic favourites. In any case, for those of you who have survived the wait and are still sticking around for this story, I thank you from the bottom of my heart and I sincerely hope you will enjoy this chapter. Lotsa love. xx


Chapter 29

It took Molly a while for her to realise and accept that Sherlock Holmes had really shown up at her doorstep. Yet, even though he had been uninvited, to Molly, he would never be unwelcome.

His appearance only began to feel real when Molly saw how brusquely he had stridden into her apartment, not bothering with manners, causing a delightful wave of nostalgia for her. Her head turned to follow his bold steps into her home. She smiled when she saw him scanning the place unabashedly whilst removing his coat and scarf as though he were back home in Baker Street. He then made straight for the kitchen, which amused her no end, and somehow figured out where all her tea things were and began to put the kettle on.

It was all well and lovely until Molly realised with a start that Ayumi had also come along with Sherlock. A frown began to appear whilst her smile did the opposite, disappearing as questions began to stream in. Molly turned slowly to face Ayumi who stood calmly outside the flat with her hands still deep in her pockets. As Molly studied Ayumi's tense frame, Ayumi looked back at her and smiled vacantly.

"I wasn't expecting to have to say goodbye so soon…" Ayumi began.
"How…" Molly asked, unable to even pick one among the myriad of questions that collided in her head.
"I suppose my job here is done." said Ayumi.
"Your job?" Molly remarked quietly.
"You're my friend, Molly, you always will be," Ayumi said, smiling gently at her, "But I doubt you'll feel the same way when I tell you that I'd been…assigned to you. Except, instead of being assigned to spy on you, or kill you, I was assigned to be your companion."

There was a pause as certain pieces of information began to click in Molly's head.

"This is all Mycroft, isn't it?" she uttered in realisation.
"Yes, Mycroft." Ayumi repeated, nodding.
"You're not…from the university… You're not from HR…"
"No, I'm not. I run my own international agency, and my people partner frequently with Mycroft's people." Ayumi explained, "But in your case, Mycroft personally requested my direct involvement, and I never say no to him."

Here now was a whole other wave that, once again, knocked the breath out of Molly. First, it had been Sherlock's sudden arrival. Now, the woman she had befriended all this while was no regular consultant from the university's Human Resource Department. Molly stood there, with one hand still frozen against the edge of the door, staring straight at Ayumi. She took a long, hard look at the person she now knew as an equal to Mycroft, someone who ranked on his same level. For him to have personally asked for Ayumi to be involved somewhat stunned Molly. It said a lot about Ayumi and her capabilities, and Molly did not know whether to be in awe or in fright of her. She could scarcely believe this revelation, for Ayumi had seemed so ordinary on the surface that Molly would never have guessed otherwise.

Ayumi stayed where she was, braving the cold air outside. Now that she had made this revelation, she dared not assume that she was welcome. All the power she held in her capable and experienced hands meant nothing as she waited to see how her friend would respond to what could only be described as betrayal.

"Everything makes sense now." Molly said, at last.
"I suppose it does," Ayumi replied, nodding.

Molly kept her eyes on the woman who was now revealed to be the agent assigned to her here in this new place away from home. The cogs in her mind spun, and her eyes were still wide from shock as she processed Ayumi's words and everything that had transpired between them these two years in Japan.

"So, now that Sherlock's here, I doubt I'll need to be around here anymore," Ayumi said. She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. Ayumi was going to miss Molly. No matter how all of this had happened, their friendship and been real and meaningful, and she was sad to see it go.

"Goodbye, Molly. I hope you'll be well. For what it's worth, I really appr—"

Before Ayumi could finish, the very heavily pregnant Molly finally released her death grip on the door and flung her arms around her friend.

"This all makes sense," Molly said quietly to her friend, but this time, there was a little chuckle that followed.

Stunned, Ayumi gingerly returned the hug, unsure if this was genuine affection or if Molly had gone mad.

"Ayumi?"
"Yes?"
"Is he… Mycroft then?"

Ayumi's eyes widened and she quickly stepped back as Molly removed her arms from around Ayumi, only to cross them on top of her belly.

"Come on, confess," Molly said, still chuckling.
"I…no, I mean, Mycroft is…"
"There's no need to be all secretive now," Molly interrupted, reaching to take her hand, "After all, aren't we friends?"

At her words, Ayumi looked up at Molly and then back down at her hand that was held firmly in Molly's. Ayumi was speechless. She knew, from the very beginning, that this gift of friendship with Molly was always going to be temporary. Furthermore, Ayumi had effectively been lying to Molly from the moment they had met. Molly's reaction, therefore, was truly unexpected.

"Are we…really…still friends?" she asked tentatively.
"As an agent on par with the great Mycroft, you really are quite silly…" Molly replied, smiling.
"It's just…"
"You're a good friend, Ayumi. I don't care how we met, but I'm glad we did."
"But this has all been a lie. How am I still a friend?" Ayumi asked.
"Don't be daft," Molly said, laughing, "You only lied about your assignment. And you had to. Everything else that you've been to me, I know is true."
"So…"
"So, could you please come out of the cold and have some tea?" Molly exclaimed, pulling her friend in, "It's not often we get a chance to have tea made by the great Sherlock Holmes."

The two friends burst into laughter as they walked into the warm apartment. Molly shut the door behind them while Ayumi began removing her coat and scarf. Ayumi was about to make her way into the kitchen when Molly stopped her, yanking her back to the doorway.

"So, it is Mycroft, isn't it?" Molly whispered, not wanting Sherlock to hear their conversation.
"Long story…" Ayumi answered, somewhat uncertainly.

Molly laughed heartily again and moved to hug her friend once more.

"I think I know most of it already, Ayumi," Molly whispered, "Except that now, I have a face to put it to."
"I suppose you do," Ayumi said, finally breaking into a genuine smile.

The two friends stepped back from their hug and looked at each other. Molly had an amused smirk as she noted the bashfulness in her friend's eyes.

"We have a lot of catching up to do," said Molly, teasing Ayumi.
"That will have to wait." interrupted Sherlock, with a tray of assorted tea mugs in his hands.

The detective set the mugs on the table and beckoned for the two ladies to sit. He joined them in the tiny square of a sitting room and reached for a mug.

"First, tea." he said, stirring in two sugar cubes into his cup, "Then I catch up with Molly."


The plans that Molly had had for having dinner with Ayumi were completely thrown out of the window with the arrival of Sherlock Holmes. At first, Molly had assumed that they were all going to have a pleasant dinner at her place. However, the detective had, with all his usual tact and grace, sent Ayumi on her way, all in the name of 'catching up first'.

Of course, Ayumi had left willingly. Her job was done, at least for now. The reunion had not been overly dramatic and it seemed like it was going to go well. As Ayumi made her way back to her own residence, she chuckled at the memory of Molly's apologetic face when Sherlock had 'ushered' her out of the door, forbidding Molly from even standing up to say goodbye to her properly.

"You see her all the time," he had said, almost accusatorially to Molly.
"I just want to hug her goodbye, Sherlock," Molly had replied, somewhat exasperated.
"One less hug is not going to kill either of you," he had continued.

As the two of them continued bickering, Ayumi made her exit, quietly shutting the door behind Sherlock's turned back while he continued insisting that Molly sit back down. Ayumi found herself smiling all the way to the car. She had good reason to. For one, things between Sherlock and Molly had gotten off to a good, if not rowdy, start. Secondly, and most importantly, she had not lost a friend.

Back in her car, Ayumi leant back against the seat and realised only then how exhausted she was feeling. She had brought along some of her case files to read in the car but decided against it. She shut her eyes and before she knew it had to be woken by her driver when they arrived at their destination. Ayumi hastily gathered her case files and grabbed her things to get out of the car. When she stepped out, Ayumi was surprised to see that she was not at her home address.

"Why are we here?" she asked, turning to her driver.
"Orders." he stated simply.
"I see…" said Ayumi as she stepped up to the quaint sliding doors in front of her. She saw the familiar paper lanterns decorated with calligraphy, and smiled.

Ayumi entered the humble, lit doorway of the establishment and was greeted by the warm scent of freshly roasted barley tea and the fragrance of seaweed, or nori, being toasted over hot coal. The lady boss herself came to meet Ayumi, speaking to her with the highest of honourifics, bowing profusely as she ushered Ayumi to her private dining area. There, Ayumi sat herself down by the delicately carved rosewood table and was immediately presented with a lacquer tray. On it, lay a single envelope with her name handwritten on it. The lady boss and her assistant excused themselves, sliding the doors noiselessly as they proceeded to prepare her meal.

She recognised the handwriting, the ink of the pen that had been used, and even the envelope. When she slit it open, she found a single piece of paper that had been folded. The crisp and slightly slanted script was instantly recognisable as well. She smirked when she saw that there was hardly anything written. The contents were shorter than a haiku. He really was a man of few words.

Ayumi,

I've heard from Sherlock.
Thank you.
Enjoy dinner.

M. Holmes

"I most certainly will," she replied to thin air, folding the note neatly back into its envelope. She exhaled slowly and glanced around the beautiful dining room of her absolute favourite restaurant. Mycroft had certainly remembered well. Ayumi smiled a small smile to herself as she reached to pour herself a small cup of hot sake. Perhaps he would join her one day. For now, this arrangement was good enough.


When the two of them had finally stopped bickering, they realised then that Ayumi had already left. It was Molly who laughed first, nearly dropping her tea. Sherlock, merely grinned, though he tried very much to suppress it.

"You've chased my only friend away," Molly said in jest, finally regaining enough composure to sip from her teacup again.
"Your only friend?" Sherlock scoffed. "What am I then?"
"Indeed," Molly said with wry smile, "What are you, Sherlock?"

The detective paused, realising his question had ricocheted back to him. Sherlock walked back to the sofa, settling himself back into his seat and looked up at Molly who was sat in the small armchair in front of him.

"Well, seeing as I was also sent here, in some respect," he said, "I'll be whoever you want."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Molly asked with a chuckle.

Sherlock smiled and reached to retrieve the now empty mug of tea from her hands.

"More tea?" he asked.
"Please." she said, as she curled up comfortably in her armchair, feeling genuinely relaxed for the first time in months.


It surprised Molly, but Sherlock had settled in without drama and they had, in fact, begun a most harmonious co-existence in her tiny apartment. There was no spare room, so he made do with the sofa. Although it was a little on the short side, the detective managed to fit rather snugly. In any case, it was not like he did much sleeping, so it did not matter.

The next surprising thing was his lack of involvement in her work. Although she was very much on maternity break, Molly saw no real need to miss work entirely. Whenever she could, she would still pop by the university hospital, where the labs she ran were, and keep tabs on her research. On a few occasions, she had invited Sherlock to follow her, but he had expressed no interest whatsoever in doing so. She tried all sorts of ways to entice him to go, showing him all the skin sample reports and all her experiment statistics. His interest was present, but it was never piqued.

"So, last call. We're studying the corroded samples today, want to come and see?" she asked, slowly shrugging her heavy coat on.

Sherlock looked up from her personal laptop that she had lent him for the time being and immediately stood up to help her with her coat.

"Are you sure you're warm enough in this thing?" he asked, adjusting the back of her collar.
"Will you stop fussing?" Molly said, just short of swatting his hands away from her, "You ask me the same question every single time I go out. This coat is more than enough, Sherlock."
"I suppose you're right," he answered, matter-of-factly. "Besides, you also have this."

Sherlock reached for the grey scarf draped across one of the hooks on her coat rack and gently looped it around her. He made sure to move her ponytail out of the way, letting it fall nicely over the swirls of grey fabric around her neck.

"It suits you, this." he said, with a quick smile.
"And it suits you," she said, smiling in return, "You sure you still want me to have it? It does belong to you, you know."
"I told you to take it with you," he answered, "So take it."

Molly smiled and hitched her bag up onto her shoulder.

"So, not coming?"
"No," he answered, settling back at her coffee table with the laptop.
"What're you always reading on my laptop anyway?" she asked, curious.
"Well, I'm reading whatever you've read…"
"What do you mean?" Molly asked, her eyes widening.

The detective turned the laptop screen around to face her. Molly scanned the contents of what he was reading and raised an eyebrow. He smirked at her response and promptly turned the laptop back to face him.

"Problem?" he asked, leaning back onto her sofa and putting the laptop on his knees.
"Problem, no. Question, yes."
"Go on then."
"Why are you reading that?" she asked.
"Because I'd finished reading all your pregnancy books," he said, gesturing to the bookshelf by the door of her bedroom.
"I've never seen you read those," said Molly, surprised.
"When you're sleeping, or out," he said casually. "Besides, I'm a fast reader."
"Of course," she said with a laugh.

Molly walked over to her shoe rack by the door and reached for her boots. She threw them on the floor and was about to step into them when Sherlock stood up to stop her, beckoning for her to sit down.

"You are not putting my boots on for me, Sherlock Holmes," she said, with a smirk. One by one, she slipped her feet easily into her simple black boots. This was a good pair, for there were no laces or buckles or straps that needed doing up. It was perfect footwear for her at this stage.

"See? Perfectly fine." she said with a victory smile.
"Have a good day at the hospital." he said, smiling briefly in return before returning to his laptop.
"Dinner?" asked Molly, halfway out of the door.
"Please." he said, looking up at her.
"Right. See you later," said Molly, before stepping out and shutting the door behind her.

When she was out of the apartment, Sherlock stood up again and went to the window by the door that looked out to the corridor. He saw Molly walk along it, then turn and take the stairs down to the road below. He watched, like a hawk, as she crossed the street and made for the train station. She really was marvellously independent, but the thought of her carrying another life inside her made him unduly anxious. He did not know when it had hit him, this instinct to be protective of her, but it was this instinct that had sparked off his research spree in her apartment. Sherlock saw no need in filling his mind with unnecessary information that he could always ask Molly about later, or read about in her paper later. For now, crucial information was any information pertaining to her pregnancy. He needed to know what the optimal conditions were for her health, what indicators to look out for to prevent any undesirable situations and what sort of environment was best for Molly and the child. He was pleased to discover she even had material on the delivery, should any emergencies crop up. She was wonderfully prepared.

"Right…so where was I?" he said after finally peeling himself away from the window and heading back to the laptop. He searched for the section in Molly's collection of PDFs that he had stopped at and continued reading. "There we are. Foetal Heart Rate, section two…"


When Molly returned home, she was surprised to find her apartment empty. Sherlock was not where she had last seen him, and when she peered into the adjacent kitchen, he was not there either.

"Sherlock?" she called out, as she set her house keys down and expertly kicked her boots off.
"Molly," he said, emerging suddenly from her little storeroom.
"Oh god…" she exclaimed, trying not to laugh at the sight of him. "Have you been trying to do housekeeping?"

The man who stood before her, the greatest detective in London, and possibly the world, had specks of dust in his hair, and clutched a little cloth in one hand and held a pail of water in the other. Most comical of all was the mask he had on to keep from breathing dust in.

"I was just cleaning," he said, yanking his mask down, "I read an article about dust particles and your respiratory tract. And if you were to get an infection, then the baby would—"
"Sherlock, put the things down," Molly said with a laugh as she walked up to him and took the cloth from his hand. She chucked it into the sink at the back of her apartment where the laundry area was and commanded him to put the pail down. She then moved to remove the bits of dust in his hair, chuckling softly to herself as she did so. When she was done, she went to wash her hands and began to set up the dinner that she had bought.

"First of all, Sherlock, I have something called a handheld vacuum. Secondly, sit down and come to dinner," she said, removing the lids of the takeaway boxes of food.
"Right…" he said, sheepishly tossing his mask and dusting off his shirt.

They sat and ate quietly, as they normally did. Although Sherlock would interrupt from time to time, correcting Molly on her use of chopsticks. She merely rolled her eyes and said that she was hungry and told him to mind his own business. Both tried not to laugh, and focused instead on their food. When Sherlock was done, he set his chopsticks down, wiped his mouth and reached for the inside of his shirt pocket.

"Oh, by the way…" he began.
"Hmm?" answered Molly, rising from her seat as she started clearing the table.
"I was dusting your room and—"
"You just waltzed into my room without asking?" Molly interrupted, staring at him with a raised eyebrow.
"Well, it's the place where you sleep and I wanted it spotless." he said very quickly, "But the thing is…"

He had two small photographs in his hand and he placed them neatly on the table in front of her. They were two photographs of Molly and Brian in what were obviously happier times.

"I saw these when I was wiping all the surfaces in your room and these were sort of just…there on your dresser so I had to shift them…" he said, clearing his throat nervously.

Molly set the dinner things back on the table and stretched her hand to retrieve the photographs. She walked over to her bag and placed them neatly in one of the outer pockets. Sherlock did not miss the sudden drop in her expression, nor the quick wave of despondence in her eyes.

"I'm sorry I…took them like that," he said quietly, "I just didn't feel right having moved them and…not told you…"
"Well, you shouldn't have gone sticking your nose there in the first place then," Molly answered sharply.
"I wasn't sticking my no—"
"Yes, cleaning, Sherlock, I know. You were cleaning," she said, sitting down. She sighed quietly and put her head in her hands.

Sherlock was now at a loss, and did indeed regret his moment of honesty. It was always hard for him to figure out what to keep covert and what not to. It was not often that Sherlock knew when he had crossed lines. It was rarer still that he should care that he knew. This evening, he was more aware than he had ever been, that he had once again hurt Molly and overstepped his boundaries.

"I am sorry, Molly…" he said quietly, but earnestly. "Forgive me for being…rude and unthinking."

Molly laughed softly to herself from behind her hands. She then dropped them and looked up at Sherlock. There was that betraying glisten in her eyes that confirmed to Sherlock the photographs had upset her. Worse still, he had upset her.

"Molly, I—"
"Of all times to apologise, Sherlock. And so sincerely too," she said, smiling sadly at him. "Of all times to say you're sorry, when you're not the one I'm angry with."

Again, Sherlock could feel his heart tear itself in two directions. It lifted from the relief that he was the not the source of her unmistakable hurt, but it sank from the knowledge that her heart was terribly, terribly bruised. The detective got up from his seat and moved to where she was seated and knelt beside her. Molly turned to see him looking right back at her, his eyes bright and sincere.

"You really loved him, didn't you?" he asked very quietly.
"Loved him enough to get pregnant…and heartbroken, yes. Who knows, maybe I still do now…" she said, turning from Sherlock to stare blankly in front of her.
"What happened, Molly?" Sherlock asked, "I want to know. So I can help."
"This is nothing you can help with, Sherlock," she answered, almost laughing at him, "This isn't a case, you know?"
"You're hurt. I consider it assault." he remarked matter-of-factly.

Molly finally laughed. Instinctively, she reached for Sherlock's hand and held it tightly in hers.

"You know what's funny?" she whispered, looking down at him

He shook his head, smiling gently at her as he quietly cherished the warmth of her hand that held his.

"He knelt just like you're doing now," she said, "When he told me."

Her words prompted Sherlock to stand up right away, accidentally releasing her hand in the process.

"I'm…sorry, I—"
"Don't be silly," interrupted Molly, reaching for his hand again, "What are you apologising for?"

Sherlock removed his hand from hers so as to reach over for the chair across, dragging it and placing it beside her. He sat himself down and automatically reached for her hand again. This time, it was he who held her hand firmly in his.

"I shouldn't like to remind you of any more hurt. As it is, I should have just left the photos as they were." he said pensively.
"Are you sure you want to know? I don't think you knowing is value-adding in any way…"
"You don't have to tell me, if you don't want to." he said, "But I do want to know."
"You'd be wasting hard-drive space," Molly said with a chuckle, pointing cheekily at his forehead.
"That's where you're wrong," he said with a half-smile.

Sensing the conversation's end, Sherlock stood up and began to clear their dinner things, stacking their empty boxes and taking them away to the kitchen. Molly sat back and just watched him quietly. He returned to the table to collect the used chopsticks and glasses, bringing them to the sink. Sherlock was just about to turn the tap on to begin doing the dishes when Molly called out to him.

"Sherlock."

His hand was poised literally millimetres from the head of the tap when he heard her call him.

"Yes?" he said, turning around.

"Leave that for later." she said, "Come and sit with me."

Without any hesitation, Sherlock walked away from the sink and sat beside her, right where he had been sitting just moments ago. Sherlock saw that Molly had her hands clasped in front of her, and he watched as she clenched and unclenched her fingers. The tension in her hands inadvertently led to him clenching his own jaw. A worried frown etched itself in his eyebrows as he sat quietly, waiting for Molly to say something.

She did not think it would feel this good. Molly had taken a deep breath, glanced quickly at Sherlock who sat still as a statute, and begun. Molly spilt every drop of this story that she had been holding inside her. The last time she had been this honest and vulnerable had been with Ayumi, when it had just happened. Now, months and months later, she did not expect such relief to flood her heart in exchange for the agony she was now pouring out to Sherlock.

Like Ayumi had done before, Molly too regaled the glorious successes in Brian's and her life. Thanks to the little 'party' she had Mycroft arrange back in London a year ago, one of the contacts Brian had made had offered him a contract to be part of a renowned research team in Copenhagen. In light of Brian's placement in Copenhagen, Molly too, searched for her own opportunities there and easily found a place. The couple had every intention of cutting short their contracts in Keiō, so as to make the move to Denmark as soon as possible. They were excited, happy, proud of each other and literally could not have been in a better place in their lives.

When Molly had discovered she was with child, the happiness had not waned for her. However, it had altered some of her decisions. She had decided against moving to Copenhagen, at least not as soon as they had planned. Brian, on the other hand, disagreed with her choice and was not keen on letting her settle down with the child in Japan first before moving. Molly had felt that a new baby, a new move and a new job was all too much. Besides, she was perfectly happy in Japan and was content to stay a few more years, completing her five-year contract.

"We argued about this for ages," Molly said. "It just didn't feel right to uproot again at a time like this…"
"You still planned to be in Copenhagen" Sherlock remarked, "What did a few years of waiting matter?"
"That was the problem, I suppose," she said with a shrug, "He couldn't wait."
"Wouldn't, not couldn't," Sherlock interjected.
"The way he spoke about it, he made our baby feel like a sort of…parasite. He made it seem like it was just my baby, not ours." she recounted, wincing slightly at the memory, "It was as though my baby was leeching off his life and ambitions."

Sherlock nodded, but said not a word. He kept his eyes on her, simply waiting for her to continue. This was not the time to say something wrong. To his surprise, Molly chuckled and turned to him with a questioning look.

"Well, aren't you going to say it?" she asked.
"Say what?" he asked in return.
"That…I don't know…you knew all along this would happen? 'I told you so', and all that?" Molly said with a smirk.
"Why would I say that?" Sherlock asked, slightly taken aback.
"Because I remember what you told me," said Molly with a quiet smile.

Sherlock frowned. Had he said something like that? It was another startling reminder that he really should do something about his manner of speech, particularly around Molly.

"You were right, Sherlock. So right." Molly said, moving to hold his hand as though for support, "We were in the way of his 'flourishing career'. And we were abandoned."

There was a sharp sting in Sherlock's chest. Had he said those things? Had he really?

"Never in my life have I wanted to be more wrong, Molly." he whispered, gently running his fingers across her knuckles.

She gripped his hand tightly, smiling pensively at their hands. Of all the people she imagined being her comfort, she would have never imagined it to be Sherlock Holmes. The thought amused her and a small smile appeared on her lips. The detective continued to stay quiet, keeping her hand in his, whilst remaining deep in thought. Molly had run out of things to say, but did not want Sherlock to leave. He had become a source of warmth to her, a reminder that she still had something to hold on to, that she still had her family. Yes, he was family. She did not know when, how or why he had become this to her, but he had.

"Thank you, Sherlock, for being he—"
"I would never have done this to you," said Sherlock, blurting out his thoughts and interrupting her.
"What?" Molly responded, amused.
"I would have taken care of you, we would have talked about this," he continued in his spiel, "I would have preferred to marry you, of course, but I'd never have left you pregnant like this…"
"What are you talking about, Sherlock Holmes?" Molly interrupted with a soft laugh. She saw in his eyes that he seemed to have let something slip, and smiled in amusement.

Molly patted their clasped hands with her free hand and smiled reassuringly at him.

"I'll be fine," she said calmly.
"Molly."
"Mm?"
"I'd never have done this to you," he repeated, as though not hearing a word she had said.
"I know," she said, nodding sincerely. He was a brutal man sometimes but she knew Sherlock Holmes did not have a single cruel bone in his body.
"I would never hurt you, you know," he said, softly.
"Ah, but you have, Sherlock," Molly said.
"I know." he said, with a single, solemn nod.

She smiled to herself at his lowered head, and continued to keep their hands firmly clasped together. Molly wondered if he remembered that she had forgiven him. Perhaps this was his way of continuing his apology, she thought to herself.

"But it's fine now," she said, finally, removing her hand from his and standing up. She bent carefully to kiss him quickly on the cheek, resting a hand on his face. "We can be good friends, and we can still help one another. As odd as this arrangement seems, I'm genuinely glad to have you here."

Molly walked over to the sink and beckoned for Sherlock to follow her.

"It's nice to be reminded of home, at a time like this." she said, looking up at him with a smile.

She began to sort the chopsticks and glasses and the few bowls and plates in the sink, stacking them carefully to ready them for washing. She smiled when she saw Sherlock come to stand beside her, rolling his sleeves up in preparation.

"This feels familiar," he said, amused.
"I told you, you remind me of home." she remarked, equally amused.
"Which one?" he asked.
"What do you mean?"
"Bart's, or Baker Street?"
"Baker Street isn't my home," exclaimed Molly, as she too began to roll up her sleeves.
"Well, it should be." he responded, smirking.

They both tried to suppress their laughter, but could not stop the grins on their faces.

"Right," Molly said, "You scrub, I'll rinse."
"Certainly," he replied, reaching across from her to take the sponge, but not without planting a soft kiss against her temple as he did so.