First of all, thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this strange story of mine. I truly do appreciate it and welcome any constructive criticism, it's been a long time since I tried to seriously tell a story. Writing this story was a challenge I set for myself, and I wanted to share the result.

Just a reminder, I don't own any of the Sherlock or Neverwhere characters. they belong to men more talented, wealthy and British than I.

Molly was reading a book of fairy tales to Ingress. At least, she was trying to. Molly didn't want to read any stories about children being stolen, fearing they would upset the little girl. However, she was finding that far too many fairy tales involved kidnapping or homicide or other such nastiness. Ingress sat on her lap. She was still not talking, but had actually nodded slightly when Molly asked if she wanted to listen to stories. And every time Molly stopped reading, Ingress would turn and look at her with questioning eyes. So Molly kept reading, despite all the horrors the fairy tales contained. They were in Ingress' bedroom. It was a cheerful place, filled with well-loved toys. Ingress would go inside her room if someone was with her, but she firmly refused to sleep there, even if Door stayed with her. She had been sleeping in Door's room every night since her return, curled up next to her sister. Door returned just as Molly finished another grisly story. Molly stood up, wiping her hands. "Um, well, what did he say?" Molly asked nervously.

"It was weird, he never said yes or no, but I do think he was sort of upset, I think he thought we wanted to kick him out" answered Door. "He's waiting, he wants to talk to you, well he said he did as long as you wanted to talk to him," she continued.

"Damn it. Okay, well, I might as well, right? I can't screw things up much more, can I?" sighed Molly.

Door gave her an encouraging smile. She turned to Ingress. "I'm just going to take Molly back to the entry hall and then come right back, okay?" she asked. She was delighted that Ingress gave her a small nod as an answer. Any kind of communication was a welcome sign. Door took Molly's hand.

Door stands by herself in the entry hall. She is crying. The Marquis de Carabas is sitting on the other side of the room, fiddling with some small objects. Door takes a deep breath and turns back to the Marquis. She begins speaking and he nods and stands.

Sherlock was pacing around the entry hall. He was worried about what would happen when Door returned. If he had known that faking his suicide would force him to deal with sentiment and feelings, well maybe he would have just shot Jim when he came for tea. Feelings were so inconvenient and messy. He was too far out of his element, he didn't know what to do, and he hated that more than anything. Door reappeared, with Molly beside her. Door gave Molly a small hug, and shot Sherlock a look filled with meaning. She turned and disappeared back into the painting. Molly was twisting her hair around a finger and staring at the floor. Sherlock walked over to her and took her hand. She gasped and turned her head to the side, blush creeping up her face.

"Molly, I would like to speak with you, will you accompany me to our rooms?" he asked.

Molly nodded, and broke away from him, walking quickly back to the guest suite. Sherlock followed close behind.

A young woman runs out of the pink bedroom. She is barefoot and wearing a loose gown. She is laughing. A young man rushes out behind her and chases her around the chairs. Both are giggling. He catches her and they fall together into a chair. They kiss deeply.

As soon as she reached their rooms, Molly started to babble and wring her hands. "I'm sorry, I really am, I know I shouldn't have done it, and I'm really sorry, you've been so great and haven't even made me cry, and I've noticed I really have, and I'm really grateful, so please can we just forget everything about last night, because I don't know, I just, um …"

Sherlock was staring at her, trying to connect the string of words flowing from her mouth. Why did she always stammer so? He had to stop her. Swiftly, he stepped toward her and wrapped his arms around her. "Please shut up" he murmured into her hair. Molly froze. She had thought of a hundred different outcomes to this moment, every one more horrible than the last. This scenario was not one of them. She clutched at his shirt, not knowing where to put her hands.

Sherlock breathed in the scent of her hair. He could feel her heart racing. He remembered a warm spring day, long ago when he was only five. Roaming outside, he had found a baby rabbit asleep under a hedge. Fascinated, he held it in his hands, feeling its tiny heart flutter. He remembered the awe he had felt at holding something so alive and so fragile. Suddenly, he wasn't sure how to proceed. He should have had a plan. He worried that he would say something that drove Molly away and yet he didn't know what he wanted. The notion of welcoming a romantic relationship was almost as frightening as losing Molly. He had dimly known that Molly had a crush on him. He had abused this knowledge for years. Now that he held her, he was overwhelmed by the realization of just how strong her feelings were. He stroked her hair, marveling at the sensation. She shivered slightly at his touch. He reached inside their embrace and found one of her hands. He gently pulled it out of its death grip on his shirt, and then brought her hand around to his back. Understanding, she wrapped her other arm around him, tightening their embrace.

"Molly, I need to explain. Last night when you … gave me a kiss goodnight, I wasn't angry, just surprised" he sighed. This was difficult. "I have known that you have certain … feelings for me, though I have never really understood just how strong those feelings were. I didn't want to upset you. I don't mind if you touch me, Molly."

She pulled away, confused. She looked up at him. "I don't understand, Sherlock. What do you mean?" she asked.

"I don't know either, I've never done any of this before" he frowned. "I just don't want you to think I was angry. If you were to do something similar in the future, it would be … acceptable, I think," he continued.

Molly's eyes widened. She reached out to touch his hand; he curled his fingers around hers. "Oh, well, um it's okay if you want to touch me, in case you didn't know" she whispered, blushing.

He looked down at their hands. "Are you sure? Molly, I have no experience in this area, I don't understand these feelings, this sentiment, I know I want you near me, but I don't think I can properly return your feelings," he looked up, straight into her eyes. "I don't want to hurt you any more, you are important to me" he said firmly.

Molly was trembling slightly. She squeezed his hand and stepped closer to him. "Okay, well, what if we just stay on as friends and maybe we can try to be a little more if we both feel comfortable. I don't really have much experience either, but I know I want to stay with you, no matter what" she murmured.

Sherlock nodded and smiled slightly. He led her to the armchairs. Once she was seated, he asked "Would you like some tea?"

"Yes please."

He prepared the tea, handing her a cup and then sitting in the other chair sipping his tea. They sat in comfortable silence, both thinking over what had just occurred. Sherlock finished his tea and then turned to Molly. "I do have one question. What was it that provoked you to laugh so?" he asked.

Molly giggled. "Seriously? I'm surprised you don't know, it's stupid, do you really want to know?" she asked.

"Obviously" he replied with an annoyed eye-roll.

"Um, well it's very random, but I may have pictured you wearing a hat like the Queen likes to wear. You know, those big pastel hats with the flowers and feathers?"

"That is rather bizarre Molly. Were you feeling unwell?"

"No! Oh, I also may have imagined your brother wearing one of the queen's dresses. There were corgis involved, carrying umbrellas."

Sherlock actually laughed at this. He had had similar thoughts when dealing with Mycroft's stuffy ways. He had also made sure to tell Mycroft about such thoughts during their many spats. He cleared away the tea things and then proceeded to look over some of his experiments. Molly sat in her chair, still thinking, still mostly in shock at what had just transpired between them. She hoped that they could make this strange fragile relationship of theirs work.

In the following weeks, Molly and Sherlock continued much as they had before. Only now, they would occasionally find themselves briefly holding hands or otherwise exchanging light touches. Molly was content, she had no idea what sort of relationship they had, but wasn't idiotic enough to worry about it or worse, question Sherlock. She was happy the way things were, though she wouldn't say no if Sherlock became interested in more. Besides, there were other problems to concentrate on.

They needed to focus on the problem of Jim Moriarty. Molly still felt that he had to share her abilities as a Deathseer, or at the very least, some other sort of magical talent. There was a more immediate concern as well. Sherlock was getting bored. Molly was now completely in awe of John. How on earth had he lived with a bored Sherlock Holmes, especially one who wasn't making a serious effort to avoid saying hurtful things? Molly had never witnessed the full horror of a sulking Sherlock. He had usually been in the midst of a chase when he was in the morgue. Now he was moaning and whining about nearly everything. The violin had helped at first, but was no longer enough of a distraction.

Sherlock had nearly torn apart the guest suite sitting room searching for mental exercise. He had given up his attempts to build a phone. He seemed to have finally accepted that his texting days were at an end, which had meant a day long silent sulk. He finished that spell by tossing all the cell phone parts in a box, which he took to the little courtyard and blew up with some improvised explosives. It had nearly scared Door witless, but Ingress had been amused. The little girl was fascinated with Sherlock. She could often be found studying him in silence. Anytime he played the violin, she would be there. Molly had worried that she might irritate him, but oddly enough, he seemed to enjoy her curiosity. One day Molly found them sitting at the desk in the guest suite, poring over a dusty manuscript. Sherlock was reading it out loud to the little girl who was perched on his lap. Molly had to listen for a while before she could figure out that it was a complicated treatise on sound waves. Sherlock was adding his own commentary, explaining how it related to his violin playing. It sounded terribly dull to Molly, but Ingress was captivated. Still, even his new admirer couldn't keep boredom at bay forever.

First, Molly needed to know what had happened when Sherlock met Jim on the rooftop. She knew it would be painful, and had hesitated to ask, putting it off for weeks. Sherlock looked angry when she first brought it up, but then began to tell her. He sunk into what was now "his" armchair in the guest suite. He spoke quietly at first, volume growing as he recounted the last moments of his former life.

"I thought that I could still outwit him, I knew I could." He clenched his fists at the memory. "He had told me once that he was so successful because he had some computer code, the secret key that would unlock all the doors. It sounded ridiculous, but I thought there might be something to it. I told him I knew about the code. He just laughed. But then, he told me that everything was over…"

He paused and stared at his hands. Molly stood and walked to his side. Heart in her throat, she sat on the arm rest of his chair. Molly wasn't sure how he would react. She was surprised that he leaned against her as she carefully laid her arm along his shoulders. Feeling bold, she reached her hand up to stroke his hair. He didn't complain, so she twined a curl around her finger. As she began running her fingers through his hair, he began to speak again.

"He said that all of it, everything in my life was fake. He claimed that Mycroft had arranged for me to work with Lestrade, the crimes were fake, it was all a ruse, something to keep me busy, that it was meant as a distraction, to keep me away from bad habits" he sighed, leaning closer to Molly, snaking his arm around her waist. He was quiet for a while, the fingers of his free hand tapping an agitated beat. He pulled Molly closer to him. He resumed his story in a whisper.

"My family, there is a history of mental illness. When I was younger, there was concern, fear, that I was similarly afflicted. My father, was … unwell. And for a while I behaved in a way that gave credence to those fears. Molly, I was once addicted to cocaine."

"I know."

He looked up, surprised. "You do?"

"When I first met you, I could tell, you looked awful. I do have some medical training, you know. And I did see a lot of former addicts, but they were all dead of course" she trailed off.

"Molly, you frequently surprise me. I have underestimated you time and time again, please forgive me."

"Shh, it's alright, please finish telling me about the roof, what happened up there? I was so frightened when you woke up, you were different, scared" she said.

Sherlock sighed again. "Jim said that Mycroft was paying Lestrade and John to keep me busy, to keep me from losing my mind. He claimed it had not been enough, and that I was truly the one to harm those children. He said that Mycroft was covering it all up, but that I was to be sent away … somewhere like where my father ended up." He was shaking slightly now, the horror of that morning still too close. "I didn't believe him, but then, Mycroft was there. And then I didn't know what to believe."

"Are you sure it was him? I mean maybe they could disguise someone."

He shook his head. "No, all the tiniest details were there. They could never make a disguise to fool me, not of him. So I jumped. I knew you were still there somewhere, I knew I could count on you" he finished.

Molly was near tears, she suspected Sherlock was as well. She kissed the top of his head. "Sherlock, you can always count on me" she whispered.

He looked up at her again, and smiled. "I know" he said. Then he reached his other hand up, slowly, uncertain. He cupped her cheek in his hand and then briefly kissed her on the lips. Molly felt her face flush, nearly swooning. It was a very sweet kiss. It had none of the flair or technique of the kisses the Marquis had given her, and yet it was far better than any of his ever could be. Sherlock broke away, face also flushed. His head swam with the rush of feelings. He turned away from her, thrilled and alarmed at what he just done. Molly stood then, nervous and unsure. She backed away from the armchair and then smoothed her hands over her shirt.

"Thank you" she said.

He glanced at her, confused. "For what?" he asked.

"Telling me about the roof. And for trusting me" she smiled. "Um, well, maybe some tea?" she asked.

He smiled and nodded, relieved that the intensity of the moment was broken. Molly grabbed the kettle and walked to the other room, needing a moment to regain her breath. Sherlock had just kissed her. It felt like her brain was spinning. She took longer than she needed and fussed about fixing tea. She could hear Sherlock stand and move around the room. He was fiddling with something in the desk. When she returned, she was alarmed to see he had built a rudimentary drill out of random junk from the desk drawers. He was frowning at some glass tubes and bits of rubber. She set the kettle down and crept over to see what he was doing. He looked at her excitedly and began shouting at her before she could even ask.

"A vacuum tube! Fetch me some clamps! And hoses." He returned his focus to the scattered items on the desk.

"Wait, why?" she asked, afraid of what his answer would be.

He snorted. "The window obviously, Door said she doesn't know what's outside them, possibly nothing, maybe it's some sort of antimatter. It's an experiment Molly!"

"No! No drilling through windows!" she shouted. She tried to grab some of his supplies, but he was too quick and yanked them away.

Sherlock actually pouted, "It's for science Molly. Surely you understand" he scowled.

"No! We're guests! Remember no drilling in other people's homes!" The tea kettle began to shriek in the background. Molly turned and poured the tea, checking over her shoulder. Sherlock had dismantled the drill, but was still looking at the windows with frustration. She handed him a cup. He took it with a frown. He sat on the floor, staring at the windows, in a full on sulk which didn't let up till the morning.