A/N: Not an overly light hearted chapter, but a needed one! Apologies for mistakes, it's 3:30AM. I'll probably redo the content a bit more in the morning.

"I can't take much more of this," Sherlock ruffled and tore at his curls, pacing back and forth across the tiled floor.

John leaned against the counter behind him, his arms crossed and a smile of mild amusement fighting for control of his mouth. He couldn't let it win though, not with the rage his friend was in. Still, it was somehow satisfying to see Sherlock being driven crazy by someone, and not the other way around.

Not that he would ever admit that aloud, and certainly not to Sherlock.

"She has a complete disregard for anything I say or any form of personal space…"

"Hm," John chuckled softly, causing sharp grey eyes to turn to him. "I mean, imagine that."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well you two do seem quite alike, don't you?" John pointed out, trying to keep the triumph from his voice.

"We are nothing alike," Sherlock shot back fiercely.

Raven looked up from the paper she was scribbling furiously on with a pen and frowned. "Yes! Same hair!" She motioned to her own curly hair, currently pulled up into a ponytail at the top of her head, courtesy of John's enthusiastic wife. Seated at the island in the kitchen, she was in the middle of the commotion, and she seemed to be well aware of it.

Sherlock bit down on his lip as the doctor smirked. "Well, you really can't deny that one. You know, I really do wonder if she's…"

"John, don't," Sherlock warned, holding up his hand. "Don't say it."

"You have to admit, the similarities…"

"Don't. Say. It."

John shifted, using his better arm to brace himself against the surface behind him. "Do you know for sure? And by sure, I don't mean your guesses – you do guess," he cut Sherlock off when the man opened his mouth. "I mean a scientific, compared DNA, no way to argue with it, paternity test." He wasn't surprised when the dark haired man before him didn't respond. "That's what I thought." John tilted his head slightly. "Sherlock, with all the resources available to you at Bart's, why didn't you run it?"

"I haven't had the time," Sherlock replied simply as Molly walked back into the room.

She laughed and shook her head. "I think it's actually pretty obvious why," she stated, handing Raven a box of crayons that she'd fetched. Molly cleared her throat embarrassedly and gave Sherlock an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't laugh. I suppose it is a bit of a sensitive matter."

Sherlock stiffened. She had better not have been implying what he thought she was.

John looked from Sherlock to his wife as she pulled a plastic cup down from the cupboards. "I'm not sure I follow?"

From the intense burning look Sherlock was giving her, she knew that he followed, but she paid no heed. Instead, she filled the cup with grape juice. "I think the reason you haven't checked," she started, taking the cup over to Raven and setting it in front of the little girl, "is because you don't want to know the answer." Molly ran her hand gently over Raven's head affectionately, but her gaze was focused on Sherlock.

John licked his lips and nodded, as if it made sense to him. "Ignorance is bliss."

Sherlock glared. All eyes were turned to him, even Raven who peered at him over the edge of the cup she sipped from. "Ignorance is—"

"Something you've been known to be if it suits you," the blonde cut him off. "And it would certainly suit you this time."

"I'm right, aren't I?" Molly pressed, and Sherlock looked away. This was absurd. He liked her much better when she couldn't say a full sentence around him without giggling nervously.

"You are n—"

"PUPPY!" Raven squealed as Gladstone dashed into the room, the cup in her hands forgotten in a rush of excitement. It clattered to the ground, the contents spilling and splattering freely. "Oops," she clapped her hands over her mouth, noticing the mess, particularly the fresh décor up Molly's leg. "I sorry," she whispered, tears rushing to her eyes.

"Oh, don't worry sweety, it's fine," Molly assured her with a smile as John fetched the paper towels. "I'll get it cleaned up, okay? Don't cry. Why don't you go play with Gladstone?"

Raven nodded, sniffling once more as she climbed down from the chair, with some assistance from John. The moment her feet touched the ground, she walked slowly in Gladstone's direction.

She had Sherlock's attention when she looked over her shoulder and grinned at someone else cleaning up the mess. He blinked and watched her curiously. Had she just cried to avoid any punishment? He wasn't sure which surprised him more; the fact that she had tried it, or the fact that it worked.

Or the fact that he was perhaps proud.

Before he could process that thought however, his eyes locked on to the pattern on Molly's pant leg as she wiped up the juice. It was typical of a spilled drink having fallen from such a height, but kneeling on the ground altered it slightly. Her sleeves skimmed the puddle, pulling up traces of it into the fabric. Not much, but enough that it was visible if one were looking for it, or had an eye for such details.

His heart raced as the realization hit him; He'd seen it before.

He had seen it before.

"Oh," he breathed, his mind sparking with theories and facts. One fit all known facts almost perfectly. That was it. It had to be.

"Sherlock?" John broke into his thoughts.

"I have to go," the consulting detective announced suddenly. He was right, he had to be. Oh, how could he have missed this?

The doctor knew that look too well. "Oh. Right. Do you want me to come?"

"No, I have to see Lestrade," he replied, missing the flash of disappointment that went across his friend's face. His mind was churning too fast. Of course, it explained why the ex wife confessed...

"Do you want us to keep Raven?" Molly asked, looking between the two men.

"Yes- No, no, actually," he corrected himself, rushing to where the girl in question was giggling.

Grabbing her hand, he pulled her wordlessly away from the affectionate bulldog to the door and hurriedly slipped her shoes on. There was little time to waste. He slipped her coat on and zipped it with little patience, but John noted that it wasn't nearly as rough as he'd seen Sherlock be with others.

"What's going on?" John asked as Sherlock pulled his own coat on.

The dark haired man grinned smugly. "The usual; I'm right, Lestrade's wrong and now I need to go tell him why," Sherlock said quickly. "I'll text you the details later. Come along, Raven," he said, tying his scarf as he swept out the door. She followed after him obediently, running to keep up with his long strides.

"Why is he taking her?" Molly asked aloud, watching from the doorway as the two got into a taxi and drove off. "We could have watched her. I wouldn't have minded anyways."

"He needs her for something," John mused, his arm around Molly's waist as he gently pulled her back into the house, "and lord knows what because it's certainly not that damned test."