A/N: A longer update in honor of Sherlolly Week on Tumblr! Hooray!

A big Sherlolly thank you to everyone who is reading, and the following fantastic reviewers: coloradoandcolorado1, Empress of Verace, MorbidbyDefault, MuteBanana, KendraPendragon, CumberChelz, Lono, Zora Arian, superlc529, 7stronger, Guest, Heartgrater, Inaieu, Three Faint Calls, AdaYuki, Guest, Nat, Rocking the Redhead, Beth-Tauri Chick, Benedict-Addict Holmes, Deep-within-the Labyrinth, Get Sherlock, Dizzybunny, travellady77, Fayth3, patemalah21, xxxmylifeisadreamsweetyxxx, Tutto-E-Lecito, Ann, AussieMaelstrom, lollipop-can, and whovianallover. Thank you all so much and happy Sherlolly week!

This chapter dedicated to Cumberseedybatch/CumberChelz!

Summary: Sherlock gets news from John that will change his life, and a second murder rocks his and Molly's relationship.

S&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&M

Sherlock stopped short just as John's eyes shot up to meet his.

"John?" Sherlock asked. He analyzed but for once could not observe what was going on.

"Sherlock. Good. You're here. That's good."

"You're babbling, John. What is this all about?" Sherlock asked.

John exhaled loudly, then turned and faced him. "I need to tell you something."

"And for this you drag me away from Bart's?"

John glowered. "It's important."

"Then I suggest you tell me," Sherlock said testily.

John blew out another loud breath. "OK. I'm just going to tell it like it is. No beating around the bush here."

"You realize by saying that you've contradicted yourself," Sherlock said.

"Bloody Hell, I'm nervous, OK? It's not every day I tell my best friend I'm going to ask my girlfriend to marry me!" John snapped, and his eyes widened as he realized the full extent of his words.

Sherlock went very still. If he were anyone else he would've repeated John. Instead he said, slowly: "You are going to ask Mary to marry you."

"Yeah. I am."

It was rare that Sherlock's brain failed him. This was one of those times. "When?" He managed to ask.

John's face was calmer now, though he was still nervous. "Tonight after dinner."

Sherlock blinked. "I see."

Both of them stood there in silence for a moment. Finally John cleared his throat. "So, yeah. I wanted you to know now."

"I see." Sherlock pondered for a moment before looking up at his friend, then down.

"Well, I can't say that it won't take some getting used to, having someone else living in the flat, but-"

"Sherlock," John interrupted. He moved closer to his friend and stared him in the eyes. Very gently he said: "we won't be living here."

Sherlock stopped, looking at John again. "What?" He knew the question sounded stupid even as he asked it, but sounding stupid was the least of his concerns at the moment.

"We won't be living here," John repeated. "Mary and I will get a place of our own in a few months."

"Why on Earth would you do that?" Sherlock snapped.

"Because we'll be getting married!" John snapped back.

"Are you sure she'll say yes?" Sherlock asked spitefully, then waved his hand. "Of course she'll say yes, don't ask stupid questions."

"Don't make stupid comments," John shot back.

"I don't understand why that necessitates your moving out, John! Don't you understand that if you leave I'll be-" Sherlock stopped.

John studied him. "You'll be what?" He asked softly.

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Without an assistant."

John shook his head. "You know, I'd really hoped that it wouldn't be too much to ask for that you'd be happy for me," he said. He laughed, short and bitter. "Shows you how stupid I am, doesn't it?"

Sherlock scowled. "You want me to be happy that you're leaving? Leaving our work?"

"I'm not leaving you! Or the work! I'm going to have to get a proper job but I'll still help you when I can! Sherlock how the Hell do you have the nerve to make this about you, anyway? I'm happy! I want you to be happy for me!" John's eyes glimmered for a moment before he blinked hard. "Why can't you for once just think about someone else?"

Now it was Sherlock whose eyes shone for a second. "Yes, you're right. I was certainly only thinking about myself when I jumped off the roof of Bart's, wasn't I?" He asked softly.

John looked down, ashamed. "I didn't… I'm sorry," he said quietly. He looked back up. "I shouldn't have said that. I'm really sorry."

Sherlock glanced down. "Yes, well. Perhaps we should move on for now, all right?"

"OK," John replied. He paused for a moment and said: "you know you'll still have Molly, right?"

Sherlock's expression grew distant. "No. I don't know that."

John blinked. "Oh, God. Something's happened, hasn't it? What's happened?"

"Mycroft's men found the body of that musician Steve that Molly used to date."

"So he was…"

"Murdered, yes," Sherlock said. "Moriarty also gave me a new phone: one with no monitoring devices. He said it's time for the next step of the game."

John's lips pressed into a tight line. "And you still have no idea of what the game is."

"No. I do."

"You do? What is it?" John exclaimed.

"Two dead bodies, John. Both ex-boyfriends of Molly. One found right after I have two dates with Molly, and now another after six months of us dating."

"Right, well, Moriarty could just be getting rid of your competition, like you said," John began, but Sherlock shook his head.

"Don't be absurd. I have no competition," he said dismissively.

John laughed a brief bark of a laugh. "You certainly have no modesty," he said.

Sherlock sighed. "John. You know as well as I do that Molly is in love with me and has been for a long time now. Two years, one month, and seventeen days, to be precise. Well, give or take a few days. A woman like Molly doesn't fall in love and go back to seeing old boyfriends."

"No, she doesn't," John agreed. "So what does it mean?"

Sherlock's reply as cut off by his mobile ringing. He answered it. "Yes, Lestrade. Where? How long ago? On our way."

He hung up. John stared. "The musician?"

"Yes."

"But you knew about it already. How?"

"I told you. Mycroft."

"So what took them so long to call?"

"Mycroft thought we needed to have our chat first. It seems my brother knew you were planning to propose and I didn't." Sherlock looked irritated to no end by this.

"How? Oh, bloody hell, he monitors my bank account," John sighed. "He knew I'd bought the ring."

"Very emotionally insightful of him to want me to talk to you first," Sherlock mused.

"I hope that runs in the family some day," John said wryly, and Sherlock's lips twitched in a slight smile.

"Come on," Sherlock said, turning towards the door. "We've got to meet Lestrade at the morgue. I'll try to have you home in time for losing your esteemed nickname."

Lestrade and Donovan were in the morgue, along with Molly. Sherlock and John came in and after a quick glance at Molly Sherlock flicked his eyes over Lestrade and Donovan. "Well?"

"Body was discovered by some joggers Time of death between 1 and 5 a.m."

"What was the cause of death?" John asked.

"Strangulation," Sherlock said, glancing at the body. "The same letters carved are into his chest as last time, I'm sure."

"Yeah, they are," Lestrade said.

"Everything creepy happens around you, Holmes," Donovan said. "Why is that?"

"That's enough," Lestrade snapped.

"Why? It's true. And you need to tell him the rest of it," Donovan said.

"What rest of it?" Molly asked.

Lestrade sighed. "Sherlock… one of your cards was found in his jacket."

"My cards? Since when I do go around giving out cards?" Sherlock asked.

Lestrade showed him the evidence bag. It contained a business card that said "The Science of Deduction" and has his contact information along with the title of Consulting Detective.

"I've never seen that card before. I've never had cards like that," Sherlock said, frowning. "I assume you dusted it for prints?"

"Yeah. Has his on it but not yours."

"Of course you would know to wear gloves," Donovan said softly.

"Sergeant Donovan, I would also know how to dispose of a body properly if I was inclined to commit murder, as well as to remove any incriminating evidence first," Sherlock replied. "Detective Inspector Lestrade, don't you need to ask me something?"

"Wait a minute," John and Molly said simultaneously.

"It's fine," Sherlock told them. "Go ahead, Detective Inspector. I've been expecting it."

"You have?"

"Of course. Since you phoned me. Two of Molly's former boyfriends have now turned up dead and she's dating a self-proclaimed high-functioning sociopath: what else could you do?"

"Sherlock didn't do this!" Molly burst out.

"Molly," Lestrade said.

"He wouldn't have! Even if he did he wouldn't be stupid enough to let the bodies be found!" Molly said, then frowned. "That didn't quite come out right."

"Molly I realize you're trying to help, but perhaps you could refrain?" Sherlock said.

"Where were you between the hours of 1 and 5 a.m. this morning?" Donovan asked.

Sherlock fixed her with a stare. "I was with my girlfriend."

Lestrade looked at Molly. "Molly?"

She nodded. "Yes, he was. We were in bed. No, I mean: we were sleeping…"

"Yeah, I understand, Molly," Lestrade said hastily. "Did you wake up at any time during the night and notice Sherlock missing?"

She shook her head. "No. I didn't wake up during the night."

"So he could've gotten up, left and come back, then" Donovan said coolly.

"OR he could've spent the night beside me like he usually does," Molly said, equally coolly.

"Sherlock where were you the night Alden Wodehouse was murdered?" Lestrade asked.

"I was at 221B with John."

"All night?" Lestrade looked at John. "Can you vouch for seeing him all night?"

"No," John said angrily. "I went to bed around midnight. I saw him the next morning around nine. Look, surely to God you don't think Sherlock-"

"It doesn't matter what they think, John, Sherlock said softly. "They have to pursue every possibility, and I am a logical suspect."

"But this is all Moriarty's work!" John exclaimed furiously. "You saw the information on the assassins, you know what happened!"

"But there's still no Moriarty, is there?" Donovan asked, and this time she didn't sound smug. "We've got nothing more to go on right now, John. We have to look at every possibility, just like Holmes said."

"Well at least you're not calling him Freak anymore," John muttered.

"He's not quite as much of a freak as I thought," she murmured, glancing at Molly. "Still creepy, though."

Lestrade sighed. "Well, that's enough to keep you from needing to come in for questioning for now, Sherlock, but it's not enough to rule you out."

"Understood," Sherlock replied, his voice distant as he concentrated. "The boyfriend or husband is always the first suspect."

"Yeah, you know how this goes as well as I do," Lestrade said. "We're working on tracing the card. There are just so many places cards like that could've been ordered from though."

Sherlock moved to Steve's body and began a more thorough investigation. He leaned close to the body and inhaled deeply. He picked up the dead man's arm by holding his coat sleeve. "Lestrade and Sergeant Donovan, if you're finished for now, John and I have to go. Moriarty left a vital clue here."

"He did?" Everyone else exclaimed in unison.

Sherlock looked at them, surprised. "Of course. Don't you know?"

"No," they replied in unison again. Sherlock sighed.

"You don't smell it?"

"Smell what?"John asked.

"He has the smell of a pub on him. But not just any pub. One where they smoke cigarettes and serve fish and chips and-" he paused and inhaled again- "Blue Moon Pale Ale. An American beer. In a bottle. You can see a faint trace of it on his coat. Have you questioned his friends?"

"Just before I phoned you. His bandmates said they rehearsed until about eleven and then he said he was going to get something to eat. Wanted to go alone: he seemed excited so they thought he was going to meet someone. They offered him a lift but he wanted to walk."

"So he didn't have far to go," Sherlock murmured. "Get me the address of where they rehearsed."

Lestrade checked and rattled off an address. Sherlock smiled. "I know exactly where he went, then. Molly, I'll see you at seven. Lestrade, let me know if you have more questions. I'll let you know what we find. Donovan, a… pleasure as always. John, let's go."

Lestrade glanced at Molly as Sherlock strode off, John hurrying to keep pace. "Does it bother you, him just running off like that?"

Molly shook her head. "It makes him happy, having work. I want him to be happy. I know how he feels about me."

"Do you?" Donovan asked.

Molly glanced at her with a frown. "Yes." She picked up a scalpel. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got work to do."