A fluffy little interlude before things get a bit more serious, again. :)

Chapter Forty-Six

As Sherlock made his way out of New Scotland Yard, he returned Molly's text:

On my way.

He hailed a cab and jumped inside then unfolded the report the technician had provided. The map reference had leaped out at him; he recognised it the moment he saw it - his second favourite bolthole and the only one he hadn't visited on Saturday evening when gathering together his evidence to take to Mycroft on the Sunday - the Lie of Leinster Gardens. He was relieved to learn that he had been somewhere safe and secure during those two lost days but the big question was, why had he gone there?

He only resorted to his boltholes when he felt in some way at risk and Leinster Gardens in particular, being the most secret and secure, was his go-to option when maximum security was called for. What this suggested to him was that something had spooked him sufficiently, not only to send him diving undercover but also to cause him to erase the incident from his memory.

He needed to go there, to examine the 'crime scene', and he would…later, after Molly had gone to work. Right now, his priority was to talk to her, to come clean about a couple of things he had been less than transparent about and, of course, to address the issues voiced in her text, to hold him, taste him and feel his hands upon her. He had no problem with that, at all, because he felt exactly the same about her.

When the cab pulled up outside Molly's house, he already had his key in his hand. He fitted it into the lock and let himself in, closing the front door behind him. He could hear the sound of a tv or radio show through the closed door to the open plan living area. As he removed and hung up his coat and scarf, he wondered if she would have heard his arrival over that sound but his question was answered when the intervening door opened and there she was. His heart swelled just at the sight of her. But he was instantly put on the back foot by her opening sentence.

'Hi!' she exclaimed. 'How was your case? Did you solve it already?'

'Sorry? What case?' he asked.

She immediately looked puzzled and not a little embarrassed, thinking she had somehow gotten the wrong end of the stick.

'Oh, when I called John this morning, after you didn't respond to my call or text - sorry about that; really shouldn't be so needy – he said you'd gone to see Greg Lestrade about a case. Did I misunderstand?'

It was obvious what had happened here. John had made up some nonsense about a case in order to explain him going to see Lestrade and now Molly thought she was the one who got it wrong. She looked so awkward standing there, wringing her hands; he felt doubly guilty for not being honest about the two missing days in the first place.

'No, no, you didn't,' he said, softly, opening his arms and gathering her up, closing his eyes and breathing in the scent of her – peaches and almonds – and feeling the soft curves of her body meld with the sharp angles of his own. 'Molly,' he murmured, 'I haven't been entirely honest with you. I need to put that right.'

She eased back and gazed up at him with trepidation, wondering what he was alluding to. Had he had second thoughts about their relationship? Was he about to let her down gently? Would this go down in history as the shortest love affair ever? He saw the apprehension in her eyes and knew exactly what she was thinking. He cursed himself for his stupidity.

'No…no! I'm not about to…no!' he gasped and, pressing his lips to hers, showed her in no uncertain terms that ending their relationship was the very last thing on his mind.

'We need to talk,' he said, when they eventually broke apart, and taking her hand, he led her into the sitting room and sat with her on the sofa, holding both of her hands in both of his.

'Remember when you asked me where I was last Wednesday and Thursday and I said I had no idea?'

Molly nodded. Of course, she remembered. She had thought it a bit odd at the time but Sherlock had a habit of deleting things he deemed to be unimportant so…

'Well, the fact is, I actually have no memory whatsoever of those two days. They are completely blank. Because I experienced a two-day black out.'

Molly was shocked. This wasn't a deletion of trivia; it was a totally different kettle of fish.

'After you left for work, last night, I told John the truth but I asked him not to mention it to you…'

'Why?' she gasped.

'…partly because I didn't want to worry you, yes, but also because I felt embarrassed about the whole idea of having blackouts. I saw it as showing weakness…yes, I know, I'm an idiot.'

'No, you are not; you're just a man,' Molly insisted, leaning forward to kiss him in solidarity.

'Anyway, during those two days, I sent texts and emails and made phone calls from my mobile so that's why I went to see Greg Lestrade today and why I didn't respond to your calls and texts until this afternoon – because I gave Greg my phone for his technicians to run a diagnostic, to find out where I was when I made those calls and texts and whatnot.'

'And did they? she asked.

'Yes,' he confirmed, taking the report from his pocket and showing it to her.

'That's a grid reference, isn't it? Do you know where it is?'

'Yes, it's my most secret bolthole, in Leinster Gardens, Bayswater.'

This was one even Molly hadn't heard about until now.

'It's also my most habitable bolthole – apart from your house, of course,' he smiled. 'It has heating and sanitation and somewhere to sleep, a kettle and a fridge. Everything one could need, in order to hide out for a limited period of time.'

'But why would you need to hide out?' Molly asked, getting straight to the crux of the matter.

'Exactly,' he replied. 'That's what I need to find out.'

Molly nodded. She understood. He knew he need say no more, except…

'I'm so sorry I didn't tell you straight away.'

'Don't be,' she said, gently stroking the backs of his hands with her thumbs. 'I understand.'

'And there's one more thing I need to tell you…actually, no. Two more things.'

She nodded, expectantly.

'First of all, I've decided to seek psychiatric treatment to help me deal with…everything – Victor, Uncle Rudi, the torture, all of it. I don't want to carry all this baggage around with me any longer. It's time to act like a grown-up.'

Molly reached out to cup his cheek in her hand, her eyes liquid with emotion. She knew what a huge step this was for him to have taken and she was enormously proud of him for taking it.

'I'm going to call Ella, John's therapist. She's been very good for him. I think she'll be good for me too.'

Molly nodded, not quite trusting her voice to speak, just now.

'And there's one more thing…'

She waited.

'Lestrade knows about us. He saw your text.'

Molly's eyes and mouth opened in unison and she clapped a hand to her forehead in horror.

'Oh, my god! He didn't, did he?'

'Only the preview,' he qualified.

'How much is that?' she demanded, her cheeks blushing deep crimson at the thought of her friend and colleague reading those heartfelt words she had written in a fit of passion, just a few short hours ago.

'Just 'Missing you so much right now. Counting the seconds until…', that's all.'

'Oh, thank god!' she exclaimed, covering her eyes with her hand. 'Any more would have been just too embarrassing!'

'Why?' he quizzed her, still chuckling at her shocked reaction.

'Because those words were meant for your eyes only,' she replied, kneeling up on the sofa and leaning into him, looping her arms around his neck and carding her fingers through his hair. 'They're private,' she added, for emphasis, whilst taking the opportunity to put into effect the words she had written – to hold him, taste him and feel his hands upon her.

'Greg has promised to keep the knowledge of our change of circumstances to himself for now but I think this does bring things rather to a head,' Sherlock declared, when they eventually came up for air.

'Yes,' Molly agreed. 'We have to tell John and Mrs Hudson as soon as possible. But tell them what?' This was their first discussion on the subject of exposition. They hadn't given it any thought until now, being too wrapped up in each other and, actually, just enjoying the secrecy a little too much, perhaps?

'Well, Greg used an odd phrase…he asked me if we were 'an item'.

'Yes, that's how people refer to couples these days,' Molly confirmed.

'So, do we just say 'we're an item' and leave it at that?'

'We might just get away with it,' Molly giggled, knowing full well that both John and Mrs H would demand a lot more detail - like how, when, for how long and so on.

'Ok, that's that sorted,' Sherlock replied and nodded with satisfaction. 'I'll do it tonight, after I leave here and before I check out Leinster Gardens.'

'Sounds like a plan,' Molly agreed. 'And what about Mycroft. Are you going to tell him?'

Sherlock pulled a disgruntled face.

'He never told me about him and Lady Smallwood,' he huffed. 'I had to find out by accident.'

Molly could not help but laugh at his childish attitude but she wasn't about to tell him what to do. Mycroft was his brother. Let them sort it out between themselves.

'Anyway, I believe congratulations are in order.'

'Really?' Molly queried.

'Yes, for your work on the crossbow case.'

'Oh!' she exclaimed. 'How do you know about that?'

'While I was waiting for my phone, Lestrade asked me to sit in on a briefing on the case. It's all solved now, thanks to your speedy identification of the murder weapon.'

'That's good,' she replied.

'No, Molly Hooper, it's not 'good', it's brilliant! You are brilliant.' He gifted her a congratulatory kiss. 'St Bart's is so lucky to have you. The Met is so lucky to have you. I'm so lucky to have you.'

Molly did what she always did when Sherlock gave her a compliment…she grinned that goofy self-conscious grin that he loved so much. But he was very curious to discover…'How did you know it was a crossbow wound? It's extremely rare as a murder weapon.'

'I did my undergraduate dissertation on penetrative wounds. The crossbow hunting bolt was one projectile I looked at, because of the barbs. They are particularly brutal. Nothing – human or animal – survives a body or a head shot from one of those. Even from a limb shot, the likelihood is you'll die from loss of blood. A very nasty weapon.'

'Yes, especially in the hands of an idiot. The second victim was related to the shooter.'

Molly shook her head in chagrin, prompting Sherlock to change the narrative in favour of more light-hearted subject.

'How long before you have to go to work?' he asked, running his hands down her back and over the curve of her hips to squeeze her buttocks, affectionately.

'About an hour and a half,' she replied.

'That's time enough, isn't it?' he posited, with a twinkle in his eye.

'Plenty,' she agreed, pushing him back against the arm of the sofa and climbing on top of him. He offered no resistance.

ooOoo

Sherlock walked Molly to the bus stop and waited with her until her bus arrived, taking his leave with a discreet peck on her cheek, then continued on to the main road and hailed a passing cab. When it pulled up outside John's house, he swiped his card and jumped out, descending the steps to the lower ground level and knocking at the door.

John answered with Rosie on his hip and she launched herself at Sherlock in what had become their regular greeting ritual.

'Come on in,' said John and stood aside to let him pass. 'So, how did it go with Greg? Any luck?'

'I'm not sure luck played any part in it,' Sherlock replied, pedantically, 'but they got a result.'

'And?' John prompted.

'Leinster Gardens,' Sherlock replied. 'It would appear I was there for the entire two days.'

John was familiar with Leinster Gardens, of course, but only the No 23 side of it. He pulled a face, imagining Sherlock spending the whole two days sitting in that hospital wheelchair with the empty morphine drip bag still attached. Sherlock chose not to enlighten him. The fewer people who knew about the No 24 side, the better.

'So, what now?'

'I need to study the crime scene to see if I can find any clues as to why I chose to go there.'

'OK, well, that's good. You have a plan. We're just about to have supper. Have you eaten?'

'Yes, I'm fine, thanks,' Sherlock lied. He hadn't eaten a thing since the Eggy Bread that morning. But he was on a case, so…

'I'll take that as a 'no', then,' John replied. 'Sit at the table and amuse Rosie while I dish up.' He disappeared into the kitchen and set about serving up three plates of Shepherd's Pie – two large, one small - with carrots and broccoli on the side; then he brought them through, to find Rosie in her highchair, wearing her cover-alls and Sherlock sitting, obediently, at the table beside her, chatting away about some newly discovered chemical elements about to be added to the Periodic Table, once they had been formally verified by the International Union of Pure and Applied Chemistry. The teams who discovered the elements had been invited to come up with names and chemical symbols for them but, for now, they were known just by their atomic numbers, which were 113, 115, 117 and 118, respectively.

'You do realise she won't remember a word of that, don't you?' John declared.

'How do you know?' Sherlock challenged. 'Her brain is currently developing faster than it will at any other time of her life. She's laying down the foundations for all future learning. Who's to say she won't be the next Marie Curie or, if she follows you into the medical profession, the next Tu Youyou?'

'Tu You who?' John quipped.

Sherlock chose to ignore the jibe.

'Right, tuck in,' said John, placing a steaming plate of food down in front of his guest. 'And you're not getting down until you've cleared the whole plate.'

No threats were needed. Everyone cleared their plates and even had seconds. Supper over, while John got Rosie ready for bed, Sherlock made himself useful loading the dishwasher and setting it going. When John came back downstairs, he was sitting on the sofa, checking his emails and texts.

'Cuppa tea?' John asked, though it was a rhetorical question. His friend never refused a cup of tea. When he returned with two steaming mugs and took his seat with a contented sigh, Sherlock took that as his cue to raise the subject of his and Molly's relationship. He wasn't comfortable with the phrase Lestrade had favoured. He thought it better to use his own words so he took a breath and jumped straight in.

'I probably should tell you that Molly Hooper and I have reached an understanding.'

'A what?'

'An understanding,' he repeated.

'About what?'

'About our relationship.'

'Oh. And?'

'And what?'

'Well, what have you decided?

This wasn't going quite as smoothly as he'd hoped.

'To have one.'

'One what?' John laughed, shrugging his shoulders in a gesture of confusion.

'A relationship, John.' Sherlock huffed, wondering why his friend was being so obtuse.

John Watson's brow furrowed and Sherlock could almost hear the cogs grinding as he slowly processed the information laid before him.

'Are you telling me that you and Molly are…' he paused and then added, hesitantly, '…an item?'

'Yes!' Sherlock declared, rolling his eyes dramatically.

'Oh…I see!' John exclaimed. 'And does that include, erm…you know…' He appeared to be struggling to find the right words. '…sleeping together?' he said, at last.

'We are physically intimate, yes,' Sherlock confirmed.

'Wow!' John seemed genuinely surprised. 'So, you finally…'

'Got my head out of my arse? Yes, apparently so.'

'Well, that's not exactly what I was about to say but…hey, well done! You finally plucked up the courage. Congratulations!'

'Thank you, John.'

'So, when did you…?'

'Saturday.'

John nodded, sagely.

'And how did you…?'

'I took your advice. I asked her if I could kiss her.'

'And how did that go down?' John was curious to know.

'She chewed my face off.'

John guffawed with laughter and Sherlock joined in with a rumbling, baritone chuckle.

'Well, I'm very happy for you both. Truly, truly happy.' And he was.

ooOoo

Having drunk his mug of tea, it was time for Sherlock to leave John's home, mission accomplished. He had one more stop to make before he could turn his attention to 23 and 24 Leinster Gardens, and that was at 221 Baker Street, to enlighten his landlady – and surrogate mother – about his new 'arrangement' with Molly. He walked to the station and took the Overground and then the Underground, arriving at Baker Street forty minutes later. As he came into the front hall, through the vestibule, he could hear Mrs Hudson's TV, verifying that she was at home. He walked down the hall and rapped at her door. She opened it, moments later.

'Oh, hello, dear. Is everything alright? Did you find your milk and biscuits this morning?'

'I did, Mrs H, thank you. What do I owe you?'

'Oh, nothing, dear. My treat.'

'Well, that's very kind of you, thank you. May I come in for a moment?'

Of course, dear,' she said, stepping aside to allow him access to her cosy little sitting room. 'Sit yourself down,' she added, indicating the sofa and taking her place next to him. 'What is it?' she asked and waited patiently for his reply.

'I wanted to let you know,' he began, hesitantly, 'that you may well be seeing a lot more of Molly Hooper from now on.'

'Oh, yes?' She looked intrigued.

'Yes.'

'Well, that's nice. She's a lovely girl. A little awkward at times but she has a kind heart. So, are the two of you going to be flat-sharing?'

'No, Molly has her own house.'

'Oh, I see. So, are you going to be working together, like you and John?'

'We do work together sometimes, yes, but that's not why…' Sherlock could see this conversation was going nowhere fast and knew he had to just bite the bullet. 'We're together, Mrs H. We're an item.'

'Oh!' she exclaimed, her features lighting up with delight. 'That's excellent news! Mrs Turner owes me ten pounds!'

'Sorry?' Sherlock was accustomed to his landlady's butterfly mind but this was a tangent too far, even for him.

'I bet Mrs Turner ten pounds that you and Molly were in a relationship, after I met you in the hall the other afternoon. She was wearing the same dress as the night before, you see. Always a giveaway.'

'She might have just stayed over because she missed the last tube home the night before,' Sherlock argued.

'In which case, she would have gone home in the morning, not in the middle of the afternoon! I may be an old lady now, Sherlock Holmes, but I was young once! I know how these things work. And then there's the aura.'

'What aura?' This was another level of fanciful, even for Mrs H.

'You two have an aura around you when you're with each other. It's as clear as day. You are so in love.'

Sherlock actually blushed.

'Well, I wouldn't know anything about that…' he mumbled.

'No, of course you wouldn't, dear, because you're a man. You men are a bit slow on the uptake when it comes to auras.'

'I'll take your word for that,' he conceded, with a wry smile, and went to rise and take his leave but Mrs Hudson placed a hand on his sleeve to pause his progress.

'I am so happy for you, dear. You two are perfect for each other – both very science geeky, both a bit socially awkward, both very kind-hearted - though you try to hide that part of your personality. I don't know why. So, well done! I'm sure you'll be very happy together!'

'We're not getting married, Mrs Hudson!'

'Not yet,' she replied, with a cheeky grin.

Mrs H insisted he stay for a celebratory cuppa and who was he to argue with that? But eventually, he was able to tear himself away and now there was nothing to stop him tackling the most pressing mystery of the moment. Why did he feel the need to flee to Leinster Gardens just a week earlier?

ooOoo