Well, I thought this would be the final chapter but it was getting way too long so now it will be the penultimate one!

Also, parts of this chapter are definitely M-Rated for some quite explicit Sherlolly. (Many thanks to elbafo for reminding me that this was long overdue.) As usual, for those who don't care for such things, just skip over. It won't affect the plot. And for those who do care, I hope once again that I'm not in the running for a Bad Sex in Fiction award!

Btw, I have shamelessly plagiarised a very famous line from a very famous rock song in this chapter. I've always thought it was a metaphor for something so now I've made it so! ;)

Chapter Seventy-Nine

Molly was just putting the finishing touches to an autopsy report when she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. Fishing it out, it was a text from Sherlock.

Dinner?

So, he must be back in London.

Yes, please. Where? she texted back.

Angelo's

What time?

What time suits you?

'Nine?

See you there at nine.

Molly slipped her phone back into her pocket, smiling like a rather smug Cheshire cat. This was a date. A proper date. The first one they'd ever had, if truth be told, since they officially became an item. She would mark this date on her calendar and maybe celebrate it every year from now on.

And it could not have come at a better time, since she could do with a distraction from the bad news that Mike Stamford had delivered to all the staff in the department earlier in the day. The hospital management had decided that the Pathology Department staff should change their shift patterns to coincide with the twelve-hour ones followed by the nursing staff. Twelve-hour shifts had been introduced for NHS nursing staff in the 1970s in order to compensate for staff shortages. The fact that management wanted to extend this pattern to the non-nursing staff was ominous and almost definitely would lead to redundancies. The announcement had caused great consternation, especially among the technicians. It was assumed that redundancies would not affect the doctors in the department but Molly was not so sure. She had been dwelling on the subject ever since Mike raised it, so the idea of a date with Sherlock was just what she needed to lighten her mood.

When she arrived at Angelo's, right on time, Sherlock was already there, at his usual table by the window. He stood to greet her…and took her in his arms, holding her close, their cheeks pressed together, a gesture reminiscent of his parting words on the phone that morning – he had missed her more than he could ever have imagined.

This was the first public display of affection he had made to her since kissing her outside the Chelsea Farmers' Market. But this was more significant, since it was on Sherlock's home turf and in full view of at least one person whom he might consider to be a friend and who was not known for his discretion.

Easing apart, he helped her off with her coat and pulled out her chair then pushed it in again as she sat down.

'How was your day?' he asked, retaking his seat.

'Busy,' she replied. The flu epidemic was not abating. In fact, if anything, it was ramping up and the steady flow of deceased patients through the mortuary did not ease just because it happened to be a weekend, the only difference being that because the Registry Offices were closed for everything but weddings on a Saturday, the deaths would not be reported until Monday. This accounted for the lower numbers of excess deaths recorded at the beginning of the working week and the big jump in numbers typically recorded on Tuesdays.

'What about you? How was your day?' she asked.

'Surprisingly good,' he replied. But before he could expand on that brief introductory statement, he was interrupted by Angelo, who swooped in and, with a flamboyant flourish, presented each of them with a menu.

'What can I get you two lovebirds to drink?' he asked. As Sherlock rolled his eyes, Molly stifled a giggle and replied,

'I'll have a glass of Merlot, please.'

'And you, my good friend?' Angelo enquired.

'I'll have the same,' Sherlock huffed. 'And a jug of water.'

'You are not going to throw it over yourself, I hope?' Angelo seemed slightly perturbed.

'Not on this occasion, no,' Sherlock assured him and he scurried off, much relieved.

'What was that about?' asked Molly, intrigued.

'Oh, ancient history. I needed to appear drunk, once, so I threw a glass of house white over myself. Angelo has never quite forgiven me for it.'

Molly chuckled at the mental image that Sherlock's confession evoked.

'Go on, you were saying…about your day?'

Sherlock drew breath to reply but was interrupted once again by their over-zealous host. He appeared with a tray, depositing two large glasses of red wine on the table and plonking a lit candle directly in between the two of them.

'Is more romantic,' Angelo declared then flounced off to attend to his other guests.

With a long-suffering sigh, Sherlock moved the candle to the edge of the table but then reached out and took both Molly's hands in his, plaiting their fingers together – which she thought was far more romantic than any candle.

He went on to relate everything that had happened, from his walk with his father, their conversation in the pub, Eurus's surprise visit and the family lunch of authentic Hungarian goulash, the recipe for which had been brought all the way from Budapest by Nina's grandmother, when she fled the German occupation in 1944, narrowly avoiding transportation to Auschwitz, which might well have truncated Nina's family tree, as it had for so many others in those dark days.

Nina had shared this part of her family's history with Sherlock, as he prepared a pot of tea for the Holmes family reunion going on in the Snug and she stirred a pre-prepared pot of her country of origin's national dish on the Aga, whilst warming some loaves of crusty bread in the cool oven.

Separated from her rather overbearing friend, Ingrid, softly-spoken Nina proved to be a mine of information on many matters, not least the fact that no one in the village had even the slightest inkling that Maura had a long-lost daughter. But Nina was sure that everyone would be rejoicing when they learned of this sudden and unexpected revelation which, if Sherlock's suspicion was correct, was happening right at that moment, courtesy of Ingrid, who had been cloistered in the downstairs loo ever since he and his father returned.

During the course of this account of his day, one of the waiters came to deliver the jug of water and two tumblers and to take their order. Molly chose to skip a starter and go straight for the main course of lasagne. Sherlock just ordered a coffee.

'Not hungry?' Molly asked.

'No, not after Nina's goulash. It was delicious. I had two helpings.' That was praise, indeed!

'So, what's the occasion?' Molly asked, wondering why he had invited her to dinner when he wasn't intending to eat.

'Well, it's kind of traditional, isn't it? When a case closes, John and I always come here for dinner.'

So, this was his way of drawing a line under Eurus's case, declaring it officially over.

'I invited him but he said he had a previous engagement – dinner with Mary T…Mary.' He corrected himself, just in time.

'Oh, couldn't he have brought her, too?' Molly wondered.

'Apparently not,' he shrugged. 'He said he didn't think he was quite ready to introduce her to his friends, by which he obviously means me.'

Molly gave him a sympathetic smile. She was just a little disappointed to learn that this wasn't, after all, their first 'date' but more a celebration between colleagues of a successful business venture. However, she quickly reminded herself that she was still having dinner with Sherlock Holmes – even if she was the only one actually eating – and he was still holding her hands in public, so they were definitely not just colleagues.

'I suppose it is early days,' she said. 'He probably still wants to keep her to himself. So, who's looking after Rosie?'

'Mrs Hudson. John was dropping Rosie at Baker Street just as I arrived home. He's picking her up tomorrow.'

Oh, thought Molly. That could mean only one thing…

'Yes, that's what I thought, too,' Sherlock agreed, demonstrating once again his uncanny mindreading skills.

'How did you get home?' Molly asked.

'I came back in Mycroft's car with Eurus and Charlotte. Pa insisted.'

'Well, with all those WI ladies rallying to the cause, I'm sure he'll have all the help he needs and then some.'

'Indeed.'

'And we've got that big family dinner at Alicia's tomorrow,' she added, at which Sherlock's brow furrowed. He was not looking forward to that. 'What's the matter?' Molly asked, rubbing the backs of his hands with her thumbs. But he couldn't offer her a rational explanation, only that he was not relishing the prospect.

Just then, Molly's lasagne arrived and she tucked in, with relish. That conversation would have to wait for another time.

The rest of the meal passed off without incident, in an atmosphere of conviviality, particularly when Molly insisted on a round of Pudding Roulette which she announced as a new tradition to add to the old one. They chose banoffee pie, tiramisu and affogato, taking one spoonful of each, in turn, before passing them on until they were all gone.

They walked back to Baker Street in the moonlight, none the less romantic for being in the middle of the metropolis. Once inside 221 Baker Street and after removing their outdoor clothing in the hallway, Sherlock did what he had been dying to do all evening. Catching Molly halfway up the stairs, he pressed her against the wall, assailing her mouth with hungry kisses until she was gasping for breath, whereupon he transferred his attentions to her throat, neck and shoulder.

He might well have taken her right there, on the stairs, had she not whispered,

'What if Mrs Hudson…?'

The thought of his landlady wandering into the hallway, possibly with Rosie in tow, and catching them in flagrante delicto was enough to bring him to his senses. Sweeping Molly into his arms, he carried her up the second flight of steps and through the side door into the kitchen. He paused there, renewing his ravenous attack on her lips and throat but, again, Molly intervened.

'Not the table,' she insisted, breathlessly, leaving him no option but to continue their journey into the bedroom, where he dumped them both on the bed and proceeded to divest them of the bare minimum of clothing necessary to facilitate congress.

The encounter was brief but intense, a firestorm that swept through, consuming everything in its path in a matter of seconds. Sherlock rolled aside and lay on his back, panting like a rabid dog as his blood cooled. After a moment, he turned his head toward her, aghast.

'God, I'm so sorry! That was unbelievably selfish. What was I was thinking…?'

Molly closed the distance between them and pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth.

'Don't be sorry,' she murmured. 'You catch your breath and then we'll take it slowly…very, very slowly.'

True to her word, after observing their more usual end-of-day routine, they retired to bed to roll in each other's arms, luxuriating in the erotic potential of touch, smell, taste, sight and sound and taking time to savour the pure delights of sensual exploration.

ooOoo

Next morning, Sherlock was sitting in his arm chair, wearing nothing but his favourite dressing gown, perusing the Sunday newspaper when his phone rang. Even though he could access all the news imaginable via the Internet, there was something about the feel and smell of an actual hard-copy newspaper that the digital version just couldn't replicate. So, the weekly ritual of reading the Sunday paper was religiously observed at 221B. And interruptions were not appreciated. Especially from none other than Mycroft Holmes himself.

'Can't this wait?' Sherlock huffed, irritably. 'You'll be seeing me face to face in a few hours.'

'Good morning, brother,' Mycroft replied, ignoring the attitude.

'What do you want?'

'I need to apprise you of some recent developments.'

Sherlock sighed, audibly, then said,

'Go on, then.'

'Eurus decided overnight she wished to return to Edinburgh immediately. She and Charlotte are on their way, even as we speak, to RAF Northolt to be flown home.'

Oh, thought Sherlock.

'Also, Papa has just called. Mummy is feeling quite fatigued and emotional after Eurus's surprise visit yesterday and the family doctor feels she's had enough excitement for one weekend and advised against a four hour round trip, by car, sandwiched around a family meal. I did offer to provide a helicopter to transport them but Papa found that unconscionable on ecological grounds. So, they will not be attending the lunch either.'

Oh, thought Sherlock.

'So, Alicia has instructed me to advise you of the situation and offer you the option to attend as planned or to cancel. It's entirely up to you.'

Sherlock was surprised by the degree of relief this choice afforded.

'Well, I would hate to inconvenience Lady Smallwood…'

'There is no inconvenience. Either way, she is happy to accommodate your decision.'

'In that case,' he replied, 'please thank Alicia for her kind invitation but, on this occasion, I must decline.'

'Very well,' Mycroft replied. 'I'll let you get back to your newspaper. Good day.'

ooOoo

'It's probably for the best,' said Alicia, as Mycroft closed the call, shaking his head. 'I think you've all had rather too much excitement, to be honest. A little time apart to process everything that has occurred in the last few days will, I'm sure, do you all a power of good.'

'But you've gone to so much trouble,' Mycroft lamented.

'Oh, it's nothing,' Alicia insisted. 'I'll call Mrs Davenport and ask her to freeze everything that can be frozen. And as for the rest, I'm sure we can do something with it over the next week. These are First World problems, Mycroft, believe me. And in the meantime, it means we can have a nice quiet Sunday, just the two of us. What could be better?'

ooOoo

Charlotte glanced across at Eurus, curled up asleep in a double seat on the opposite side of the plane. There was no doubt in her mind that the sudden decision to return immediately to Edinburgh had been motivated by Eurus's Mycroft phobia. She could not face spending another afternoon in her brother's company, even with the rest of the family there to act as a buffer. This was a serious problem and needed to be urgently addressed. Charlotte would speak to Xander McKenzie tomorrow and urge him to make it a priority in his treatment regime as this was a major stumbling block to the successful reconciliation of the family and to Eurus's full recovery.

Yesterday's reunion between Eurus and her mother had been heart-warming. It was as if the mere sight of one another had been enough to reignite that bond between mother and daughter that had been dormant – suppressed - for so long. They had hugged and kissed each other in such a touching display of maternal love that Charlotte had been transfixed and stood, as did that other woman – Ingrid – Maura's friend, in the doorway, unable to move until the two women drew apart and the spell was broken.

'And who's this?' asked Maura, gazing in confusion at the stranger in her home.

'Mummy, this is my partner, Charlotte. She rescued me.'

'Did she?' Maura queried. 'I thought your brothers did that?'

'Yes, they helped but it was Charlotte who made it all possible,' Eurus explained. 'She wasn't the first person at Sherrinford to see through Uncle Rudi's lies but she was the only one brave enough to do something about it.'

As she spoke, she beckoned Charlotte to come forward and be formally introduced.

'Mrs Holmes. A pleasure to meet you, at last,' said Charlotte, offering her hand. Maura took it in a sort of daze. Her brain was still catching up with her senses.

'Delighted, I'm sure,' said Maura, on automatic pilot. 'Please, do sit down.' She gestured toward the sofa and Charlotte moved to take a seat but when Eurus made to follow her, Maura intervened.

'No, not you! You must sit here, next to me. Ingrid, pull up the chair so my daughter can sit beside me,' she ordered and Ingrid obeyed, pushing the leather chair right up to the comfy one and inviting Eurus to take it.

'Some tea, please, Ingrid?' Maura requested, imperiously.

Ingrid was reluctant to leave the room but she couldn't think of a good enough excuse not to so she gave an obsequious smile and retreated to the kitchen, where Nina was in the process of defrosting something in the microwave.

'Nina, you will never believe what just happened…'

Meanwhile, back in the Snug, Maura and Eurus were taking turns to apologise and forgive one another for past misdeeds.

'I'm so sorry I allowed Uncle Rudi to do that to you, my darling. I had no idea! He fooled us all.'

'I'm sorry I didn't tell you where Victor was and that I burned the house. I didn't mean to hurt anyone; I just didn't know what else to do.'

Having agreed that it was all in the past, the conversation lapsed a little and then Eurus remembered something.

'Oh, Mummy, I brought you a gift.'

Maura was appropriately humble.

'A gift? For me? Why on Earth would you do that? Where is it?'

'Here,' Eurus declared, reaching into her handbag, on the floor beside the chair and extracting a small parcel wrapped in tissue paper. She pressed the object into her mother's hand.

Maura looked from Eurus to Charlotte and back again, as though hoping for clues as to what the gift could be but when nothing was forthcoming, she carefully unwrapped the object and held it up for a detailed inspection.

It was a hairband, almost the same aquamarine colour as the one Eurus had asked Sherlock to steal, all those years ago, except this one had a huge bow attached to it, made from cotton and printed with a bright, colourful daisy flower design.

'I was so grateful that you lent me yours…' she said, perpetuating the pretence, '…that I wanted to give you a new one, something to remind you of me when I'm back Edinburgh…'

'Oh, it's lovely, dear!' Maura exclaimed, deeply moved and clearly happy to go along with the idea that she had known about the loan of the hairband all along, not just in retrospect. 'But what do you mean, when you're back in Edinburgh? You'll be moving down here, won't you?'

This was the first awkward moment and one Charlotte had not been relishing. Were she a mother who had just rediscovered a long-lost daughter, she would also have wanted her nearby, to make up for lost time.

'No, Mummy, I won't, I'm afraid,' Eurus replied, gently but firmly. Looking across to smile fondly at Charlotte, she continued, 'Charlotte and I love one another and we want to be together. Charlotte has a beautiful house in Edinburgh and I like it there. We've made plans for our future…tentative ones, nothing set in stone…but one thing we are sure of is that we want to build our life together in Edinburgh.'

Ingrid, who had just arrived at the door to the Snug, escorting Nina with the tea tray, was just in time to hear Eurus declare her love for the 'twinset and pearls' stereotype lady seated on the sofa and she stood open-mouthed in the doorway, forcing her friend to navigate around her. Nina carried the tray over to the sideboard and got on with serving the tea while Ingrid looked from Maura to Eurus to Charlotte and back again, following the flow of the conversation.

'I know Edinburgh must seem like a long way away,' Eurus was saying, 'but you and Daddy are accustomed to travelling much further for your line dancing, if Sherlock is to be believed, so trips up to Scotland shouldn't present too much of an obstacle, once you're well again.'

'And it's a large house, Mrs Holmes, with lots of spare rooms for visitors. You and your husband would be more than welcome,' Charlotte added.

'I suppose we could get the Sleeper Train from Kings Cross,' Maura posited. 'Siger is increasingly reluctant to fly. He only agreed to take the plane up there the other week because it was a 'flying visit', so to speak.'

And as Nina distributed the cups of tea around the room, Ingrid slipped into the space next to Charlotte, on the sofa, thus successfully infiltrating the social group and becoming part of the conversation, by default. The topic moved on to the many delights that Edinburgh had to offer and which Eurus was looking forward to exploring once she had conquered her agoraphobia, from the world-famous Italian deli, Valvona and Crolla, on Elm Row, to the equally famous King Arthur's Seat and everything in between.

It was upon this congenial scene that Sherlock and Siger happened, on their return from their walk and what followed was what Charlotte could only describe as a perfectly lovely family gathering. It occurred to her that a casual observer might have imagined that this was a normal family, enjoying a normal lunch, never suspecting the apocalyptic disruptions they had endured so recently and for so long. There was laughter, wit, warmth and affection but Charlotte was not deceived into thinking everything would be tickety-boo from now on. This was undoubtedly a very welcome interlude, in light of their recent troubles, but it would have been foolish to imagine those troubles were all behind them.

And here was the proof.

On arrival back at Alicia's house, Eurus had announced that she wanted to go home, immediately. And Charlotte had been given the onerous task of calling their host and hostess and asking for that to be arranged. Both Mycroft and Alicia had been extremely understanding and accommodating, acting immediately to authorise the flight by military aircraft from RAF Northolt. But this only served to highlight the elephant in the room - the elephant that had been present on both Wednesday and Thursdays evenings - which was the catastrophic relationship breakdown between Mycroft Holmes and his two younger siblings. If the family were ever to reclaim its familial cohesion, that elephant needed to be removed.

ooOoo

Molly wandered into the kitchen, fresh and pink from the shower, wearing Sherlock's second favourite dressing gown and rubbing her hair with a towel. She picked up the cafetiere and examined the contents – dregs only – concluding that a fresh pot was required. Filling the kettle from the cold tap, she set it to boil while emptying the cafetiere into the kitchen waste bin and swilling it out into the sink before priming it with three generous scoops of ground coffee and placing it on the counter top, ready to be refilled once the kettle had done its thing.

'Anything interesting?' she asked, referring to the Sunday paper that Sherlock was perusing.

'Lunch is off,' he replied, lowering the paper then folding it up and placing it on the side table next to his chair.

'Oh, why's that?' Molly asked, rather disappointed. She had been really looking forward to the family get-together for several reasons – seeing Alicia's home in the daylight, savouring Alicia's cooking again, meeting Siger, Eurus and Charlotte once more and meeting Sherlock's mother for the first time.

'Eurus has gone back to Edinburgh; Mummy isn't well enough to travel so she and Pa have cancelled. You and I could have gone but there didn't see much point, since the purpose of the meal was for us all to be there so…'

'So, you cancelled us, too?'

'Yes.'

Molly frowned.

The kettle boiled and clicked itself off so she filled up the cafetiere, popped the lid back on but didn't depress the plunger, then carried the cafetiere and two mugs into the sitting room and placed them on the side table next to John's chair before sitting down opposite Sherlock.

He was looking at her with that expression which said, You have something to say so just say it. So, she did.

'You do realise that's the third invitation in a row to dine with your brother that you've turned down?'

Sherlock pursed his lips, pensively, then said,

'I didn't realise you were counting.'

'Well, one of us needs to,' she replied.

'Why?'

Molly reached out and slowly depressed the plunger on the cafetiere, giving herself some thinking time, then poured two mugs of coffee and got up, crossing the space between them to place his mug on his side table. She was about to return to John's chair but he caught her round the waist and pulled her into his lap.

'Why?' he repeated but in a much gentler tone.

Molly threaded her fingers into the hair above his ear and strolled his cheek with her thumb.

'Because I think you're avoiding Mycroft.'

'I've seen more of Mycroft over the last four days than I would usually see of him in a month,' he declared, smoothing his hand over her hip and letting it rest on her buttock.

'Not socially,' she pointed out.

'Mycroft and I do not socialise,' he said.

'Why not?'

He shrugged.

'We just don't. Our family doesn't.'

'That was before.'

'Yes.'

'This is now.'

'So, you're saying that because we know the truth about Rudi, we have to socialise now?'

'No, I'm not saying that. You said that.'

'What?'

'You told Eurus that it was time to forgive your selves and each other. Surely that includes Mycroft?'

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. Hoist with his own petard.

'Yes, well, just because I forgive Mycroft doesn't mean I have to socialise with him.'

'Do you?'

Do I what?'

'Forgive Mycroft?'

'Well, of course I…'

'Sherlock…' she warned.

He huffed another sigh and rolled his eyes again then shook his head.

'No, I don't forgive him. I can't forgive him,' he confessed and closed his eyes, because he couldn't bear to see the disappointment in her face.

Molly was disappointed but for him, not with him. He had a huge hill to climb and, at the moment, he wasn't getting the assistance he needed.

'Did Ella Thompson get back to you yet?'

'No,' he replied, opening his eyes and looking straight into hers, 'but I spoke to Eve Mathews on Friday.'

'And?' Molly asked, hopefully.

'I have an appointment to see her on Tuesday.'

'Oh, Sherlock!' Molly exclaimed; her face lit up with delight. 'Oh, that's brilliant news!' And, throwing her arms around his neck, she hugged him, in relief. At last, he was going to get some help in dealing with his demons. She pulled back to find him smiling, fondly. He hated being in her bad books.

'Am I forgiven, now?'

'Of course,' she assured him, 'just as long as you promise to talk to Dr Matthews about your feelings for Mycroft.'

'I don't have feelings for Mycroft!'

'You do, Bad ones.'

'Alright, I promise,' he replied. 'Scout's honour…' he held up a hand and waggled his fingers about in a vague approximation of a scout salute '…or whatever,' he added.

Then, without another word, he took hold of one end of the sash securing his second-best dressing gown around her waist and pulled, unfastening the bow so the dressing gown slipped apart, exposing her nakedness underneath. Ducking his head, he took her left breast into his mouth and rolled his tongue over the nipple, prompting her core to contract in a ripple of arousal, and eliciting from her a breathy moan. Smoothing his hand over the curves of her torso, from shoulder blade to the back of the knee, brought a blush of colour to the surface of her skin as all the capillaries dilated, and her insides contracted again.

But she wasn't the only one affected by his actions. Where she was sitting, she could feel a distinct bustle in the hedgerow and it was definitely not a spring clean for the May queen! Neither was she alarmed.

'Do you have condoms in here?' she demanded, urgently.

Pausing in his ministrations, he reached into his dressing gown pocket and pulled out a condom, holding it up proudly, like the prize lot in an auction room.

'Oh, thank god,' she sighed.

'Did you make an appointment at the Sexual Health clinic?' he asked.

'Done and dusted,' she assured him. 'Get the results next week. You?'

'Same,' he grinned, relishing the prospect of dispensing with that particular form of protection in the very near future.

He was about to renew his attentions to her breasts when she squeaked,

'Oh, Mrs Hudson!'

'Where?' he yelped, the pre-coital brain fog already setting in.

Scrambling out of his lap, Molly scurried across the room, her dressing gown billowing behind her, and hastily locked both doors to the landing. By the time she returned, he had already taken care of business where the condom was concerned so she climbed aboard, straddling his hips with one knee either side and her hands resting on his shoulders. This chair benefitted from the generous proportions required for this particular activity, she observed, and wondered, randomly, whether he had envisaged this particular scenario when he chose it – the original, at least. Probably not, she concluded.

He grasped her hips with both hands as she lowered herself gently down, taking him in, like a key slipping into a well-oiled lock, until he was fully seated within her. Molly adjusted the angle of her hips to guide him to her Sweet Spot and sighed her satisfaction when he found it.

Their eyes locked, pupils completely blown; lips swollen and suffused with blood; they moved in perfect synchrony, the tempo slow at first but increasing, incrementally; their breath growing more laboured as they climbed the stairway to Heaven, higher and higher; each feeling the rising tide of arousal until they reached the precipice and…tumbled over the edge together, into the abyss; free-falling, plummeting down, down, back down to Earth…

Molly toppled forward onto his bare chest, slick with sweat, and felt his thundering heart begin to slow, in synch with her own.

And not a moment too soon as they both heard the distinct sound of Rosie making her way slowly, one step at a time, up the stairs, escorted and encouraged by her father, John. They had failed to noticed the start of the ascent and their unexpected guests were already about half way up.

They looked at one another in startled surprise then Molly jumped out of Sherlock's lap and he leapt from the chair, wrapped his dressing gown around him and disappeared off to the bathroom to sort himself out. Molly quickly tied the sash to her own dressing gown while scanning the room, looking for tell-tale signs. Two mugs of cold coffee, both untouched, were a dead giveaway. She scooped them up and rushed into the kitchen, tipping the coffee down the sink and running the tap to dispose of the evidence. Then she splashed a double handful of water over her face and made use of the tea towel to pat her skin dry.

One last look around…and there, next to the chair, she spotted the discarded condom wrapper. She grabbed it and stuffed it into her pocket and, catching sight of her dishevelled reflection in the mirror over the fire, she smoothed her still-damp hair behind her ears and took a few steadying breaths, as Rosie and John reached the top landing and a pair of small fists began banging insistently on the sitting room door.

Molly took her time crossing the room, calling out,

'Hang on a minute! Just coming!' - an appropriate choice of words, under the circumstances - as she went. Unlocking the door, she pulled it open and laughed as Rosie threw her arms around her knees, squealing with delight.

'Hello, Rosie!' she exclaimed, reaching down to hoist the toddler into her arms. 'Aren't you a clever girl, climbing the stairs!'

'Yes,' John observed wryly. 'On her hands and knees, obviously, but now she's got the idea, there's no stopping her. I'm going to have to get some stair gates – one for the bottom and one for the top. He might need to get some here.'

Molly was confident Sherlock would be up for that. Rosie's safety was top priority. Turning to John, she offered him a cheek to kiss.

'Morning, John,' she said. 'Lovely to see you. Come on in.'

'I hope we haven't called at a bad time,' he said, causing Molly's heart to skip a beat, wondering if she had missed some obvious tell, but then she realised that this was just a generic greeting, usually employed when turning up unannounced.

'No, not at all,' she smiled, ushering the visitors into the sitting room. 'Sherlock will be out in a minute. He's just in the bathroom. Would you like a cup of tea?'

'No, we're fine, thanks. Just had one with Mrs H.'

Molly had a sudden mental flashback of Mrs Hudson disclosing that she often employed earbuds and loud rock music to drown out importunate noises from her upstairs neighbours' nocturnal activities and she blushed, bright pink, across her cheeks, neck and chest. If John noticed, he gave no overt sign but then said,

'So, what have you been up to?'

'Oh, er… you know, the usual…working and…things.'

This suspiciously pointed question threw her a life line and she launched into an explanation of the new contract that hospital management was trying to impose on Pathology staff.

By the time Sherlock emerged from the bathroom, looking cool, calm and collected, and now wearing PJs under his dressing gown, Molly and John were chatting on the sofa and Rosie was playing on the rug with a toy car she had brought with her. On seeing Sherlock, she scrambled to her feet and tottered toward him, babbling excitedly.

'Rosie!' he exclaimed, sweeping her up and swinging her into the air to hold her at arms' length above his head while she giggled and wriggled, gleefully. Seating her in the crook of his arm, he carried her to his chair.

'Good morning, John,' he said, sitting down and settling Rosie in his lap. 'How was your night?'

'I might ask you the same,' John retorted.

'Well, Molly and I had a very pleasant meal, with good conversation, walked home in the moonlight and went to bed,' he replied. 'And you?'

'Likewise,' said John, to which Sherlock merely raised an eyebrow and turned his attention back to Rosie.

'Oh!' Molly exclaimed. 'So, it's quite serious, then?'

'Erm…yes, quite serious,' John replied, sheepishly.

'So…has Rosie met her yet?' Molly enquired, tentatively.

'No, not yet but…' John paused for a moment, summoning his courage, perhaps, then, '…I'm thinking of introducing them at the cake place, next week.'

'Oh.' Molly was a little dubious about that idea.

'Yes, well, I figured if she can cope with Rosie wearing her cake rather than eating, she can probably cope with anything,' to which Molly nodded, sagely.

'You may be right there. Perhaps warn her not to wear anything that can't be chucked in the washing machine,' she advised.

'And it that goes off alright, I might just introduce her to you two,' John added, provisionally.

'Well, fingers crossed then!' Molly exclaimed. She was dying to meet this lady whom John seemed quite besotted with. It would be bitter-sweet and no doubt it would be tempting to make comparisons with Mary Morstan but, as long as John was happy – and Rosie too, of course – that was all that mattered.

'What are your plans today?' John asked.

'Oh, we don't really have any,' Molly replied. 'We were supposed to be having a Holmes family lunch but half the guests cancelled, for one reason or another, so it's been called off.'

'Oh, not another family feud, I hope.' Sherlock had brought John up to speed with the Case of the Secret Sister the day before.

'No, not exactly. Just everyone coping in their own way,' Molly assured him.

'Well, Rosie and I were planning a trip to the zoo, if you fancy coming along,' John announced.

'Oh, that sounds lovely!' Molly exclaimed. 'I haven't been to the zoo for ages! Sherlock?

'What?'

'What do you think?'

'Think about what?'

'A trip to the zoo…with John and Rosie?'

'Hmmm, are you sure they'll let Rosie out again?' he cautioned, frowning at the grinning girl child. 'They might mistake you for a little monkey!' he teased, tickling her belly as she squirmed and shrieked with laughter.

ooOoo

Sincere apologies to Led Zepelin - or Fred Zepelin, as we used to call them, back in the day! :D