A/N: Thank you AussieMaelstrom for being super-fast with looking over my errors. Lovely. Thank you to those who've reviewed, favourited, followed! It's always a delight to see - thank you very much! I'm going to take a 'break' over the weekend, because I've got a work-meeting, studies to attend and loads of work to be done.

Tom

He pushed inside her from behind with one quick thrust, though every thrust that followed was slow and torturous. She could barely stand, soon holding onto the doors of the fridge, almost fisting the edges. His thumb caressed her bud all of a sudden; making her spread her legs as her body trembled.

It was then he began to move, her legs wobbling from the impact.

Before she'd ever met Tom she'd heard a great deal about him through her friends who were bothering her repeatedly with how nice, how sweet, how fit he was, and at the time she was trying to cope from Sherlock's would-be-death. It hadn't been easy, since she had to pretend she was sad, when she was glad that the man was alive and well somewhere (despite the occasional fear he might be in danger).

But she hadn't exactly felt ready to enter into anything with anyone; surprisingly enough someone shared the same feeling – Tom. She hadn't known it was Tom at the time, it had been a large party, plenty of people abound, and she'd wandered over to the kitchen when she found him.

"I'd – umm - avoid that bottle-," he said grimacing when she was about to pour herself a glass of red.

"What's wrong with it?" she said crinkling her nose, eyeing him nervously.

"This bloke sort of spat in it - for no good reason – I just – I forgot to pour it out really," he said with a shrug. "Got distracted, sorry."

"No, it's – fine – thanks for warning me."

"Couldn't let you drink that, not very nice, umm, so -,"

"Is this your party?" she said after a second.

"Doesn't seem like it, does it? Host hiding out in the kitchen when he's supposed to be talking with his guests."

"No, a friend of mine – he does that too."

"Oh, oh right – nice to know I'm not the only weirdo around here – where is this friend of yours then?"

"He's dead," said Molly casually, smacking her eyes shut when she understood that her words sounded too light. "Oh God – I'm sorry – I mean – well he is dead, but I mean - I'm not-,"

"Right, I am the only one in the world, then," said Tom with a small chuckle not seeming bothered with her comparing him to a dead man.

In the end they'd both despaired that their friends were trying to fix them up with some stranger, and the second they knew each other's name, Molly knew she'd found someone. They were nice together, despite the tiny quibbles, but she liked him.

When he'd asked her to marry him she'd been surprised really, thinking it was too soon, too fast, but then realized maybe it was a good thing. It wasn't until she realised she'd never managed to set a date for their wedding, making up excuse after excuse that Molly knew she'd only ever liked him ("You deserve someone better, someone who does more than like you," she'd told him when she'd given him the ring back).

Remarkably against all odds they'd maintained a sort-of friendship, not exactly one where they had coffee together, but one where they wouldn't run in the other direction if they accidentally met (sharing an awkward conversation instead). There was still awkwardness, would always be, since there had been enough of familiarity between them – she'd met his family - met his friends, and seen his life, but Tom had never really seen hers.

"I don't have much of a life," she'd told him, but she understood the second Sherlock had resurrected that she'd put that part of her on pause. Suddenly it was as if everything was going in high-speed again, and she knew that it had a lot to do with the man she'd faked the post-mortem for. And now here she was hung-over, about to have a coffee with Tom since; he deserved that at least.

His exact words of course, and she dreaded to think that they'd... Especially since she'd heard he'd sort-of gotten with Lucy who worked at St Bart's also. A nightmare scenario where she shagged her ex-fiancé and he thought there was something there again, though it just – it hadn't seemed like Tom. Sex with Tom was very much like scented candles, showy and nice, but they didn't add much in the end, except the occasional fire hazard.

It was definitely not the kind where she'd have people asking if a murder had taken place in her flat. He didn't fit the profile of practically defiling her flat, or her for that matter, but then again, alcohol did strange things to people. There was no way she hadn't given as good as she got, and her body was proof, so her lover would bear marks…

The thought clung to her when the door to the café sprang open, and familiar brown curls appeared, the army-coloured jacket he wore with its collar up, as if it would shield the massive shiner on his eye, blue and fresh on his face.

'Oh my God' she thought.

"Molly-," he said with a cheery wave, walking with a jaunty step towards the counter, while her eyes followed his steps towards the register to order a large coffee, besides some other large sugary bun.

She'd…she'd…once she'd voiced to Meena how worried she'd been about what she'd done to Tom at Mary and John's wedding, having stabbed the man with a fork because he'd irritated her, though Meena had pointed out – "It was the wine, didn't you have like buckets? You rang me up at the end of the evening, remember?"

She was one of those women – violent – yet – Tom seemed to be bearing her temper with normality, sitting opposite her, while she opened and shut her mouth repeatedly. "What – what happened?" she finally said barely holding herself together.

"Last night happened," he said with raised brows, soon shrugging in his chair, while she sat more upright in hers, staring unblinkingly at him.

"Oh – you mean…you mean-?" she began not managing to even say the words out loud. "We – umm – we…"

"Yeah, umm – I'm sorry about how I left. I just…I thought it was for the best, and I really wondered if you meant what you said last night?" he looked truly troubled and anxious. "I just had to ask, since I know that you might take it back, and that's…I suppose I'll manage in the end if you don't agree, but I just…" Tom cleared his throat soundly, putting on a toothy grin, trying to look at ease, but his gaze was unnerved at best.

The shiner did not help either.

Blood left her face immediately, her skin prickling, her insides churning soundly about – she had – they had – oh god. She didn't need Meena telling her, didn't need to hear Sherlock or anyone coming in with a poorly disguised comment about his looks. No, she knew this was a bad idea from the get-go. It would ruin their barely sustainable friendship.

How could this have happened?

The ache in her head reminded her, and now she'd have to be cradling that while explaining to Tom how last night she'd pretty much lost it. His hopeful face made her feel like walking out silently and never looking back, but he certainly deserved more. There would never be any kind of casual friendship, and their mutual friends would absolutely loathe her.

But before she'd even gotten the chance to ruminate on how she'd explain how she'd forgotten almost everything except the little bits that made her lower parts twinge – "Do you really think it's a good idea to ask Lucy to marry me?" he said and her stomach stopped jolting about manically, air being pushed out of her mouth in a rush.

"What?" she said gaping at him

His costume rattled against his skin, every time someone came crashing into his side. Truth be told, the helmet was soaking his head with sweat. Maybe dressing up as Rory Pond in Roman gear had been a terrible idea, but it had been Lucy's suggestion.

She was ginger after all, and really wanted to wear a police uniform with a short skirt. He wasn't one to argue against that idea. When he'd finally managed to find his place by the bar, holding up two fingers for two pints, he was unsurprised to find someone in a poufy pink skirt besides him.

Molly barely registered his presence, bouncing on her heels; a long pink straw in her mouth, as he received his order, before he thought it might be a good moment to have 'the talk'. There were few chances after all. He'd not have trouble spotting her in that costume, the skirt being pink and full and the glittery make-up surrounding her eyes. "Oh – hello-," she began, surprising him with a hug when he caught her eye, though her attentions were soon on her drink.

"You've – you've got a theme going on I see," he said with a nod, baffled by the sudden hug, blushing slightly as drank some of his beer.

Molly didn't seem to mind him, waving a hand at her friend Meena in the distance who gave him a nod in return before she walked through the crowd of people dancing vigorously. "Soooo," he said with pursed lips, quite aware that if there was a time and a place he could bring the topic up, it was now. She was in a good mood, or well, the drink assured him she was, still bouncing on her feet, seeming to be looking for someone. "Molly?"

"Mhm?" she said not even turning to look at him.

"You've heard of me and Lucy right?"

"Yeah," she said distractingly, standing on the tip of her toes, peering out at the crowd, her straw still in place in her mouth.

"Well – I -," he really wanted to put his hands in his pockets to stop them fidgeting, the drinks sloshing about instead – "I'mgoingtoaskhertomarryme!"

"Wha-," said Molly, her head snapping towards him in surprise. "What did you say?"

"I said – marry me – I mean I know it's a bit quick, and mental, especially after everything but I think-," and then he caught sight of someone who looked rather upset.

"And that's when Lucy sort of-," said Tom with a sigh, eyes cast down on the coffee table.

"She didn't – punch – you?" she said with her hand on her mouth in shock.

"No, no - I sprinted after her and managed to kind of fall flat on my face – the bloody costume really," Tom laughed. "She thought that I was asking you again, which would be really – really – pointless. I caught up with her in the end thanks to that friend of yours."

"Friend?" said Molly torn between pity and curiosity.

"Yeah the man in black? That chap dressed like Zorro? He hung around you the rest of the night - you two seemed pretty snug," said Tom chuckling slightly, though she noticed that little twinge of awkwardness.

The man had been dressed like Zorro? It explained the black shirt she'd woken up with in the morning – the man in black. She didn't recall anyone she knew wandering about in that costume though, but then again, she hadn't really spoken to anyone pre-drinks. Wandering about in the sheepherder costume hadn't really made her keen for conversation with anyone, except the bartender, and he was wearing a tight black t-shirt (at least that she remembered).

"Oh, oh right," she said with a brief nod, biting on her lip. "…You don't have any idea who that was, do you?" she tried not to look desperate, since she didn't really want to know…but she had to know.

Tom blinked at her. "No? You didn't know him?"

"No," she said slowly. "So – you must have fallen quite hard, then?" she said eager to change the subject while Tom looked at her like she'd lost it a bit, clearly she'd been really chummy with Zorro.

"Hard - but it was worth it in the end – and you said – it was alright that I asked-," he said gesturing with his hands, looking extra nervous because of it, and she knew that he was worried of what she thought of him.

"Tom-," she said tentatively. "You don't need my permission at all - marry her - don't think about me."

He released a relieved breath. "Brilliant, thanks - I - that's – that's all I wanted to hear really – sorry that I felt like I needed to ask – I just – I needed to know I wasn't being mental."

The instant she and Tom bid their farewells she took hold of her phone and began scanning her Facebook. Sure enough there were photos of her in dark corners, and on closer inspection there was a figure sitting beside her in the dark, but she only saw the back of his head, yet at his fingertips she glimpsed silver – the pair of handcuffs. Clearly - the detective inspector was the next man on her list. Oh God.