A/N: In this chapter, we first get a sense of Mycroft. He's still an angel in good standing while Sherlock is a fallen angel. Thank you to my readers, you're keeping me going.

Hours later, Sherlock lay wide-awake in the guestroom bed, his new client's words echoing in his head. "Oh, believe me, Sherlock, part of me is furious that I'm not taking you up on your offer." He changed positions for the umpteenth time that hour, so that he was lying on his side, his eyes on the door. Her bedroom is next door. Why am I not in there with her, encouraging that part of her? He heard his older brother's mocking voice in his head. Could it be you've finally found a human you respect? How very unlike you, Sherlock.

"Sod off, Mycroft," he muttered aloud. He hadn't seen his older brother since the Fall, but that didn't stop him from acting as Sherlock's conscience, such as it was. Giving up on getting his usual four hours of sleep, he got up and pulled on his burgundy silk dressing gown, not bothering to tie it. Sherlock smiled a bit as he remembered the look on Molly's face when he'd snapped his fingers and his entire designer wardrobe appeared in the guestroom closet. She'd lightly fingered the material of his aubergine dress shirt and he'd desperately wanted to feel those delicate fingers dancing across his skin.

I still do. This imposed celibacy is going to be the death of me. He left the guest room, pausing just long enough outside Molly's bedroom to assure himself that she was still asleep, then he walked down the hall to her small office. She had told him the room was off-limits during the tour, but if there was one thing Sherlock had a problem with, it was boundaries.

He sat at her desk and turned on her laptop. The password was easy to guess – mytom. Sherlock soon found himself looking through her photos. Pictures of a happy Molly and her bad-in-bed fiancé scrolled by. What did she ever see in him? Did he even appreciate this woman, who's willing to give up her soul for him even now?

What do you care? Mycroft's voice was back again. You'll get to feast on her soul, isn't that all that matters? Or are you finally starting to think about the whole person, not just the soul or the body?

"Shut up, Mycroft!" he shouted, furiously ruffling his curls with both hands as if that gesture would be enough to purge his older brother from his head.

"Sherlock?" The quiet voice from the doorway was definitely not Mycroft's.

He looked up to see Molly standing there, her long hair in a braid, wearing a threadbare sky blue bathrobe over pale yellow pajamas covered in, of all things, cartoon kittens and watermelons, and cat slippers. But it was her eyes that drew his – bleary from her interrupted sleep but full of concern.

"Are you alright?" She came closer.

Sherlock quickly stood up but in his haste, he forgot that he hadn't bothered to tie his dressing gown closed and wasn't wearing anything underneath it. Molly's eyes, large to begin with, went almost unnaturally wide and her cheeks flushed bright red before she quickly turned away from him. Sherlock blinked at her in confusion then looked down at himself.

"Oh." He closed his dressing gown and tied it securely. "There."

Molly turned back warily but relaxed a bit when she saw that he was covered, though her cheeks were still pink. "Do you, um, always walk around showing off your, um, assets to everyone?"

Now, do I flirt with her? Or do I just be honest? He smiled a bit. "Only with the people I like." Seeing her flush deepen, he chuckled softly. "Honestly, I forgot. I live alone, so there's no one to see me no matter what state of undress I'm in." He reached out to gently take her hand, murmuring, "Forgive me, Miss Hooper."

She shivered as she pulled her hand away. "I do." She looked over at her laptop and raised an eyebrow at him. "We need to talk about you hacking into my computer. That's not as easy to forgive."

"I wanted to know more about you." Even to his own ears, he sounded like a little boy who got caught sneaking sweets before dinner. What is the matter with me?

"You could have asked." Molly shut down the laptop then looked at him expectantly.

"Did he appreciate you?" he murmured. "Would he have appreciated the lengths you've gone to avenge him?"

She stared at him long enough for him to feel uncomfortable for even asking. He was about to take the question back when she sighed painfully. "It doesn't matter now. He's dead but I owed him vengeance. The price doesn't matter, only the result."

"Would he have done the same for you?"

"No." Her answer was immediate and certain.

He raised an eyebrow. "You're that sure?"

"Yes." Molly swallowed hard. "I don't want to go into why, I just know he wouldn't have done the same thing."

Sherlock lightly rested his hands on her shoulders. "Why would you give up eternity for someone who wouldn't do the same?" He kept his voice soft and gentle, and his hands still, but what he really wanted to do was shake some sense into this woman.

Molly looked up at him with those big brown eyes and said softly, "Love." She moved out of his grasp, her tone changing to annoyed. "Now, if you're done snooping, I'd like to get back to bed."

"Alone?" He gave her his most charming smile, the one that could seduce the most chaste virgin.

She just rolled her eyes. "Yes, alone." Molly turned and left the room, not seeing the gobsmacked look on his face.

The hell? That smile always worked before! He heard Mycroft chuckle in his head. Losing your touch, brother mine? "She's just tired," he muttered. Sherlock was about to leave the room when he noticed the framed photo of Tom on her desk. In a fit of pique, he waved his hand over it, the photo of Tom changing to one of him. Much better.

The next morning, Sherlock was already in the kitchen and making French toast when Molly walked in. She stared at him, then at the bread frying in the pan, then back at him.

"I didn't know you could cook," she said. She got a cup out of the cabinet then reached for the full coffeepot and poured herself a cup. "Or knew how to make coffee."

Sherlock smirked. "I said I'd serve you. This is easy compared to some of the things I've done for past masters."

"Such as?" She sipped her coffee. "Mmm, this is good."

He grinned his thanks then slid the finished French toast slices on a plate. "Toppled a few dictators, changed the results of a few elections, that sort of thing." He found maple syrup and powdered sugar in the cabinets and offered them to her.

"Both," she said, smiling a bit. "So, you're the person keeping the 24-hour news cycle cycling."

He chuckled as he drizzled the syrup over the pieces then sprinkled them with powdered sugar. "Something like that. I may or may not also be behind a few 'no confidence' votes, I'm not at liberty to say." He gave her the plate and started on his own breakfast. "Silverware's on the peninsula."

Molly sat down on one of the kitchen chairs and started eating. "I can't think of enough synonyms for 'delicious' to describe these, Sherlock."

He laughed softly as he put the eggy pieces of bread on the skillet. "Thank you. I love to cook but my favorite thing to make is dessert." He turned to her, grinning wickedly. "I warn you, I'm not above using chocolate to get what I want."

Molly's cheeks reddened as she smiled at him. "I'm going to need to be on my guard around you."

I thought you already were, Sherlock thought. I'll just try harder, then.

After breakfast, Molly put on sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt then started doing her laundry. Sherlock suspected that she chose to wear her most shapeless clothes because of him. It doesn't matter what she wears, she's still an attractive woman. He leaned against the doorway to the laundry room, grinning to himself as she bent over to pick up a stray sock from the floor, unintentionally giving him a nice view of her bum, even in the sweats.

"You should let me handle that," he said, amused. "I'm the servant, after all."

Molly straightened then turned to glare at him. "I'll do my own laundry, thank you. The last thing I need is you pawing at my bras and panties."

"I never paw at anything," Sherlock said, mock-offended. "I fondle, I grope, I even hold reverently if given half a chance, but I never paw."

She rolled her eyes. "You're still not touching my lingerie."

"What if I do the rest of your laundry and leave the unmentionables to you?" he asked, trying hard to keep a straight face.

After a moment's consideration, she nodded. "Alright, that'll free up a good part of my Saturdays."

"That's why I'm here, to make your life easier." Sherlock straightened then moved to her, smiling a bit. "Now that I've freed up hours of your precious time, how shall we spend it?" He leaned to murmur in her ear, "I can think of a few ways."

"I'm sure you can," Molly said, in a tone that sounded to Sherlock a lot more patronizing than promising. "But that's not what you're here for."

"It's only a matter of time," he said, smirking. And I have all the time in the world.

As the weekend went on, Sherlock took over more and more of Molly's household chores. Sunday afternoon found Molly curled up with a book and a cuppa in her favorite chair in the sitting room instead of working on her to do list. Sherlock was preparing dinner in the kitchen. Every so often, he could feel her eyes on him. He had decided to make a game of it. The first time he felt it, he removed his jacket. The second time, he rolled up his sleeves. He was debating what to do if he felt her eyes on him a third time when he heard her speak from the couch.

"It's going to be hard to make dinner without a shirt on, Sherlock."

"For you or for me?"

He heard one of the pillows hit the floor between the couch and the kitchen with a thump. He smirked. "You're going to have to throw a lot harder than that if you expect to hit me from there."

"Insufferable demon," Molly muttered.

Sherlock just laughed.

Monday morning, Sherlock was just pulling on his Belstaff when Molly headed for the hall closet. She gave him an inquisitive look.

"Going somewhere?"

He smiled a bit. "I'm going to escort you to work."

She blinked in surprise. "Every day?"

"Yes, of course. You never know what dangers you'll meet on the Tube."

Molly rolled her eyes. "Sherlock, I've never been-" She stopped herself and sighed quietly, and Sherlock knew she was thinking of the mugging. "Maybe I do need a protector."

Sherlock nodded then helped her into her coat and offered her his arm, smiling a bit. "The best protectors are scarier than what's threatening you, and what's scarier than a demon?"

Molly laughed softly. "Not much."

While Molly was at work, Sherlock took it upon himself to clean every room of her flat, floor to ceiling. When he was done, he still had time to kill until it was time to return to Bart's for the end of her shift. Sherlock hated being bored. There was always something interesting to do, he just had to find it. He was pacing the kitchen, trying to decide on what to do next, when his eyes landed on one of Molly's little-used cookbooks.

Perfect!

When he and Molly walked back into the flat that evening, the first thing she did was sniff the air. He grinned as her face lit up.

"Ginger nuts!"

Sherlock chuckled. "They're my favorite too." He helped her out of her coat. "Why don't you have a couple while I make dinner?"

Molly was already heading to the kitchen. Sherlock hung up her coat then his as well, smirking to himself. It looks like I'll be able to seduce her with my cooking. Easiest seduction ever.

He mentioned his cleaning session and subsequent boredom to Molly over chicken fricassee. She laughed softly.

"Sherlock, I never asked you to clean my flat." She gave him an amused smile.

He found himself temporarily mesmerized by her dancing eyes and dimples then mentally shook himself. "How else can I serve you when you're not here?"

Molly sighed softly. "You don't need to serve me all the time. I'm a perfectly capable adult, after all."

"My service is part of the contract," he reminded her. His next words fell out of his mouth without so much as a by-your-leave from his brain. "After everything you have been through, you need someone to look after you." What the hell? Between this and offering to escort her, it sounds like I'm getting soft.

The strange look Molly gave him made him think she must be thinking the same thing. "I was doing fine on my own, Sherlock. I've been alone for most of my adult life."

"You're not alone now, my service is for life." Why am I telling her all this? She knows it just as well as I do.

She considered his words for a moment then smiled a bit. "Well, then, we'd better find you a hobby."

"I have a hobby, I'm a violinist."

Molly's face lit up. "I love violin music! Could you play for me after dinner? Please?"

How could I say no to that? He pretended to think about it, unable to keep a smirk off his face. "Well…"

She tossed her wadded-up napkin at him, laughing softly. "For an incubus, you're an awful tease."

He chuckled deeply then murmured, "I never tease about the important things." Without giving her a chance to respond, he snatched her hand and kissed her knuckles, his eyes locked on hers the entire time. She shivered, her pupils dilated, and in that moment, he knew he had her. He leaned to murmur in her ear, "Will you sing for me after?"

She hesitated, giving him hope, then sighed quietly, not meeting his eyes. "I'm tempted. I'm really, really tempted, but I can't, Sherlock. I don't love you. It would be different if I did."

Sherlock felt a flicker of pain somewhere in his chest at her words but he ignored it as he leaned back. "Your strength is … admirable. I can't remember the last time a woman was able to resist me."

Molly smiled at him weakly. "I guess that makes me special."

More than you know. Instead of responding, he got up and took both of their plates to the kitchen. Molly followed him, leaning against the peninsula as he washed the dishes. He could feel her eyes on him, specifically his arse, and he couldn't hold back a grin. I'm wearing her down.

"What's for dessert?" she asked when the dishes were done.

He turned to grin at her. "Triple Chocolate Mousse Cake."

Sherlock knew that the sound of the soft moan that left her lips would stay with him for the rest of his days.

A few nights later, Sherlock was jolted awake by the sound of Molly screaming. He jumped out of bed and ran to her room. As soon as he opened the door, he knew the cause of her distress. Molly was in bed, her eyes squeezed shut as she thrashed her limbs, tears streaming down her face. "Tom! Tom! Nooooo…." It was a long, loud, heartbroken wail.

Sherlock went to the bed and leaned over the still-thrashing Molly, gently pinning her wrists to the bed. "Molly," he murmured, "Molly, wake up…" She struggled against him so he said her name louder. "Molly, wake up!"

Her eyes shot open and she stopped struggling. She stared at him confusedly for a heartbeat then started to sob. Sherlock sat on the bed and, not knowing what else to do, gently pulled her into his lap. Molly clung to him as she sobbed into his shoulder. His arms wrapped around her protectively as he murmured soothing sounds into her hair. When her sobbing was reduced to quiet sniffles, he offered her a black linen handkerchief.

Molly laughed weakly as she accepted it and dried her eyes. "How did I know your handkerchief would be black?"

He chuckled softly. "It's my favorite color." He gently stroked her hair, murmuring, "Do you want to talk about it?"

She sighed painfully. "It was the mugging all over again. Only this time, it was worse."

"How?"

"In real life, Tom died instantly when Danny shot him." She swallowed hard. "But in my dream, he lingered. He told me he wanted me to be happy and that meant that I have to move on. He made me promise I'd find someone else, then he died in my arms."

Sherlock didn't say anything at first, he just held her close. After a moment, he asked gently, "Do you think this is your subconscious mind's way of telling you that it is time to move on?"

Molly was silent for so long that Sherlock was afraid he'd offended her. "I don't know," she said finally. She lifted her head to look at him. The vulnerability in her eyes made him want to put himself between her and the world at large. "It's been almost seven months since he died. If I start dating again now, people will say I didn't really care about Tom."

"Then they're idiots," he said firmly. "All that matters is what you think."

She laid her head on his shoulder, sighing again. "I have to think about it." After a moment, she said with a smile in her voice, "Oh, and thank you for actually wearing something this time." She tugged lightly at his charcoal gray pajamas.

He chuckled softly. "You're welcome." He held her for a moment then murmured, "I should go."

Molly's response was immediate and slightly panicked. "No!" She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, I just … I don't want to be alone right now. Will you stay? Please?"

He murmured, "Miss Hooper, I will do anything you ask of me." He laid her back on the bed then laid down next to her and gently pulled her into his arms.

"Will you call me Molly?" she asked softly, stifling a yawn. "You called me Molly when you woke me."

"If that's what you want, Molly." He waited for her to respond then realized she was asleep. Sherlock sighed quietly. You're in deep, Sherlock. Deeper than you ever intended to go. "Bugger off, Mycroft."