A/N: Third part, I'd like to say how many parts there are going to be, but I never really know. I'm really bad at length-planning. Thank you for the people who continue to comment or give encouraging feedback! You are all marvellous and I hope you enjoy this part.

He'd have blue eyes, they'd be vast, that's how she'd imagine them, slight cosmic pools, which she'd always wish were looking in her direction, and they were in fact – at least in her head. He'd have dark curls, twisted tendrils that would fall perfectly when he'd bend to collect something. He'd be tall, she never was one for short men, and had always affection for long-limbed gentlemen she had to admit. He'd be flirty, have a deep voice, a bass - one that would entice when whispering in her ear.

He would have a commanding presence, every single gesture decided and important – was she really talking about Ben Smith? Ben probably sat in his grey trousers at home, with a pint in his hand, furrowed brows, as he'd have a buzz-cut. Maybe he'd have one of those ridiculous shiny earrings in one ear – possibly one of the top five reasons Emily cheated on him?

Or maybe he was a sixty year old pervert chewing chips with his mouth open, while laughing madly to himself, as he texted with 15 different women, all foolish enough to send him photograph's of themselves? Then again he could just be a humble sort of man who'd accidentally texted the wrong girl, and gotten severely lucky.

The sort of girl who'd forget her keys in her own flat, she texted Julie who had her spare, but she hadn't answered. Ben however was the hero of the hour, getting her back in again. Molly was happy that at least that was sorted, yet one thing irked her – like something she'd forgotten – she couldn't entirely put her finger on it.

Go on, then - B

She laughed a little, blinking furiously at the screen, before saying loudly in hushed tones, "How does he know my address?"

The question echoed in the empty flat. She stared at the phone for a second, pouring herself another glass of wine without hesitation. "He knows my address – how does he know my address?" she continues whispering, as if there's anyone to hear her.

She snorts.

"The internet," she said, but she recalls that she never gave her full name. Not once in the conversation. Of course she imagined that there weren't many Molly's in London who were pathologists, but he barely knew the term. He knew that she worked with corpses, and she never really brought up every single bit of work she did.

She suddenly recalled what the locksmith had said. Bill, a white-bearded man with a massive protruding stomach causing the buttons of his shirt to struggle. "He's always doing this sort of thing," he said giving a chuckle, as he stood fiddling with her door.

"He does?" said Molly red-faced, catching sight of her keys on the kitchen-counter when the door was finally open.

"Yes, though I've never opened a door for a woman before. It is your flat, isn't it?" he had asked her, which Molly found a very odd question indeed.

Why on earth would she want to open someone else's flat? It wasn't before the second glass of wine that she suddenly contemplated the very question that would logically come if she weren't that inebriated.

She hastily texted back–

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

She gave a deep breath for a moment, trying to understand what had just happened. She went through the texts, scrolling upwards, trying to find some sort of evidence, some sort of – Yes; this is my address, or name – or – any of the sorts.

Of course one could easily look up ones number, but Molly had been particularly careful with that sort of business. One would be constantly rung up by phone-salesmen, and she was always terrible at hanging up on people, so she'd gotten rid of that ages ago. Now, here a man, the man she'd been texting with frequently over the last few days – who'd she'd just started becoming all-too personal with had found her address without any help whatsoever. She drank up the contents of her wine, before sitting down on her sofa properly disgruntled.

"Do they all have to be mental?" she said quietly to herself giving a sigh, before bringing up her mobile phone again.

His mobile rang.

It was John.

It rang again, he sighed, as he was playing the violin. He yelled for Mrs Hudson, there was no answer. She was out - in the evening? Oh, he recalled – she'd gone off somewhere, a friend, or something. He just shook his head, playing on.

The phone rang again, vibrating a clatter onto the floor, and he was idly focused on his strings, when the landline took to ringing. The landline that was made after Sherlock had set up John's mobile number on the website, and John had found out. The landline specially created for their potential clients. Sherlock picked up the phone gingerly, holding the receiver to his ear.

"I've been ringing your phone for ages – why - haven't you been answering exactly?" said John sounding rather breathy and annoyed.

Sherlock eyed the flat for a moment recalling – the date, of course – he was at Mary's. The hushed tones, breathing erratically on the phone indicated he was hiding perhaps in the bathroom while doing this – a certain echo to the room.

"Busy," he just replied slightly bored.

John gave a derisive snort at the other end, "Do you want to know why I've phoned you then?"

"Isn't that the point of a phone-call perhaps?" he quipped.

"Sherlock," he barked rather loudly now, before he gently said, "I just got a phone call from Lestrade if you knew anything on a - Ben Smith - who's apparently – possibly working for Moriarty?"

"Moriarty's dead," said Sherlock with a furrow of his brows.

"Yes – I know that Sherlock, I'm just saying – do you want to know who made the phone call then-," said John clearly exasperated. "- Since I think it'll probably interest you to know your doppelganger's accuser."

"Oh-," started Sherlock a smile playing on his lips.

"Yes, apparently this Ben found Molly's address without knowing her name, and you can't look up her address even with her phone-number," said John mock-seriously.

"Yes, you can. That's easily done," said Sherlock in disbelief. The lack of knowledge when it came to technology was startling, anything could be solved with quick searches, but people were too lazy to look into it.

"Well – fine – I just suggest you sort this out, before Lestrade starts properly digging and everything points back to you," snapped John.

Sherlock paused a little bit, before saying, "Thank you, John."

"You're welcome. Next time answer the bloody phone."

The line went dead; Sherlock put the receiver back down, and frowned. Molly on alcohol did make her particular slow, yet it did make her nervous. He however had slipped – questionable in itself – why had he slipped? He reflected this as his mobile phone went off again, and picked it up this time.

"Hello," he said.

"Yes, I was wondering – do you know a Ben Smith?" asked the voice of Lestrade gingerly, "Molly's a bit of a nervous wreck, some new boyfriend of hers - I know you're familiar with Moriarty's lot – is that name familiar to you?"

"Ah," said Sherlock, "Well, you can tell her detective inspector that there's nothing to worry about. He's a banker, quite innocent, and terribly dull-," he added in his usual tone.

"Why does he have her address then?" asked Lestrade, clearly not entirely convinced.

"She hasn't told him her address yet? Odd thing if he's her boyfriend. Intimacy issues perhaps?" said Sherlock tutting.

"Sherlock," snapped Lestrade.

"He asked me for it - so I gave it to him," retorted Sherlock without any indecision.

"You did?" said Lestrade startled.

"He required some assistance with a locksmith - I notified him of one I use frequently - then he proceeded to ask me if I could find the address itself. Questionable to not ask for the address first – perhaps - but he was worried about a lady friend of his. So - he gave me the number knowing me, and I recognised it as Molly's. I'm quite certain however that Ben Smith won't be strapping any bombs on any of my friends - particularly not from the distance that is Cardiff," said Sherlock rapidly with ease.

"I didn't know you had other friends-," said Lestrade. Sherlock could hear him practically grinning on the other end.

"Client – Greg - not friend – client-," said Sherlock irritated.

"Well - close enough. I'll phone her up, then. Tell her not to worry-," he retorted.

"Oh, I could do that-," added Sherlock trying to sound helpful.

"No - no – need, I'll deliver the news myself. Thanks - would have used up too much time on this myself," said Lestrade all too quickly, "Thanks."

Sherlock raised a brow, "Yes, well – give her a call. She shouldn't worry about this one," and then he hung up rather dissatisfied, a grim expression on his face.

Molly groaned the moment her eyes opened, the dizziness hitting her head overwhelmingly fast, as she scuttled into her bathroom quickly - staying longer than intended, paying homage to the toilet - reliving her bottle of red wine. A half hour later, she gave a half-choked phone call to her work, informed them that she'd be late, but didn't call in sick. She never did call in sick, not once having shirked off her duties – she regularly showed up when they asked her, despite cold and despite cracked rib.

She couldn't make her patient's sick exactly, so there was no hazard there. Today however, it was terribly tempting to hide under the covers, not because of the wine, but because of her predicament. She had not texted Ben anymore after last night, not because she felt particularly ashamed of the direction the conversation was going – what was wrong with flirting with a promising stranger? However, the possible indelicate stranger knew the annoying consulting detective, who frequented her lab at times, or morgue depending on the cases he had.

Now, he luckily did neither, yet – Ben had lost his innocence entirely. He knew Sherlock; she had finally thought there was a man who was unconnected to him entirely – who she liked entirely by writing, instead of similarities either by looks or personality. She overlooked the fact that he resembled Sherlock in her own head of course, but here was a man who bore no similarities to him. If she were to go through the various men she'd dated, everyone had one thing that was vastly similar – did she just enjoy the company of bad men? At least Ben didn't want to blow anyone up -

Good morning, feeling particularly fantastic this morning? Or is daylight not your friend? – B

She had been possibly a bit too frank with him the night before, but she could hardly imagine him telling Sherlock of this. She doubted that they were particular friends, as Ben seemed to have contacted him that night only.

He was Ben – who always managed to text even at insane hours or at work. The man didn't ever seem to sleep, really – she started to believe there were several men behind Ben Smith. One in the morning who was superbly nice and another one in the evening who was dreadfully cunning. Ben seemed to be keeping his somewhat sarcastic tone however, which she enjoyed. She couldn't take the business entirely too seriously - he lived in Cardiff - not London, and it was only texting. He was also only one man, a man with a photo of Italy, but a man – nonetheless.

A man who occupied her mind during the length of last night's dinner, which was first amongst two friends and a couple, turning into an ambush -

"I don't know what's gotten into John's head. He knows who you like – I've told him all about Ben-," whispered Mary into Molly's ear, as John was chatting with Lestrade, who was as usual his charming self.

"Mary – Ben lives in Cardiff," she whispered back.

"Transport, Molly – transport," Mary said knowingly, as if Molly was mad not to consider the man.

Mary had seen the "Ben-effect - look at you – you look glowing – or well, maybe it's because of-," Yes, more or less. The less she saw of Sherlock Holmes the better. He was listening to her for the first time. No, this wasn't the first time she'd banished him, but she was sure he probably didn't even recall those situations whatsoever. Those had been brushed off, ignored, and it seemed that he'd completely blacked out each time. Not that her speeches were particularly convincing with their stammers, and then "Oh, sorry." She did really act as his subordinate at times; she gave a bit of a shake of the head, before slipping her stockings off. She wouldn't meet Ben, which was the idea, which was wonderful. He'd be off in Cardiff, and they'd maintain the friendly discord between them – until both had fully recovered from their respective bad experiences with the opposite sex.

I hope this hasn't anything to do with last night's texts? – B

Molly snorted, biting her lip, as she sat now in her lacy black underwear on the bed – or maybe not.

I don't know what you're suggesting. Thank you for the locksmith. He was a very nice man. He fit my mental image of locksmith's entirely – M

You have mental images of locksmiths? - B

I've got a mental image of you too, but I suggest we get ourselves a proper breakfast before going further into this. I'm not entirely good enough to describe anything at the moment – M

Some red wine would cure that - B

John entered the flat finding Sherlock gesturing to the chair opposite him quietly. John raised his brows enquiringly, but Sherlock just jerked his head to the chair, as he stood by the window.

"Is this about the almost-disaster I got you out of yesterday? People usually say thank you," said John warily eyeing the cups of tea, one of which he grabbed, sniffing it before taking a tiny sip.

Sherlock just observed quietly, as the nokia got a text. John eyed the phone, the corner of his mouth going upward, as Sherlock silently took the phone looking pleased, until he pocketed the phone – the smile vanished entirely. He stood for a while, before seating himself across John.

Is this a punishment for my behaviour? I hope you aren't offended I was flirting with you? Or what are we doing here exactly? – M

We're texting. Two consenting adults, or aren't we? – B

"Molly?" asked John in his silence, "Mary told me that you know – err – Ben - yourself - last night – that's quite unexpected."

"Lestrade's not even signed his divorce papers yet, and that's whom you wanted her to go get it off with?" said Sherlock - his expression going from puzzled to affronted within the span of seconds.

John grimaced, opening his mouth to retort, but Sherlock continued, "Not particularly savoury - might cause some problems in our dynamic if things were to go wrong. I can't have Molly up and quitting just because you want everyone to be extra friendly with each other," he spat vehemently.

Consenting adults? That sounds particular naughty. OK, we are flirting then – M

Obviously - B

John gave a hollow laugh, "Your idea is better, then? Right? Because when she hears about this, she'll be really content to be working with you-," John responded heatedly.

"She can easily accept me having done her wrong, than others John. Greg isn't actually a bad man, I don't intend him to be one either-," Sherlock bit back sullen.

John looked at him bemused, "Sorry?" Sherlock's expression was anything but readable.

"I think your scheme is pretty obvious. If Lestrade was indeed intended for Molly, he wasn't really horrified on the aspect of her having gotten herself a boyfriend - some hour or two after your supposed festivities," snapped Sherlock erratically, standing up from his chair clearly peeved.

John just looked highly amused at this, "Yeah, well-," he started grinning now.

"However I am certain there will be someone available for that – perhaps – not - Lestrade – he's too mixed into his own divorce at the moment-," said Sherlock looking thoughtfully around the flat.

John stared at him with his mouth open, shaking his head a little, before gathering his wits.

"Who is then?" quipped John his brows in his hair, "Since I'm starting to wonder if all this attachment for that phone in particular is due to-," he said pointing at the phone in a suggestive manner.

Sherlock rolled his eyes in disgust.

"Don't," he snapped, "I don't have wishy-washy feelings for Molly, John. You've miscast me entirely if you think I'd ever want to enter the role of the hero. I am doing this purely so I can do my studies at Bart's, without having to bribe you to steal things, or have Molly call security on me."

John held his hands up in defeat, but he said the next with some smugness, "None of those things ever stopped you before. You haven't actually been there since, either."

I haven't been anxious if that's what you're saying. Yes, I did give a bit too much information last night, but I'll live. I don't know you however as much as you know me – M

You have trust issues clearly. What shall I do, then? – B

"Oh, this settles it - of course John," said Sherlock giving a theatrical gasp, "Yes – of course – her blatant bad coffee making – annoying fidgeting – barefaced wide-eyed stares have ensnared me quite desperately – all of these years of working side by side with her have given a fruition – she is the one, as they say," he yelled, rather maddened, fingers rifling through his hair, as he took large steps through the flat glaring at John.

"No, John - I'll pay her a visit today to satisfy your interest. If I find her entirely helpful – Ben is of no longer use. I'll even inform her myself," he snapped sitting down again – before standing up again hurriedly, as if the seat were on fire.

"Right," John mumbled, concealing his satisfied grin, as Sherlock continued his changeable squirming.

I suggest self-conscious photo taken with your phone. I'll return the favour. Promise! – M

I haven't got a camera phone. Unfortunately. I'm not technically savvy at all – B

John just looked at Sherlock astonished, hiding his smile, as his friend picked up his phone giving a tiny smirk at the text, before returning to scowl at him.

This is why I've got trust issues - M

You're working? - B

Oh yes - a particular handsome patient today. If I didn't feel sick I'd probably chat him up. However doctor and patient relationships are strictly prohibited - M

Obviously you'll have to wait until he's released. However I've got a feeling he'll be less responsive - B

His reflexes seem sharp - M

Being tied up to chairs - I don't believe it is entirely his object at staying there – B

Molly blushed at the recollection, beaming despite herself, almost giving a bit of a squeal at her phone, but she kept that down – in respect to the unfortunate victim.

She heard the doors open in the distant; she blinked, but disregarded it. Sherlock appeared taking in the scene, Molly barely looked in his direction, feeling neither cross nor happy to see him.

"Texting at the morgue? I don't know if-," said Sherlock narrowing his eyes at the corpses tag "Mr Harold is perhaps very pleased with the situation," he added staring at what appeared to be a ninety-year old man, who'd recently been sewn up.

Sherlock looked at her face in surprise, Molly's attention was directed to her phone, which she soon held to her side, still clasped in her hand.

He wouldn't need to change his position really - M

"What do you need then?" she asked giving a big release of breath, not pocketing her phone.

"I just popped in for a chat," he said pleasantly, eyeing her with the usual demeanour he did when he wanted something.

Molly stared at him blankly, "Err – sorry – a chat?" she repeated slowly, trying to understand whether she'd heard correctly.

He gave one of his winning smiles in return, eyes taking in the sight of her work already finished. The paper work was done; the entire procedure was done, except her mind was elsewhere entirely.

"Yes, of course. I was in the neighbourhood," he said quickly, directing his eyes to hers, except her eyes were on her phone again – she was biting her lip. "Waiting for a reply?" he quipped rather sterner than intended.

Molly looked up baffled, "What?" she gave a bit of a giggle, before saying "Sorry, I'm – a bit off my head today - just."

"Yes, I heard," he said rather loudly, but she seemed to be overlooking the statement entirely still eyeing her phone.

She was waiting for his counter part - his Ben to come sweep her away with another text. It was tempting to shove the phone in front of her pert nose - displaying all of the texts they'd been sending back and forth.

He would then see her disbelief, her realization, her anger, before she would run out of the lab in a hurry. She had done that before. He had done that before too, all too many times, and knew how to avoid it – yet it almost escaped his lips, until – "So you know Ben, then?" she asked with a fond smile, looking at him expectantly now, though not at him.

He was used to those eyes being particularly sparkly, but now they were rather distant in turn.

"Yes," he drawled, "I was actually here about that," he said, and now it seemed as if Molly properly saw him, except the look of wonder turned into distaste.

"Please – don't ruin this – I've – I've got no time for it Sherlock, really. I can tolerate having you around, really I can - it's been nice of you – not showing up here lately, but please – let me have this," said Molly in the most serious of expressions, as she bit her lip repeatedly. "Please," she added in his silence, looking at him pleadingly.

He took an intake of breath, "I just wanted to say that he wants to meet you, just. Nothing particularly unusual about that request, I find. We've only worked together once before. It's been some years since I last saw him, but he's probably not changed," said Sherlock adding a tiny smile at the end.

Molly made a face, "Does that mean good or bad?"

"No, I'll keep that secret safely tucked here," he said with a cheery expression tapping on his chest. She looked at him bewildered, but he turned on his heel disappearing out of the morgue before she could ask.

When he finally exited Bart's, he went inside his coat, where he'd patted his chest, and pulled out the phone. He stared at it curiously for a while, as another text came in –

I heard you want to meet me? Yes, we've got the same friends apparently - It's a small world after all - M

A/N: I assume that fourth chapter will be up in the weekend, but I've got to update Mother Knows Best as well. It's long overdue. Gosh, two stories at the same time is a killer. Thanks for comments, favourites and what-nots! If anything vanishes over here, due to sudden rating-changes - I'm up at archiveorourown, just so you know!