"It has been coming on so gradually, that I hardly know when it began."

Xxx

Sherlock spent the next three days scouring every bloody database, reaching out to every contact (both in London and Liverpool), and seeking out favors he was owed to find anything on George Wick.

It's impossible for him to be this clean. John was relatively clean but I still found porn subscriptions and a shoplifting charge from when he was 15.

The detective continued his march onwards, the angry London weather attacking his exposed hands, gloveless after he stormed out of his flat in a fit of rate. All he could think about was his row with Molly from earlier in the week. Never had he given so much thought to anything that another person had accused him of.

I don't let my demons control me.

His feet stopped as he neared the familiar house, the disgusting smell of sewage and failed dreams permeating in the thick air of the docklands. His eyes roomed the exterior of the rundown house, recognizing a few familiar faces moving in and out.

His hands shook as he thought about the possibilities. The delicious high. The mind-numbing, stress-relieving, problem-cleansing ride of his life that only the products of that house could give him. And God, could he use a distraction.

He took a step forward and froze again, a horrible feeling paralyzing his entire body. For some bizarre reason, he was thinking about how his actions would affect those that he… cared about.

Would Mrs. Hudson cry and beg me to seek help?

Would John shun me and prevent me from seeing Rosie?

Would Mary roll over in her grave, cursing the Gods for having sacrificed her life for my pathetic existence?

Would Mycroft be the only child suitable enough to see mother and father?

But while his overactive brain spared but one thought for the few people in his life, the thought of his use on Molly practically knocked him over.

Would she hate me? Would she stop talking to me? Would she regret the time she spent helping me recover? What about the times she put her life and career at risk for my own sake? Would she marry that bloody accountant?

Sherlock took a deep breath and took a step backwards, his eyes still locked on the house. He shook his head and turned around, heading to hail a cab.

I don't let my demons control me.

Xxx

The morning following her row with Sherlock, Molly was unsurprised to find Sherlock absent from her office. She was surprised, however, that his absence would last for another three days, leaving her workplace quiet and…boring all the way until the weekend.

As she jumped back on the tube on Friday evening, a bag of Italian takeaway by her side, she couldn't help but grin. Since her date on Monday evening with George, the pair had texted nonstop. They even had plans to video chat on Sunday.

Molly almost squealed. She couldn't recall the last time she was this excited about a bloke.

That is, a bloke who has interest in me.

After meeting Tom, her thought process was more "might as well get married before I get old and fat" than "wow I really like this guy". And pre- and post- Tom… Well, any date she had seemed to be infiltrated or flat out prevented by Sherlock. Of course, there was Moriarty, but before Tom, there was also Vlad (just wanted easier access to citizenship), Patrick (owed a substantial amount of money to a call girl service), Eric (two wives on two different continents), Liam (warrant for arrest in the States) and the list could go on.

After Tom… well prior to her trip to Scotland, she had spent all her time pining after Sherlock, leaving her no time for dating. Fast forward a few months, and she now was back on the market.

At the thought of George, her mobile pinged again. She checked the screen to see the text from the man, this time with an article about a new bog body found in Ireland, and how he thought she'd enjoy the news.

Molly couldn't help but beam. Since when had she gotten along so well with a man before?

She practically skipped the rest of the way home, entering her flat in an almost daze. Some song from an advertisement on the telly escaped her lips in a gentle hum, her hands occupied with unpacking her dinner.

Her happy daze was so strong that it took her a solid three minutes to realize that she wasn't alone. At the sight of Sherlock sitting in one of her chairs, concealed in the darkness sans the light seeping in through the window, she practically screamed.

"Bloody hell Sherlock!" She squealed, one hand clutching her chest, the other clutching her kitchen counter. "I won't bother asking why you're here, but can you at least notify me when you are?"

Sherlock didn't move, leaving his face concealed in the darkness. "I did. My jacket is hanging on your coat rack. I thought you had better observational skills Molly. I'm disappointed."

Molly brought her hands to her face and began to rub her temples. She sighed. "Can you do it how normal people do it? A text? A note? Maybe turn the lights on?"

At her last words, the lights magically turned on, Sherlock's entire existence now illuminated by the standing lamp beside him. He dropped his hand, which had been clasping the switch to the lamp, and gave her a two-second grin.

Molly groaned. "Right. Well I'm going to eat dinner now and watch—"

"Grey's Anatomy. Unless you watched this week's newest episode while you bathed last evening. In that case, MasterChef."

"How'd you figure that?"

"You watch Grey's Anatomy every Friday, except for the occasional instance when you watch Tuesday night's episode during your Thursday evening bath. Then, you watch a re-aired episode of MasterChef."

Molly practically whimpered. "Right. Well, I did watch Grey's in the bath. But I'm actually going to start watching Game of Thrones. George is a huge fan and says I need to catch up."

She smiled and grabbed her plate, moving towards the telly, a grin plastered across her face. She didn't notice the darkening of Sherlock's features as the name left her lips. After a few moments of navigating her telly, she looked towards Sherlock, who remained in the chair, eyes focused on Molly.

"Would you like to join? Or are you just going to sit there in your mind palace?"

"I'm not in my mind palace."

Molly sighed and shook her head, per usual annoyed by Sherlock's vagueness. She dug into her chicken alfredo, practically moaning as the noodles hit her taste buds, and pressed play on the first episode. She snuggled into the sofa, Toby appearing by her knees, and ate another forkful.

She enjoyed about five minutes of the first episode before Sherlock's deep voice drew her out of her viewing.

"I went to a drug house today."

Molly jumped off her seat on the sofa, quickly setting her plate down. Her eyes met Sherlock, her gaze frantic yet furious.

"Sherlock! How could—"

Sherlock waved his hand, irritated by her tangent. "Enough. Even if I was interested in purchasing drugs, Mycroft has made it virtually impossible. I'd be better off manufacturing my own."

At his response, Molly relaxed slightly, but maintained an angry glare at Sherlock.

"I wanted to test your theory."

Molly continued to glare at him. "My theory? What in God's name are you talking about Sherlock?"

"Monday morning, you accused me of letting my demons control me. So, I went to the site of one of my vices, to see how my mind and body would react."

Molly cleared her throat. "Yes? Well?"

Sherlock looked towards the brunette, his blue eyes intensely watching her chocolate ones. "I admit, at first it was tempting but… I had no interest in touching the stuff."

Molly relaxed further. "Why?" Her voice was soft.

The detective shifted in his chair, his gaze still locked on hers. "I'm not quite sure. It was odd. At the sight of the house and how weak and alone everyone appeared, I thought back to many things. Mary's last words to me. Rosie's chubby cheeks. John's humor. But… mainly to you," Sherlock swallowed, for once finding it difficult to put his thoughts into words.

"I thought about your disappointment and your selfless concern when I first started using. I thought about all the ways you've gone above and beyond to help me, from giving bodies, to assisting cases, to just… being my friend."

Sherlock took a deep breath, continuing to watch Molly as her chocolate eyes glossed over in tears.

"And when I thought about these things, suddenly any desire I had to use, to block out the pain, to feel empty, just… vanished."

Molly wiped her cheeks, which had been assaulted by an onslaught of tears, and jumped from the sofa. Sherlock watched the tiny woman, entranced by her actions. He managed to blink before she was on him, attacking him with yet another hug.

"Oh Sherlock…" She managed to choke out, "that makes me so happy to hear. Don't you understand how many people care about you? How many people love you?"

She sniffled and put her head on his shoulder, holding his body close to her own. Sherlock remained frozen, only shifting to gently place his hands on her back.

"Someone will always be here for you. Just how you've always been here for us. Please never forget that."

Molly pulled away, giving Sherlock a soft, soul-soothing smile. She pressed a light kiss to his cheek.

Sherlock stared at her at a loss for words. He looked into her brown eyes, suddenly reminded of the Galaxy bars he used to savor as a child, the sweets a constant treat whenever he excelled in school or didn't berate Mycroft.

He was reminded of the cocoa shade of his violin, a constant companion even in the darkest of days, there always to give and never to take. An outlet for his stresses, and his vices, and his demons.

He was reminded of the dark gleam of a strong cuppa from Mrs. Hudson, the comforting warmth a consistent escape to happier days, to freedom, to friendship.

Have her eyes always been that brown?

Molly beamed at him, her smile as always, contagious. His eyes shifted from the dark brown to the gleaming white.

"Will you join me to watch Game of Thrones? I reckon you may not enjoy it but… I'd like for you to watch with me."

Sherlock swallowed, nodding slowly. He moved over to the sofa and sat besides Molly. She grinned and grabbed the remote, restarting the show. She grabbed her plate and continued to eat her now room temperature dinner. Toby scampered across the sofa and settled between the adults, burying his face in Sherlock's hips, ready to take a nap.

The detective shifted his gaze from the telly to Molly, who contently ate her dinner and watched the show, to Toby, who remarkably had already dozed off. He relaxed and attempted to watch the show, but every few moments was drawn back to the woman beside him.

He was alarmed by how content he felt at that moment.

Xxx

Within the next few weeks, Sherlock found himself with two consecutive monster cases, approximately a seven and a nine respectively. The seven was a delightful kidnapped dog turned into housewife murder turned into a serial killer husband with a secret family in Cardiff, and the nine morphed from synthetic heroin to sex trafficking to the American mafia to Ivory smuggling.

That one had been especially fun.

Now finally able to take a deep breath and relax, Sherlock laid back in his favorite chair, currently entranced in his mind palace. He was evaluating the two cases, determining what to keep and what to toss. It was the only way to keep his palace neat and tidy.

John entered the flat, immediately pausing his movements to look over Sherlock, before rolling his eyes and strolling into the sitting room. He collapsed into his old chair, bringing his hands to rub his eyes.

"I suppose you haven't been getting much sleep from all our running around." Sherlock remarked, his eyes still shut, his form still settled in his chair.

John laughed. "From working on the cases? Please. Try sleeping with a bloody one year old," he paused and thought over his words before adding, "Although I suppose dealing with you should have prepared me for this."

Sherlock opened his eyes simply to roll them. "Ha ha John. Delightfully funny. Is that part of your stand-up routine?"

John looked thoughtful. "You reckon I should try stand-up?"

The detective scowled. "Why are you here? I instructed Molly to come by with some livers. Now, unless you plan on aiding me with my experiment, your presence isn't needed."

At his words, almost on cue, Molly strolled in, a white, Styrofoam cooler box in her arms. She smiled at the pair.

"Oh, Sherlock, that's no way to talk to your friends," She warned, before setting the box down.

John smirked. "Exactly, Sherlock. That's no way to talk to friends. Apologize."

Sherlock rolled his eyes again and instead focused on Molly. "Were you able to secure five? Two females, one older than 60, and three males, one younger than 30?"

She nodded and set her handbag down, momentarily ignoring the ping on her mobile. "I was. But the more specific your requests get Sherlock, the more difficult they become," she reminded him.

Sherlock waved off her comments and hurried over to the box, looking like a child on Christmas morning. He slipped his hands into a pair of latex gloves and began to pull the goods out.

From across the room, John watched in morbid fascination, and Molly pulled her mobile out, smiling at the message and tapping away on her screen in response.

As Sherlock began to cut into one of the livers, Molly's phone pinged again. He ignored the sound and began to make intricate cuts, his mind filling with approximately 35 possibilities for how he wanted to organize his experiment.

"So, what exactly are you doing?" John finally asked, looking over at the livers, his face turning a shade of green.

Sherlock opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by yet another ping on Molly's mobile. Narrowing his eyes in irritation, his shifted his gaze from John to Molly, startled to find her entranced by the device, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, and her cheeks a dark shade of red.

Molly noticed his attention and squeaked, quickly shoving her mobile back in her bag. "Sorry! What were you saying?"

Sherlock growled and continued cutting. "I was going to say that my primary interest is discovering—"

Her mobile pinged again. Molly furiously dug into her handbag and pulled out the device, quickly reading the message.

Sherlock scowled. "Who in God's name are you texting that is so important? Better be the bloody Queen."

John grinned. "Nope. I reckon it's her new boyfriend."

Molly blushed and gave John a look. "He's not my boyfriend. Well, not yet anyways," she added with a soft laugh.

"Oh, please! You've gone on plenty of dates with him. Every time I see you you're texting him. He is most certainly your boyfriend," John added, giving Molly a knowing smirk.

Molly flushed darker, if that were even possible. "Alright. I reckon he's my boyfriend."

Sherlock looked between John and Molly, his mind working overdrive. Before he could even spit out a question or a snarky retort, Molly grabbed her handbag and moved towards the door.

"Well, I need to head home. I have a…" She looked at John and laughed, "date with George so I ought to be going. But I'll see you two this weekend for dinner. Cheers!"

Molly smiled and slipped out of the flat, leaving John with a pleasant smile on his face, and Sherlock… looking like Sherlock, albeit paler. John shifted his gaze over to his friend and raised an eyebrow.

"You good, Sherlock?"

"How did you know they were dating?"

John gave Sherlock a look. "Oh, come on, Sherlock. It's obvious. She's happier. Every time we see her, she's on her phone nonstop. Not to mention, I actually listen to her. Every time I see her we talk about our lives and this bloke has become a part of hers."

Sherlock just blinked. "She's… happier?"

"I would say so. Always smiling. Seems more cheerful. I ran into the two of them the other day. They were shopping for stuff for his flat with Mrs. Hudson. He and I are going down to Liverpool next month to catch a match," John added with a childlike excitement.

Sherlock looked down to his livers and fell deep into thought. A moment passed before he shifted his gaze back to John.

"You may go now."

John just laughed. "What's gotten into you, Sherlock?"

The detective growled. "John, go."

John raised an eyebrow but didn't feel like fighting. He slipped into his coat, his eyes still locked on Sherlock, who per usual, was unreadable.

"I can tell what's going on Sherlock. We can talk about it."

Sherlock slammed his latex covered hands to the kitchen counter, causing the livers to shake. He narrowed his eyes, continuing to glare at John.

"I said go!"

John shook his head and left the flat, slamming the door in the process. Sherlock took another look at the livers before feeling ill. He tossed his gloves into the bin before trudging into the sitting room, leaving his organs to rot.

He picked up his violin, his ever-trusty companion, and began to play, unsure why he felt so… empty.

A melancholic tune soon filled the room.

I reckon he's my boyfriend.

Xxx

Note:

As usual, thank you for reading! I appreciate all of the lovely feedback I've been getting—reviews really let me know how people feel about my stories and they're the best encouragement I could ever ask for. I envision this being about 12 to 15 chapters, so we're almost midway there. Thanks again! Depending on the response I may post the new chapter this weekend… we finally get Mycroft then : )