Sherlock was on a mission. While his body was moving at a relentless pace towards Molly's flat, his mind was focused on one thing and one thing alone.

Honey.

No, not the sweet substance frequently added to tea or found coating the yellow paw of Winnie the Pooh. No, not the sticky biproduct of bees and other insects.

Honey, Love, Dollface, Baby.

By the time he reached her front door, his knocking was ruthless. Thankfully, in part from his obnoxious banging, Molly was quick to swing the door open. She had already changed into a pair of well-worn pyjamas, if evident by the tattered ankles and permanent ice cream stains around the stomach.

At the sight of Sherlock, she let out a squeak and tried to close the door. Sherlock, however, would not be budged, and shoved the door fully open, his eyes glued to her form. She swallowed and stepped aside, letting him enter.

"Sherlock, why are you here? It's late and after the pub I don't think—"

He laughed and dropped onto the sofa, propping his feet onto her coffee table. Toby immediately joined his lounging form, burrowing into his black trousers. Sherlock simply grinned, continuing to watch Molly. At his happy spirits, she made a face.

"Sherlock, are you drunk?"

He scoffed and began to pet the cat. "Nope."

"High?"

"Of course not."

She swallowed and shifted her weight onto another foot. "Then why are you smiling like that?"

Sherlock grinned and sprang to his feet. Within two steps, he was towering over Molly, a fanatical smile across his lips. She gulped and took a step back, clearly freaked out by Sherlock's unusual behavior.

"Oh, I doubted how clever you two are—I mean John can be such a, well, such an idiot!" He sputtered out, tugging at his curls, "But you pulled this off! I believed for nearly a month!"

Molly swallowed and tightened her dressing gown. "Sherlock, what are you—"

"So, clearly you lot have gotten smarter, craftier, sneaker, or I've just lost my marbles!" He moved closer to Molly and looked her up and down, "Perhaps Mrs. Hudson has been sneaking herbal soothers into my biscuits."

She blinked a few times, both shocked by Sherlock's giddiness and the implication that Mrs. Hudson had possibly been baking edibles. She cleared her throat.

"Sherlock, really, why are you—"

He wasn't done.

"But how did it start?" He began to pace, his mind moving a mile a minute, "Surely you two didn't arbitrarily decide to go on a date. You wouldn't ask him, and he wouldn't ask you."

His eyes darted around the room, until they landed on Molly's navy twill jacket, one she normally wore on breezy evenings. With long-legged strides, he moved towards the coat and eyed it suspiciously. His lips quirked into a smile as he picked up a long, white hair, clearly belonging to a dog.

He turned to Molly, his eyes rather crazy.

"You only wear this jacket when the weather is chilly, not cold. Therefore, it hasn't been worn in approximately a month, which was the last time we've seen the temperature below 10 degrees."

He spun on his heels, holding up the white hair. He tilted his head, evaluating the fur.

"This fur belongs to an American Eskimo dog, a breed known for their large, white coats," He studied Molly intently, "I happen to know your Great Aunt Ruth, the eclectic elderly woman on your mother's side, owns two of these dogs, based on your previous discussion of the woman and her knowledge of mid-sized breeds."

Sherlock circled her, his hand propped under his chin. "And based on the receipt in your pocket for a coffee in Clerkenwell dated approximately a month ago, that's when you last visited your Aunt."

He hummed to himself and continued his deductions. "Clearly, you agreed to go on a blind date with John because your elderly Great-Aunt pushed for the meeting. However, you felt nothing and decided to remain friends."

He stopped his pacing but continued to watch her intently. "Yet, for some reason, you claim to be dating John."

Molly swallowed. "Sherlock, we are dating."

He let out a hoarse laugh. "Drop the act, Molly. It's poorly performed. The evidence of your deceit is glaringly obvious."

"How so?"

He stepped towards her, his eyes blown back.

"Because you called John 'honey'."

Molly blinked a few times, wondering if she had heard Sherlock properly. "Sorry? You're claiming my relationship is fake because I called John a pet name?"

He scoffed. "No, Molly, you did not call John a pet name. You called him something extremely impersonal. Something that suggested no emotional attachment."

She couldn't help but laugh. "Are you serious?"

"Very much so."

"Sherlock, that's ridiculous—"

He growled and moved forward.

"Molly Hooper, you are the definition of sentimental. Everything gets a bloody scrapbook, or a friendship bracelet, or a token to remember a moment by."

He caged her into the wall, his eyes as wide as saucers, his heart hammering in his chest. "For as sentimental as you are, any man you had feelings or genuine interest for would be given something more thoughtful than a simple "honey"."

Sherlock ran his finger down her cheek, enjoying her shiver in response.

"You called Moriarty 'Jim-Jim' in private," his eyes narrowed in disgust, "You called Tom 'Armie', a derivative of his last name 'Armstrong'. Your brother is 'Big Jack', your best mate is 'Meanie', even your bloody cat has a loving nickname."

And then, even though it seemed impossible, he moved closer to her. His eyes dropped to her lips before moving back to her wide eyes.

"As if you'd call your boyfriend 'honey'."

Molly gulped and shut her eyes, desperately trying to ignore his warm breath on her face. He moved his face towards her, his hands moving to her hips.

"You care for John as much as I do. As a friend and nothing more." He began to rub his thumbs on her cloth-covered stomach, his focus still very much on her shocked face, "Yet, you've pretended to be in a relationship with him for a month. Why?"

With that question, Molly made a lackluster attempt to push him away. As expected, he was too much man to push around. She let out a cry and did it again, until deciding to just beat her fists into his chest.

"You idiot!" She cried out, desperately avoiding his gaze, "What do you want from me? Do you want a prize for figuring it out? You want me to tell you how much of a genius you are?"

Sherlock continued to stare at her. "Yes. A prize would very much make me happy."

Molly let out a half laugh, half sob. "God, you are such a prat! Why is this fun for you? Great, you figured it out! John and I don't fancy each other. But we did it—"

He cut her off with a soft kiss. It was his first one in quite a while, and he was hoping it was a correctly timed one at that. His thumbs rubbed light circles on her stomach as his curls tickled her damp cheeks.

Molly had moved her fists from his chest to his neck, where she immediately pulled his body flush against her. And once her arms had attached around him, and his hands had a steady grip on her hips, that soft kiss turned into quite a snog.

A snog with teeth bumping, tongues fighting, lips moving, moans escaping, and fat tabby cat rubbing against their ankles.

Desperate for air, Molly jumped back, her hand immediately coming to cover her mouth. She stared at Sherlock, her mouth agape. With a swallow, she managed to squeak out a few words.

"What—I—You—Why?"

He cleared his throat and adjusted his shirt. "That was in response to two of your questions. The first being what I wanted."

He took another step forward, his eyes locked on her blushing form. "The answer is you. Then, your follow-up question inquired about a prize. I think that was a fine prize. Not enough, but a pleasant introduction."

Molly swallowed. "I don't understand."

Sherlock sighed. "Yes, you do. You're not stupid. I even complimented you and John's intelligence when I got here."

She whimpered and looked away. "What do you mean that you want me?"

He took a step forward and ran his hand across her flushed cheek. "Molly, I…." He sighed and looked down, before forcing himself to meet her eyes, "Somehow, within the past two or so years, I've developed romantic feelings for you."

He swallowed and ran his thumb across her slightly swollen bottom lip. "And seeing you with John was devastating. Knowing that you could be with a man like him, someone so dependable and incredible as John, was…"

He cursed and pulled at his curls, "It was agonizing. I was so deathly afraid that you'd fall in love with him. Rightly so, since he'd treat you well and be everything a good boyfriend should be."

After a deep breath, he pulled her hand to his mouth and pressed a soft kiss to the top. "This past month has been one of the most difficult of my life. And seeing you with him reinforced something that I have been denying for far too long."

Molly wiped some freshly fallen tears from her face, still watching Sherlock. His words, as expected, had melted her insides, and turned into her a red faced, teary-eyed mess. She sniffled and pulled her hands out of his, instead moving to cup one of his cheeks.

As her thumb gently caressed his skin, she began to speak. "You're an idiot, Sherlock. But I still love you."

At her words, he immediately perked up. He cleared his throat. "You do?"

"I've never stopped." She sighed and continued to rub his cheek. "When Aunt Ruth set us up, I didn't know it was John. And when he showed up, we decided to enjoy dinner as friends. It wasn't until he walked me home that I realized how amazing of a pair we'd be."

At the confused look on Sherlock's face, she continued. "He was sensible and predictable. The sort of man I always thought I'd want." She sniffled and looked down, "So, I asked him to kiss me. You must have seen it. It would have explained your response. But… I didn't feel anything. I reckon it felt like kissing a sibling."

Sherlock frowned and studied her. "Yes. I saw your kiss. I went to visit you that evening. I was lonely. Imagine my disappointment when I see you kissing some bloke. Then, imagine my devastation when it turns out to be my best mate."

Molly sniffled and nodded. "After your behavior," She gave him a look, "Which frankly was unnecessarily rude, John suggested we fake date. To…" She bit her lip and let out a soft laugh, "Make you jealous. I didn't think it would work, but John said it would. John… Well, he said you had feelings for me."

Sherlock swallowed and considered her words. "For once, he figured something out prior to my own awareness."

She whimpered and dropped her head to his chest. She pulled at his jacket and sighed.

"Oh, Sherlock! I can't believe you have feelings for me," She whispered, staring up at him in admiration, "I've loved you for so long."

Sherlock swallowed and wrapped his arms around her. "I apologize, Molly. I've been blind for far too long."

She hit his chest and couldn't help but laugh. "You were such a prat! You ignored me for three weeks. Who do you think you are, writing me lists of demands?"

He couldn't help but blush. "Yes, well, I realize now that my behavior was unacceptable. Being around you two made me more jealous than I thought possible."

Molly sniffled and leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "You attacked John at the pub."

Sherlock cursed. "He deserved it! He was purposely antagonizing me! Did you hear his descriptions of kissing you?" He flinched and looked back to Molly, "And you kissed him tonight!"

She couldn't help but giggle. "You insulted our sexual chemistry. I had to do something."

"You two had none!"

She crossed her arms. "That may be true, but we had a role to play!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and pulled Molly onto her sofa. He began to play at her loose locks, thinking about how his evenings would always be like this. Relaxing, with Molly in his arms, a fat cat trying to wiggle his way between the couple.

As he pulled gently at her hair, Molly turned and studied him. At the attention, he quirked an eyebrow.

"Yes?"

"You said something interesting at the pub. You said that John wouldn't be able to fulfill my needs because…" She flushed and cleared her throat, "Because as he fucked me in the kitchen, he'd be preoccupied with the need to clean it."

Sherlock yawned. "Yes, I said that. And it's true."

Molly blushed. "Why was that the first thing that came to mind?"

He smirked. "Because I deduced that you like to be dominated, ergo rough sex on your kitchen counter is something that would likely appeal to you."

"Sherlock!" She squeaked out, her face now bright red, "How—what—I—"

Sherlock smirked. "Perhaps tomorrow? It's been a long night."

Molly whimpered and nodded. "Yes. I'd like that very much."

He grinned. "I look forward to many evenings like this. Just you, me, and Sir Tobias of Catelot."

She groaned and bit her lip. "That's his real name. Toby is the nickname."

Sherlock chuckled. "I really do love you, Molly."

At his words, she buried her face in his neck, her hammering heart too much for the evening.

"Say it again."

"I love you, Molly."

Xxx

Three weeks later, John was in rather good spirits. Sherlock and Molly had finally found their way to each other, alleviating plenty of stress and tension from all their lives. John always figured getting his best mate laid would make his life a lot easier.

He just wished it would have happened years ago.

At any rate, he figured his life was better in a routine. Fun stuff always led to trouble. And at his age, trouble led to either heart burn or a sore back in the morning. He had been going by that frame of reference, still waiting on an official date with Molly's "gorgeous" cousin Monica—the two had been in contact but had yet to find a shared available date.

So, after the blind date ordeal with Molly, and the subsequent fake relationship, John had been ready to put off finding another woman. Sure, he could literally die for a good shag (frankly even mediocre would do), but after a year without, what more would a few weeks do?

Well, that had been what his brain said. Per usual, his cock disagreed, which is how he found himself sitting in a dimly-lit booth in the back of a fancy French restaurant. Clad in his favorite blue date shirt, his hair perfectly combed back, he was ready to meet his new woman.

Initially, he had been averse to another blind set up by Ruth, but he realized he actually liked her first match. She was right—Molly was wonderful and was a good fit for him. It just hadn't worked out, and even though the old lady was disappointed, she was quick to recommend another woman that frequented her favorite hair salon.

Ruth had labeled Sara as hard-working, fiercely loyal, and described some of the fascinating conversations between the two as they got their hair fixed up, month after month. While going out with a Sara had reminded John of some less than stellar dates in his past, he was really up for anything at this point.

This is what happens when you let your cock control your brain, John.

It wasn't until he had decided on Beef bourguignon for dinner when a familiar voice had him glancing up. Standing in front of him, clad in a figure-hugging dress and makeup, was certainly one of the last people he expected to see.

"John?"

He cleared his throat. "Sally?"

"Well, better than the freak I suppose."

London is far too big of a city for this to keep happening.

She slid into her seat and quirked an eyebrow at his open mouth. Not at all put off by her date's identity, Sally shrugged and grabbed the menu, immediately flipping through it. At her nonchalance, John took the hint and shut his mouth, quick to order the couple a bottle of wine.

I'm on a date with Sally Donovan.

He took another glance at Donovan, admiring the way her mocha skin glistened in the candle light. He had never seen her in a dress before.

This might work.

John, was that your cock or your brain?

Christ, it doesn't even matter anymore.

The End