A/N: Y'all make me so happy! Thank you thank you for all the wonderful reviews and hellos! I do hope that I've gotten to say hello to each of you and thank you for all your encouragement. That last chapter I think was my favorite so far. I'm so happy that you're getting some laughs and some "awwww"s from my little vignette. So.. onward and upward!

Disclaimer: I own nothing except Gabe, Scarlett and Cat the dog.

Molly placed her hand over her wine glass as the waiter approached. "None for me, thanks."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed in surprise at her refusal. "You turning down Merlot? Are you sure you're feeling all right?"

She smiled and nodded. "I don't want to have to throw out an entire batch of milk. I don't exactly produce enough as it is."

"I thought we said we weren't going to do this."

"What?"

"Talk about the baby. We agreed that tonight we were going to pretend that we were just Molly and Sherlock, two people on a date without any children or responsibilities. Like we were before Gabriel came."

"Oh really? Like we were before Gabriel came?"

"Yes." Molly stood up and gathered her purse. Grabbing a napkin, she wiped her lipstick off and finally grabbed her hair and tied it in a knot on the back of her head. "What… what are you doing?"

"I'm going back to the way we were before Gabriel came. Well… see you, Sherlock." She tried to walk away, but he stood up fast, blocking her path. "Something you needed?"

"You're ridiculous. Sit down," he said, reaching behind her to pull at the knot of hair so that it would spill around her shoulders once more. "You know what I meant. We're on like… a date." He winced at the term. "So just relax."

"On a date with you? Before Gabriel? That would have been nerve wracking," she mumbled as she took a sip from her water goblet.

"I don't know why you were always so skittish," he replied.

She made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a shriek. "Really? No idea?"

"Fine, I admit to being a little brusque—"

She could only stare. "Brusque? You told me I was stupid and unattractive every day for five years. I dunno why I'd be skittish around you."

"I never said you were unattractive—"

"Really? 'I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth's too small now.'" She parroted his words in an uncanny impersonation of him.

"I didn't say I didn't like it. Your mouth is small."

"Too bad you don't have that problem."

"Are you implying that my mouth is too large?"

"I'm not implying it. You have a big mouth, Sherlock Holmes. Which you shoot off far too often. Which someone should slap you in at least once or twice a week."

"Well don't hold back, Mols. Tell me how you really feel."

"Okay. You're rude. You never think before you say things. Half the time you filter me out when I'm talking so you never really know what I've said. You never clean up after yourself. For example, the sink in the bathroom after you shave looks like a yeti was murdered and you never rinse it out. You think tea is something that just happens. When you get up in the morning, you stomp around the house, waking me and everyone else up. You automatically assume that everyone knows what you're talking about, even when you don't explain, and then when we express confusion you act like we're the stupidest people alive. You play the violin in the middle of the night when people are trying to sleep, with no regard for them whatsoever. You shout, you're childish and you fall asleep after sex so quickly that sometimes I think you were unconscious the whole time." Her tirade was done just as the waiter came back with their starters. She nodded to him and placed her napkin in her lap with a graceful movement.

"Well… that was illuminating," Sherlock said, pushing his hands through his hair and shaking it out. It was a nervous gesture he had. "One might wonder why you're here at all."

Molly giggled. He actually looked hurt. Imagine that. Mousey little Molly Hooper had the power to hurt the feelings of the great Sherlock Holmes. She leaned forward and clasped his hand tightly. "You're also the most intelligent person I've ever known. You're self-assured and you never waver once you've made up your mind. You're honest, nearly to a fault sometimes, faithful and perhaps the most loyal friend I've ever had the pleasure to encounter. Your rudeness is tempered with little shots of sweetness and charm that are, surprisingly, sincere. It's true that you aren't the greatest advocate for sentiment, but you do love. I didn't used to think so, but you do. You love deeply and passionately, if only just a select few. I admire that you don't waste your time slapping insincere proclamations on everyone you meet. When you tell me you love me, I know that you mean it. You're an amazing father, a ferocious protector and an extremely thorough lover. That's why I'm here. That's why I stick with you through all the other. Lest you had this idea that I have some kind of childish infatuation with your hair or your eyes or those smolderingly mysterious cheekbones."

"You're far kinder to me than I deserve, Molly Hooper," he said. His voice was low and gravelly. There were slight blossoms of pink on his cheeks and he was almost stammering. She'd embarrassed him. "I'm not really… used to people complimenting me. Except backhanded. 'Oh he's so clever. Too bad he's such a prick.'" He stroked his fingertips along the tiny bones at the back of her hand. "You've always seen through me. How do you do that?"

"How do you?"

"Yeah, but I only see the bad stuff, usually. And it's all so… superficial. Things I can pick up from what they say or objects they carry. You seem to… feel it. Sense it, almost." He smiled, a genuine and warm Sherlock-y smile. "You make me believe in the impossible."

OoOoOo

"All right, Scar. You have to be really quiet," Gabriel whispered. "Otherwise Mr. Anderson will find you right away and the game will be over." Scarlett grinned, making a gurgling noise as she reached up to pull at his hair. He smiled back, putting a fingertip to his lips and then snapping the strap on her carrier. She'd have to be safe while she waited. The tiny wardrobe by the stairs was the perfect hiding place. Most people didn't even know it was there. He'd hidden in there from that awful Ms. Barrett once and it took her an hour to find him. And she didn't even find him, he snuck up on her. "Okay, you stay here Scar. I'll be back to get you in a little while." He pressed a kiss to her forehead and stuck her dummy in her mouth. She smiled around it as Cat pushed around him and into the wardrobe with the baby, sniffing around her and licking at her face. "Cat! Get out of there," Gabriel hissed, casting a glance over his shoulder to see if Anderson was watching. Still sitting in front of the television. Perfect. The little hound dog had become very protective of the new addition to the family and sat down beside the carrier. "Come on," Gabe urged, but the dog wouldn't budge, offering a defiant snuffle. He rolled his eyes, grasping Cat's collar and dragging her out and slowly closing the door. "Okay, Cat," he said with a mischievous smile. "The game is on."

OoOoOo

Molly was laughing so hard that her breath was coming in loud hiccups. "So what did you do? How did you catch him?"

"Well you'd think that finding a dwarf with a blowgun in London would be easy, but it was surprisingly difficult. But once we drew him out it was only a matter of time. And John did manage to recover. Fortunately the poison didn't have the opportunity to penetrate past his kneecap." Sherlock leaned forward and offered Molly more wine. "Help me finish the bottle," he said.

"Oh go ahead. I'm already going to have to dump the milk anyway." Once they'd stopped bickering, it was the best date Molly had ever had. Her and Sherlock's relationship was comfortable and friendly again. She was relieved about that, actually. Over the last few weeks, they'd become nothing except Scarlett and Gabriel's parents and that was scary. She feared that he didn't see her the same as he once did, but obviously that wasn't true. Their conversation was easy and playful. He never missed an opportunity to touch her and when he did it still sent that familiar shiver across her midsection that would radiate to places further south.

"I wanted to tell you. I overheard you and Gabe talking the other night. When did he start calling you mum?"

"Only six weeks ago," she chuckled. "I thought being observant was your schtick."

"I didn't say I hadn't noticed before, silly. But I kept forgetting to ask you."

"Does it bother you?"

"Not at all. I…I'm glad. Gabriel loves you. And he deserves a mother like you, Molly. You are a wonderful mother."

Molly blushed and took a sip of her wine to hide her glowing cheeks. "I try to be," she mumbled.

"It comes naturally to you. You were always able to put me in my place."

"Do you think his real mum would approve?"

"Irene? Of course she would. And it doesn't exactly matter, does it?" Sherlock drained his wine glass and stood up. "Come on. Let's dance." He gestured to the dancefloor, set off to the side. It was packed with people dancing close.

"What?" She looked stricken.

"You know… dancing." He pulled her chair back, taking her hand and tugging her up on her feet.

"What…wait? Sherlock! I can't dance!"

"Of course you can. Anyone with feet can dance. And they've made excellent strides in wheelchair technology, so even if you don't have feet you can dance," he babbled, leading her across the room and into the dance hall.

"But… I don't know what to do…"

"Just relax, Mouse. Let me lead you."

OoOoOo

"Oh my God… what am I going to do?" Anderson held his head in his hands, sinking down onto the sofa and desperately wishing it would swallow him. "What will I tell Sherlock?"

"I dunno, Mr. Anderson, but you better find my little sister or my dad's going to kill you. Did I ever tell you about the time he threw that guy out the window?"

Gabriel had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing out loud. Anderson hadn't even noticed she was gone for the first half-hour. He sat there, blithely watching telly and making Gabe fetch fizzy drink from the fridge. Until Gabriel happened to mention that it was time for Scarlett's last bottle. He went to the travel cot Molly had set up in the lounge only to find that Scarlett was nowhere to be found. He then began to tear the house apart looking for her: under beds, in the bathroom, even under the couch cushions. Gabriel had been kind enough to remind him that she was only six weeks old. "She can't crawl, stupid."

"Then where can she be?"

"I dunno, but you better find her."

Another half-hour later, here they were. Staring around the destroyed flat. "Lestrade! I'll call Inspector Lestrade. What if she's been kidnapped!?"

"Good idea," Gabriel nodded. "Of course the first person Uncle Greg will call is my dad."

"Shit. You're right." He chewed the thumbnail of his right hand, desperately searching the walls for any sign of help. "Donovan. She's good at this sort of thing. And she's a woman. Women are always good with babies."

"Nope," Gabriel replied, popping his 'p.' "If Sgt. Donovan comes in here, my dad really will kill you."

"He's not going to kill me. We joke about Sherlock being a psychopath, but he'd never actually kill anyone. Would he?"

"I dunno. He really likes Scarlett. And you lost her. He'll probably kill you. Slowly. And with pain."

Anderson's face fell and he shook his head sadly. He looked like a man going to his doom as he pulled out his mobile phone. "Wait! Mrs. Hudson… what about her?"

"She's in Brighton with her sister."

He sighed. "All right, we'll split up. Give the place another once over. If we don't find her, I'll call your dad… and then… hide in a closet somewhere." He stood up and they began to walk all over the house, going in and out of rooms. Anderson even called out the baby's name, much to Gabe's amusement. The baby didn't even know she had a name, much less what it was. She probably just thought her name was 'the baby.' Cat barked and yapped around them, running in and out between their feet. She actually succeeded in tripping Anderson once, making him fall face forward to the floor in the nursery.

"It's no use," he said after a long time, practically sniveling. "She's gone. Kidnapped! What are we going to do, Gabriel?"

"We? What's this we stuff? I'm not the babysitter!"

"You were supposed to help me!"

"I am helping you!" Just then they heard a shrill cry. Suddenly Gabriel's expression of feigned worry melted away like a wax statue in the sun. Anderson shot up from his seat and bolted down the stairs, following the noise. Gabriel went after him, dragging his feet slowly. The game was over.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, Anderson followed the shrill sounds of Scarlett's ever increasing cries of panic. After a few seconds of confusion, he finally spotted the tiny broom cupboard by the stairs. He threw open the door and there she was, sitting on the floor of the cupboard in her carrier. Her tiny red face staring expectantly up at them. "Thank God!" Gabriel sighed dramatically. "You found her!" When Scarlett saw her brother she grinned and clapped her hands.

OoOoOo

As soon as Sherlock and Molly opened the door at 221, they could hear a terrible commotion upstairs.

"Get back here, you little demon!"

As the couple emerged at the top of the stairs, the flat looked like a war zone. Gabriel was standing on top of his father's desk, wielding his violin bow like a sword to hold off Anderson in full attack stance. Scarlett cooed happily from the sofa.

Both looked afraid to move and followed Sherlock and Molly with their eyes. Finally Gabriel broke the silence. "I can explain…"