'What the bloody hell is that noise?' Molly Hooper vaguely heard someone say near by.

'Molly, for goodness sake, will you wake up?'

Something was shaking her shoulder…

'What is it?' She replied drowsily, turning over in the bed to see one very irate boyfriend despite the darkness.

'The bloody doorbell won't stop going, can't you hear it?'

Molly leant up on her elbows and looked at her bedside clock. It read 3.30am. The doorbell was ringing – in fact it sounded like someone had glued their finger to the buzzer.

'How long has it being going?' Molly rubbed her eyes, trying to shake off the sleep.

'About ten dam minutes. Just how deep of a sleeper can someone be?'

'Pretty deep actually. There are studies-'

'Not now Molly. Will you get the dam door please.'

She was a little taken aback by his attitude but Molly chose to bite her lip and slip out from the covers.

'What if it's someone dangerous?' Molly paused as she slipped on her dressing gown.

'It's probably them troublesome teenagers I saw next-door Molly that's all. Call the police or something,' he groaned rubbing his face with his hands and collapsing back down onto the bed.

Molly sighed, crept out of the door and down the stairs, before pausing at the bottom. Tip-toeing towards the front door, a dark tall shadow became apparent beyond the pane of glass.

The doorbell then stopped.

'Thank bloody hell for that!' Tom shouted from upstairs.

'The door, Molly Hooper. I would be much obliged,' came a muffled voice from behind the door.

Molly felt her heart shoot up through her body – a familiar feeling and one that she would have liked to have grown out of by now.

She immediately unlocked the door and there he was – dressed as always, in his long black coat, his hair dishevelled – but not too much so – his smile small but significant.

'Sherlock?'

He cocked his head slightly. 'I believe that is my name yes. Do you mind?' He gestured forwards, not waiting for an invite, instead slipping past Molly and straight into the hallway.

Molly shut the door and stared back at Sherlock, barely visible in the dark.

'It's half three in the morning,' Molly stated, trying her upmost to sound annoyed but altogether not succeeding.

'Yes,' Sherlock sighed; in the way he always does - annoyed at how slow mere mortals brains are in comparison to his own. 'I assure you there is good reason for my presence,' he twisted around in the direction of the kitchen.

'And what's that?' Molly asked, following him into the kitchen.

Sherlock switched on the light and swung back comfortably into one of the kitchen chairs. Molly was practically bubbling inside with nerves and excitement. This was Sherlock. In her kitchen. Surely she had a dream like this once…?

'Molly? Do you wish to offer me a cup of tea or do you wish to continue standing there, dishevelled, shivering and looking altogether rather…' His voice trailed off, his hand left hanging in the air as he looked her up and down.

Molly could feel her whole body turning red, let alone her face.

'Sleepy,' Sherlock finished rather lamely. 'Soooo…tea?' He asked again, his usual straight forward persona returning as quickly as it came.

'Tea. Yes, of course,' Molly nodded as she made for the kettle. 'But first, can you tell me exactly why you are at my house in the middle of the night?'

'Well that is obvious surely. Your deduction skills are quite profound when they want to be.'

'Was that a compliment?' Molly laughed lightly.

'That entirely depends upon your deduction,' Sherlock abruptly stood up and placed his hands upon the kitchen table, his eyes focused on Molly's face across the room.

'Errr…well' Molly stammered, her brain trying to function, but failing as per usual as in Sherlock's presence. 'Are you being followed? Mr Jameson perhaps? Isn't he involved in your latest case?'

'No. Try again,' Sherlock closed his eyes, his fingers to his temples, looking and sounding, altogether frustrated.

'I don't know Sherlock,' Molly sighed, feeling her desires for him diminishing. 'Why don't you tell me? I'm not exactly at my best at this time in the morning.'

'Time is no excuse Miss Hooper. Time waits for no man…' He paused, his face softening. 'Apologies. I didn't mean to be…what is the right word?' He frowned.

'Rude?' Molly offered. 'Obnoxious? Thoughtless-'

'Yes yes, that is quite enough describing words,' he smiled slightly, sending Molly's heart into another quick round of palpitations.

She coughed awkwardly and turned back towards the kettle. 'So you are here because…'

'It is an issue of great prudence and importance. My brain cannot think properly because of it.' He began rubbing his temples again in frustration.

'Well I said you could come here if you needed somewhere I guess…'

'No need to guess Molly. You remember perfectly that we agreed…'

He stopped again, seeing Molly's shoulders slump and her head go up to the heavens.

'Sorry. Again.'

Molly finished filling up the kettle, switched it on and tried to reach up to the tea caddy 'It's what your like. I should be used to it by now,' she replied, straining to get to the top shelf.

'Need a hand?' Came Sherlock's voice from behind her, making her jump.

'Howdoyoudothat?' She asked in a rush of words.

'What my hair?' He asked innocently, ruffling his hair with one hand, his other reaching over her to the shelf. 'I'm told I have excellent keratin levels. It's naturally quite perfect.'

Molly would have laughed if she weren't so incapacitated by his closeness. She could have sworn he almost sounded flirty. But no, he didn't flirt, and certainly not with her.

'I meant, how do you appear out of no-where? Oh, thanks,' she added, taking the tea caddy.

'Appearing out of 'no-where' is not possible Molly Hooper. I am here purely because I want to be.'

His words caught Molly off guard once again and her mouth fell open. She chose to ignore her brain and the many reasons why he could be acting in such a manner; he is teasing me, it's part of some case he is working on, it's an experiment…

'Catching flies?' He interrupted her thoughts, placing his finger gently under her chin and lifting it upwards.

It must have been because of Molly's look of utter bewilderment that his repose suddenly returned, eyes searching around the room frantically as if looking for another subject of interest. 'How is Tom?'

The fog in Molly's head evaporated immediately. 'Eh, I don't know, we broke off the engagement remember?' She said quietly, fumbling with the tea caddy and managing to fish out a couple of tea bags with trembling hands.

'Molly.' He simply said, waiting for her to look at him. 'You know me and I know everything.'

'Modest as always,' she laughed nervously.

There was silence as the kettle whistled to a crescendo. The switch clicked off and Molly quickly busied herself with pouring the water into mugs.

'I suppose the ring was a giveaway,' she sighed, twiddling with it on her finger, as she watched the tea slowly steep into the hot water.

It still felt like a foreign object on her hand; heavy and unwelcome.

'But you probably knew that before I had even opened the door. Out of interest, how did you know? I know you must be dying to tell me,' she half-laughed over her shoulder.

'Why?'

His voice sounded dark, much darker than usual, and it forced Molly to face him properly.

'Because I want to know. I'm always interested in how you figure things out,' she frowned.

What a strange question for him to ask, she wondered – Sherlock always wanted to explain his deductions. Indeed, he usually needed no prompting at all.

'Why has the engagement been so suddenly reinstated?'

'Oh,' she blinked. 'You mean why are we back together?'

'Indeed,' he responded.

Molly thought for a second that his face actually resembled genuine concern.

'Because we love each other,' Molly said generically.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and took a stride back towards her, where he smoothly opened a draw and took out a teaspoon.

'No you don't.' He said matter-of-factly, holding the spoon in front of her and nodding towards the mugs. 'It will in pair the flavour if they are left in there too long.'

Molly bit her lip, something like fury bubbling up from within her. 'We do love one another. There are some things that you can not tell from…from…looking at someone's fingernails!'

'He leaves the tea caddy on the top shelf, where you, the owner and primary resident of the building, cannot reach it, and you expect me to believe that you love him?'

She snatched the spoon from his hand and angrily took out the tea bags, throwing them slap dash into the sink.

'This is all a game to you.' Her voice was barely a whisper.

After what seemed like an infinite passage of silence, Sherlock opened one of the lower cupboards, which hid Molly's fridge. It equally infuriated and impressed Molly that he knew exactly where to look.

He took the milk and added precisely two dashes of milk into a mug, sliding it over to Molly on the counter; of course he would know exactly how she took her tea.

'Please forget my imprudence,' he apologised, adding a small dash of milk to the other mug and replacing the milk back in the fridge.

'You can't know everything,' Molly replied half-heartedly. In truth, she knew that he can know everything and he sees through her like glass.

'Of course not,' Sherlock agreed, taking his tea and himself, back over to the table. 'I am just…'

'Just what?' Molly sighed, grasping her tea and turning back around to face him.

'Concerned for you. That is all.'

'A...h…oh,' Molly stuttered, her rage seeming to evaporate immediately. 'You weren't just…trying to prove a point?'

'What point? That I am incredibly insightful and exceptionally attuned to human nature? Well that as well.' His smiled slyly. 'But of course, I have been known to falter in that department,' he shrugged, 'on the rare occasion.'

'Rare occasion?' She lifted her eyebrows, a small smile creeping onto her face despite her best efforts.

Truth be told, Molly was quite overcome with happiness; he rarely implied that she meant anything to him (strictly platonic, of course, and very unfortunately so for Molly).

But then it dawned on her… Sherlock only really acted like this when something was really wrong. Like when he had needed her to help him fake his own death.