A/N: Too much fun writing this, now I'm mostly writing it for myself. Sick person I am. I hope you enjoy it though.

She had obviously taken precautions, cleaning it, yet the riding crop was still unhygienic at best. Nevertheless it was the spare, which he thought Mrs Hudson had gotten rid off. The mental image of Molly in her black dress with the sparkly earrings having found it lying about in the living room, sneaking it away in her bag was oddly satisfying.

Then there was the coffee, a simple elegant means of revenge; purely differentiating from all the goodness he thought she had in her. Her extra special smile had a new meaning now, that hopeful look was one entirely different; it was one of secret smugness.

Besides those two things that lingered in the rearmost of his mind, filling up minor spots was the undeniable event that took place the other night.

Ignoring the near accident that brought everything to light, he found himself firmly being tasted by Molly Hooper, who he thought would be quite timid in that division. Yes, he was surprised. However he was not letting the kiss linger. No, he would delete it like the rest of the information he'd gathered.

She was going to have to tell him - honesty was the key. Still she found herself using a very long time in the bath, choosing an outfit, or running up to get her umbrella, as the weather did look quite bleak. There were constant excuses, endless cuts in her mind-set, as her concentration kept wandering to a pair of lips she had once intensely wondered about.

Now, instead, she was forced to have to accidentally relive what she could only render as a very disturbing experience. Not to say it wasn't good, but when you think you're kissing one man – and you are in fact kissing another – it's certainly a game changer. The sudden rush of blood to the head was distracting, which was why she practically took a run for it. Her imagination had always gone for the brilliant approach - that if ever anything remotely sexual would happen between her and said man; it would happen when he had her pinned against the wall, more or less using her for one of his experiments, as he was indeed coined as a "Virgin," whispered Mary to her one day with raised brows, "Lost all his allure, has he not?"

"That just makes him more interesting," said Molly quietly, trying to keep her eyes fixed on the medical charts before her.

"How on earth does that make him interesting?" said Mary sounding outraged jabbing Molly's side with a pen, as Molly was avoiding her stare.

Molly looked up, saying rather sheepishly, "Because he could, but he doesn't. He doesn't need to, why should he? He's got a mind, a fantastic one at that – sex – that's nothing compared to that."

Mary just blinked stupidly in return, "Oh - I didn't know you had it this bloody hard. Why not try yourself on his mate – that John – bloke? He's kind of cute," Molly just laughed at this, and that's how John and Mary met in short terms – Mary trying to fix him up with her, only failing spectacularly.

She could easily see him sitting on a chair commanding her to undress, sliding that riding crop to the inside of her thighs, then again that was her imagination. In her imagination he was a very passionate man, however he could just be stiff as a board. That man who would get fervently euphoric over dead corpses could be entirely bored over an actual live one. Still the idea of him with a riding crop in his hand, did indeed entice her to a certain degree. With sweat on his brow, but then again that was then.

The detail that she had sterilized it, with gloves and all at work, sort of brought the sexy out of the object, but she just sort of kept it stored inside her drawer. He certainly didn't deserve the item back, yet she did like bringing it out once in a while remembering how she felt when she saw him with it.

She had speculated if it was his thing, or if it was her thing. She did like her share of – well - oddities at times, but she hadn't gotten to try full on. It hadn't really come up, or well – most of the sex she had encountered had been acceptable for a lack of a better word.

She never got the chance with Jim, which was at the time due to his flabbergasted enthusiasm for Glee making her slightly wary over him. There was some luck in that, as it was sufficient with one sociopath in her life.

She didn't know how she felt about Ben, who seemed somewhat better in text, than in person – less nervous at least. The fact that he hadn't texted her after last night wasn't very helpful, but he hadn't cancelled their coffee either. She didn't feel tempted to send out a text asking, as it was just too much that Saturday afternoon to be handling more than one thing.

She brought the umbrella over her head, rubbing her temples, and double-checking if indeed her keys were in her pocket – snorting over last night's incident, before bringing out her quiet mobile.

It was odd knowing how much texting had become a thing these days, previously she longed for Sherlock to send in a word. She'd often send him details of cases. He'd never properly answer, and if he was – it was for her to check a minor detail. Come to think it, they never really talked. She'd never really had a proper conversation with the man, which didn't end with one of them walking out or a dead body squashed between them.

She'd asked him out on a coffee, then regretted it the second it had transpired, that and the lipstick, but she wore that now on a regular basis. Not for his sake though - for hers, it wasn't as if he flitted as clockwork into Bart's anymore, and she could time his entrance with her watch. He'd be there, skulking about, stealing samples, and peering at her paperwork making observations, but he barely did that these days. Why on earth was she thinking of him? She'd kissed the man by pure accident, and had to inform Ben about this.

Where are you? Late? I've got a book with me, so I'll wait a little if you're in a meeting still – M

That's what John read when he picked up the phone from the living room table, hearing the distant eerie concerto that Sherlock was playing in his bedroom of all places. John was used to the man roaming around in the living room, making a great scene of his irritations whether it be of boredom or obsession. The man had done so when it came to Irene Adler, not taking meals, and just playing sad pieces.

He had seemed anything than sad when he returned the night before, slamming doors, looking intensely peeved, before "Going to bed," as he said causing Mary to groan (she had to be brought to their flat, when she accidentally threw up in the taxi).

Mary who also eyed the spare phone with curiosity, and John just put some papers over it, before looking at it later. He took a breather, seeing that the text was at least sent five minutes ago, and at least she hadn't been there an hour. He quickly took to go knocking on Sherlock's door, the music stopped, "Sherlock – is James going to see Molly today?" The music continued.

John frowned, trying to open the door, which was locked. "Are you going to hide in there all day?"

The music took to halt, door unlocking from the inside, as Sherlock popped his head out and said, "Email."

"What?" said John confused.

"Look – at – the – email," said Sherlock rolling his eyes exasperated over John's antics.

John turned around to see the laptop, "OK, I'll go check the email. Will you just come out – eat something – breathe some fresh air – possibly?" he said turning away from his friend, laughing, before seating himself in front of the laptop.

Sherlock soon stood behind him, John looked up at him cautiously, "What am I looking at here?" Sherlock snorted, hurriedly clicking to the inbox at hand, making a small gesture, as John narrowed his eyes before reading,

To Sherlock Holmes

From James Black

It's probably no surprise why I let you at it, so to speak, I'm sorry Sherlock, but you clearly fancy her – whatever that was – if that was a mistake on her part – it looked like a good one. So, I suggest you sort out your business, and tell her. Or, do what you like, but I'm not helping you anymore. It's too much pressure. David was particularly miffed last night, so I can't stand the unnecessary burden. I hope you don't let the girl sit alone there, though.

Good luck,

J

"Ah – right – so you're not going. Nobody's going and she'll be sitting there – alone – yes, well – at least text her Sherlock-," said John grimacing at the words before him.

"Text - her?" said Sherlock crossing his arms, "Why would I text her John? I think Molly can handle disappointment."

"Not so long ago you seemed to have a different idea. Now you're just going to let her sit alone waiting for someone who'll never show up?" said John annoyed at his friend.

"People can handle being stood up, John. It's a perfectly wide-known fact that this is regular business," said Sherlock.

"If anything of this had been ordinary, then yes, but you're the one behind this. Not James - you can't just let her sit alone."

"It's in her very nature to deal with rejection. This is just one of those other coffee dates that never came through, un-sent texts, unanswered phone calls in the long series of them – I'm sure," he rattled off, causing John to gape at him.

John looked offended at this, "Do you at all care for her?"

"I care for her in the sense that she's a good pathologist, John. She matters in the sense that's she good at her job, helps me on occasion too-," he said starting to head back to his bedroom.

"Yes, saves your bloody life, she does, and here you are brooding over the fact that it's not you she fancies-," John spat angrily back causing Sherlock to turn around on the spot.

"I'm not-," started Sherlock looking livid.

"Right? Like this isn't what it's all about? Sherlock, you sent in a man to act like you – like you – not like Ben – not this nice bloke, and those texts aren't ruddy overly friendly either. They're – you –in a nutshell. Last night you were even wiping off lipstick from your mouth, and you tell me – you don't care – I have a hard time believing that."

"John believe this, I don't have interest in Molly, You might find it hard to imagine, but not everybody is easily manipulated by a pair of doe eyes," he snarled.

"Well, then, go on – go talk to her, have a coffee, tell her of your master-plan, and how that sodding unfolded, because nobody deserves to sit for themselves - like that," said John who then proceeded to chuck the phone at Sherlock who caught it looking severely disgruntled.

Molly sat with her eyes fixed on her watch, whatever he was – he was late, and she was an idiot. For some odd reason she was convinced it was no point sitting there, with a half-drunk cold coffee waiting for a man who obviously wasn't going to show up, and who hadn't texted her yet either. She was just glad she never took the confrontation on her phone, because she hated that – she'd been there, and it wasn't pleasant.

Late? – M

She texted again, in case he'd missed the first, which he certainly hadn't, but she had to. Her eyes darted about, biting her lip, before her mobile made that familiar tune.

Yes, I think I might not make it. I'm sorry, this meeting was longer than expected – B

She peaked immediately, at least he answered, and depending on her form this Saturday morning she certainly wasn't entirely up for meeting him to do the conversation either. It was when she started packing up her things, that her eyes caught sight of the familiar coat and scarf causing her to blanch.

It was Sherlock in a coffee shop, a very foreign thing in her mind, as she knew the man barely ever ate – let alone went to coffee shops. He seemed to be intent on his order, tapping his fingers at the counter, as his eyes started to wander, taking in the place, before they landed on her brown ones.

He gave her a look of recognition, she raised a brow in turn, hoping this was one of those regular nodding of the heads situations, but as she thought so he gave a quick smirk gesturing to her table. She gaped at him, halfway standing up from her seat, hurriedly gesturing to her already packed things, when he swept down and seated himself across her coffee now in his hand.

"I do hope they have good coffee here – you don't seem to be enjoying yours. Taking to open the packets of sugar, I see," he said gesturing to the small tiny residues of broken packaging.

"Sorry – I was just leaving actually –," she said holding on her handbag, giving a brief nod, "Got things to do." Her phone made the familiar sound, Sherlock just looked at her expectantly with one hand in his pocket, and the other on his cup. Molly gazed down at him awkwardly, bringing up her phone from her bag muttering under her breath.

I think I might make it. Wait. – B

Molly stared disgruntled on her phone, with gritted teeth, before seating herself down again. "Right, I – can – I can stay longer apparently."

Molly touched the handle of her cold cup, fidgeting a bit, catching those blue eyes staring at her, "So – in the neighbourhood then?"

"I wanted a cup of coffee, yes, John isn't particularly trained to these sort of things," he said.

She gave a slight nod, "Err – not that I don't love chatting with you, right now, as it were, but Ben will be here shortly, actually, so I'd appreciate it if you weren't here – at the mo, as it were," she said trying to not stumble in her words, or stare at his mouth.

"Of course," he said with a wide smile, causing her to blink at him furiously, before breathing in relief as he stood up coffee in hand. He wasn't going to walk off with that porcelain cup was he? Then when she was considering him not be a complete idiot – Sherlock settled himself on the table behind her.

"Wait – what – that's not leaving-," she started turning around to look at him. His back was to hers, and he seemed to give a long sip of his coffee before replying.

"Believe it or not Molly I had intentions of enjoying a cup of coffee. I only sat by your table due to those social habits that John wants me to pick up," he said waspishly not turning his head around.

Molly snorted, "So you're going to just stay – while I have a chat with Ben, then?"

"I hadn't intended to no - I'm not very interested in observing two people being demonstrative," he said with distaste.

Molly nostrils flared, before she swiftly turned around.

"Bearing in mind yesterday - I'd rather you not be here right now Sherlock," she said her voice strained, as her hands cradled her cold cuppa.

"Wouldn't you like to know more about Ben?" he asked rather gingerly, his voice on the point of teasing.

She was curious despite herself.

"I'd rather find out on my own," she lied, hoping he'd leave, so the little voice in the back of her head would quit.

"You're terribly hopeful for a man who lives in Cardiff," he said causing her brows to knit, but she gave no retort – her lips in a thin straight line now. "Distance must be very important to you, then."

"What?" she said startled trying not to turn around.

"You like your men to live far away I suppose - makes an interesting affair - much better than office romance's - that's certain," he said with a smirk.

"You're not actually bringing that up – here - now, Sherlock-," she said turning now angrily glaring at the back of his head.

"You haven't mentioned Jim to Ben then? That's interesting, why should you conceal that-," he said with a mock-surprised expression.

Molly didn't say anything, taking great breaths instead, nails drumming on her cup.

"- I do hope you have an honest relationship with Ben-," he continued, "It's very important. Honesty. You haven't been entirely truthful with me, that's certain-,"

"I'm sorry? Is this about me and Ben or me and you?" she asked confused.

"They are very similar, coincidentally," he said delicately.

"Similar? How is this at all similar? Sherlock, why are you really here?" she said staring at the back of his head again.

"Coffee," he said raising his cup of coffee.

She exhaled at this.

"I am sorry if I'm somewhat interested over the lack of vision you have in darkened hallways. You might want to have that looked in on," he said cheekily.

Molly's head turned into his direction again, as she furiously snapped, "I am sorry if me kissing you was so dreadful."

"I do hope the lightings better in here, in that case, you mustn't mistake me for him again," he said looking at the ceiling of the coffee shop brushing her retort aside.

"Believe me - I won't," she said crossing her arms and legs.

They both breathed rather deeply, drinking their coffees simultaneously, causing some of the other guests to stare at them. Molly leaned onto her table, trying to focus on her phone, but she felt looked upon, only to turn finding Sherlock observing her, "He's not coming, then?" he enquired clearly amused, eyeing her phone.

She glowered in return, "He's just late," she mumbled, focusing back to her front, "Stuck in a meeting."

"Of course," said Sherlock who hadn't turned away from her, his focus entirely on her now.

Molly gave a sigh, feeling her neck tense as she looked at him, "What does that mean exactly?" she said rather sheepishly.

"He's obviously lying," said Sherlock with ease taking a sip of his coffee.

"Why would Ben be lying?" she said startled.

Sherlock said nothing, Molly took a deep breath, "Sherlock - tell me, then – what's wrong with him?"

"I'd say there's something wrong with me-," he said watchfully, an odd smile on his face, which she looked disconcerted at.

"That I know already – what are you trying to tell me?" she said feeling very confused. He looked at the pair of brown eyes before him, with a cringe between her brows, looking particularly puzzled, when he opened his mouth – "Hello," said a voice, causing both of them to look up startled into the face of James who looked positively confounded at Sherlock in turn. "Oh – wow – well, that's unexpected? Sherlock – you're here – with Molly – in the coffee shop, that's quite a turn-up," he blurted out, turning a bit pale, before giving a bit of a laugh.

James was by far an horrible actor, yet Sherlock saw Molly give him her undivided attention, even if it was with a raised brow, "Are you OK? Met Sherlock here, he was just leaving actually," she said giving Sherlock a look.

"No, no – stay – you know – you could be here, right? Can't he Molly? I haven't chatted with him in a while, you know – I've actually got some things to say too, so if we could nip out for a mo that would be excellent?" said James giving that all too cheery grin.

Sherlock however stood up, making Molly's shoulders relax, and James look if not apologetic, "You're going, then?" he said with an anxious smile.

"Yes, but I do suggest a text, Ben. We're sufficiently able to keep our conversations short - are we not? Especially when Molly is waiting. Have a lovely coffee on me – bye!" he said all too merrily, his smile dropping the minute he left, slamming the door in his wake.

John was sitting peacefully enjoying a cup of tea watching the telly, when Sherlock appeared wringing the remote from his hand throwing it to the other side of the room. John just stared at this action, raising his brows at his friend, "You told her, then?" he asked relieved.

"No," spat Sherlock pulling off his scarf and practically throwing his coat aside on the sofa.

"Sherlock!" said John with a sigh, hand rubbing his temples, as he tried to understand.

"Ben showed up," Sherlock spluttered.

"Wait – what? Ben?" said John looking up in surprise.

"James – John – James showed up. His conscience got a better of him. He obviously assumed I wouldn't be meeting her, and she would be left alone-," he said rather erratically making great gestures with his hands.

"He must know you quite well then," said John with a grin, "I didn't think you'd gone there either."

Sherlock made a face, "John - however entertaining this is for you now – the situation is getting much more dire."

John looked at him questioningly for a moment, "What actually happened at the club, then?"

"Shall I describe it to you? – Flesh out the details – give you the proper insight?" he said vehemently, as John narrowed his eyes, "I was looking for James. I am well aware of the man's habits - I went towards the ladies-," John laughed, "I was about to warn the man, when she flung me onto the wall, and kissed me rather forcibly in the dark, clearly thinking I was her suitor, who then sprang off into the night without so much as a word, and she soon enough took to act similarly."

"We're talking about Molly Hooper here - right?" said John with disbelief, despite his chuckling. "The tiny female who's heads shorter than you, right?"

"John – size - doesn't really matter," said Sherlock raising his brows suggestively, as he towered over his friend who scowled in return.

"What is it you need help with exactly? Just tell James to back off, and then you can talk to her directly – or – wait – wait," Sherlock's expression became a ridiculously innocent one. "Oh, finally – there it is – you're going to admit it, then? You do fancy her, don't you?"

Sherlock looked thoughtful for a moment, before saying rather vigilantly, "Will saying it make you help me?"

John laughed, stopping short, before saying rather grimly, "No, this you'll have to sort out yourself." He fetched the remote, seating himself again, and turned on the telly.

"John," said Sherlock looking if not rather irritated, "You are much more well-versed in these sort of things."

John laughed, eyes going to Sherlock, "Sorry, aren't you the text-master? Can't you just keep it up in text?"

"Yes, as Ben – of course – splendid idea – let's continue the pretence - she'll certainly be delighted about that," said Sherlock disgruntled.

"It was your own bloody idea, remember? Don't turn this on me, I might have been the conductor of bloody light, but you're the one who went through with it," barked John rather heatedly, shutting off the television, and saying with a sigh, "So - what exactly is it you want me to tell you, then?"

"How is it done?" asked Sherlock.

"I'm sorry?" said John staring at him wide-eyed. "How is it done? Isn't the texting a good guide in that direction?"

"Yes, when chances are-," started Sherlock displeased.

"You won't be a massive shit – true - but Molly likes you like that," said John chortling.

"She certainly seemed very intent on having me go away," said Sherlock rather surly seating himself down in the chair, leaning on the chairs arms, looking if not rather uncomfortable.

"You succeeded in making her fancy your own made up hero, at least," said John shaking his head.

"You said he was very similar to me," said Sherlock pointing at John, as if this was some sort of revelation.

"Yes, you know - loads of sarcastic comments, and general a bit of a-," he stopped up, "Just you - you know."

"She likes that?" Sherlock said confounded.

John looked at him in wonder, "You're really bad at this, aren't you?"

"I am not – I'm perfectly – well – John, I am proficient in feigning sentiment, but having genuine feelings is particularly unusual to me – or well – rather - I am aware - I just – regularly – there's ways of dealing with these things - except now – I find myself having specific infuriating thoughts – and she pops up in them," said Sherlock wide-eyed, riling through his hair – looking particularly mad.

John gaped at him.

"Apparently," he said with raised brows, "I can barely keep girlfriends down because of you. How am I supposed to learn you how to flirt?"

"Yes, I have read your emails they aren-," Sherlock reeled off, causing John to put up his hand.

"Don't go on - I'd rather not hear it. Yes, you read my texts, and usually look up everything on my computer – oh – wait - you could do that to Molly, couldn't you? Sneak in on her things, look her up – find out her dirty secrets," suggested John who disliked his own idea the second it came out.

"Already have," said Sherlock with a frown.

"You have?" asked John stupefied.

"Yes," said Sherlock giving a sigh.

"And?" he prodded.

"Her texts should have been a clue John. She is very much like her texts," said Sherlock with an overwhelmed expression on his face.

"Basically she can flirt - except she can't flirt with you," said John slowly getting it.

"She's more interested in Ben," Sherlock snarled standing up from the chair, hands on his hips, as he started to walk around the flat. "Ben – the fictional hero – Ben - who sympathizes – Ben - who flirts," he growled.

"Sherlock – Ben - isn't bloody real," snorted John, at which the Nokia vibrated on the table.

They both looked at it anxiously, "There it goes off again. Maybe I'll just tell her via text – end this whole thing now, before James does more reckless deeds," said Sherlock with his eyes narrowed on the phone.

"Yes, risking that she'll move out of London," said John.

"She won't move -," said Sherlock particularly shocked by John's theory.

"Yes, like she won't fancy Ben when he acts like a bastard. Or Molly never goes to gay bars or Molly doesn't make good coffee," John said haphazardly, as his friend just groaned in disapproval.

Sherlock ogled the phone, "I could just leave it."

"Yes, then all of a sudden there's another Ben out there – just this time he's real, and you'll have your way at Bart's again, but that's it. I suggest getting to actually know her, that's it – I've got no better idea - have an actual cup of coffee with her - and talk – just don't try to be so much-," said John pursing his lips all of sudden.

"Yes, John?" said Sherlock in his silence.

"Just text her, would you?" said John aggravated.

Sherlock stretched out to the Nokia, John cleared his throat loudly "You're suggesting I use my own phone?" Sherlock asked.

John looked at him pointedly, "Yes, also tell James it is entirely off - that's it - end of story," said John meaningfully.

"Of course," said Sherlock quietly with a small smile, though he took to pocket the Nokia even though, and John just gave a derisive snort in the background.