Change

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...Show me.

Molly had panicked more than she had intended to do as she tried to make distance between her and Sherlock. Her face was becoming a pretty shade of crimson each passing second and she fidgeted against the hands holding her in place. The counter was starting to make itself known as it poked her lower back.

"H-how?" the female stuttered then suddenly became very still and looked up at Sherlock. The attempt to search his eyes hard enough to try and find a revelation behind his reasoning went without answer. What was she supposed to say now? He was starting to challenge her with that grin making itself slowly evident on his perfectly structured face.

"Wasn't it noticeable enough?" the way she said those words with such the gentlest voice had Sherlock raising his eyebrow. The love she spoke of was not necessarily in her obvious actions, but in the way she cared and tended to the flat, and the things that mattered to him. Dusting his books, cleaning and sweeping up the floor, and washing and mending his clothes. A very obvious yet overlooked show of affection in many ways, mind you.

"It's not in you to be so cryptic, Molly." Sherlock stated firmly with almost a roll of his eyes. Still daft as ever to the ways of a woman, Molly mused lightly to herself.

"Well, I'm not trying to be!" the loud exclamation of defense definitely was heard and the detective couldn't help but lean in with that same silly grin. There was a question in those blue eyes:

What are you trying to say, Molly?

"You're the detective aren't you, Sherlock? Can't you do that deducing bit you do?" Molly's voice cracked and she couldn't hold back the blush nor keep her eyes focused on him. The air was starting to choke the last bit of sanity within the female pathologist as the subject of her fantasies became a bit far too real even now. What with that grin, blue eyes, and dark curly hair!

The light chuckle he let escape from his lips surprised her. Was there ever a time she had actually heard him sound so genuine as he did now? It wasn't a fake chuckle nor did it seemed forced. He was just honestly... amused.

"Black with two sugars, Mrs. Holmes." Sherlock pulled himself away from his wife once he heard the coffee machine beep signaling its final brewing. There was a sort of sweetness in how he said the sentence. Almost endearing. As if the situation that had played out moments ago were a normalcy and as if it was all a jest. Molly noted that whenever he acted so... relateable... so, friendly it was only when he wanted something.

Or he was trying to get away from a direction things could head towards to. Something... he wasn't used to dealing with. Something foreign.

Yes, their marriage was foreign to the both of them... even for Molly.

"Don't you ever get tired of it?" Molly poured the coffee into her husband's usual cup and more than threw the two cubes of sugar into the liquid and began to watch them dissolve slowly.

"What?" Sherlock yelled from the living room as he typed away at his laptop. Not once raising his head to look at his wife.

It was Molly's turn to be quiet and to be solemn. It was her turn to ponder once again if this ritualistic dance of the two mentalities and never ending game of cat-and-mouse was worth it. Perhaps, she should be the change of direction in this game between them...

"Molly?" Sherlock finally looked up, his wife's back was facing him.

"Always being right, always being Sherlock Holmes... Always being so... bloody brilliant. Doesn't it get tiring?" her words didn't hint to any sort of flattery or compliment to the man. It was an honest-to-God question at his personality and at his entire being. It was a first for him—a regular female actually questioning his existence as a whole.

"Only when one thinks about it." his reply was far too calculated and far too calm.

"Do you ever then?" Molly was standing in front of him now, trying to tower over him as she gripped the white coffee cup with both hands. "Think, that is?"

He was silent.

Molly smiled kindly.

He was afraid wasn't he? Afraid of his humanity and not being invincible as he'd like to believe himself to be, huh? To her, he seemed like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Molly realized that in all fairness: Did he really want to deduce himself as flesh and blood... and not something... more? Something that people could eventually prove wrong and with fault? It did seem scary, even for her.

"Black with two sugars," Molly placed the coffee cup down on Sherlock's desk and started to head towards the door.

"Thank you, Molly." Sherlock whispered as he watched his wife for the first time put on her over-sized coat, wrap the faded hand knitted scarf (that her mother had probably made) around the small neck she had, and slip on seasoned mittens that probably had been their prime in color when they were new.

Molly was quiet when she left for work that morning.

For the first time... she never looked back.

Kudos to my sister who helped and inspired this chapter. All the cookies and blue berry pancakes to that doll :D such a sweetie!

I'd like to post this chapter in hopes of how now I can start on their relationship as a whole and in bringing them closer together.

Again, too all my readers, any feedback would be greatly appreciated! I've read through this chapter and felt satisfied with it. If some of you feel that it could be revised in a better way because things may seem "out" of order or too OOC. Then feel free to throw me a C.C. on how I can improve things :D