John Watson had never felt more exhausted in his entire life. Years of sleep deprivation in the army and medical school did not prepare him for life as the father of a fussy infant. So just before seven o'clock on a Monday morning, he found himself strolling down Baker Street, hoping to dump Abigail with Mrs. Hudson for a few hours so he could sneak upstairs for a quick nap while Sherlock fiddled with one of his experiments.

Using his key on the front door, he crept in quietly just in case anybody was still asleep. As he silently ascended the stairs, he stopped at a sharp sound. Sure enough, the sounds of a struggle emanated from the flat upstairs. Weighing the options of bursting in with his infant daughter or leaving her unprotected on the stairway, he opted for transferring her to one hip while extracting his gun with his left hand.

Upon reaching the upstairs landing, however, he stopped at the sight that greeted him through a crack in the door, lowering his weapon as he watched.

Molly Hooper lunged at Sherlock, arms outstretched, as he deftly moved to one side and pulled her arms up and behind her.

"Poor choice, leaves your torso exposed. Weak spots?" Sherlock asked with his face positioned next to hers.

"Eyes, throat, groin," she responded breathily, trying to break his hold and instead allowing him to trip her, falling on her rear end. He helped her up immediately, the two squaring off once more, Molly's back to the door.

"This time get serious, no holding back, remember your weak spots," he told her, gesturing with his hands for her to come forward.

Just as Sherlock dodged her right hook, John opened the door, causing Sherlock to look up at the precise moment that Molly brought her knee up to collide forcefully with his crotch, not having noticed his distraction.

Sherlock yelped and crumpled to the floor, assuming the fetal position and squeezing his eyes shut.

"Oh my god, Sherlock, I'm sorry!" Molly dropped to his side, hands on her cheeks as John came to stand next to her, wincing a bit himself.

"You did tell her not to hold back, mate," he said jokingly, trying not to not smile too much as Sherlock struggled to regain his breath. He walked to the kitchen, extracting an icepack from the freezer and made sure it wasn't a biohazard before he held it out to Sherlock, who was still lying on the floor wheezing.

"Thank you," he croaked about an octave too high as he reached one hand out to take the icepack. Slowly he allowed himself to unfurl, remaining supine on the floor with the icepack clutched against his groin with one hand and the other hand covering his eyes.

"Sherlock, I really am sorry. I thought you would block it," Molly whined as she stroked his hair tentatively. "I'll go get you some Paracetamol," she said as she removed his hand from his eyes and leaned down to kiss his forehead. Sherlock nodded, opening one eye and giving her a weak smile.

Molly ran from the room after shooting John a look of embarrassment, heading for the bathroom.

"So, aside from the casual assault, I take it from that little display that things are going well with Molly?" John asked, transferring Abigail to a sitting up position on his lap. She gave a bright smile and a laugh, clearly very amused by the entire situation.

Sherlock gingerly rose to his feet, using the coffee table for leverage as he hobbled over to take the seat on the sofa next to John. "Yes, Molly is usually much nicer when dealing with my genitals, if that's what you're asking," he said, his voice nearly back to normal.

John shuddered. "Okay. We are so not having any conversation revolving around you, Molly, and your genitals."

Sherlock chuckled. "You asked. But yes, we're…whatever you want to call it."

"Dating?"

Sherlock didn't answer before Molly reemerged, dressed for work and carrying tablets and a glass of water in her hands. "Gotta run," she said, handing him the pills, "again, really sorry," she leaned down and cupped his cheek as she gave him a quick kiss on the mouth, leaning over to whisper something in his ear.

"Don't be ridiculous, Molly-kissing it isn't going to make it feel bet-Oh. Oh."

Molly had the good nature to look embarrassed before standing. "So much for subtlety. Bye, John! Bye, Abigail, love! Sherlock, make sure you eat something today!" She ran out, Sherlock smiling at the door. John stared at him with mock horror.

"Like I said," Sherlock replied, standing and heading toward the kitchen. "Whatever you want to call it."

"You don't deserve her." John stood and followed him, shocked to see his former flatmate rummaging in the refrigerator and extracting what appeared to be leftover Chinese food. He gave him a look of disbelief.

"What?" Sherlock said, extracting a cold piece of chicken and popping it in his mouth before turning to get a fork.

"Two years I lived here and tried to force food down your throat and all it took was a pretty pair of blue eyes," he shook his head again.

"Her eyes are brown," Sherlock said with contempt, stuffing another bite of food in his mouth. "You can go sleep now." Putting the container back down on the counter, he wiped his hands on his trousers before reaching out to take Abigail out of John's arms. "I'm going to teach you how to identify different mold cultures," he held her with one arm while taking another bite of chicken. "You can sleep upstairs, that bed hasn't been used in a while," he grinned at John with one eyebrow raised.

"I don't need to hear about you sex life, Sherlock," John bit out, unable to hide an answering smirk.

Sherlock dramatically covered one of Abigail's ears. "Not in front of the children, John!" He chuckled again before walking back to the living room and turning on the television. Sherlock continued to discuss mold cultures with Abigail as a news program played in the background. John had just decided to take Sherlock up on his offer of a nap when he heard Sherlock suddenly stop his speech midsentence. Curious, he stepped in the living room and saw Sherlock glaring wide-eyed at the screen.

"ATTEMPTED UNDERGROUND BOMBER ESCAPES" ran across the bottom of the screen as the reporter continued the story.

"It is uncertain how the alleged tube bomber and ex-politician Sebastian Moran escaped from his confinement, but sources tell us that he had exhibited psychotic behavior while imprisoned-scrawling the letters 'IOU' on the walls of his cell and requesting photographs of renown criminal James Moriarty. Anyone having any information on Moran or his whereabouts should contact New Scotland Yard immediately. Moran should be considered armed and dangerous."

John looked to Sherlock, whose face had gone nearly translucent. Taking Abigail back into his own arms, he swallowed once before speaking. "What does this mean?"

"I don't know. Moran wasn't a part of Moriarty's network, I would have known. Every member was accounted for except-"

He stopped suddenly, his entire body tensing.

"What? What is it?"

"Molly," he said, running out the door before John had a chance to stop him.