A/N: I love you all for reading. Just saying it again. This chapter: Sherlock/John fun, a turning of the tables between them, and Happy!Molly.

Meant to say: As you all know, I'm not British. I try to use Britspeak where I can, to be true to the setting, but I'm not fanatical about it. Special thanks to BritMel and CumberChelz for their help with this sort of thing.

S&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS

On his way home he got a text from Moriarty. Was it as good for you as it was for me?

Sherlock fought down his anger. He'd known as long as they hadn't had actual intercourse Moriarty would be fine with whatever happened. More than fine, actually. He expected more taunting, but the one message was all he received. He supposed Moriarty considered it was enough. As far as he was concerned, it had been more than enough. Too much.

At home there was milk, bacon, beans, cereal, orange juice, bread and… strawberry jam in the fridge and cupboards. Since when did John eat strawberry jam? And why were there all these breakfast items? Was John planning on cooking them a big breakfast? He knew Sherlock didn't eat much…

A note on the counter. At Mary's. Back late. John.

Hardly a surprise. But all the food. What…

Oh.

Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later. He just wasn't entirely sure of when the "later" would be. Not tonight, from the note, but maybe the next night?

At that moment John came in, a smile on his face and a spring in his step despite it being eleven at night. "Evening, Sherlock," he greeted.

"It is indeed evening," Sherlock replied. "I see you've been shopping."

"What? Oh, yeah: stocking up, you know. Not everyone likes to go without food for days at a time."

"That's rather a lot of stocking up," Sherlock said mildly, and John glanced down.

"Yeah, about that. Um… right. The thing is…"

"You want to have Mary over to spend the night."

John nodded. "Yes. I wanted to coordinate with you on that."

Sherlock shrugged. "It makes no difference to me what morning your romantic life interrupts my work."

"Charming. Mary's so looking forward to meeting you, too," John said with a bite in his tone.

Sherlock looked up, surprised. "Is that what this is about?"

"Well, sort of… bloody hell. Look, Mary has some friends who'll be in town soon, and she told them they could use her place for the weekend. So-"

"So you offered to let her stay here," Sherlock finished.

"I mentioned that maybe she could. I wanted to ask you first. She can go to a hotel, but it just seemed like a waste when she and I are getting more… involved."

"It's fine," Sherlock said. "When has it ever not been fine with me for you to have a woman over?"

John gave him a look.

Sherlock sighed.

"Look, Mary is… important to me, okay? And so are you. I really want you two to get along-"

"Will she be speaking at all while she's here?" Sherlock interjected wryly.

"So please, for my sake, try to be…"

"Not myself with her?"

"Just a bit."

"I'll see what I can do."

John sighed.

"What? That is a perfectly reasonable answer."

"Yeah, from you I suppose it is. Thank you," John said.

Sherlock nodded.

"How was your date with Molly?" John asked.

"It was… good."

John laughed. "You're deliberately being vague again."

"Am I?"

"You know you are. So that means…" John looked him over and his eyes widened. "Bloody hell."

"What?"Sherlock asked.

John grinned. "Sherlock Holmes. I wasn't sure you had it in you. Congratulations."

"What are you talking about?" Sherlock asked in exasperation.

"You. You and Molly were naughty tonight." John leaned back against the wall and smirked at Sherlock's utter confusion.

"How did you know that?" Sherlock asked, completely baffled and feeling like the tables had been turned in some grand injustice of the universe.

"Not telling." John's smirk grew bigger.

"Oh, come off it. You have to tell me. I always tell you."

"Nope. I'm going to let you figure this one out yourself."

Sherlock exhaled loudly in exasperation. "Fine."

"Thank you for confirming it, though," John added, and Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

"Anyway, what are your plans for tomorrow? Seeing Molly again?"

Sherlock nodded. "She goes back to Bart's for morning shift. I told her I'd stop by. And… I think Moriarty is going to give me another clue tomorrow."

John frowned. "Why do you think that?"

"Because he likes interspersing them with my dates."

John shook his head. "Right. Well, I can help out if you need."

"Yes. As soon as I know what he's done we'll start."

John frowned. "Sherlock… what's he playing at? He hasn't killed anyone, abducted anyone, hasn't blown anything up… that worries me more than anything else. Not what he's doing, but what he hasn't done."

"I'm sure he's done a lot of things that you don't know about," Sherlock said, giving John The Look.

"Yeah. You're probably right. But do you know what he's up to?" John asked, returning the Look.

"I have my suspicions," Sherlock said softly.

"What are you going to do about it?"

Sherlock glared at him. "What am I going to do about it? What the hell do you think? I'm going to stop him, that's what! What kind of asinine question was that?"

"Okay, take it easy," John said, raising his hands slightly. "God, you've been so tetchy the past few days. Everything okay with Molly?"

"You've obviously deduced that something happened tonight, so equally obviously, Molly and I are fine," Sherlock said frostily.

"Jesus. Calm down. Have you been…"

"No," Sherlock said flatly.

John opened his mouth again.

"And no to that as well," Sherlock stopped him.

"Fine."

They both looked down for a moment. Sherlock sighed.

"This is all new to me, John. Feelings: well, allowing them. Not divorcing myself from them. It's a bit overwhelming at times."

John nodded. "I understand what you're saying."

Sherlock was grateful John hadn't said "I know how you feel," because obviously he couldn't. He couldn't understand it all himself.

"I'm off to bed," John told him. "See you in the morning?"

Sherlock nodded. "John?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you going to cook breakfast for us tomorrow?"

John blinked.

"Well, you want to practice, don't you?"

John laughed. "I know how to cook, Sherlock. But I'll make us some breakfast. It's nice to see you hungry and eating more like a normal human being."

Sherlock frowned slightly, but nodded. "Good. Good night, John."

"Night, Sherlock. Oh, and Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"You might want to remind Molly to fasten your zip all the way up next time," John said with a huge, shit-eating grin. Then he turned and left Sherlock to glance down, swear, and pull his zip up the rest of the way, John's laughter echoing in the hall.

Once John was gone, Sherlock went to his box of chocolates. He opened it and took a chocolate cream out. He bit into it and held it up to the light, turning it, but saw nothing unusual. He ate it, then sat and thought.

He ate seven more pieces, mixing up the flavors, struggling with the sweetness and sugar a bit, but he got them down. Twice as many at one time as he had been eating, and a combination instead of just one flavor at a time as he'd been doing.

Then he fetched a small evidence bag and put two pieces inside it, and put the bag in his coat.

Let's see what that does.

He hid them again and went to bed.

Molly Hooper was, for the most part, always a sensible woman.

She didn't spend all her free nights in bars, getting sloppy pissed, shagging strange men only to regret it in the morning. She didn't spend countless hours planning her dream wedding, or trying on sexy slutty dresses in department stores. She knew who she was, and usually she was fine with that. With being regular, plain Molly.

But she wasn't that woman now, not exactly. She was the woman Sherlock Holmes was taking out on dates, was passionately kissing, was coming downright unhinged with (thank you, previous boyfriends and the book Shelia Wensley loaned her at age sixteen) and she had never felt so gloriously female and powerful in her life.

So when she'd gotten ready for work that morning, she had made just a few teensy changes.

Just to reflect her happiness, of course.

Her hair was swept up, with two slim wavy tendrils hanging down, one on each side of her face.

She had looked at all the jumpers and trousers and simply shaken her head.

She had chosen a long loose black skirt and a fitted dark purple top.

She'd added diamond drop earrings, a smidge of purple shadow and a shiny sleek coat of the lipstick she'd worn on their first date.

When she'd looked in the mirror, she'd grinned.

Once at Bart's, she'd all but sauntered in, ignoring the curious looks and a few admiring ones.

She pulled out her iPod, earbuds, and her first corpse.

She flipped to a remix of "Not Myself Tonight" and picked up a scalpel.

Today was going to be a fantastic day.