In Molly's opinion, the rest of the night passed much too quickly. When midnight came and it was finally time to depart, she was truly sorry to have to slip back into the same black sedan with its same government driver and go home to her same old boring flat. Oh, well. Tomorrow, she was taking off from work to spend a day with Mary, the realization of which lifted her spirits just a little as the car pulled up to the curb in front of her flat.

Yet again, Sherlock was there to open the car door for her before she could even undo her seatbelt, and he even walked her all the way up to her front door. She had just turned her key in the lock and was about to go inside when she remembered that she had forgotten one last thing, calling after the detective before he could duck back inside the vehicle. He whirled around at the sound of his name, looking slightly panicked. "What is it, Molly?"

"Um, I just wanted to say thank you," she said shyly, the soft light from her living room spilling out onto the tiny walkway. "For tonight. I... I had a lovely time." She hesitated, then suddenly dashed across the concrete and before he knew what was happening, caught the lapels of his ridiculous coat and pulled him down into a kiss.

Stunned, all the detective could do was stare as Molly said, "Now, go on home to John and Mary and Mrs. Hudson. I'm sure they have all sorts of questions for you, and you had better answer every last one nicely, okay?" She smiled up at him and he nodded, dumbfounded.

The pathologist turned and walked back towards her warm flat, stopping just inside the doorway to wave to the nondescript black sedan as it started off towards Baker Street.

She smiled as one of the tinted windows rolled down to reveal one equally ecstatic consulting detective waving back with vigor.

ooooo

The text chime woke Molly up at ten the next morning, causing a groan to emerge from underneath the tousled pile of blankets laying on her bed. An arm shot out to grab the offending mobile off of the bedside table, and Molly sighed as she blearily examined the tiny screen.

Molly Hooper, you get out of bed this instant! MW

She grumbled, sleepily typing a reply.

Whatever happened to sleeping in on my day off? MH

She closed her eyes, only to hear another ding a moment later.

There is no sleeping in today, Molls! You have to tell me all about your soirée! MW

Soirées can wait another hour. MH

Don't make me send John over there. MW

Molly growled, sitting up with a rather fantastic mess of disheveled hair piled atop her head.

You wouldn't dare. MH

Better yet, I'll send the detective himself. MW

She rolled her eyes.

Can you wait another fifteen minutes? MH

I'll try... MW

ooooo

The two women sat across from one another at the Watsons' kitchen table, a pot of tea between them. "Start from the beginning," Mary said excitedly, pouring both herself and Molly a cup of PG Tips. "And no editing!" She smiled warmly as the pathologist sighed, then launched into a detailed account of the previous night. By the time she had finished, Mary was full-on beaming at her.

"Oh Molls, I'm so glad it all went well!"

"Me, too." Molly paused, sipping her tea before adding slowly, "Mary, can I ask you something?"

"Anything, Molls, go ahead," Mary smiled gently.

Molly took a deep breath. "Okay, well, I was thinking... I wanted to get something for Sherlock, you know, because he keeps planning these dinners and doing all of these nice things for me and, well, the thing is, I don't know what to get him." She flushed, fussing with the ends of her ponytail nervously.

"I think that's a lovely idea!" Mary said, carrying the cups and the teapot to the sink. "How about we go to the mall, and you can look around there?"

Molly smiled gratefully. "That sounds perfect, Mary, thanks!" She grabbed her purse, leading the way out of the cozy flat.

While Mary stayed behind to lock the door on their way out, she felt her mobile buzz. She unearthed it to find a text from John.

Please tell me everything's going according to plan. JW

She grinned, typing back a quick reply.

Even better than I had hoped - is he alright? MW

Thank God - and that depends. He's been playing nothing but waltzes for two hours now without pause, and he's more hyper than he's ever been on any case before. You tell me. JW

Can you keep him sane until tonight? MW

Just have Molls send him a text. He'll be fine. JW

Mary sighed. She had to admit, she'd be lost without her army doctor.

ooooo

"Another one?" John groaned, leaning back in his Baker Street armchair as Sherlock started up the twelfth waltz on his violin.

"This one's Tchaikovsky. I haven't played Tchaikovsky yet," the detective replied.

"No, but you've played Chopin, Beethoven, Mozart, Strauss..." John counted the offending composers off on the tips of his fingers.

"Fine," Sherlock sighed, setting the violin down in its corner before stepping over the coffee table and plopping down onto the sofa unceremoniously. Assuming his classic thinking pose, he was quiet for only a moment before turning to John.

"Can we go to Bart's? I want to see Molly."

"Molly is off today," said the doctor. "But-"

"Why is she off? She doesn't usually take days off other than weekends," interrupted the detective.

John sighed. "She's spending the day with Mary."

"Oh." Five seconds of silence passed by. "So, tonight-"

"You're sure you want to do this?" John asked, even though he knew the answer.

"I've never been so sure of anything in my entire life, John," the detective grinned, leaping up from the sofa to pace furiously across the sitting room.

"Then-" John was cut off by the sound of a text chime.

"It's mine, I've got it," cried Sherlock, hurdling over the coffee table and lunging for his mobile, which was resting on the mantle.

Hi, Sherlock! I forgot to tell you - if you get bored and need something to do, there's a fresh cadaver waiting for you in the morgue. (It's open - no lock picking required, and I made sure to clear the schedule so nobody will bother you.) MH

"Brilliant!" Shouted the detective, startling the poor doctor almost out of his armchair. "Oh, John, isn't she absolutely brilliant? We'll get everything in order for tonight, and then it's off to Bart's!" He sprinted into the kitchen, punching a number into his mobile as he ran. Sticking his head out around the corner a moment later, he asked breathlessly, "Coming? Please, John, do try to keep up."

As the beginnings of a "Brother dearest" could be hear from the tiny kitchen, the army doctor rolled his eyes. A hyper Sherlock, Mycroft, and a cadaver all in one day? How could he possibly survive until tonight?

ooooo

Next chapter, I promise, the mystery of "tonight" will be revealed!

As always, thank you so much for your continued support and reviews. It's lovely to hear so much positive feedback!

~London Belle