...because even Steven Moffat said that Molly always wins.

The texts had started earlier than even John had thought. Sherlock must have begun complaining in the cab on the way to the shop. What was Molly thinking, dragging Sherlock along to go dress shopping? Then again, John had, with his own ears, heard Sherlock insist that it was not a problem. That it would, in fact, be more convenient to accompany Molly so that they could continue straight on to the lab afterward. Well, it was barely two hours later and Sherlock's texts had already become so desperate that Mary had suggested John go lend moral support. John waived off the idea as unfair -Mary pulled the mommy card when he suggested she go and he stay with their newborn daughter- but then, the texts stopped suddenly. Not so much as a bleep for a quarter of an hour. Even Mary was worried after that.

And that, kids, is how a mildly panicked Captain John Watson of the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers found himself fearfully searching a quirky retro/vintage resale boutique looking for Sherlock Holmes. It was definitely a unique dress shop, John decided, full of cheerful prints, loads of color and the hint of modesty that one could only find in clothes from forty years ago or more. It was all very Molly. He made his way through the crowded shop, trying desperately not to make eye contact with any of the saleswomen or other shoppers. Not that he was ashamed of being in a ladies' dress boutique, but... well, yes he was, but needs must, he supposed. Plus it was slightly his fault, or rather the baby's fault, as Molly was buying a new dress to wear to the youngest Watson's christening.

When he finally spotted Sherlock, John couldn't help a sigh of relief. The radio silence hadn't been the result of death or destruction, but rather Sherlock deciding to visit his mind palace. As John rounded a display table, he saw something that made him choke.

"What is that?" John spluttered, plopping into a chair facing Sherlock. Apparently Sherlock was not too deep in his mind palace, either that or John's voice was as loud as he feared, and Sherlock opened his eyes.

"Be more specific," Sherlock said, as though John had been sitting across from him during the entire ordeal. Perhaps Mind-Palace-John had been. One never knew with Sherlock. In any case, John repeated his question.

"What is what?" Sherlock sounded slightly annoyed.

"That," John said, pointing even though Sherlock had his eyes closed again.

Sherlock sighed. "What are you on abo-" he stopped abruptly, eyes having fallen on the thing. "John," Sherlock said, voice devoid of emotion, "what is this?"

John smirked, "That's what I was asking you." He really wanted to snap a photograph to show Mary, but he had forgotten his mobile.

Sherlock's face hardened in that way that intimidated the most hardened criminals. "Molly Hooper!" he roared.

"Yes?" Molly popped out from behind a curtain that probably led to the changing area, "Oh, hi John!" she greeted the older man with a lovely, wide smile as she came to stand by Sherlock's chair. "Did he get bored? I warned him, but-"

"What. Is. This ?" Sherlock hissed through gritted teeth as he held his arm out to display the offending object hanging from it.

"My purse," Molly said a little sheepishly, "I needed a place to leave it while I tried on a few things, remember?"

"Yes! and I remember saying 'no' when you asked if I would hold it!" Sherlock was still seething. Molly, to her credit and John's admiration, was not the least bit intimidated.

"But you went to your mind palace! I knew I would be quick and you wouldn't have even noticed if John hadn't disturbed you -cheers, John."

"No worries."

"And I don't see what's so bad about holding a bag for a bit." Molly's tone was as reasonable as before. Sherlock's wasn't.

"In future, Molly Hooper, I will thank you not to use me as your personal coat rack. I am not the keeper of your purse, cat or any other unnatural thing you need to pass off to others in order to perform simple tasks."

"I'm sorry," Molly leaned down and pressed a kiss to his temple. As she did so, she retrieved her credit card from her purse. "I'll just go pay for this and then we can go. We can stay at the lab as long as you like," Molly added by way of apology.

"Fine," Sherlock said, still stiff, but not rebuffing the kiss or the brush of Molly's fingertips across his cheek as she left to go make her purchase. She wasn't in a position to see the softening of Sherlock's expression as he watched her walk away, but John was.

"You've got it bad, my friend."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm talking about you letting Molly have the upper hand. Don't feel bad. It happens to all of us eventually."

"Don't be absurd," Sherlock said strongly, "I've made my position on this matter very clear. Molly knows that there are limits to what I will tolerate. It won't be happening again."

"You think that?"

"I know that!"

"Yeah, that speech would have been more impressive if you weren't still holding her purse."

"MOLLY!"

I considered posting this as another story, but it only exists because a lovely reviewer mentioned wanting to see Sherlock holding Molly's purse. I couldn't scrub the image out of my brain.