A/N: People are actually reading something that I've written? What is this madness? Don't worry, guys, I couldn't end it with that last chapter. Actually, I'm planning on ending it with John, but I've got a few more plans before we get there. Cheers!

"Afternoon, Molly."

Molly looked up eagerly. "Hi John!" she said brightly. She was wrist deep in the body of an elderly gentleman. "You want the Hummel files, right? Where's Sherlock?"

"Not coming." John said, and Molly's posture slumped slightly. "He's off at the library again. Says he needs more information about Norse mythology, for whatever reason."

"Oh." Molly said. "Well, he won't stay away for long, will he?"

John chuckled. "I couldn't keep him away if I tried. I think he's trying to turn our flat into a morgue, so he can fiddle around with dead things at all hours. It's driving me mad."

Molly pulled her hands out of the cadaver, and wiped them on her apron. "I wouldn't mind, if I were his flatmate." she said. "We could fill our house with bodies, that would be fine with me."

"Believe me; it gets old after you've found eleven fingers in your bedroom."

Molly smiled absently. "John, can I ask you something?"

John pulled out Molly's computer chair, and sat down. "Ask away, Molls."

She walked over to the sink, and started washing her hands. Without looking up from the tap, she said, "Er. Is Sherlock… well… I just… Does he have a girlfriend?"

"I'm sorry?" John asked, amused.

"It's just… I mean, I'm sure you know how I feel, I'm sure most of the Yard knows…"

John certainly wasn't going to contest that. He knew he ought to put the poor girl out of her misery, but he was really enjoying this too much. And he wanted to wait for the right moment for the 'big reveal'.

Christ, he was acting like Sherlock, wasn't he.

"Look, Molly-" he began, but she cut him off.

"I know what you're going to say. I know I have no chance with him. But, well, I have to hope for something, right? You're his best friend. And you definitely know him the best. I just want to know if he's off the market."

John desperately wanted to string her along for a bit, but he just couldn't bring himself to. She'd wasted so much of her time pining over his boyfriend already, it hardly seemed fair to let it go on for any longer than it had to.

"No, he doesn't have a girlfriend. But he is 'off the market', as you said. Actually, he's-"

"Don't tell me he's married!" Molly said.

"No, he's not. Actually, we're… involved. Together."

Molly looked at John uncomprehendingly.

"Dating? Sherlock and I are dating, Molly. Molly? Molly! The tap!"

John dashed over to the sink and turned it off, but not in time to stop a stream of water from pouring onto the floor, and soaking Molly's shoes, and his pants.

"Sorry! I'm so sorry, John, here, I'll-" she cut herself off to reach over to a pile of towels in the corner. She picked one up, sniffed it, tossed it in a hamper, selected another, and thrust it at John. He returned to his seat, and daubed gingerly at his soaked jeans.

"Oh, your jeans are soaked. Really, I'm sorry."

"It's fine, Molls." John said. "I live with Sherlock, I've seen much worse."

She paused at that. "So him and you… you and he…?"

"Yeah." John answered.

"So you're… er… you're gay, then?"

John looked up. "Problem?"

"No! No, of course not. I just never thought! I mean, you had that girlfriend, and... I'll get you that file, then."

Flustered, Molly left the room. John waited for the door to fully swing shut behind her before he burst out laughing. Poor, oblivious, Molly.

Maybe someday she'd be attracted to a man who wasn't a gay sociopath.

John wasn't going to hold his breath, though.