A/N: Hello, pretties! First off: a huge THANK YOU to everyone who voted for this story for the SAMFAs. It won in the rated M category for Best Romance, Best Mystery, and Fan Favorite.
Second: thank you for your patience with the updates. And more thanks and lots of love to: superlc529, PoxandRoses1211, naughtynyx, Hellscrimsonangel, Mrs Dizzy, MuteBanana, Heartgrater, BritMel, ThisLooksLikeAJobForMe, CumberChelz, Way Worse Than Scottish, Dizzybunny, fukyuu77, SexyKnickers, romanticincanada, wholockedfan13, beautyqueen24, and coloradoandcolorado1 for your wonderful reviews. You are my inspiration to write!
In today's chapter: Sherlock finally meets Mary.
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Molly watched Sherlock out of the corner of one eye as he paused at the door into 221.
"So, Molly. What do you deduce?" Sherlock asked wryly, aware of her stare. He was always aware of everything around him, chocolates and hormones and sex or not.
She laughed, the sound a little self-conscious. "You really don't want to go in there."
"Brilliant. Leave Bart's at once. Your future as a detective is assured," Sherlock said.
Molly swatted his arm playfully. "Ready to go knit some jumpers? I was thinking how lovely you'd look in a dark blue one, maybe with some daisies-"
Sherlock turned so fast Molly almost stumbled backwards. "Molly Hooper, if you so much as knit even one daisy, our newly acquired sex life, amazing as it may be, will be no more."
Molly blinked. Then she giggled. "Not fond of daisies, are you?"
"Not." Sherlock scowled.
Molly pressed herself against him, just enough to make him aware of her through their coats. "Amazing, did you say?"
Sherlock glanced away, discomfited. "Yes. Well…yes."
Molly reached up on tiptoe and snogged him. He resisted for all of two seconds, aware that they were still in public. Then he realized it didn't really matter and opened his mouth to meet hers.
She smiled when she pulled back, then adopted a mock-serious look. "No daisies, then."
Sherlock shook his head. "No daisies."
She tilted her head. "Seems a fair deal."
He rolled his eyes.
She snogged him again, pulling on the collar of his coat. "Come on. Let's go up."
Sherlock sighed. "Once more into the breach," he said sourly, and turned the handle.
Sherlock all but flung open the door, striding into 221B's sitting room like a one man army. Molly followed a few steps behind, glancing around a bit nervously. Surely this wouldn't be as bad as Sherlock thought, would it? And why should it? It wasn't as though he and John had… had they?
Oh, God. What if it was all true? What if they had been…
"Sherlock-"
"Where in the world are they? They knew we were coming back this morning," Sherlock muttered, walking around and examining things.
"Sherlock-"
"I mean really: I know we didn't set an exact time for this little getting to know you event, but they could at least have had the decency to start being prepared by 10 a.m.! Of all the-"
"SHERLOCK!"
Sherlock whipped around, frowning. "What is it, Molly?" He noticed the look on her face and the frown deepened. "What's the matter?"
"Sherlock… you and John… were you…did you…"
His blue-green eyes widened, and for once the great Sherlock Holmes seemed at a loss for words. Then his features settled into a look of smug amusement. "Did we what?"
Molly flushed, but held her ground. "Were you, you know."
"I'm afraid I don't, Molly: enlighten me," he quipped with a smirk.
"Were you lovers, you twit. You knew what I meant," she said, huffing.
He nodded. "Of course I did. But I wanted you to have the nerve to ask."
"Well?" Molly asked, exasperated.
Sherlock's smirk widened into a grin. "No. John Watson is, and likely always shall be, my best friend. Nothing more."
"Well," Molly said, fighting the urge to fidget while she stared at a spot just behind Sherlock's head. "Well. OK, then."
"Would it have mattered?" Sherlock asked, moving to her and taking her hands.
Molly shook her head. "Only in that it would have explained why you don't want to meet Mary," she said.
His brows drew together. "John has always treated you well. Actually, even more so now. Would he have not wanted you around if he had been jealous or hurt?"
She shrugged. "Maybe. But he'd probably never say. He's a very nice man."
Sherlock tilted his head. "And I am not."
"I didn't-" Molly began, but he waved his hand.
"It's the truth, Molly. You don't have to defend the truth. I am not always a nice man."
"Now you tell me," she joked feebly.
He smiled. "Yet here you are."
She looked up at him gravely. "Because I know you. All right: sometimes you are awful. But sometimes you can be really, really good, too. I've seen it. And as long as that's a part of you, I can accept the rest."
Sherlock reached up a hand, gently caressing her face. "Are you certain about that?"
Molly caught his hand in hers. "You know I am. I love you, Sherlock. All of you. And I'll wait however long it takes for you to know if you can love me too."
A shadow crossed his face, and for a second his expression was so sad, so painful it nearly broke her heart. Then he smiled an odd smile, lifted her hand to his lips, and kissed it.
"Molly," he said softly in a tone she couldn't define, "Somehow I don't think you'll have terribly long to wait."
Molly's moment of confusion was interrupted by the sound of voices from outside the front door.
"I told you to get coffee," a woman's voice said, clearly teasing.
"I know, I know, but you keep distracting me!" John replied.
There was a soft thump at the door as though someone was leaning against it, then the quiet jangle of keys. "How am I distracting you?" the woman, Mary from all accounts, asked.
"You're wearing a mini-skirt," John answered as the key clicked into the lock.
Mary laughed. "Well if that's all it takes to distract you, wait til you see what I brought to wear tonight to-" the door opened, and in barreled John and Mary, Tesco bags in hand, both their expressions turning from amused to surprised in about two seconds.
"Bed," Mary finished in a considerably quieter voice.
John hurriedly sat down his bags, then took Mary's from her and sat them down as well. "Hello, Sherlock, Molly," he greeted with entirely more cheerfulness than necessary. "We realized we didn't have any coffee and popped back out. It turned into a bit more of an excursion than we realized it would, as you can see…"
"Did it really?" Sherlock asked. "I'd not noticed."
Molly huffed quietly and John gave him a look. "Anyhow, we're back, and you're here, and… Mary, this is Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock, this is, as you know and will hopefully refrain from making a snide comment about: Mary Morstan."
Mary walked to Sherlock, standing in front of him close enough to extend a hand but she did not. "Mr. Holmes, I'm glad to finally meet you," Mary said.
Sherlock's gaze traveled over her.
Thirty-two: possibly thirty-three but no older. Husband was not in the military but her family was. Enjoys helping people but not filling out paperwork. And…
He gave a start.
She bore a striking resemblance to one of the nurses who'd attended Molly in hospital. The one who'd started to come in, saw him holding Molly's hand, and left.
"Are you really?" Sherlock asked quizzically, distracted by this odd turn of events. "Glad to meet me."
"Of course. It's always good to meet the other love in your partner's life, don't you think?" Mary asked. "Now, if I offer you my hand, will you shake it or stare at it derisively?" she added, and John snorted in amusement as Molly giggled.
Sherlock shot both of them a glance, then turned his attention back to Mary. "You don't seem as dull-witted as the other ones John has dated, so I suppose a handshake is in order."
"Good." Mary extended her hand, and Sherlock gripped it in his own: lightly, but enough to tell that her pulse wasn't elevated from anxiety and that she'd been taught by a man, likely her father, how to shake hands.
When she released her grip, Sherlock asked: "Miss Morstan: do you by chance have a younger sister working on the third floor of St. Bart's?"
Mary nodded. "Yes, Michelle. She'd mentioned to me about seeing you in hospital."
"Did she now," Sherlock said evenly.
Mary turned her attention to Molly. "And you're Molly Hooper. I'm Mary. IT's nice to meet you." She held out a hand.
Molly shook her hand warmly. "It's lovely to meet you as well, Mary. John has done nothing but sing your praises."
Mary smiled. "Well, I think I'm the lucky one to have him. But I'm glad to know it's mutual."
"Well. Now that we've all been introduced and politely fawned over each other, may we put up the groceries and have breakfast? Molly and I are hungry," Sherlock said.
"Yeah, of course," John said. "Sherlock and I will put things away and straighten up a bit if you lovely ladies would be kind enough to make breakfast?"
"We will?" Sherlock scowled.
"Yes, we will," John said firmly, directing Sherlock to grab some of the bags.
"I think we can manage that," Mary said. "Don't you, Molly?"
Molly nodded.
Sherlock sighed, but picked up the remainder of the bags and headed for the kitchen. "So what did you and Miss Morstan have in mind for this evening?" he asked John.
"Call me Mary, please," she interjected as they walked by.
Sherlock considered her for a moment, then nodded. "Very well, Mary. Then you may as well call me Sherlock. I never have cared much for being called Mr. Holmes."
"And to answer your question, we haven't made any definite plans," Mary told him. "We wanted to wait for you and Molly."
"Oh! Well, how about we all knit jumpers?" Molly asked brightly. "It's getting colder outside…"
Mary and John stared at her in confusion, but Sherlock dropped his bags and strode back into the sitting room. He planted himself in front of her, looked down, and scowled. "Molly," he said warningly.
Molly giggled. "Sorry. Private joke."
"You make jokes?" John asked Sherlock.
"No. Molly makes jokes and I roll my eyes."
"Yeah, sounds about right," John said.
Molly winked at Sherlock. He blinked in surprise. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly, and his eyes were warm as they met hers for a brief second before he turned and headed back to the kitchen.