A/N: SURPRISE! Petal asked me soooo sweetly to post more, so how could I not. LOL Thank her for this surprise. And a long, revealing chapter, too! Yep, changeable! Next chapter really will be Monday. Hope you enjoy! And special thanks to Chelz for her sweetness, patience and assistance. Won't you please review? I'll give you Sherlock's basket of kittens!

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Sherlock stretched out on his back on the blanket, thankful that it was a fairly warm, clear night. Molly, still sitting, seemed torn and confused as to what she should do. He helped her out by reaching up and gently tugging her down beside him, nestling her against him on her side to face him. She made a sound he recognized as a sigh of contentment and rested her head on his chest. He glanced down at her. Her breathing was slow, her body relaxed, a smile of utter bliss on her face.

He was baffled. How? She knew as well as anyone what he was like: better than most, actually. How could she be so happy? How could this quiet, kind woman be so completely content to be beside him? He might as well ask John why he put up with him, though. He knew the answer. He just didn't really understand it: couldn't quite believe it.

Molly was almost always nice. Sherlock was hardly ever considerate. She was patient: he was intolerant. She was smart: he was… well, not a fair comparison. Yet Molly loved him, deeply and unhesitatingly. He had no doubt that if he'd told her he needed her to step into a fire to help him, she'd have done it. That's what love was, he supposed. He had…well…cared about John, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade. That's why he'd "died." He had died so that they would live. He didn't like sentiment, didn't always understand it. Usually didn't. But he felt it nonetheless. For those few that Moriarty had called his friends.

Well. Plus one, he thought, looking down at Molly again. Molly had been his secret weapon in the fight against Moriarty for his life. Or so he'd thought. Everything was a tangled web now.

Molly's hand moved up to rest over his heart, pulling him out of his introspection. "That was delicious," she said, moving her head a bit so she could look up at his face.

"I'm glad you liked it. I should have asked you what sort of things you like to eat beforehand, though."

"You did great," she said. "I was just glad to see you eat!"

"Does everyone think I starve myself?" Sherlock asked with a chuckle.

"Well you don't eat much, or often, from what I've seen. It's a wonder you don't get ill. Anyway, I didn't feel so bad for stuffing my face!"

"You hardly stuffed your face, Molly," he said, amused.

"Well, it felt like it," she said, feeling bashful and a bit stupid for having said it. Really, who said such things to their date? But this wasn't just any man she was on a date with. It was Sherlock, who had known her for years, who had told her she counted, who was her friend. Molly wasn't going to censor herself. He wouldn't stand for it and the effort of trying to fool him would exhaust her. Plus it would never work. She was going to just be herself. Even if he ran away screaming. The fact that so far he had not gave her more hope than she wanted to acknowledge.

He smiled at her, a curious, open smile like he'd done before he…

Oh, God.

Sherlock turned onto his side, facing her, eyes searching her face as though it could answer a question. He reached a hand up, brushing his long fingers through her hair before he leaned slightly towards her…

And suddenly stopped.

"Sherlock?" she asked, panicked.

He smiled. "Sorry. Awful timing but I need to go to the lavatory. Back in a bit."

"Oh," Molly said as he rose.

He looked down at her. "I'm glad you were hungry, Molly," he said, and his tone made her shiver.

She drew an unsteady breath as he walked away.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Sherlock whipped out his phone and made a call.

"Yes?" Mycroft asked sweetly when he answered. "You seem to be having a splendid time: why are you calling me in the middle of your date? Do you need advice? Very well. First, place your lips on hers…"

"Call off your dogs, Mycroft," Sherlock snapped.

"My dogs?"

"Your men, Mycroft. There are three men watching us and I know they're some of your faithful hounds."

"You just now noticed that? You are besotted."

"Don't be dull. I noticed them earlier, but it wasn't such an issue then."

"Oh? And why is it an issue now? Are you and Doctor Hooper about to do it in Holland Park?"

"Call. Them. Off.," Sherlock ordered.

A pause. "I'll have them go somewhere else in the park for now."

"Fine," Sherlock ground out, knowing that would be as far as Mycroft would go.

"And Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"Do use protection, won't you? You as a father is the last thing I need to worry about."

Sherlock shut the cover of the phone with a resounding snap.

Molly was waiting patiently, looking up at the sky, her teeth biting down on her lower lip a bit, her eyes searching. She jumped when he reappeared, clutching a hand over her heart. "Oh! You're always so quiet," she said with a smile.

"Sorry," he told her, lying down beside her. Well, this was as good of a time as any. "Didn't mean to turn you into a scared princess."

Molly turned pale and her eyes widened. She looked upset. No. Terrified.

He frowned. "Molly?"

She sat up abruptly, hugging herself, turning away from him.

He sat up, slipped his arms around her and turned her towards him. "Molly? What's wrong?"

She drew an unsteady breath. "He… he called me that once."

Click.

Well, he'd started it. Best to use the opening now.

"I know you didn't know…but it… reminds me of him. It took a long time for me to even be able to listen to the song again… I wouldn't have thought you'd like the Cure. For both of you to say that…" she shivered again.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, holding her close until he felt some of the tension leave her. "Will you tell me about it?"

"You… you want me to tell you about him? Now?"

"It's obviously upset you a great deal. Please, I want to understand," he said gently, caressing her arms.

She glanced down, and Sherlock thought she was going to refuse. He waited, and after a long pause she spoke.

"All right."

He maneuvered them so that she was sitting with her back pressed to his chest, his legs resting outside hers, guessing it would be easier for her if she wasn't looking at him. Then he wrapped his arms around her, pressing his cheek to the top of her head.

Her voice was low and hesitant. "He started writing to me on my blog. I'd been posting about… well. About you, actually. How stupid I was, mooning over you. I didn't think anyone read my blog, it was more like a diary, but somehow he found it. He… he said I had a cute nose and asked me if I wanted to have coffee. So we met in the canteen."

Sherlock nodded. He already knew all this: he'd read Molly's blog after it all went down. But this wasn't the time to tell her to hurry it up. They were on a date, after all. And if she got more upset and flustered, she could miss a vital clue.

"He was…" she paused. "He was lovely. Funny, smart, kind. He made me feel like the most amazing women in the world. And I'm not. But I felt like it." Her voice roughened, sounded pained.

"He came round my flat soon after, and Toby loved him. We watched Glee and he said he loved it. We kept meeting at work: coffee, lunch. On our second real date, he took me to dinner, then we went dancing. He's a great dancer. Not as good as you, though. He was… he'd keep looking around, as though he was looking for someone, or expecting someone to see us. It was weird."

Sherlock drew a deep breath. "What sort of things did you all talk about?"

She shrugged. "Work. School. Family. The typical things you talk about when you fancy someone and want to get to know them better."

"What did he saw about his family?"

"That he was an only child, and both his parents were dead. That he'd moved around a lot, taking odd jobs."

"And work?"

"He'd just been hired on at Bart's a week before we met. He'd seen me but had been afraid to approach me. Then he'd found my blog and even though I had a crush on you, he decided to risk asking me to meet him."

Sherlock nodded. "What happened after you went dancing?"

"He brought me home, and came in. I… I wanted to impress him. I knew how much he loved music and theater, so I sang for him. And it was…odd."

"How so?"

"Well after, he stared at me like he'd never seen me before: never seen any woman before. He told me I was amazing, and I really thought he meant it. But something about it bothered him. I don't know what. Then we, ah, made out a bit, and then he said he needed to go. He kissed me good night and said he was really looking forward to our next date, he had a surprise for me."

"As he went to leave, I saw a spider and screamed."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "You cut open dead people, Molly."

"Dead people are not live spiders, thank you."

"Noted. Please, go on."

"Anyway, he killed it. I thanked him, told him I was sorry for being such a girl. But he just laughed and kissed me again. He said: "my scared princess." Then we spent maybe ten more minutes discussing the Cure, and then he did leave."

Molly stopped here. Sherlock waited. "And then what?"

She hesitated.

He kissed the top of her head. "I'm right here, Molly. He's not."

"But he's out there somewhere," she murmured. "Waiting. Waiting like a noiseless patient spider."

He blinked. That was as fitting a description of Moriarty as the one he'd given the court.

"I will find him," Sherlock said, kissing her again.

She nodded and took a ragged breath. "The day of our third date, you met him. And you told me he was gay and all those other things you said. I was…I…I was so angry at you. But I knew you were right, because you're almost always right. So I decided I'd break it off that night after dinner."

"So we had dinner, and he was still so amazingly sweet. I hated it. I hated you, too. For ruining it. But it wasn't fair to hate you for being honest. Punch you in the face, maybe, for being cruel, but not hate you."

Molly felt his mouth turn up in a faint smile.

"So he took me home, and we stood outside, and I told him I thought it was best if we stopped seeing each other. He asked me why, and I told him… well, I didn't know what to say here at first. I couldn't say "because Sherlock told me you're gay." So I told him it was because I didn't think I was over you enough to start something properly. And then it got really weird."

Sherlock's arms tightened around her. "How?"

"He… he said he knew it… it was you. That you'd probably said something to me, like told me he was gay. I protested but he shook his head. He said he knew the real reason it was happening. He looked… sad. Like I had broken his heart. Isn't that insane?"

Sherlock didn't answer. He went very still.

"He…he said he understood. That it was all right. He…"

She trembled.

"Molly," Sherlock said softly, holding her so tight that she felt like nothing in the world could get through his arms to hurt her.

"He said… he said he should have known that an angel couldn't love a demon. At least not when the angel already loved another angel. But even angels and demons made the same mistakes in love."

Sherlock felt a cold wave of dread sweep him out to sea and pull him back again.

"Then he kissed my hand and said: "Goodbye, Molly Hooper." And then he left."

"I tried to contact him a few times after that, he'd scared me but I was worried for him. But he'd never answer. And then…well…"

She sighed. "So now you know."

"Yes," he said softly. Yes. I do.

The line about angels is derived from the song "Sea Breezes," originally by Roxy Music, remade by Siouxsie & the Banshees. "But even angels they make the same mistakes in love."

"A Noiseless Patient Spider" is a poem by Walt Whitman from Leaves of Grass, 1867.