A/N: Hey you lovelies, sorry for such a late update. My exams are ending this Saturday, so I'll be updating frequently starting next week. Once again, thank you for your kind reviews! They always make me smile. :)

Disclaimer: Sherlock's not mine.

The first thing Sherlock did after leaving Mycroft's overly neat house was to hail a cab to Molly's flat. He was painfully ravenous, but he ignored the uncomfortable twisting of his stomach muscles. He wanted to see her first.

He hadn't communicated much with her while he was in Sweden, but that didn't mean that he hadn't missed her. He was working then, and as always, he'd trained himself to compartmentalise, pushing Molly and any other matters to the back of his mind. But he couldn't deny the fact that she'd steadily become a constant for him in his new life, and as someone who wasn't fond of change, he secretly clung onto the stability she offered.

He was also in an ecstatic mood, having uncovered some extremely vital information from the man he'd been assigned to track. Much to his contentment, the man was willing to exchange information after discovering that Sherlock had some paramount leverage. The reality of apprehending Moran didn't seem so unattainable now, and he was experiencing a rush that paralleled that of when he solved a double homicide. He needed to share this overwhelming energy with someone, and since Mycroft was not a pleasant option (in fact, he wasn't an option at all), that left him with Molly.

Sherlock entered her house with gusto, loudly calling her name. He frowned when there wasn't a response. Not accustomed to being ignored, he pushed open her bedroom door impatiently.

She was still fast asleep in her usual graceless fashion, limbs sprawled out and t-shirt scrunched up at her stomach. Somehow, her head had ended up at the side of the bed.

"Molly!" he called again, completely disregarding the fact that she was probably tired and wanted to sleep in on a Saturday.

The pathologist stirred for a moment before groggily opening her eyes. She was right in the middle of giving him a sleepy smile when her eyes snapped open sharply.

"You're back!" She sat up quickly, blinking a few times to ensure that she was seeing right.

The corner of his lips twitched. Her hair was in an utter mess, brown locks cascading wildly down her shoulders. It was curiously endearing.

"Since I'm standing right in front of you, that would be a sound deduction. Although I expected more from you."

Molly stifled a yawn. "Well, I haven't had my coffee yet, so don't be too hard on me."

"Go out for some?"

"Mm. Give me a moment," she went to her wardrobe to grab some clothes. She turned to him suddenly, frowning. "How long since you ate?"

"Three days," he said slowly, hastily rearranging his features to one of slight remorse. Food was not something he concerned himself with, but he knew that it worried her how little he ate sometimes. He didn't know the exact time it started, but he found himself tampering his responses to her much like he did with Mrs Hudson. There was a soft fondness for the both of them that made him want to do it.

Molly sighed and shook her head. "How can you tolerate not eating for so long?"

"It's just a matter of mind over body," he shrugged. "The body is merely transport to me. Work always comes first."

"It's amazing, that's what it is," she mumbled, walking past him to go to the bathroom. "And positively stupid," she added as an afterthought.

Sherlock smirked. She was always more unguarded with her words when she was still sleepy. But he knew that as much as she disliked his blatant disregard for his health, she would never force him to change – she merely accepted it as a part of him. That realisation reminded him of John, and he was hit with a rush of homesickness which he promptly suppressed. It was becoming easier to do as the months passed. He wondered if it was a good thing.

"Hurry up," he said, pushing her into the bathroom. "If you're so concerned over my diet, shower quickly so that we can have breakfast."

Molly waved her hands dismissively in his direction, pulling a comical face and muttering something about him having the nerve to wake her early and then order her about.

Too much like John, he decided.

He made a mental note to annoy her more often in the mornings.

Molly sneaked a glance at Sherlock as she took a bite of her scrambled eggs. He was dressed in a white shirt and jeans today, even donning a pair of black spectacles. The glasses framed his face perfectly, emphasising his cheekbones and the shape of his eyes. It was a far cry from his usual look, but if one thing could be said about him, he seemed to look good in everything.

He was eating so fast that she was finding it difficult not to stare. It was fascinating that he could still be graceful as he took large mouthfuls of his food. It certainly wasn't fair to humanity, she mused. If she ever ate as quickly as he did, she'd probably be an embarrassing sight. He took a gulp of his tea and looked at her with a bemused expression.

"When people go for breakfast, they usually eat, not stare."

Molly flushed crimson. She thought she was doing an admirable job at looking at him surreptitiously.

"I was just wondering why you seem so -"

"Excited? Delighted? Thrilled?"

"Mm, all of the above," she smiled, her eyes softening at the Cheshire grin on his face. She hadn't seen him this happy for so long.

He leaned in a little closer. "I merely acquired some vital information that may lead us to him very soon," he said smugly.

Molly's heart thudded at the mention of "us". She'd always believed that he separated her from that part of his life, that he didn't see them as a unit when it came to his work. She was always there to help on the periphery, but that was all. And now he was telling her otherwise. It made her chest blossomed with warmth.

"What?" he asked, his eyebrows furrowing.

"Nothing, I just -" She stopped when Sherlock suddenly sat up straighter, a look of pure anger flashing across his face for a split second. She saw his eyes hardening as he looked at the entrance across her shoulders.

"What's wrong?" she was afraid to turn around.

"Kitty Riley," he hissed.

"Who?"

"The journalist whom Moriarty sold my story to," he said, glowering in that woman's direction. Molly would've said something to pacify him, but she was more concerned over another matter.

"She might recognise you!"

Sherlock snorted. "Highly unlikely. Have you seen her? She's stupid."

"We shouldn't take the chance."

"Don't be absurd," he chided. "I'm not leaving, not because of her. And I haven't finished my tea yet."

Molly suppressed a sigh. The woman called Kitty sat at the table directly behind them. Sherlock's back was to her, but she could see Molly clearly. She had the vague impression that the journalist was trying to cast furtive glances in her direction. She shifted in her seat.

"I think she's trying to look at me," she whispered to Sherlock, who still seemed unconcerned, taking a long sip of his tea. She had to admit that it was difficult to recognise him in this outfit, but it was risky to be so close to someone who'd been a part of his scandal.

Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment. "Of course," he murmured. "She's trying to find her next great scoop."

"Sorry?"

"She must have found out that I used to work with you," he explained softly. "It's nearing my birthday – she probably wants a chance at another big story, and what better time to publish something new about me than on the day of my birth?"

"So she's stalking me now?" Molly's eyes widened.

"Evidently."

"Ok," she said, placing her fork down. "We're definitely leaving."

"No, we're not."

"Sher – Ryan," she said, deciding to use his alias instead.

He rolled his eyes.

"Please? I'm not comfortable with this. And it's ridiculous if she recognises you now. This is not something to gamble with."

She knew that he was a thrill-seeker, and being so close to getting discovered was making his adrenaline rush. She'd noticed the flicker of excitement in his eyes when Kitty Riley sat right behind them.

"It's not worth it," she said. He looked at her sharply. "The thrill. It's not worth it."

Sherlock frowned, pulling a sulky face. "Fine," he snapped.

Molly inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. She quickly paid the bill and stood up to slip into her coat, ready to leave. Her heart sank when she saw Kitty Riley gulping down the remaining of her coffee at record speed.

She tugged at Sherlock's arm, pulling him out of the restaurant quickly. She sneaked a glance and saw the journalist waving for her bill. The beginnings of a wave of panic flowed through her.

They walked briskly, weaving through the throng of people milling about on the streets. Molly glanced behind her shoulders a few times, and to her horror, saw the reddish brown hair of the journalist mere metres away.

"She wants to corner you and get you to talk," he scoffed. "Probably thinks that we were a couple, since I didn't work with anyone else in Bart's. What an idiot."

"What are we going to do?" They were certainly not losing her, and they couldn't run – it would immediately arouse suspicion.

Sherlock's eyes twinkled mischievously, and the corner of his lips turned up slightly into a smirk.

"Why are you doing that look?" she frowned.

"What look?"

"That one you have when you're up to something."

"I don't have a look!" he protested.

"Then how do you explain that expression on your face?"

Sherlock scowled before pulling her closer towards him. "She wants a scoop, let's give her one."

"What?"

"Do keep up," he said, half-dragging her along to match his long strides. "It's obvious that Riley thinks we were a couple. If she sees you with a boyfriend now, she gets her gossip, and you get your cover."

"My cover?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes irritably. "Yes, your cover. As you've told me earlier, John has started to move on, although I'm disappointed that he was senseless enough to grow a moustache. Mrs Hudson is moving on slowly, and Lestrade seems better off if he forgets me. It would make sense if you moved on as well. It would be natural, and it'll protect you for now, in case anyone suspects anything."

Molly nodded slowly. "What should we do then?"

"Act as a couple, of course," he reached out to hold her hand.

They walked for a while longer, with Molly turning back occasionally to sneak a glance. Sherlock however, was still unperturbed. He was confident that he wasn't going to be discovered. He was walking with a different gait than usual, looking completely like another man. She would never get used to his transformation into character.

They increased their pace gradually, but the journalist would always match their stride, keeping a short distance behind them.

It would seem that hand holding wasn't sufficient evidence for Kitty Riley. Molly worried her lower lip, trying to come up with a plan as panic burgeoned inside her. There was only one thing she could think of. But Sherlock was probably going to be angry if she did it.

"It's not working," Sherlock finally said, starting to look a bit uncomfortable.

"Of course not! There's nothing particularly interesting about holding hands."

Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed deeply. For once, he seemed clueless. Molly turned around again, and to her horror, saw that the journalist was only two persons behind them. There wasn't a choice anymore. If Kitty Riley wanted a story, then they would have to give her one.

It wasn't as if it were her fault. They were merely acting – forced to play the role of a couple.

She closed her fingers around Sherlock's wrist and pulled him towards the side of the street, his back facing the journalist. Molly's heart was beating so strongly against her chest, she thought that he would hear it.

Sherlock tilted his head, still not understanding. She inhaled a deep breath to calm herself down.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Why are you sor -" His words were cut off when she pulled him towards her by his collar, gently touching her lips to his.

She shut her eyes tightly, hoping that he wouldn't push her away. He seemed stunned for a moment, his body still as a statue, his lips unmoving against hers. She was just about to admit defeat and pull away when he started to return her kiss. Tentatively at first, like he didn't know how to proceed.

She guessed that he probably nervous since he wasn't well-versed in this area. She tried to distance herself from the emotions welling up inside her as his lips moved with hers, but it was difficult.

She had no idea how it happened, but this kiss was fast becoming very different from the one they shared when her mum had come over. That had been entirely chaste, just a sweet peck on the lips.

This was hungrier, slightly more frantic. His lips tasted faintly of the tea he just had, and they were so warm – so unlike how people saw him. He rested his hands on her hips, and he actually let out a soft sigh when she moved her hands to his curls. She had no idea he was so deep into his character as her boyfriend.

Suddenly remembering where they were, she lifted her eyelids by a fraction. Kitty Riley was staring at them from a distance, a smug smirk on her face. She whipped out her phone and typed in something before turning to leave.

Molly diverted her attention back to the kiss. Her eyes flickered to Sherlock's face – his eyes were closed, but he was frowning, as if he were conflicted about something. She (reluctantly) pulled away.

"She's gone?" Sherlock asked, his cheeks more flushed than usual. His voice was hoarse, and he was looking at anywhere but at her. The usual cold mask was back on his face again.

"Yeah."

"Let's go then," he said tersely, starting to walk.

He didn't talk to her the whole way back.

Sherlock's chest tightened as his mind flitted back to their kiss. He was sprawled across Molly's couch in his usual thinking fashion, fingers steepled under his chin and eyes closed.

He was trying to comprehend the strange sensations that he experienced when their lips had met. It differed from the first time he'd kissed her, and he was confused. It was the same pair of lips, so what had changed?

He didn't know that a simple kiss could feel so overwhelming. Not that he had many memories to compare it with. The only other person he'd ever kissed besides Molly was a girl in university, and he couldn't even remember her name anymore.

He'd heard people claiming that your mind went blank when kissed. It was a lie apparently. His had been racing, his senses sharpened. For that short moment, his mind had been completely occupied, and he liked that.

Sherlock opened his eyes, glaring at the wall. He strode over to the cabinet to get another nicotine patch, desperately trying not to think about the fact that he may just want to kiss Molly Hooper again.

This was scary for me to write! I hope nothing was too OOC. Argh Sherlock gives me a headache sometimes.

Tell me what you think! :)