A/N: First off, I need to apologise for my chapter titles. They're so bad, they make my skin crawl haha. But I'm really horrid when it comes to titles, so bear with me. :)

Also, in the last chapter, Molly said that Irene was dead on her slab a year ago. It was a mistake, since I realised that Sherlock jumped in June. Which makes the current time in my fic at August. That means Molly saw Irene's body 8 months ago at Xmas. It's not impt, but I'm a sucker for sticking to the timeline.

Moffat has stated that Sherlock will return from the dead in Nov, which means he went away for 18 months. Ok, that's all! Sorry for rambling!

Disclaimer: Obviously you know that I don't own Sherlock! :)

Sherlock didn't know why he was so worked up, but the sight of the Woman standing so close to Molly had irked him. He didn't like that she had been so intimate with the (his) pathologist, running her fingers along her face and whispering in her ear. The mere thought of the Woman's lips brushing against Molly's cheek made his skin crawl. But he couldn't understand why it had irritated him so.

"Are you alright?" Molly asked softly, looking up from the book she was reading. Something dull called The Name of the Wind.

"Of course I'm alright. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well…you've been pacing around the room for the last half hour."

"I need to think. Pacing helps."

"Oh, about Scotland?"

"Mmm," he hummed in agreement. It was a lie, but she didn't need to know that.

"Maybe you should get some sleep, Sherlock. There's no use thinking so much about it now, and you need to leave early tomorrow," she said, stifling a yawn.

"Not sleepy."

"Sherlock -"

"I said, I'm not sleepy," he glowered at her, wanting to be left alone. Molly opened her mouth to say something but thought better of it. She placed her book by the nightstand and turned off her bedside lamp, snuggling under the duvet. Sherlock was glad to see that the damn bolster was not present tonight to take up more space (the Woman had claimed it for her own). Given his frustration, he might've been tempted to fling the bulky thing somewhere if it were beside him.

"Goodnight then," Molly muttered, falling asleep within minutes. He continued pacing around the room hotly after she slept. After what seemed like eons, he finally gave up. Molly was probably right – he needed the rest. His faculties needed to be working well tomorrow.

He lay down on his side of the bed and turned to study her sleeping form. He was fascinated by it, although he wasn't sure why. Molly didn't sleep like how he expected most females to. She was the opposite of graceful. Her limbs were spread out and she was lying on her stomach. The bottom of her shirt was scrunched up, revealing the pale flesh of her abdomen. He stared at her exposed skin, but soon felt like there was something intimate about the scene and quickly turned away. This was Molly at her most vulnerable, her guard completely let down while sleeping. She didn't invite him to look, so he shouldn't.

It suddenly dawned on him that he had grown increasingly protective of her. She had made his life more bearable during the last two months, doing experiments with him and listening to him talk. Most people grimaced when he was around. But Molly actually flashed him a genuine smile whenever she saw him, as if she was truly happy to see him.

With a start, he realised he found her company enjoyable too. Once she'd gotten over her excessive nervousness around him, she was quite a pleasant person to be around with. Her jokes, while morbid, secretly amused him. And she was surprisingly well-read, even if she couldn't always convey what she wanted to say properly. But the best thing was knowing that he wouldn't be judged when he was with her. And it was liberating, not always needing to be the great detective in the funny hat.

He turned back to look at her and frowned. Her hair was now in a mess, covering part of her face. He reached out a hand and brushed a few strands away from her face, instinctively cataloguing the texture it in his mind palace. His lips curled in disgust when he realised what he had done. Did he just touch Molly Hooper's hair? And did he actually enjoy that?

Being cooped up in her flat for so long was obviously making him insane. Thank god he was leaving tomorrow. His brain definitely needed the work.

It was still dark when Molly awoke the next day to find the side of her bed empty. She reached her hand out to touch the sheets and with a sigh of relief, found that it was still warm from Sherlock's body. He must have just gotten up then. She rubbed her eyes tiredly and hurried out of bed, not wanting to miss him.

Sherlock stepped out of the bathroom with just his trousers on, his hair still a wet mess. Despite the fact that she'd seen him shirtless a few times over the two months, she still hadn't gotten used to it. His muscles, though lean, were very well-defined. She saw him smirk slightly when he caught her staring and wondered if he did this on purpose to torment her.

"Have you eaten?" she spoke softly, not wanting to disturb Irene, who was still asleep on the couch – her flight was only in the afternoon.

Sherlock shook his head as he slipped an ordinary t-shirt over his shoulders. He wasn't going to be able to wear his usual impeccable suits anymore. "Not hungry."

"Come on, you have to eat something. I'll make you some toast," she said, going into the kitchen. Sherlock followed behind her, grumbling away as she made him breakfast. Molly watched him as he ate, already missing him before he even left. With his wavy light brown hair and casual clothes, he looked nothing like the Sherlock Holmes she knew.

"Will your disguise work?" she asked him worriedly.

"Molly, people only see what they want to see. As far as the world is concerned, I am dead, so no one is expecting to see Sherlock Holmes. All they will see is Ryan Cumberbatch." He wrinkled his nose in disgust when he mentioned his fake surname, eliciting a giggle from her.

"What?" he demanded. "It is the most ridiculous name. I'm sure Mycroft deliberately chose it to annoy me."

"And this is coming from a man whose name is Sherlock," she said seriously.

He frowned at her for a while before his face relaxed into a smile. "My mother is not particularly gifted when it comes to naming. She once named a dog Trixibelleas."

"What?!"

"I think it's fortunate that Mycroft and I ended up with the names we have. It might've been a lot worse," he drew out the last word, his eyes widening playfully.

Molly chuckled and he smirked back. It was moments like this that reminded her of how they were actually proper friends now.

He finished his breakfast quickly and went to put on his shoes, muttering a goodbye to her before promptly turning to leave. But Molly held onto his arm. He arched his eyebrows in her direction.

She smiled shyly before tiptoeing and pressing a kiss to his cheek, not caring whether he minded or not. She was not going to see him for the next few months, and she was terrified that something might happen to him, in spite of how brilliant he was. Her lips lingered a while on his skin before she pulled away, her cheeks flushed and mentally preparing herself to be chided by him. But he proved her wrong.

He hesitated for a while before pulling her in for a hug. She had to remind herself to breathe as his arms tightened around her. There was something odd in his eyes when he pulled away, but Molly couldn't quite place it.

"So erm…goodbye," she whispered. He nodded before closing the door behind him. She went over to the window and watched him as he got into a cab, wiping a bit of moisture away from the corner of her eyes. She was just about to return to bed when she caught a wide-awake Irene staring at her.

"You love him," Irene stated succinctly.

"Well…erm…I…" she stammered.

"Yeah, he has that effect on people."

"You love him too." The words came out easily; she had suspected it when she saw Irene yesterday.

"I did, but not anymore. I know where I stand with him."

"What happened between the two of you?" Molly asked, sitting beside Irene. "He told me you are a dominatrix?"

"Was," Irene corrected. "Dying changed everything." She sighed before continuing, a wistful look in her eyes. "Well, the summary is that we met, I drugged him, betrayed him, and then he saved me from getting beheaded."

"Beheaded?!"

"Yes, it's a pretty common way to be executed in Karachi apparently. I got caught up with some terrorists."

"If he saved you, it means he cares a lot about you."

Irene scoffed. "He admires me, that's all. He respects my intelligence. But he can never really love someone like me. In fact, it's been a long time since someone did."

"Don't say that," Molly frowned. "Surely someone loves you."

"Look at me, Doctor Hooper. I live a life of games and manipulation, disguises and many identities. Who can know me well enough to love me? Not that I'm complaining of course," she smirked. "I do enjoy the adrenaline and the puzzles."

"You sound like Sherlock."

"Mmm," she agreed. "And that is why he admires me but can't love me."

Molly frowned.

"We are two sides of the same coin," Irene explained. "He'll get bored of me sooner or later. He'll figure me out because he sees enough of himself in me. In fact, he did figure me out once. Not a very pleasant experience, as I recall," she smiled tightly. "You on the other hand, are quite different from him. I'd say you just might stir something unexpected in him."

Molly shook her head. "We're just friends."

"Don't give up so soon! He's certainly very possessive of you," Irene laughed, thinking about last night. "And he's only like that when it concerns the people he likes."

Molly didn't know what to say to that. At this point, she was sure that he was fond of her platonically. But romantically? That seemed surreal and impossible. She had taught herself since that Christmas debacle to stop hoping.

"How long?" Irene asked her softly.

"Two years."

"Good lord, darling," she stared at her. "Mr Holmes is never going to find another woman who loves him this long while he's busy being the number one arse in England. Although he is a very sexy one," she grinned.

Molly looked away. It wasn't like she chose this. She couldn't stop herself from falling in love with Sherlock. And she was the type whose heart never returned once it belonged to someone else.

Irene noticed the dejected look on her face and tilted her chin, turning Molly to face her. "Let's have some breakfast, shall we? I don't fancy talking about sad things in the morning."

"Ok," she agreed. "Irene?"

"Hmm?"

"If you need a place to stay when you come back from the assignments, you can crash here if you like. I know the sofa's not that comfortable, but if you can't find someplace else…" She had no idea why she was offering this. But she thought she saw a flicker of loneliness beneath the gleam of Irene's eyes.

"Mr Holmes will have a fit, don't you think?"

Molly sniffed. "It's my house."

"You're a good person, Molly Hooper," Irene said, causing Molly to blush. And then, she leaned in and gave her a kiss.

Right on the lips.

Molly squeaked and moved backwards in shock, causing Irene to laugh. "Don't be so afraid! It's just how I express myself! I mean it no other way," she said, raising her arms in surrender.

Molly stood up, her face burning for the umpteenth time. Irene's antics certainly needed some getting used to. She cleared her throat. "How do pancakes sound?"

"Absolutely lovely. I'll help."

The book Molly is reading, "The Name of the Wind", is NOT dull at all! Only Sherlock would think that way. :p If you love fantasy, I suggest you read it!

Thanks to all those who took some time to leave a review for the previous chapter.

Please tell me what you think of this chapter!