A/N: Posting in the early hours of Monday morning! A big Thank You to Emcee Frodis, aka strawberrypatty, for inspiring a little something in this chapter. And a big Thank You to all my readers, reviewers, and favoriters!

In today's chapter: FreakedOut!Sherlock, Mmm!Lestrade, Trouble in Paradise, and… wait and see!

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

Sherlock had just finished sneakily eating two more chocolates and putting the box away when his phone suddenly blared into song.

"Kiss, kiss, Molly's lips!"

Then it went silent.

He stared at it in surprise. Then sighed. Moriarty had evidently decided to take a page from The Woman's book. Or had she taken a page from his?

He opened the phone. Yes. Text from Molly.

Get to Bart's. Now. I need you. Molly

His eyes widened as he remembered his dream. He felt oddly flush and was unsure of how to respond. They couldn't yet, even though his body was more than up to it and even now tried to convince him to act on it. How to handle this? Perhaps the teasing, flirty way was best.

Shouldn't we wait until the third date? ;) SH

John walked in a moment later and looked around, puzzled. "Did you hear something? I thought I heard..."

"Kiss, kiss, Molly's lips!"

"That?" Sherlock inquired evenly.

"Yeah. That."

Not THAT way. Body. It's got a message on it. Molly

Sherlock felt his adrenaline surge.

On our way. SH

John frowned, noticing the look on Sherlock's face. "What's going on?"

"Moriarty. He's sent Molly a little gift and me a clue. Let's go."

John sighed. "At least we got to eat breakfast."

Sherlock looked pensively out the taxi window. It seemed their luck had run out as far as no one being murdered by Moriarty. He'd texted Molly for more details, but she hadn't replied. Which meant one of several things. None of them were serious, so he wasn't worried about that.

"It's fucked up, isn't it?" John murmured.

Sherlock turned sharply to look at him. "What?"

"Moriarty. You finally decide to get a girlfriend and she happens to be the woman who saved your life, and he's probably got it in for the both of you."

"Molly's not my girlfriend," Sherlock snapped, remembering Moriarty's snide jab.

John blinked. "O…k. Then what is she?"

"She's," Sherlock began, and fell strangely silent.

John stared. Sherlock, at a loss for words? Not for the first time that week did John wonder exactly what was going on, and it certainly would not be the last.

"She's someone who is possibly in danger, that's who she is," Sherlock said after a moment.

"Right. That's why you've seen her almost every day for the past six days and came home with your hair mussed and your zip half up. Protecting her. Yes. Very noble of you."

Sherlock shot him a glare, then blinked. "Did you say six days?"

"Yeah. Molly was attacked six days ago. Is that important?"

"Yes."

"In what way?" John asked.

Sherlock sighed. "Tomorrow makes a week."

"Right."

"A week since it all started."

"Yes."

"And tomorrow is…"

John frowned, piecing as many pieces together as he could but still not sure. "Your third date?" he hazarded the guess.

"Yes. But that's not all."

"What am I missing?"

"What happened in a week, John? What is the best known event of all time to take place in exactly one week?"

John pondered it. "God made the world?" he asked.

"Nice one. Yes," Sherlock whispered.

"So, what, Moriarty's made some new world for you? For you and Molly?"

"Yes."

"But what does it mean? God creating the world was a good thing, Sherlock. And Molly is a good thing. Moriarty isn't good. He doesn't do anything that is remotely good."

"Oh, John," Sherlock sighed, turning back to the window. "Even a demon can long for Heaven."

Lestrade was waiting in the morgue when Sherlock arrived, John having decided he wanted some coffee even though they'd just had breakfast and had headed to the canteen. Sherlock knew that was code for "I really want to talk to Mary," but let it slide.

Sherlock strode towards the body. "Where's Molly? And why didn't you phone me as soon as you arrived on the scene?"

Lestrade stared. "I'm sorry, did you become a police officer while I wasn't looking? Sherlock, I don't have to call you every time someone is murdered. I am a Detective Inspector, you know."

"Oh? With no clues, no weapon, no murderer? How far did you think you were going to get on your own?" Sherlock asked. "Now, where is Molly?"

"She went to get something to run an analysis with. Look, Sherlock, I don't mind this thing with you and Molly: I'm glad for you, honestly. But it's my job to contact you if, and when, I think it's necessary. You shouldn't just get invited here by your girlfriend."

"She is NOT my girlfriend!" Sherlock snapped. "Why does no one understand that Molly Hooper is not, in fact, my girlfriend!"

He stopped, alarmed at the sudden outburst, the anger and fear he'd just heard in his own voice. Lestrade, amazingly, wasn't looking at him but over his shoulder. Sherlock turned around…

And saw said non-girlfriend staring at him through the open door, a stricken look on her face.

"I need to go get some things for a tissue sample," Molly said quietly. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

When she left, Sherlock slowly turned to see Lestrade looking at him with a mixture of disgust and irritation.

"Nice going, genius," Lestrade said dryly.

"This doesn't concern you, Lestrade," Sherlock said.

"Maybe not, but Molly is my friend, and for some stupid reason so are you. Look. I don't know if you're scared, or if someone pissed in your cornflakes or what. But what I do know is that that woman is over the moon for you, and no matter what she is or is not in your eyes, she thought differently and you've just hurt her feelings. Now, I'm going to go get some coffee, and maybe a doughnut, and I'll be back in fifteen minutes. Which I should not be doing right now, but God help me, I want to help you. So stop being such a git and sort it out, yeah?"

Lestrade left, Sherlock staring after him in amazement.

His phone beeped.

Fix this. Whatever it takes. And then keep your fucking mouth shut.

Sherlock sighed. If Moriarty was swearing, he was truly angry. Now three people were upset with him, and as soon as Lestrade told John what had happened he'd have four. Maybe he should just get Anderson and Donovan over as well, while he was at it, and make an official I'm Pissed Off at Sherlock club.

He wasn't sure why he'd reacted so strongly to Molly being called his girlfriend. Well, other than the fact that all this was a game of Moriarty's, it was happening so fast, it reminded him that something bad was going to happen eventually, he felt manipulated and trapped, and he had been drugged by a currently unknown substance or two for the past three days.

No reason.

And he also felt afraid. Because he knew his own dirty little secret, even though Moriarty knew it too. The thing he had just started to realize and could just barely admit to himself. The impossible, insane thing that he couldn't fully explain, chocolate or no chocolate.

He had some level of… feelings for Molly he'd never known he could have.

He didn't have time to analyze it at the moment. He had to figure out what to say to Molly, and fast.

When she came back in a few minutes later, she made a point of not looking at him. She walked past him as if he didn't exist and put her supplies down.

He sighed. "Molly…"

"You don't have to say anything. Probably better if you didn't, actually," she told him coolly.

"Molly, what I said-"

"You don't owe me an explanation," she said, voice going from cool to cold. "I mean, it's not like I'm your girlfriend or anything."

"No, you're not," he agreed softly, walking over to her. "But that doesn't mean you couldn't be, someday, does it?"

She sighed. "Sherlock…"

"I am afraid, Molly. There's your explanation. I have never in my life felt for anyone exactly what I feel for you. I think about you, I dream about you, I smell you on my clothes after I'm with you and quite frankly I am a bit terrified of this."

She stared at him with wonder in her wide eyes. "But… you know I… how I feel about you. You know I'd never try to hurt you or scare you."

"Yes. I do know that. But that doesn't stop it. I feel so much, Molly. It overwhelms me. It amazes me. I don't know how to deal with it, don't understand how people can cope with all these things and not get pulled under by them."

She glanced down. "Do… do you want to stop this? Is it too much?"

He tipped her head up with one hand and put his arm around her. "No. I don't. But apparently there are going to be side effects, one of which is me going a bit mental. I am sorry I hurt you. Believe me, Molly, hurting you is the last thing I want to do."

She nodded.

"There are probably going to be more times when I'll to ask your forgiveness," he went on. "Just… don't give up on me. I know I can be a thoughtless git, but I do care for you. I don't want to lose you."

Molly smiled at him. "You won't. As long as you talk to me like you just did, you won't."

Sherlock smiled back. "You look lovely, by the way. Dressing up for anyone special?"

"Me, myself… and maybe you."

"Maybe?" Sherlock asked.

"Well that depends."

"On what?"

"On whether you're going to kiss me or not."

He slipped his other arm around her, bent his head to hers and kissed her, letting himself simply enjoy the feel and smell and taste of her without trying to analyze anything, to see if he could. It was hard. Very hard. But he finally succeeded in the battle enough to lose himself in the kiss.

The sound of a cough at the door caused them to break the kiss, but Sherlock didn't move. He even tightened his arms around Molly. "Yes, John? Detective Inspector?" he asked mildly.

"Sherlock, Molly, I'm glad you made up and you're the new murder mystery power couple, but if you're finished snogging, we have a body over here that needs looked at?" Lestrade reminded pointedly.

Molly giggled and Sherlock smirked. "Certainly, Detective Inspector," he answered nicely, releasing Molly so they could walk over to the table. Lestrade muttered something about "snogging in a morgue" and "obviously made for each other" and then just huffed a bit.

John just stared. Then finally, when Sherlock glanced at him, he smiled.

It was madness, total madness.

And Moriarty aside, John couldn't have been happier.

"Molly's Lips," by Nirvana, copyright 1991, Sub Pop Records