'Sherlock. I suggested my home as a bolt-hole for you, which means there must be something you are trying to get away from. What is it?' She asked, taking a seat opposite him.

His eyes turned downwards into his tea.

'Something of great hindrance. Something only you and your bedroom can solve.'

'Sorry?' Molly squeaked, then coughed to cover up the shocking pitch of her voice.

'Your bedroom was the agreed safe place, yes?' He looked up over the rim of his cup as he took a sip.

His eyes showed no emotion, no realisation upon the effects of his words; Sherlock as always, blissfully unaware…

'Oh, yes,' Molly blinked. She had forgotten that specific part of the arrangement. Apparently only her bedroom would suffice (he had correctly guessed that her kitchen was small and her lounge too close to the busy street).

'Stop changing the subject,' she shook her head, 'what is it? Now your worrying me.'

'I never mean to worry you Molly,' he said earnestly, his hand suddenly reaching across the table to rest on her left hand.

If he was trying to distract her, he was doing a bloody good job of it, she thought.

'Stop trying to distract me,' she said out loud, reluctantly taking her hand back to cup her mug of tea. 'I know what your doing and it won't work. Tell me what's wrong.'

'Distract you?' He frowned. 'I am being honest as always Molly. With you I am always honest.'

'As honest as you were with Janine? I know your tactics,' she smiled, almost painfully. She had hoped he would have stopped playing these games with her by now.

'No games,' he answered, reading her mind. 'You are not Janine. You are Molly Hooper and I depend on you. I owe you my life.'

'So stop…stop' she nodded to her hand 'playing with me. Just tell me what's happening-'

'I wanted to touch you,' he said plainly and without thought.

Molly gasped at this. She couldn't help it. Sherlock's face looked practically aghast at what he had just said.

'I…what I meant to say…'

'You are not yourself,' Molly said. She didn't know what was happening but clearly he was not himself. Sherlock did not like her like that.

'No I confess I am not,' Sherlock replied weakly, rubbing his temples once again.

She knew it. He could never like her like that. He was Sherlock.

'Tell me now,' she said.

He took a deep breath and faced Molly.

'Two people have made my life a misery – it is because of them that I cannot work, sleep or think.'

'Who are they?' Molly pressed.

'John and Mary,' he shook his head in despair.

'What?' Molly asked in disbelief. 'John and Mary Watson?'

'Yes,' he sighed.

'You need my bedroom because of your friends?'

'You don't know what it is like Molly. A married, loved up couple, in my house. It is stressful beyond belief. It is affecting my whole being.'

'God help us,' Molly muttered. 'I thought it was something serious.'

'This is very serious. Very serious indeed.'

'I should have guessed it was your emotions that were sending you loopy…'

'Molly?! Who are you talking to?' Came Tom's voice loudly from the top of the stairs.

Molly groaned. 'Sherlock it's time you went home.'

'Is he always that loud and impolite?' Sherlock frowned.

'Go home.'

'I couldn't possibly. Not now Tom is here to join the party.' He grinned like a cheshire cat. 'Anyway I have proposal to make.'

'What?' Molly shook her head, confused.

'What the hell is going on,' Tom appeared at the doorway, his face red and fuming, and aimed squarely at Molly. Once he saw the familiar figure of Sherlock however, the anger seeped from his face, transforming into one of awe and embarrassment.

'I'm so so sorry Mr Holmes. If I had known…'

'No need,' Sherlock held up his hand. 'I am merely here to ask you a favour.'

'Anything, anything, of course,' Tom nodded.

'I need to occupy your bedroom and I need the assistance of your fiancé. I know this may sound peculiar, but it is of national importance.'

Molly could not believe her ears. Surely Tom was not going to believe…

'Of course. Please, please do go ahead.'

Molly looked at Tom, then Sherlock, then back again, in utter disbelief. What was Sherlock doing?

'Anything I can do?' Tom insisted.

'Hmmm,' Sherlock pondered, his eyes looking up to the ceiling in thought. 'It is probably best if you left the building for half an hour. For your safety and ours. Would you forgive my impertinence?' Sherlock asked.

Molly couldn't believe his nerve. She could tell he didn't mean a word of it – this was Sherlock bravado. She had learnt to see the signs by now. But poor souls like Tom, who were blinded by the Sherlock aura, were non the wiser to his tell-tales.

'Yes, yes, I shall be out as quick as you like,' he smiled, backing out of the room and shooting back up the stairs; no doubt to put something more appropriate on than just boxer shorts.

'You can't just throw my fiancé out of my house,' Molly whispered under her breath.

'Yes. I can,' Sherlock answered plainly, swallowing the last of his tea. 'Now we can have some space alone.'

Molly's heart began to do gain speed. 'I thought you wanted time alone to yourself? What do you need me for?'

'What I always need you for.'

Their eyes met across the table and the moment felt so palpable and electric, that Molly felt everything else around her fade into significance.

'I told you to stop playing with me. I'm engaged and happy. This isn't funny.'

'Bedroom.' Sherlock's voice said plainly.

Molly just stared at him in disbelief.

'Molly!' Came Tom's voice as he ran down the stairs. 'Don't distract Mr Holmes will you? You can often talk such nonsense – not good when the nation is at stake!'

'Really?' Sherlock narrowed his eyes. 'You love him?'

'Apparently,' Molly replied weakly.

'See you later!' Tom shouted, the loud bang of the front door signalling his departure.

'Bedroom,' Sherlock repeated.

Molly swallowed. What was he playing at?