Molly was spread out on the couch when Sherlock got back from Scotland Yard. He had been working on some museum break-ins where the suspect was stealing fake plants from the displays. The case was hardly a six, but it was enough to keep him busy for the time being. He had just cracked it and was in a good mood, judging from the way he smiled at Molly when he walked in.

"Dr. Hooper," he said in greeting.

"Mr. Holmes," she said back and resumed reading the romance novel she had been working on. Sherlock could never understand why she read those when one, she was far too intelligent for anything so juvenile and two, she already had a boyfriend. He must have been staring at her because she called out suddenly, "I read them because I like them, Sherlock," without even looking up from the book. He sighed and walked into the kitchen to sort through the mail he had picked up. He shifted through some bills, a few letters about cases, and some advertisements before getting to a bright yellow envelope addressed to Molly.

"Molly Hooper," he called out and she made a grunt in recognition. "I thought we agreed not to tell anyone you're living here." Ever since the deal with Moriarty, Sherlock had been extra careful with Molly, making sure that no other criminal masterminds would use her to get to him. So, when she officially moved in, they agreed to just keep it between themselves and the Watsons. Sherlock thought Molly would be safer that way; people were less likely to find her. They had managed to keep their relationship from the tabloids so far; Sherlock suspected that it wouldn't take much longer to figure it out, though. And once that was out, anyone wanting to get to Sherlock could get to Molly. But Mycroft had her security raised. They kept her flat to use as a bolt hole.

"We did agree. And I didn't tell anyone. Why?"

"You've received a letter." He stared at the offending envelope closely, trying to figure out who the sender could have been. The handwriting was loopy but tiny, meaning it was a woman. The envelope was neat and not smudged in the slightest, meaning that women liked Molly and it was not easily bent, meaning stronger paper on the inside. But it didn't have a return address which meant Molly would already know it. An invitation, perhaps? But to what? Molly's only good girl friend was Mary and if she were having an event Sherlock would have already known about it.

"It's from your mum," said Molly as she snapped the envelope out of his hand and went to sit on the counter. She opened the envelope and began to read, smiling at the contents.

"You said you didn't tell anybody. And why would my mum be sending you mail?" he asked exasperated. Ever since beginning to date Molly, he had learned a bit more about women but they still baffled him.

"I didn't tell her, Sherlock, but she has eyes. And she invited me for tea next week. That's sweet," she said while blushing into the letter. She had never gotten along with her own mother and she hadn't seen her in years. And her father had been dead for many years. She missed him dearly and always wished to have a mother figure around, which was why she visited with Mrs. Hudson so much. And visiting with Sherlock's parents made her feel strangely at home. They welcomed her without question and she enjoyed her afternoon with them.

"Are you going to go?" he asked her, feeling strange from the smile she had on her face right then. But it was a good strange. Because she looked genuinely happy, and that made him happy.

"I'd like to. Is that okay with you?" she asked timidly.

"Why wouldn't that be okay with me?" he questioned as he began to pull out a heart from the freezer.

"Well you're so quiet about your parents. I just wasn't sure if…"

"Molly." He stopped her by placing his hands on her shoulders. "I am aware that you are lacking parental figures in your life and that you miss that aspect of it. So, if my parents provide you that role and with the happiness that you desire, then I encourage any relationship you wish to pursue with them. Just because I struggle with maintaining that relationship doesn't mean that you have to as well. You are the closest thing that I have ever had to a real family, so you mingling with my biological family only makes sense." He stared at her for a few long seconds before she smiled and caught him by surprise by leaving a lingering kiss on his lips. He smiled back and returned to the heart. "So on to other matters. Am I the only one who didn't know about Lestrade and Mycroft?"

She busted out laughing, clutching her stomach and Sherlock pouted a bit from where he stood. It had been several days since they had gone to see his parents and since he figured out about his brother's relationship. The relationship itself didn't bother him but the fact that he hasn't known sooner was clawing at his mind. He thought that perhaps he had noticed but pushed it into his subconscious. His brother, after all, was always the one opposed to such encounters. And Sherlock hardly sensed how he had time to be in a relationship when he was busy running the country.

When Molly finally caught her breath she reached up and kissed Sherlock on the cheek. "Yes. I was going to tell you sooner but I wanted to wait to see how long it took to figure it out. John and Mary will be upset. They wanted to see the look on your face when you found out. I'm sorry we didn't tell you, love."

"Pet names, Molly," he warned as she walked to the living room and back to her book.

"You love them, Sherlock." He snorted in protest but quickly went over to his desk to retrieve his laptop as he let the heart thaw out a bit. He glanced at Molly, her hair thrown across a throw pillow, the evening sun coming through the window, setting fire to the tips and lighting up her eyes. He once said that he was unaware of the beautiful. But that had changed, for he was now very aware of Molly and how his stomach stirred when her eyes caught his.

"You're staring," she said with a grin, her head rolled back and he took her all in, even though he already had everything about her catalogued. She stared back at him, his left leg resting over his right, his laptop balanced between them. They enjoyed moments like these, the quiet ones where they were both locked up inside their own heads but there with each other at the same time, how easily they fit together in that flat.

"Molly Hooper, you make a good companion," he said.

"I love you, too," she replied and watched with delight as a light pink blush spread across his cheeks, his head turning so his curls could hide his eyes. The words I love you never left his lips. The closest he ever got was the day they defeated Tom and Moriarty, but he said it in other ways, ways that Molly always picked up on.

He had just opened the cover after watching Molly turn back to her book when a message appeared on the screen before him. He settled down in his chair to get a better look.

WELCOME TO THE SPYDERS WEB

The screen was all black with the message written in large bold, red lettering. Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows together and ran his mouse over the words. When he did so they changed to a dark blue in color. He clicked and was brought to a different screen, this one being all white with the outlines of a drawn spider web. The screen stayed like that for several seconds before it brought up a new window containing at least a dozen different folders, all labeled with a different name. Sherlock studied the names carefully, going through his mind palace to see if he could place any of them. He pulled open drawers and ran down corridors, searching for any clues he could. When he came back with nothing, he clicked on the first folder there.

Paul Wise

Age 42

6' 0''

Last seen: California, USA

Sherlock looked at the contents confused by what he saw but cataloguing the information into his mind anyway. He clicked on some more folders, each containing the same type of information. He analyzed it all, turning it around and around in his head before it clicked into place. Moriarty's network was building back up. Mycroft didn't have any leads yet. Well here those leads were. But how did they get onto his laptop? He went through his browsing history, tracking everything and wondering if it could have downloaded that way. He turned the laptop over, checking to see if anything was attached or if there were any drives connected. He found nothing, so picked up his phone and began to dial Mycroft.

Molly, who started to watch him after he made some sounds of disapproval, spoke up. "Is everything okay?" she asked and he attempted to smile genuinely at her. He didn't need her worrying about Moriarty after everything she had already been through with him.

"Yes, it's fine. I just have to make a call. Mycroft. Case stuff," he replied and began to walk toward the bedroom. She didn't believe him, but decided to drop it for now and return to her book.

Meanwhile, Sherlock held his phone in his ear, careful to be quiet for Molly's sake. He walked to the window, looking out on the streets of London while waiting for Mycroft to pick up. He had the nagging feeling that a time was coming when he would have to leave those streets again. To leave John, Mary, Ava, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and Molly. He sighed heavily, having flashbacks to the days without them all and how lonely he had been.

He felt in the air though, that change was coming once again. The Earth was starting to rumble beneath his feet, the air was different somehow, weighted down with the prospect of leaving his beloved London. He hadn't always lived there, only moving when he went off to university. But ever since then he couldn't seem to shake the feeling that it was one place where he belonged, no matter how many of his ups and down had taken place there. Leaving again would detrimental. London was Baker Street. Baker Street was his home. Home was where his family was and although none of this would have mattered years ago, it mattered now. He would have taken off on a plane the next day had it not been for his friends.

He supposed that leaving only mattered to him because it mattered to them, but it was all the same. He couldn't bear not knowing every second of Molly's day or what cases Lestrade was working on or what a mundane day John and Mary had at work. And he couldn't bear to not ramble off about cases to people or complain about someone who was being stupid. Because not that he got used to talking to actual people, talking to a skull wouldn't cut it anymore.

So while he looked at the window, he hoped. He wasn't one for hoping, but he had seen plenty of miraculous things in his life to still hold hope. He thought of Molly in the other room, the sun setting on her face and how lucky he had been in that regard. So he hoped he wouldn't have to leave, that he could occupy himself with cases here instead of going who knows where. But he knew right then, that the world was against him once again. And if it meant protecting his friends, he would go anywhere, do anything it took if it meant that they would be safe. Mycroft's voice cut through his thoughts.

"Hello, little brother."

"Mycroft," said Sherlock and took a breath and one last glance at the streets below before getting the next few words out. "Prepare a trip. We have a new web to dismantle."