Molly had been up for hours by the time she finally decided she wouldn't be able to sleep any time soon.

Sherlock kissed me! Not a pity kiss! Not for a case! A proper, real, on-the-mouth kiss!

Had Mary's advice worked? Had his feelings changed? Or was all of this just some sort of weird, reversed Nightingale Effect? Molly's thoughts swirled around her head and she nearly smiled before remembering the images residing in her head of Moriarty on the television screens and Tom; she tried desperately to get rid of the image of his eyes staring at nothing, those horrifying hooks criss-crossing his back and chest like a macabre art display. With a huff, she decided breakfast would make her feel better, so she headed downstairs.

The flat was silent. Normally Sherlock was up before her, moving about with various experiments or research, although considering she had taken his bed the last several nights (claiming convenience due to her exhaustion) she supposed it had been days since he had had any proper sleep. When she thought about his rather traumatic incident last night and the sedative he was given in hospital, she also figured it wasn't unusual that he would still be in bed.

As quietly as possible, Molly gathered the necessary materials for eggs and bacon, making extra in the hopes she could coax Sherlock into eating something. She had just flipped the bacon when she heard rustling coming from Sherlock's bedroom.

Emerging from behind the door with a sheet clutched around his shoulders, Sherlock trudged into the bathroom. His hair was positively wild, sticking out in all directions, and there were red lines crossing his face from the sheets in which he had previously been sleeping on. He looked somehow younger, especially when giving Molly a shy smile before shutting the door. Looking down, Molly realized she was wearing the combination of his shirt and pants, which she had slept in the night before.

Molly plated the bacon and eggs and moved the remains of Sherlock's most recent experiment, finding some disinfectant to wipe down the table before sitting down to dig in. Sherlock emerged from the bathroom moments later, staggering into the kitchen and plopping down at the table, seeming to be still partially asleep.

"Morning, sunshine," Molly chuckled as she slid a plate piled high with breakfast in front of the consulting detective.

"Morning," he responded, his voice deep and raspy from sleep. He stared at Molly for another moment before picking up his fork and starting in on the food. Molly inwardly cheered her success.

They ate in relative silence, and with each passing moment Molly feared more and more that Sherlock was experiencing regret for kissing her the night before. Just as she began to speak up, he spoke as well, the two of them cutting each other off.

"Molly, I-"

"Do you -"

"Go ahead,"

"No, you first,"

"Oh, well…nothing."

Molly rose to collect their empty plates and made to set them in the sink, Sherlock rising as well, following her.

"Molly, I'm sorry about last night," he blurted, leaning awkwardly against the counter as she rinsed the plates.

"Yes, how dare you have an allergic reaction and nearly die, you attention hog," Molly said flatly, knowing full-well that wasn't what he was referring to, but desperately hoping against the truth.

"Sarcasm?"

"Sarcasm."

Sherlock nodded before continuing. "No, I mean…I'm sorry for…" Never before had he felt more awkward. It was like being thirteen again, tripping over every word, uncertain what to say next. Molly stared at him in rapt attention. "Kissing you," he finished.

"Oh," Ouch.

"Ishouldn'thavedoneititwasrudewithoutaskingfirstI'msorry—" he said all at once, trying hard not to make eye contact.

Molly too was looking at the floor, and when he looked up he saw an emotion flit across her face that he was not expecting.

Disappointment.

"Unless," he went on. Molly brought her head up to look at him. "Unless it was…all right?"

A small smile crept onto Molly's face. "Yes, it was…all right," she said, rolling her eyes upward.

"Just…all right?" Sherlock had taken a step toward Molly and there was now little space between them.

Oh! He's flirting! Do what Mary said! Flirt back! Flirt back!

"I suppose it was…okay," she said, trying and failing not to smile as she felt Sherlock's hand gently rest on her waist. Just as she felt him move to pull her closer she looked up to meet his eyes, shocked to see a bright red line of blood just barely running from his nose.

"Oh, god, Sherlock, your nose!" She turned to grab a hand towel before unceremoniously shoving it in his face, using her other hand to hold the back of his head.

"For god's sake, I haven't even done anything yet!" He said, though his voice was muffled through the cloth.

"Sometimes nosebleeds can recur until the vessels have had a chance to clot properly. Do you have a history of nosebleeds?"

"Yes. I had them all the time as a child, but it was usually onset due to Mycroft punching me."

Molly giggled. "It's very hard for me to imagine 'Agent M' punching anybody, let alone his little brother."

"You didn't see him after I destroyed his birthday cake one year,"

"I would have punched you too if you ruined my birthday cake," Molly joked.

"I was two-it wasn't actually my intention to ruin it-I just wanted some cake and sort of…fell into it," Molly removed the towel to check the bleeding and was rewarded with a genuine Sherlock chuckle. The flow of blood seemed to stop, so she moved to the sink to wet the towel in order to begin cleaning up.

"Well, is that some residual bleeding or did you finally say something rude enough for Molly to clock you one?" John's voice rang out from the sitting room, where he had entered silently.

"I believe you're the only one of my friends to-how did you put it? Clock me one." Sherlock accepted the wet towel Molly handed him and began to clean off his face.

"I got a little blood on my hands. Just gonna pop off and clean up," said Molly, retreating to the bathroom, leaving Sherlock and John alone in the kitchen.

"Molly's wearing your pants."

"You've gained three pounds and haven't slept in two nights."

John glared at Sherlock.

"What? I thought since you were stating the obvious…" Sherlock filled the kettle and set about making coffee, still a little hazy from more sleep than he was used to and his nearly enjoyable morning encounter.

"So?" John asked after a few seconds of silence.

"So…what?"

"So…"

John gestured wildly in the direction of the bathroom. "So, why is Molly…? Are you two…?"

"Are you going to finish any of those sentences?" Sherlock asked, one eyebrow raised in question.

"You git. You know what I'm trying to ask. Is there something going on between you and Molly?"

Sherlock sighed, unsure whether or not to go down this road with John. True, John was his best friend, but the idea of asking dating advice from the army doctor seemed daunting at the least.

In the end, he decided he was out of his league. "I…kissed her last night," he said as he stirred sugar into his coffee.

John blinked several times and shook his head. "You…you did what?"

"Please don't make me repeat it, John," Sherlock sipped the scalding liquid, half flinching at the temperature and half flinching at John's flabbergasted expression.

"And?"

"And what?"

"Well…what did she do? Did she kiss you back?" John was now leaning against the table, angling himself forward as if it would get him to the information quicker.

"She told me to get some rest."

"Was she…angry? Excited? What the hell even brought this on?"

Sherlock shook his head, prepared to express his uncertainty in the situation before John straightened up.

"No. Tell me this isn't something to do with the case. Tell me this isn't Janine all over again. You can't do that to Molly, Sherlock. You can't."

Realizing what John meant, Sherlock immediately sat his coffee down as to better deflect a punch in the event John didn't give him a chance to explain.

"No! That's not it at all! I…don't know what happened, but I assure you…I would never do anything to hurt her," he lowered his hands, carefully checking to ensure John was not in attack mode. Instead, a slow grin appeared on his friend's face, and he began chuckling softly. "What?"

John continued to chuckle, placing his hands on his hips. "Sherlock Holmes, I can't believe it."

Sherlock stiffened, unable to see whatever it was John could. "What? Can't believe what?"

"You love her." John raised his eyebrows knowingly.

Sherlock turned back toward the sink, gathering dishes to busy himself. "Don't be ridiculous, John."

John's eyes widened and he pointed a finger at Sherlock, his grin becoming even bigger. "Oh my god, you do!"

"You've been surrounded by women too long."

"You love her. When did this happen? Why now? For god's sake, Sherlock, the girl's been pining after you for five years, why did-"

"I DON'T KNOW!" Sherlock shouted. John lowered his hands and sat at the table, still unable to believe what he was hearing. "All I know is that I feel…different…than I used to and that this couldn't possibly be happening at a worse time," Sherlock too sat at the table, his head in his hands. "I can't sort through…whatever this is…and deal with Moriarty at the same time."

"You're forgetting something, mate," John responded, his voice finally softening.

"Yes, there's always something," Sherlock said, raising his head.

"You don't have to do either alone. I don't know what to tell you about Moriarty at this point, but girl trouble is sort of the job the best friend can help with," John smiled at him deviously.

"The case is at a stand-still," Sherlock began. "When Moriarty- or whoever wants us to believe it's him -decides it's time to continue, more information will be provided. I'm a pawn at this point. I just have to wait for him to make his move."

John nodded. "As for the other issue?"

Sherlock sighed again. "What do I do?"

"You actually care about her don't you?" John asked, another smile perking up the corners of his mouth. Sherlock gave him a forlorn look that was clearly intended to convey Obviously. "Well, lucky for you, I have the perfect opportunity for you."

Sherlock looked at him inquisitively.

"I actually came over here to invite the two of you to ours for New Years. I know you're still under house arrest or what-not, but as the British Government is also invited, I'm sure an exception can be made."

"What does that have anything to do with Molly?" Sherlock asked, taking a long drink from his abandoned coffee.

"Ask her out. Properly. On a date. And not your version of a date, Sherlock. Hold doors, pull out chairs. Be…not you."

"But she knows that's not me," he replied, doubtful.

"Which is why she'll be even more impressed by the effort. Trust me, I know what I'm doing." John stood up to leave. Just before he walked out the door, he turned again to face the kitchen. "Um, Sherlock…do we need to talk about anything else having to do with…adult relationships?"

Sherlock stared at him.

"You know. Like, if the date goes well…and you two decide to…"

"Goodbye John," Sherlock stated over John's voice, stopping him.

"Right, well, call if you need…advice. Right." As he turned and left, Sherlock couldn't help the snort that escaped into his coffee mug.