Molly Hooper was proud of herself. There was no other way she could put it. She had managed to refuse Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock Holmes, the man with the big, blue, puppy-dog, eyes. Sherlock Holmes, the man with the lovely, thick, curly hair.

Sherlock Holmes, the man who flirted with her so he could see dead bodies. Not even bodies, she thought, He'd flirted with me to see dead men's feet before!

Now, if only she could find a man like John...Someone that would care for her unrelentingly, to whom she could trust all her feelings without a fear of rejection. That was certainly something she would never have with Sherlock.

"Molly," She jumped slightly at the voice coming from behind her. How many times was she going to be interrupted today? She turned around expecting Sherlock to have returned again to try one last time to see the bodies. Instead, she saw a different man, with the same up-turned coat-collar.

"Tom."

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"I'm so glad you're home, John," said Mary from a sitting position in her favorite chair. "The baby's been kicking at me all day. How much longer do I have to stay home from work before she decides to come out?"

John stared ahead vacantly with the remnants of a sly grin on his face.

"What?" She asked, "Did Sherlock drug your tea again?"

John widened his smile, "No, Mary dear, he did not. That's not at all what he did," he said vaguely before taking the seat closest to his wife.

"What do you mean?"

"Well," He started, "He came into my office today, ranting as usual-"

"And that's got you smiling, yeah?" She said wryly. She put her hands over his, stretching across the gap between their chairs.

"Well, if you'd let me finish explaining, it would make more sense."

"Right," she said while pulling an imaginary zipper over her lips.

"Well," He began again, and then proceeded to relate the events of the day, not excluding the brief embrace that he received from Miss Hooper.

"She hugged you?"

"Yeah, well, that's not important," he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, "What is important is that my friend, Sherlock Holmes is-"

"Bored!" A shout came from the window at the other side of the room.

John rushed over to the window and pushed up the pane.

"Sherlock! Why can you not just ring the bell like a normal human being!" Sherlock blinked up a few times at John before saying,

"Was that actually a real question?"

"Yeah, well, I suppose not."

"Hi, Sherlock, dear!" Mary shouted from across the room.

He hoisted himself up to the window sill and climbed through the frame before announcing,

"I need a case, John."

John squinted up at him with his lips pursed, "I'm sorry, but haven't you been helping out Greg with a case?"

"Oh, that. That case is so simple even Geoffrey-"

"Greg!" both John and Mary interjected.

"Yes, well. That case was so easy that even...Greg...could solve it. The murderer was obviously the babysitter."

John stared at him a moment before replying.

"Right then, I suppose you're here to talk about Mo-"

"No!" He shouted, "I am here to see if you would like to take a break from the dullness of domesticity," Mary made a face at him, "and join me in a most intriguing case"

"Which is?"

Sherlock reached into the pocket of his wool coat and pulled out his phone. Opening his email and handing it to John, he began to explain the case out loud to Mary.

"Mr. Hilton Cubitt. On checking my email, I see that he sent me this quite a few days ago. He was recently married to a Miss Elsie Patrick, under some rather strange circumstances. She refused to tell him anything of her past-sound familiar John?" He moaned in reply, "Anyway, He was so...'in love'" Sherlock choked out, "with her...that he agreed to marry her no matter the circumstances. I understood their marriage has been a relatively happy one so far, but a few weeks ago the wife starting receiving letters from America. She was quite alarmed. But that's not all," He paused for a dramatic effect, "The husband found a coded message written on one of his windowsills, the sight of which caused Mrs. Cubitt to faint; I believe you will see a photograph attached in the email."

Watson viewed the photograph of what appeared to be a child's drawing-absurd little sketches of dancing men.

"What do they mean?" He asked.

"That's what I'm supposed to find out, John...obviously."

"When are you going to start your investigation?"

"Tomorrow morning," Sherlock made a semi-pouting face, "Can you get someone to cover for you then?"

John looked over at Mary who only smiled and gave him a reassuring nod.

"Alright, tomorrow morning it is. But for now can we please eat some dinner, Sherlock? You seemed keen earlier to coming over here to discuss what you needed to do about Mo-"

"Not now, John!" He yelled, and then cleared out his throat, "I...Um, well, I am entirely sure that I can think of my own solutions in time."

"Are you sure, Sherlock? You know about as much about women as I do about telling airline pilots by their thumbs, and software designers by their ties," He smirked. Mary smiled over at him before adding,

"I'm sure I could help you out there, too, Sherlock."

He inhaled sharply, and John would have sworn that he started to blush again.

"I told you I did not come to discuss Miss Hooper. I came to ask you about a case. I have done so, and you have assented to helping me investigate. Need I stay here any further?"

"You could have dinner with us," Mary said.

"I'm not hungry," He replied before turning around and climbing rather unceremoniously out the open window.

John sighed. Mary spoke up after a few moments of silence.

"He's really in love with her, isn't he?"