Sherlock placed his bow and violin back in their case after John had left, and carefully closed the lid. As enchanted Molly followed his movements.

He seated himself on top of the small table, exactly opposite Molly. Their knees almost touched, and Molly felt a blush creeping up.

Sherlock smiled slightly when he noticed.

"How can you not know Shakespeare, Sherlock?" Molly asked, desperately trying to find a topic to talk about.

"Oh, I do know Shakespeare."

"Then why didn't you know Macbeth?"

Sherlock sighed. "My brain works differently from yours."

She lifted an eyebrow sarcastically. "Does it?"

"Yes. Okay! I heard murder and never thought about Shakespeare. Satisfied?" he said apologetically.

Molly bit her lip. "No, not really."

Sherlock frowned. "What do you want to hear then? You are just like John. Always so vague! Anyway, did you enjoy yourself tonight?" he said, backing away a bit. Why was he sitting so close? He shouldn't be sitting this close.

Molly inhaled deeply. "Yes, I did. Especially the game," she giggled softly.

Sherlock hid a smile and stood up quickly, walking towards the window. He drew the blinds aside and looked down on the streets. "I'm sorry, Molly. I think you need to leave by the back door. Paparazzi's on the street."

"Really? How did they know?" Molly rised and tried to catch a glimpse of the nasty men over Sherlock's shoulder.

"They must have been following you," Sherlock stated, letting go of the blinds, and turning around to face Molly.

"Well, I suppose I can crash down on your sofa here?" Molly suggested.

"You could also use my bed. I don't sleep anyway. Too busy, you know," Sherlock explained, vaguely gesturing towards his head.

"Yes, you texted that." Molly quickly explained herself: "I mean, you texted that you hardly need sleep."

Awkwardly they stood opposite each other. He had never felt awkward. When did that change?

Molly was sure she understood the signals correctly. He had no idea what to do. Luckily she has had some practice before. Carefully, she took his hands and faced him.

"How are your feet?" the tall man asked hoarsely.

"Shhh." Molly laid a finger on his lips to silence him and slowly followed the soft curves of his mouth with both her finger and eyes.

"Molly, what are you doing?" Sherlock found his breathing going faster.

She looked up at him, and whispered: "shut up, I'm trying to teach you something."

Slowly she raised herself by grabbing the purple cloth of his shirt, and kissed him. A soft groan from Sherlock she got as reply and as response to that she opened her mouth. He followed her example within the millisecond. With a fast beating heart, she slowly slid her tongue in his mouth and waited for a response from his side.

He stiffened at first, but then he layed his hands on her hips and copied her movements in the exact same way. A shiver went down his spine, and, longing to be even closer to her, he pushed her gently against the wall, imprisoning her body with his.

Suddenly the door flung open, and the pair broke apart immediately. Mycroft Holmes casually stepped into the room, acting as if he had not seen his younger brother snogging the pathologist.

"Miss Hooper," he greeted, polite as always. And then, without wasting any more time he continued, "Sherlock, I need to talk to you. Miss Hooper, if you don't mind?"

"Erm, yes, of course," and she quickly left the room, closing the door behind her after a last glance at the detective.

"Sherlock, I've noticed that you are being followed closely by the paparazzi," Mycroft quickly said, allowing Sherlock no time to object.

Sherlock waved dismissively with his hand. "A stupid joke from Anderson, the forensic."

"No."

"No?" Sherlock was genuinly surprised.

Mycroft sat down on the chair, and crossed his legs. His inseperable umbrella he held in hand.

"No. The information came from someone else."

"Mycroft, don't do important, just tell me. Who was the source?"

"John," the elder brother stated, watching his younger brother's face closely.

"John?" Sherlock repeated, chuckling. "Tell me, please. Oh great brother, enlighten me? Why would John do something like that?"

"Surely you can deduct that?"

Sherlock thought hard. "Sentiment?"

His brother nodded. "I'm afraid he has been very helpful to the press. Well," he continued, "I think I'll just leave you to it."

After Mycroft had left, Sherlock remained in his chair, thinking all the information over. Nope, he still didn't get it.

"What's wrong?" Molly interrupted this thinking-process.

"I don't know yet. We'll see. Where were we?"

Molly silently shaked her head, a smile on her face. "Sherlock, I 'm off to bed. Early shift tomorrow." By the door she halted. "Thanks for tonight, I've enjoyed it," she said, her eyes shining in the dark.

An hour later, Sherlock opened the door of his bedroom. He saw Molly, all curled up, covered with a thin sheet.

Just when he was about to close the door, she said, half asleep: "why are you here?"

"Oh, you know. Just to make sure you're comfortable."

She lifted the sheet with her right hand, inviting Sherlock without words. He sat down at the edge of the bed, took of his shoes and jacket, and slid beside her. She laid her head on his chest, her arm loosly across his stomach, cuddling up against him with her eyes closed. He put his arm around her and rested his chin on top of her head.

"What happened in the living room, Molly?" he softly asked.

"Hmm?"

"The kiss…"

A sleepy smile crept over her face, and with her eyes still closed she asked: "did you like it?"

"Yes," he answered soflty, feeling she had fallen asleep already. "Good night, Molly," he whispered in her blond hair. And at long last, the detective's breathing slowed down too, and it was quiet at 221B.

And that was how John found them the next morning. He didn't mean to wake them, but Lestrade was waiting in the living room, because, normally, Sherlock would be awake. So when John offered to wake Sherlock for him, he did not really expect to see them both fully dressed asleep in each other's arms. It was not that what made John feel miserable, but the prefectly contented looks on their faces.

Nevertheless, he woke up Sherlock, whose eyes flung open immediately, fixed on John for only a very short moment. Carefully, he unwrapped Molly's arms, trying very hard not to wake her too. He grabbed his dressing gown and walked towards the living room where Lestrade was waiting.

"What is it this time?" he asked the DI, yawning. "It'd better be important, I haven't slept for days!"

"Sherlock, I'm just here to tell you there's loads of photographers at Bart's again. And here," he waved with the newspaper, "pictures again. Anderson swears it wasn't him."

"Thank you, I'll spend some time on it, DI. Now, if you would be so kind to leave..?"

"Well, John. It's starting to be annoying now." Sherlock closed his newspaper and attended to his coffee.

"What is?"

"The paparazzi. Strange that Anderson vows it's not him. It's really his kind of thing, actually."

"Yes, I suppose it is," John answered, not really paying attention. When Sherlock remained silent, he looked up, only to stare in the cold, icy eyes. "What?" John asked, laughing.

"I know it's you, John. Why are you doing this?"

John sighed. "Long story, you wouldn't understand. Ah, Molly! Good morning!" he greeted the sleepy girl that entered the room. "Have you slept well?"

She looked at Sherlock smiling sweetly and nodded.

"Here, have some breakfast. There's enough, Sherlock didn't want any."

Molly thanked John, and sat down.

After breakfast, when John was brushing his teeth upstairs, Molly said after reading today's newspaper: "I'll be off then. Erm, I need to feed Toby, so I won't be able to get here tonight. It's got nothing to do with you, it's just…"

"I understand," Sherlock interrupted. "Let's wait until all this mess has cooled down a bit. Shall I call you?"

She nodded, shortly kissed Sherlock and meaningfull added: "thank you, Sherlock."

She left for Bart's by cab. Sherlock was standing near the window, watching her leave. When John came downstairs, he noticed her absence immediately.

"She's gone to work, needs some time off. Scared away by the paparazzi," Sherlock said, his eyes still following the cab. "Now, explain."

John stepped closer towards Sherlock. "You really have no idea, have you?"

"I do have four… no, three ideas, but they don't make much sense."

"Think, Sherlock." Another step closer. Sherlock's face was one big question mark now.

John was close enough to touch Sherlock, and with his finger he followed his friend's cheekbones and jawline.

"I-I don't understand, John." Sherlock was really confused.

"I believe you do!" John answered, his eyes fixed on Sherlock constantly, moving even closer, causing Sherlock to back away until he was stopped by the wall.

"Oh yes, I believe you do," John repeated, softly whispering.

Note: Sorry for the evil John part here.. Just couldn't resist it xD Thank you for all the lovely comments.. Hopefully you liked this chapter as well! More to come soon, so don't despair. :)