(Thank you so much for your reviews and for following the story - I really appreciate it! I shall share the next chapter as soon as I can)

'Shall we?' Sherlock asked casually, standing up from the chair and waving his hand in the direction of the kitchen door.

'Shall we what?' Molly laughed. 'Go to my bedroom where you can make a proposal to me?'

'Something along those lines, yes,' he replied in all seriousness.

Molly shook her head in disbelief. 'You never make much sense Sherlock, but this is taking it to a whole new level. Can you please tell me what is going on?'

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'I have told you clearly that I need time to think. Away from married couples and away from…' he waved his hand her direction, 'one's that are strange enough to be considering the act of matrimony themselves.'

Molly crossed her arms. 'So why do you need me here? If I am so strange to be considering marriage?'

'Considering?' Sherlock echoed.

Molly blanched. 'I…I meant to be getting married. Slip of the tongue.'

Sherlock looked smugly pleased with himself.

'Stop changing the subject,' Molly protested. 'Why don't you go up to my bedroom if you so badly need it and I shall go collect my fiance', she emphasised clearly, 'and we will sleep in the lounge.'

'No,' Sherlock vehemently shook his head. 'I agreed this bolt-hole because I knew you would be here too. I need your brain,' he said, tapping his head repeatedly.

Molly sighed. 'So there is a case you need help on? Why didn't you just say.'

'It isn't a case…as such' he answered enigmatically as ever. 'But you are definitely required tonight.'

'Required,' she repeated, feeling a little crest fallen. 'Well, the way your acting tonight, it must be something important so lets see if I can help. Then I can get Tom back and you back off home.'

Molly stood up and went back towards the kettle.

'The bedroom Molly. No time for tea.'

'We can just talk down here,' she shrugged, 'there isn't any-'

Her voice broke off as she suddenly felt Sherlock's hands on her waist twisting her around.

'The bedroom Molly,' he demanded softly.

I'd be damned if I could think now let alone make a cup of tea, she thought.

'If you insist,' she coughed nervously, pulling reluctantly out of his hands. Why did he have to be all touchy feely all of a sudden? Now, when she has a fiancé, when he knows it will make her feel uncomfortable.

'Let's get this done with,' she said walking towards the door.

'It won't be easy,' Sherlock's voice came from behind her.

'It never is with you', she muttered automatically, not noticing the meaning in Sherlock's words.

He followed her silently out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

'Out of all the paint colours in the world, Tom chose to paint your hallway pastel blue?' Sherlock asked as they approached the top of the stairs.

'I would ask how you know but-'

'The lingering smell, the broad strokes left of the skirting board, then there is the choice of colour-'

Molly silenced him with her hand in the entrance to the bedroom.

'How do you know I wouldn't like blue?'

'So you admit you don't like it,' he smiled, clasping his hands behind his back.

Dam.

'What I meant to say, was how do you know it wasn't me who chose the colour? I'm quite…partial to blue,' she shrugged, trying to convince herself as much as Sherlock that she liked the colour.

In truth, it reminds her of the school toilets.

'I know the things you like Molly Hooper and pastel blue isn't one of them.'

Molly chose not to read too deeply into his words – Sherlock just knows about everyone by default.

Ignoring him, she went to switch on the bedroom light, but saw Tom had left it on; immediately she felt familiar niggles of annoyance spread through her. However many times she asks him politely to switch off the light behind him, he forgets it within the hour.

'How annoying,' Sherlock said, reading her mind. 'Does he find it difficult to remember where the light switch is located?'

'Not usually,' she said, 'but then again, he isn't usually forced out of his own house by psychotic men at 4am.'

He doesn't have to know he does it all the time, she thought.

'Your house,' Sherlock said, ignored her comment, as his eyes continued to survey the room.

'My room is not a crime scene,' she complained, standing in the middle of the room with arms crossed. 'Not yet anyway…'

'I wouldn't kill Tom here if I were you. I'd chose a much more-'

'You Sherlock,' she raised her eyes to the ceiling. 'I meant you.'

Exaggerated shock passed his face. 'And I thought we were friends.'

'Stop hating on my fiancé and get to the point.'

'Ah yesss, the fiancé,' Sherlock muttered to himself, as if suddenly remembering something. 'The point exactly,' he looked up at Molly sadly.

'Sorry?' Molly asked, confused.

Sherlock smiled tightly. Molly did not like the look of this.

'Mind if I…sit?' He asked awkwardly while pointing to the bed.

'Eh…no go ahead. Shall I…?' She gestured as if to join him.

'No,' he said, sharply. 'I mean…the curtain first…can you open it?'

Molly frowned. 'The curtain? But the light is on.'

Sherlock sat down on the edge of the bed, his body now facing away from her. 'The light from the street lamp would be much more beneficial for my thinking,' he said quietly, waving his hands around his head.

'If you say so,' Molly sighed.

She padded over to the window and pulled back the curtain.

'Oh look,' she said pitifully, 'I can still see Tom standing outside on the pavement! It must be waiting for us to finish.' She turned back into the room. 'I'm going to go get him. We can work while he waits downstairs.'

'Molly.'

Something in his voice made Molly pause.

'You can…soon. But first, the other curtain please, if you may.'

Molly decided not to argue and she turned back to the window, pulling the other curtain back.

'Now can we-' She paused. 'Oh wait, a car is pulling up. I don't recognise it though…must be one his friends.'

'The colour of the car?' Sherlock asked from the darkness.

'Red,' she laughed, 'why do you want to know? I know your clever but surely you don't know all of Tom's friends.'

'I know only of one,' he replied flatly.

'Exactly, me of course. So why do you want to know the colour?'

'Not you Molly. You are not the friend.'

Molly saw the car door open and a tall brunette woman step out into the yellow light.

'It's…'

'A woman, with dark brown hair, who typically wears a long black trench coat and goes by the name of Lucy,' Sherlock replied.

Molly smiled nervously. 'I've never met Lucy before. Must be a friend from work-'

'No,' Sherlock sighed. 'You always think the best of people Molly Hooper and that is your greatest gift and of course that is why I lo-'

Molly gasped audibly, stopping Sherlock in his tracks – thank heavens, he thought, regaining his composure and remembering the situation.

'He's…kissing her...' Molly continues, her voice noticeably breaking. 'And not in such a…friendly way.'

'Molly…'

'You knew' Molly turned back around slowly. 'How long have you known?'

'A couple of days but I wanted to make sure,' came his quick response.

Molly felt hot tears run down her cheeks. She reluctantly looked back outside the window; they were still standing there, looked in an embrace, blissfully unaware.

Angrily, Molly swung open the window.

'You bloody bastard!' She shouted, pulling off her ring and hauling it as far as possible. 'You bloody, bloody bastard!'

'Well,' Sherlock said to himself, 'that is one way to go about it.'

Molly turned momentarily.

'I will get to you in a minute.'

Ah, Sherlock thought, maybe this wasn't exactly the best idea after all…