Molly Hooper tiptoed into the sitting room of Baker Street, frowning. Sherlock stood at the window composing yet another piece of music with his violin in hand. He smirked as he glanced at the petite pathologist noticing that she was wearing only his infamous purple shirt. Three months into their secretive relationship Sherlock was quickly coming to the conclusion that his favorite outfit on Molly was nothing but his button up shirts.
"You have no food in your house, Sherlock," she stated flatly as she sat in John's chair. He frowned as he turned toward her.
"There are two bananas in the refrigerator," he dramatically defended, "I bought them specifically for you. They are a fantastic source of numerous vitamins, tryptophan, helps protect against diabetes-"
"They're so brown they're decomposing, so no, you don't have any food," she smiled. She bit her lip, holding back any morbid and sarcastic jokes that came to her mind. Sherlock turned to face the woman in his shirt, and picked back up with his composition. "When did you buy them?" she asked, wondering if he was actually covering up an experiment he had going.
He stopped playing and held his violin out. "How long have we been together?" Sherlock asked seriously. Molly got up and met him by the window, wrapping her arms around his neck and smiling widely.
"Oh who's counting?" she giggled, baiting him.
"I am, three months, twelve days, and some odd hours. When exactly did I call you again, I might be able to calculate it down to the second," he jokingly asked as he nuzzled into her neck, sitting down his violin behind her before wrapping his arms around her. Sherlock's smile faded. He held her as close as possible suddenly remembering all the horrible things that led up to the phone call, and the horrible revelations he made about Victor.
Molly placed a kiss on his hairline, running her fingers through his dark curls. "You are thinking awfully loudly, Mr. Holmes," she murmured, "That's behind us now… we're moving forward now." He mumbled something incoherent into her neck, squeezing her a little less.
"How 'bout we go back to bed, order some takeaway, and not leave the flat until tomorrow?"
"Yes please," he smiled weakly like a child. Molly had grown accustomed to this new side of him, a weaker, less confident version of the man who she met years before. Yet, she still loved him, now he understood his love for her and that's all they needed.
"No, no, no! I'm telling you Lestrade, I saw Molly Hooper in the window of Sherlock Holmes' flat in nothing but her knickers and one of his shirts!" Anderson insisted as the two walked up to a crime scene deemed 'unworthy of the consulting detective'. "I bet you he'd take this case if he wasn't at home shaking up with her!"
"Alright that's enough!" Greg finally snapped, "I don't care who he's sleeping with as long as he keeps himself under control, and isn't bugging me for a new case every ten minutes! He could be shagging the Duchess of Cambridge on the side and I wouldn't care!"
"But it's Molly Hooper! What if he hurts her?" Anderson asked. They stopped feet away from the body.
"Have you met her?" Lestrade pointed at the bloodied man on the ground, "That would be Sherlock Holmes if he ever hurt Molly. Hell, if he hurt her and she doesn't kill him consider this my confession because I'd love to take a shot at the bastard!"
"You have a point," Anderson said as they made their way over to the body and he began examining what he could. "Do you think Doctor Watson knows yet?" Anderson smiled.
"Absolutely not," Lestrade laughed, "John would have screamed it at the rooftops by now if he knew. It'd be plastered on every newspaper in London: Sherlock Holmes Bachelor No More, Sherlock Holmes: Consulting Player, Sherlock Holmes' New Girl. My god, after what that other one said about him they'd be asking Molly what their personal best was, and I bloody well don't need to know that!"
"You're right, ugh, seven times, my arse!" Anderson laughed.