A/N: This took me much longer than expected. You could say I was hating myself a lot, but I've just decided to not care. Easier said than done. Your entusiasm caught me off guard! I had never expected that many comments to be honest. Wow - just wow, thank you very much to every single one of you for commenting! I hope you continue reviewing, but it's good to know that the idea isn't entirely bonkers - how the execution is - is an entirely different manner! Do read on!

When Sherlock first met her, those brown eyes widened at him, and she was half-gaping at the man. Considering the fact that the woman was surrounded by a quite severely injured corpse she seemed to be more shocked to see him stride into her midst than anything.

At first he assumed she was a jittery one, nerves being that she was new, except when he caught her working – he could see her eyes fixed upon the task before her. She would mutter under her breath, talking as if it were to the body before her. He knew very much of her then, from the way she'd use too much sugar in her tea, and had one of the Jane Austen novels as her absolute favourite – dog-eared with a beaten look to it.

Her flat was mapped out in his head, with pink cupboards, and slightly dried out cactus plants occupying the windowsills - a bottle of red wine tucked behind the crackers for the nights she felt daring, but no – he knew her very well. It was blatantly obvious from the ponytail-hair, the sensible shoes, the colourful flowery cardigans and probably white cotton underwear filled in her drawers.

Yet she had astonished him, as being the first female who'd instantly taken to him. His previous experience with the opposite sex had been with coaxing and general broad grins, but with Molly he hadn't needed to do any proper well-thought scheme. Her pupils already dilated the moment she laid eyes on him, her cheeks flushed, and her pulse didn't even need to be attended to.

He knew by throwing a few good remarks here and there that it was an easy task, but then again she had repeatedly amazed him on occasion. One of the few people who'd stood up to him, proceeded to help him in the worst of situations, and then progressed to throwing him out of her morgue. He always knew that their situation might end at some point, for he had on time been harmlessly immature in reacting to the knuckle-headed men she'd accidentally bring with her, but the last in that succession she'd avoided to mention entirely. Their work had been absolutely fine, with her speaking much more freely, and him not misusing his ability to make her knees go weak.

Creating false profiles all over the Internet had been easy, constructing even a proper background – of course he avoided the picture, as he realised that the man was too handsome. He avoided having photo's everywhere; excepting Facebook there he put up photo of Italy where Ben had recently holidayed.

However you could be a pervert or a madman. I'd rather not have that happen again. – M

Sherlock chuckled as he laid fully stretched out on the sofa, as Molly despite her optimistic outlook was fully sceptical, which granted was her every right.

Again? Sorry, do you often meet madmen perverts by the way of accidental texting then? – B

No, via my blog – M

What sort of blog is that exactly that allows madmen and perverts then? - B

Highly personal and none of your business Ben the stranger. - M

The name is Ben Smith or Benedict Smith, actually - if you feel the want to check my credentials. I think everything should be in order. I'm a banker – B

A banker? - M

Yes, I work for the big bad corporate machine. I wear ties everyday and get sufficiently bored cracking numbers and there's very little madman about me at all. How about yourself? - B

I think it's too early for me to give away my entire life story to the man with a photo of Italy on his profile. That's terribly sketchy in itself - M

I've just been there! I try to take photos with my Nikon. Not terribly good photos. Emily always hated my photos. - B

They're not bad. I'm a pathologist by the way – M

You work with dead people? - B

Yes, maybe that gives an appropriate explanation to the perverts and madmen. I love my job; I never have patients who talk back at least. They can't indict me for negligence. - M

You don't seem the type of person who'd neglect your patients whether with a pulse or not - B

How did you figure that out then? - M

You haven't suddenly stopped answering my texts, unlike your phone-counter part with an eerily close number – B

I suggest not phoning her – M

I won't. I'm just happy if I manage to sleep now. I haven't had a decent night of sleep in a while - B

Neither have I. I'll keep you company. I'm awfully good company. Where in London do you live? – M

2 hours and 40 minutes away, in Cardiff actually - B

Oh, well that's quite a distance for a late night cup of coffee. There must be something wrong with you – Cardiff, really? – M

Yes, I am a madman. You've got me. – B

John found Sherlock asleep on the sofa the very next morning, "Have you been texting all night?" asked John with furrowed brows, as Sherlock was rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, stretching himself properly, before groggily seating himself by the table where breakfast was waiting. "You should know when to stop," John remarked in Sherlock's continuing silence by the breakfast table.

The man had just put his two phones on the table, jammed some toast in his mouth, and proceeded to hide behind a newspaper.

John did not let his silence put him off the topic, "What do you actually write to her? Is there lot's of xxx and kisses, then? Loads of smiley's, and what-not?" he asked cheekily, "Yes, Ben I've never met such an insightful stranger via text. Kiss - kiss," he said, at which Sherlock snorted behind his paper.

"Then again – do you even know flirting? I know Irene Adler texted you, but you never really answered her texts at all-," continued John.

"This is what it is all about?" asked Sherlock rather darkly dropping the paper.

"What?" said John raising his brows with a grin.

"It is remarkable how that one lone statement from my brother has marked quite deftly what you assume is my entire knowledge on the field," snapped Sherlock.

John chewed rather slowly at that, taking to wiping his mouth, before saying carefully "There's nothing – you know – err – wrong with not having experienced-," said John rather awkwardly, shifting ineptly in his seat.

"Save the speech John. I know. It's amazing - it's wonderful. I've seen the descriptive texts to Mary-," Sherlock rattled off shielded by his paper, before he picked up the mobile phone, which vibrated -

I'm drinking what is probably my sixth cup of coffee. Good lord this is awful. I hope your morning is better than mine - M

The coffee? My tea is good at least - B

No, I make rather good coffee actually - M

John's expression was one of pure horror, mingled with complete and utter distaste, before he seemed rather exasperated. "You read my texts?" he said in disbelief.

"I had to do some research. I didn't look at the pictures," said Sherlock looking nonplussed at his friend. "They were fairly graphic. I didn't know that Mary was so – creative linguistics'-wise. She's got a greater vocabulary than I gave her credit for."

You'll have to make coffee for me once – B

I think it would get cold by the time it got to Cardiff though, so I don't know how much you like cold coffee - M

John just gave a bit of a laugh, "Well, that's fine," he said rather cheerily. Sherlock narrowed his eyes in turn.

"You've read mine, then," said Sherlock with narrowed eyes.

"The phone slipped, I picked it up-," said John innocently.

"And happened to read all of the messages between Molly and Ben-," said Sherlock drily, as John gave him a look of irritation.

"The way you talk about him makes him seem real," said John thoughtfully, "So – explain then – a banker - in Cardiff?"

Sherlock just raised his brows, "I don't find that startling, John."

""I thought it would be a greater distance than Cardiff at least?" said John nosily.

"Too far away would give her the suggestion that there's something wrong with "Ben". Man in a foreign country texting you – no. Man in another city too far away – also suspicious. Girlfriends and that sort of thing always crop up, but this distance is attainable, yet unavailable. There's hope, and as we know Molly Hooper is the very essence of optimistic. In conversation about her father being dead, she's frightfully light-hearted contrasting to those who at the mere mention of their beloved make a big wallowing statement," Sherlock said without breath.

"Right, you've thought this through then?" said John a smile playing on his lips. Sherlock just sipped on his tea quietly.

"So – is Molly - funny - on - text - then?" he added in afterthought.

Sherlock looked like he swallowed bile, but he seemed to be giving proper thought to his answer, instead of coming with a sharp retort, "She's different, less nervous and more relaxed. Texting however is different than real life – certainly," he said with raised brows.

"Yes, you're absolutely not who she thinks you are at the moment," said John exasperated.

"Exactly," retorted Sherlock with a brief smile.

Fixing Molly became a project on it's own, John exclaimed worry about Sherlock losing interest, except Sherlock maintained the texting while answering emails, "Surprisingly enough I can multi-task," said Sherlock proudly at John who just scoffed, before walking off with his cup of coffee. He maintained the texting while doing other mundane tasks, finally putting the phone in silent-mode, when both Mrs Hudson and John were shouting over each other for it to stop.

The texting was widely ordinary, the sort of every-day texting he'd expect from Miss Hooper really, where she'd disclose of the unusual things that would occur at work – bringing humour into the oddest of situations, and Sherlock strangely enough found himself entertained. He had assumed he'd be continuously bored, except for every text sent she got more and more personal.

"I hope you can keep it up, though. Mary's said Molly's been improving, actually, though I think it's because she's had some time to -," he starts before looking pointedly at Sherlock who ignored him. "It's odd how you can make such a nice bloke."

"I used to be him," said Sherlock out of the blue.

"What?" said John startled.

"Yes, well on occasion. Ben was frightfully handy, I haven't used him in years, but he's quite the character," said Sherlock.

"Right," said John baffled. Mary had been going on about him, this Ben character, who despite having been through something himself was properly supportive of Molly, and positive. These were two traits that did not fit the image that was Sherlock Holmes. John just waited until the whole thing blew up in his face.

They'd yet to visit Bart's since the incident, but they hadn't needed to – cases were low at the moment, and Lestrade had been in to visit just in case Sherlock was feeling particularly edgy. He'd wondered like the rest why Sherlock was permanently glued to a low-tech Nokia in the first place, "What's he doing?" he asked peering at him astonished.

"It's a project," John had blurted out, before Sherlock could come with a quick enough reply, "Just another case, you know." Sherlock just eyed John curiously for a moment, before agreeing.

It was on that particularly rainy evening that John was out with Mary, Mrs Hudson was visiting a friend, and Sherlock was bored. Luckily he was not firing guns into the wall or being anything more than spectacularly petulant. He knew for a fact that Molly was busy, busy with work, which had caused her answers to be rather brief, but it was during that evening – studying some blood samples he'd gotten John to pinch from Bart's that he received a text -

Have you ever fancied someone you shouldn't have? Even knowing that, you'd still fancy them, and it felt very good? - M

What sort of good? - B

The sort of very bad good sort of feeling - M

I think you might want to look up a proper word in the dictionary perhaps – B

I've been drinking – M

Sherlock frowned.

I thought you were at work - B

I was on a date, double date with a couple I know, and a mutual friend. God, it was awful Ben. I'm sorry for not telling you – M

Don't worry, you don't need to feel guilty – B

Sherlock texted looking particularly mutinous, explaining why John and Lestrade took to leave together, and why John kept speaking ahead of Lestrade. He had been particularly distracted at that point, to notice that people were trying to shield him from harm. What particular harm could befall him exactly? This was Molly, if she were to get a boyfriend he would have succeeded, and this ridiculous business could take an end.

Too late, and now I'm sitting outside my flat-door, because I've somehow managed to lock myself out. Serves me right. I don't even – God, why do I only fancy bad men? - M

I don't know if he's got sufficient answers for that – B

Sherlock brought forward his other proper phone, smoothly texting with it, before pocketing it, as Molly's answer came in.

I suppose it's got something with him being horribly handsome. Well, OK, he's not very attractive, but he's interesting – M

Who are we talking about exactly? – B

Of course he knew, though it wasn't before John had blatantly said, "You're the reason. You're the reason they aren't together, apparently Peter got so jealous that you were texting her, and then you were just asking for details about particular cases."

You-know-who, can we call him that? – M

If you like, but I think it would be more helpful if you were to address the subject at hand possibly – B

Ben, I'm currently smashed sitting on my doormat. I don't want to add more embarrassing incidents to my day. I'm full up really – M

Within seconds – Did you call a locksmith? – M

I couldn't let you sit out there all day. I'm paying. Now, get into your flat, and don't think about it - B

Could you be less nice, really? You're the nicest man I've ever met and I've not even met you – M

I promise you, I'm not - B

Sherlock smirked at this, rather satisfied – truth be told he'd been slipping, small bits in once in a while, which were what he'd personally have written. It made him less dull in his own mind of course.

What can I ever do to repay you? - M

I suggest sleep - B

Ben, you are straight, aren't you? - M

What? Yes, why do you ask? - B

I've been honestly waiting for you to start asking about seeing my knickers or something awful - M

I'm not a pervert, Molly - B

Doesn't stop one from being a bit – daring - M

Sherlock blinked furiously at this, appropriately stupefied by this statement. The whole aspect of the white cotton knickers evaporated, replaced with something much more – indelicate. He had miscast her somewhat heavily.

Are you suggesting I ask you for indelicate images? – B

Oh Ben, that's not exactly what I'm asking, no. No girl wants a chap to ask her for photos, after she's asked him to ask her – M

You're much more chatty when drunk I've got to say – B

I'm not drunk. I'm just a wee bit inebriated really. Just a wee bit, but Ben – would you ask me without me asking you to ask me? – M

If I were to ask you – would you actually send me any images or would this be quietly resolved with no? - B

I don't know. Ben – can I tell you something?

I'm afraid you're going to despite what I say - B

I've always had this fantasy of being pushed up against a wall. In an erotic passionate sense, since being just pushed against a wall would hurt – M

Good to know, I'd never manage to distinguish the difference - B

Are you ruder tonight or is that just me? - M

Is it a problem? - B

No, I rather like it - M

Is that one of those things you like then? - B

Perhaps - M

I suggest being more detailed in your explanation - B

I could, but what fun would that be? I'll be drinking from my wine bottle alone. Join me if you can - M

I've got work tomorrow, so do you – B

You don't need to be so terribly sensible. You work in a bank Ben. Ben the banker!

I suggest letting the bottle go Molly – B

What I'd do if you'd be here? Let's pretend that was your suggestion. I'd preferably be seated in your lap; you'd not be allowed to touch me. You'd be tied to the chair, and I'd undress you – M

What if I am particularly skilled in getting out of tight situations? –B

I suggest you not being now, for the sake of the story – M

Go on, then – B

Or maybe I'll go to bed, I think that's for the best. Good night Ben – M

Goodnight Molly – B

"Pity, it was just about to get interesting," said Sherlock amused, before pocketing the phone.

A/N: I decided against bringing in every single text, since then we'd go very slowly forward. I hope you liked it though. Hopefully the next won't be ages to!