Sherlock endured a withering lecture from John once they had bid the girls goodbye at the café and were in his flat on Baker Street. To be honest, he wasn't really listening as John ranted on about lies and not standing for it. Sherlock's mind was already racing with possibilities concerning the winning over of Molly Hooper's heart.

'We didn't want the both of you to find out you shared a party line at first,' John snapped as he paced back and forth in front of the thinking detective. 'But to lie outright, change your voice and flirt? That's not you at all, unless you're undercover. So, what are you playing at, Sherlock?'

'She would have known me the moment I spoke,' Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'Unlike you, she's not a complete idiot.' He pinched his fingers together and, in a rare moment of honesty, admitted, 'I have been meaning to court the elusive Doctor Hooper. But the revelation that she is also Molly has thrown a wrench in my plans.'

John took several deep breaths, as he looked for any deception in Sherlock's admission. Not finding any, he pointed an angry finger at him and in a dangerously calm voice said, 'When this all goes to hell, Sherlock Holmes, and it will, I will not be there to cover you. Molly is Mary's dearest friend, and I like her. I'll give you one week to tell her the truth before I do it for you.'

'One week?' Sherlock raised an eyebrow and scoffed. 'By then, she'll be so in love with me, the truth will hardly matter.'

True to his intentions, Sherlock had put in every effort to winning over the sweet nurse with a morbid streak to rival his.

Monday he sent a bouquet of calla lilies, her favourite, to her work and took her out to the café for coffees.

On Tuesday, he ducked into the lab when no one else who would recognize him would be around and brought her lunch. Over roast beef sandwiches, he winked at her and puffed in pride at the blush that darkened her cheeks. He left with the promise of dinner the next evening.

After dining at a charming restaurant that Wednesday, Sherlock offered his arm to her and together they strolled through the park under the pink-swept sunset sky. Molly began to feel more comfortable under his attention and spoke less hesitantly about her work and her life. With each admission, Sherlock felt his heart melt a little more. A slight pang hit him as he remembered his duplicity, but he brushed it aside. She'd understand his doubts that she'd give him a chance as Mr Holmes and she'd forgive him; that's the kind of generous, sweet woman she was.

So, why was he putting off telling her?

Molly danced around her bedroom, holding her blue dress against her chest and letting the skirt billow around her. The smile hadn't left her face since she'd met Sherlock; he was everything she'd dreamed the perfect man to be: charming, gallant, sweet, and handsome. Well, almost everything. He was a bit of a clumsy man and not as intelligent as she'd like, he rarely talked of his work and when he did, he seemed to be horribly bored by it.

But he made her feel important and desired. And her feet hadn't touched the floor all week.

And now, five days after they'd met, she was sure she was in love… well, on her way to it, at least.

She sighed happily and carefully laid her dress on the bed. Sherlock would be calling soon to tell her what time he would be picking her up for their night out dancing. Best make sure the line was free. She picked up the receiver and immediately rolled her eyes.

'…at the station at 6:10. They are expecting you to pick them up, William.'

'It's your turn to get them, I got them last time!'

'I have an important meeting with the American delegation, I cannot possibly get away.'

'Oh, come of it, Myc!' Mr Holmes snapped. 'You can send one of your minions instead!'

'I rather think not.'

'Myc!'

'Billy!'

'I had to interrupt this delightful conversation,' Molly interjected dryly. 'But I am expecting a call and, if you recall Mr Holmes, our agreement is that the evening calling hours are to remain mine.'

'I do apologize, Ms Hooper,' the other man, Myc, said with the smoothness of a politician. 'Billy, I trust you will do as asked and I shall see you round Baker Street for our weekly chess game come Sunday.'

The speaker clicked as Mr Holmes' brother disconnected.

'Interesting how alike the both of you are, yet your brother has more manners than you will ever boast,' Molly snapped over the line.

Mr Holmes nearly growled over the line, clearly still disgruntled from his disagreement with his brother. 'Manners are a societal construct, ever-changing. What you perceive as 'manners' are, to those of us who do not need to conform to ridiculous customs, merely an impediment to our way of life. I do not desire to waste time 'making nice' just to appease someone like you.'

Clenching her teeth, Molly hissed into the phone with white-knuckled anger, 'Perhaps you would find others more accommodating were you to employ those manners you sneer at, instead of aggravating everyone around you into hating you!'

She slammed the receiver down in anger. 'Pompous prat!'

Within minutes, the receiver rang. Fully expecting it to be Sherlock, Molly took a calming breath and let the excitement of her date fill her up again. 'Hello?' She answered sweetly.

'Miss Hooper,' the familiar rumbling baritone broke over the line.

'What do you want, Mr Holmes?' She snapped, her anger returning full force.

He sighed and she swore she heard him fiddling with the cord. 'I wanted to apologize. My tone was… uncalled for.'

Molly blinked in surprise, her mouth gaping open. 'Oh? Oh, I-uh… thank you.'

'That being said-'

'Of course,' Molly mumbled and rolled her eyes. There was always a 'but' with him.

'-I stand by what I said. I see no reason for me to employ 'manners' as a way to ease the feelings of those around me. Our lives would all be much more efficient were we to cease being so infernally offended by anything and everything one says to another.'

Her grip tightened on the receiver. 'Perhaps that is your opinion. But I happen to disagree. Manners are a basic common courtesy. Why should I suffer a bad day simply because it is slightly inconvenient to you?'

He scoffed over the line. 'If you take offense at every little thing, then that is your issue. Not mine.'

'Mr Holmes, we seem to be of equal stubborn, yet opposite minds. I see your point of view, but refuse to accept it as my own. And you obviously feel the same, so let us save us both time and frustration and agree to simply disagree.'

'I would be agreeable to that arrangement-'

Molly sighed in relief.

'-if you weren't insistent on being in the wrong.'

She gripped her hair in anger and whirled around, the cord winding around her torso. 'Ugh, you are… such an insufferable, arrogant prat!'

'I should take offense at that, but you are simply expressing an opinion. Which I wholeheartedly agree with you upon.'

'Then you'll agree that this conversation has no end in which either of us comes out on top. So, I shall bid you a good evening, Mr Holmes. I hope it's as insufferable as you.'

Once again, she slammed the receiver down. When Sherlock called a few minutes later to inform her he was on his way, she tried to keep the frustration from her voice, but his reserved tone at her somewhat short replies wrapped her in guilt at failing.

Sherlock brushed imaginary wrinkles from his suit jacket as he waited for Molly to open the door. After the call between Mr Holmes and Molly earlier that evening, he'd been wracked with guilt. She'd never forgive him for his deception, not when he'd treated her so abominably on the phone and lied to her about who he was. The bouquet of roses in his hand wouldn't soften the blow, but it was worth a try.

He would tell her tonight. Get it over and done with and pray that she forgive him, give them a chance as Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper; the socially-inept detective and the morbidly-sweet nurse. Not the consulting 'accountant' and the woman who hated the other side of her party line.

He gulped as he heard her soft call of 'coming' from the other side of the door.

The moment the door swung open, any words he'd prepared flew right out an open window in his Mind Palace. Clothed in a sultry dress of midnight blue, Molly was breathtaking. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders and shimmered in the light, as did her luminous brown eyes that widened in delight at the flowers he thrust toward her.

'Oh, they're beautiful, Sherlock!' She took them and buried her nose in their soft petals. 'Mmm, wonderful. Thank you! Come, I'll put them in a vase.'

She grabbed his hand and pulled him into her flat. He followed dumbly, staring at the curves under the luscious fabric swirling around her body. His mouth ran dry when she looked back and smiled at him.

How could he possibly destroy whatever chance he had with this amazing woman?

'So, which club did you decide on for tonight? I'm feeling rather energetic, so nothing too smokey and jazzy.' She giggled as she filled the vase with water and carefully arranged the roses into an artful display.

When he didn't respond, she turned back to him with a frown. 'Sherlock?'

He blinked out of his daze and instinctively reached out for her hand, pulling her toward him.

'Oh!' She laughed as she was crushed against him, his arm across her back holding her to him and her hands pressed against his chest.

'You, Molly Hooper,' he growled in his natural baritone, 'are much too distracting.'

A deep blush darkened her cheeks and down her chest. 'Th-thank you.' Her levity faded under his intense stare, but he couldn't fight it. He knew once she learned of his deception, he would lose her. And his fear dampened any happiness the evening might elicit.

'Molly…' He brushed back the strands of hair that had slipped over her shoulder. She shivered at his touch, staring up at him in surprise and more than a hint of uncertainty. 'You are… more beautiful to me than I will ever be able to express in simple words.'

Molly's eyes softened at his words, but she still bit her lip, as though uncertain of his sincerity. 'That's…s-sweet of you, Sherlock,' she whispered with a forced smile.

He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. 'You don't believe me.'

'It's not that… I've just…' She sighed and looked down as she hesitantly confessed, 'I've never really been the beautiful type. I'm too morbid, too plain, with practical fashion sense that comes across as atrocious.'

Sherlock tightened his grip on her and tilted her chin up until she looked back at him. Her admission angered him; that anyone could make her feel so insecure about herself. She was sweet and generous, passionate and eloquent when angry, compassionate and understanding. And the things she did to him in that dress.

'Beauty is simply a construct of societal expectations, ever-changing. Everyone has their own idea of beauty.' Not realizing his slip of the tongue, he cupped her cheek and brushed his thumb along her cheekbone, his heart skipping a beat when she turned her face into his hand. 'To me, you are the epitome of the word and far exceed any expectations I could ever have fathomed.'

Molly melted at his words.

Slowly, she raised herself up, as he lowered his face closer to hers. Her lips were scant centimeters from his when she suddenly froze.

His heart stopped when he saw realization slowly dawn on her face.

'Societal… construct…' she murmured in thought. Her eyes raised to his in horror. 'M-mister Holmes…?'

Damn. 'Molly, I-'

'You're Mr Holmes.' She jerked out of his arms and stepped away, tears of humiliation filling her eyes. 'Oh my god, I'm the biggest idiot in the world!'

'No, Molly, please, let me explain,' he beseeched her, his hands reaching out to her as she turned away.

'This was all just a game to you, some prank to play... changing your voice, being sweet and romantic...' she accused quietly.

'It was never a prank, Molly… please…'

Just as his fingertips brushed her shoulder, she flinched and whirled about. He blanched at the tears falling from her hurt-filled eyes. He swallowed the lump in his throat and felt his heart clench painfully. 'Leave,' she whispered, her voice wobbling.

'Moll-'

'Please, just go.' She placed her hand over her mouth, her shoulders shaking slightly before she straightened up purposefully and walked over to her door, opening it in silent demand for him to leave.

He stared at her for a minute, feeling his heart crumble in on itself at her hurt and rejection. Pulling what was left of it together, he walked past her, seeing the tears coursing down her cheeks from the corner of his eye, and into the hall. He whirled around to beseech her once more, only to have the door slammed closed in his face, punctuated by a muffled sob from the other side.

Well, John. You were right.

It's all gone to Hell.