He was puzzled.
Molly Hooper, the Molly Hooper, who'd been duped by Moriarty, who then again duped Sherlock.
She was the girl with the kittens in the background of her blog, the girl who didn't really give the impression of being anything but childishly infatuated in his friend.
Molly Hooper and Sherlock Holmes.
Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper.
The idea was in itself improbable.
It was however not impossible.
There they were, whatever they were, being, and possibly becoming something.
John was none-the-wiser to be honest.
They were a peculiar bunch.
It wasn't long ago since Molly Hooper was all severed body parts and single female with cat.
Instead now she was all confidence.
John had to admit he found her more attractive in this teasing hybrid.
It was a long way, from Molly Hooper and cats.
It was a long way from Molly Hooper with too many exclamation marks.
He had seen her glee; the curious way she held herself after Sherlock had been declared dead, but only small fragments.
She was still Molly Hooper, but just in a different manner.
A manner in which obviously troubled Sherlock and kept him on his toes.
The fact that Molly Hooper was in fact also a woman was enough to keep Sherlock on his toes.
Sherlock and women - they were a whole different species in his eyes.
Sherlock didn't despise them, he admired them, but he obviously avoided them.
The twisted relationship with Irene Adler showed that Sherlock couldn't trust his best instincts when it came to women.
However it was evident that Sherlock didn't abhor the idea.
That it would do him some good.
Though John still couldn't understand that it indeed turned out to be Molly.
Yet it showed something that he'd single-handedly pointed her out as his accomplish, for what turned out to be a great magic trick.
"What? What – you mean that Molly helped you?"
"Yes, she helped me stage the whole thing," says Sherlock, fingers on the strings of his violin. He doesn't look at John's face as he continues, "She was the only one who knew, and she kept it a secret."
"We're talking of Molly Hooper? The same girl who stutters - at the near sight of you?" says John flabbergasted.
"She doesn't anymore," he pauses, putting the violin away "I thought it would be best if we were to avoid mentioning her name about this. I do not think it would be wise for her to have it on her permanent record."
Sherlock was very vague about the situation, and regularly you'd know every single detail. He'd tell you how they'd done it, how they lived, and whatever unnecessary information that probably reflected poorly on Miss Molly Hooper. That was what John expected, but he did not deliver.
That was enough to convince him to get involved. Not that he did much.
He just talked to Molly. Knowing Sherlock, he knew he'd know of it, and would most likely understand the topic of their conversation.
It didn't take long before they were back at Bart's. John welcomed the return, despite Sherlock's almost angry monologues on her behalf, which Molly took with grins returning the same sentiment. John was just waiting it out, until whatever happened, happened, and something had to eventually. He sensed that they both were on the edge, with the glares, the banter and the ridiculous amounts of power play on both their parts.
"John, why do you feel the need to get involved?" asked Sherlock briskly, before settling in the chair opposite him.
"Involved in what?" asked John giving up reading the paper as a bad job entirely.
"When you told me about Molly on a date with Lestrade. Of course it was a lie," says Sherlock thoughtfully.
"Yes? So? I thought I was helping?" asks John, who fails to hide his smile.
"I understand when people play jokes John. A simple one, and of course it would not have meant so much - had it not been important that I wasn't in the apartment-," he says leaning forward in his chair, with the ever so smallest hint of disappointment in his voice.
John looks a bit aggravated.
"Because you have not been spending your nights here. You have reluctantly moved in with Mary Morstan and yesterday you collected the last of your things," Sherlock ended in one breath, before leaning back in the chair triumphantly.
John sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping, as he made one of his familiar frowns.
"Well, you're right, of course you're bloody right. I'm surprised you didn't notice right away, but you were busy. And I didn't want to tell you. I know that you don't approve of Mary."
Sherlock raised his brows.
Of course he knew.
He knew the moment that they took the case with Mary Morstan that it would end their live-in situation.
He had just assumed that John would inform him, before he needed to breach the subject himself.
"We cannot always live together. You cannot always stay a bachelor," he says, after a moment of reflection.
John snorts.
"You will probably be here more anyway-," starts Sherlock with a knowing look on his face.
"Don't-," John interrupts putting his hands up, causing Sherlock to raise his brows, before smirking.
"Do tell me about your on-goings John. I might not be fond of the domestic approach on things, but it does not mean that I do not approve of your doings," Sherlock says after a moment.
"Is that Sherlock for I'm happy for you, because thanks," says John grinning.
They both laugh, knowing fully well, that despite changed situations – it was a very slim chance that they would see less of each other.
"So," continues John without missing a beat "you and Molly?"
"None of your business – and do not write about it on your blog. I do not think that the world is quite ready for it," says Sherlock standing up from his chair.
"Hey, you just asked about Mary and me-," starts John peeved over Sherlock's constant avoidance of the topic.
"I did not ask, John," he says exasperated. "In the case of you and Mary living together – that does affects our living situation, don't you think?"
John opens his mouth to answer, but Mrs Hudson interrupts them.
"Sherlock, there's a package for you," she says slightly ruffled, while carrying a small black sleek box with a silk-ribbon tied on it.
A flicker of surprise shone on Sherlock's face, as Mrs Hudson hands him the box silently. "Who's that from?" asks John, looking at Mrs Hudson.
"Just got delivered," she says raising her shoulders, before peering curiously, as Sherlock unties the silk-ribbon throwing it haphazardly aside.
John expects him to make an announcement of what the contents already are.
Instead Sherlock just looks at the box intently, before slipping off the top revealing -
"Is that a riding crop?" asked John his brows disappearing into his hair.
Sherlock picked the riding crop up gingerly from the velvet interior of the box, his brow arched, as he examined it accordingly.
"You've already got one of those, haven't you?" says Mrs Hudson, causing both of them to stare. "Well, you do, you never use it for what it's for though."
John muffles a laugh, before hiding it with a cough.
Mrs Hudson did have spectacular timing.
Albeit always unintentionally.
"Strange gift then, to get something you already have," she adds, "I'll pop off now, leave you to it."
John looks at Mrs Hudson and then Sherlock.
"Leave you to it? What?" asks John a bit distraught, as he takes a step back from Sherlock and the riding crop.
Mrs Hudson just laughs nervously, before disappearing down the stairs again.
"Have I missed something?" asks John, peering at the riding crop and Sherlock's amused face.
There were marks of five-inch heels in the carpet, a feat Mrs Hudson could only dream of.
Someone had touched his violin, the bow lying neatly besides it.
There was a glass on the table, which smelled of red wine, stains of red lipstick on the edge.
He shoved it out of sight, into his chair covering it with a duvet, as he shielded it up with swooping down for his violin.
John hadn't noticed anything, and soon hid himself behind a paper.
Sherlock was observing his bedroom door by the reflection in the window.
It is quite cold in your bedroom you know.
It confirms the suspicion he has, but of course, he had been biding his time.
He did not know whether or not he was prepared for whatever waited for him behind that door.
The riding crop had indeed sold him on the idea.
He stared at it for a moment, then John.
"Yes, John, you as always have missed the obvious. Now be a good man, and pop off to Miss Mary Morstan," says Sherlock before adding, "As, you in fact live there now."
John looks at him for a moment, slightly agape, staring at the riding crop, before saying "Sherlock, what's going on?"
Sherlock just smiled vaguely, before heading off to the bedroom leaving John bewildered on the spot.
John suddenly regretted moving, for now he'd be even more in the dark when it came to Sherlock's relationship.