A/N: Happy April fools, dear readers! Or just April. Whatever you want. Sorry for not updating lately; I only write during classes and it was spring holidays. And then I was worried that I had "lost my muse" as some put it, but then I found a tidbit that I'd written before I left and then it went from there. This chapter's quite short, but I'll update soon, as I've already written the next chapter. Cheers! xM

Disclaimer: I make no profit from this story, the characters are not mine, all rights to BBC, its writers, Conan-Doyle etc. where due.

"She's just like you, you know. Irene, I mean." Molly said as they sat down to a breakfast of pain au chocolat at the pâtisserie across the street.

"Am I really..." Sherlock replied, sounding distracted. He had a newspaper open, but he wasn't looking at it, finding it far more interesting to make deductions about passersby, informing Molly of anything interesting.

"That's whose mobile phone you were x-raying, wasn't it? Irene's?" She asked as he looked over an old man with a very fat dog.

"Mm, oh yes." Sherlock said, still not focusing.

Molly smirked. "So, I was close then. About it being your girlfriend's. You never actually denied it, you know. Just asked me if I thought so because you was x-raying her things.

He turned to face her, glaring. "Irene and I are not romantically involved, as much as she may like to be. Once, after I saved her life, she – and, perhaps, I – were feeling emotionally overwhelmed, and we..." he broke off, his cheeks slightly pink. Molly frowned, unsure of what he meant, and then turned bright red when she understood.

"But it wasn't love." He insisted, his voice rising. "Or at least it wasn't, for me. It was just one night."

Molly stared at her plate, now devoid of anything but anything other than pastry crumbs. "It's fine, honestly, Sherlock. I don't need to know." She assured him, feeling anything but fine. She did care, and she hated that she did but it was undeniable. She'd been with him while he was 'emotionally overwhelmed,' while she was. And she had seen the way he looked at Irene, like she was a mystery he could solve. It was so similar to how he looked during his cases, but there was something else too.

She bit her lip.

"Really, Molly."

Molly nodded. "Right. Okay. Well, I should- I should call into work. I'll tell them it's a family emergency. Or on holiday. I've never gone on holiday..."

He sighed. "You can't call in. Calls can be traced. It would be child's play for our Mr Moran."

Her own sigh echoed his. "Of course, I know."

"We should go back to the flat."

"Okay."

Sherlock threw down a few euros and rose from the table, leading Molly back to Irene's flat.

Sorry, there will be continuing hints of Sherlock/Irene. But never fear, Sherlolly shippers. That's all I'm saying. *skips off, tossing confetti and bricks*