Sherlock paced the room, listening to an annoyingly impassive Mycroft rattle off details his people had gathered about the bombing.

"No one was hurt. The building was empty. There was some collateral damage but nothing too serious. It seems that it was entirely orchestrated to be a warning to you."

Molly, who had been silent since they left Mary and John at the clinic, piped up. "A warning? What for? We haven't done anything to make him angry." She looked to Sherlock, her eyes questioning. "Have we?"

Sherlock sighed and silently handed her his phone, the call log pulled up on the display. Her eyes went round.

"Oh."

He didn't bother showing her the text. It wouldn't make any difference.

Mycroft stood, raising a brow at Sherlock. "I suggest you don't commit that mistake again." There was no misunderstanding the meaning behind his words.

He let himself out, leaving Sherlock and Molly staring at each other. After a few moments of stalemate, Molly stood and went to climb in his lap. Sherlock's arms curled around her automatically (when did this become automatic?) and he whispered, "I'm sorry the day ended up like this."

Molly sat up and looked at him. "Sherlock, why did you ignore him? You never ignore phone calls. Especially when you know they are important."

He averted his eyes. "Well, uhm, John said I should not get distracted during the day. That I should focus on you. So I never checked to see who was calling."

Molly smiled and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. When she pulled back, he licked his lips, completely unconscious of the action.

"Oh Sherlock," she shook her head fondly. "I know you have to work. I don't need to be the center of your attention all the time."

How did I not see years ago that she is the perfect woman for me?

Abruptly, Sherlock sat bolt upright, nearly knocking Molly onto the floor.

"Oh, I forgot!" His face lit up and his eyes darted past the kitchen.

"What, what is it?" Molly looked around frantically. Sherlock pushed Molly off his lap, stood and grabbed her hand, practically hauling her towards his bedroom.

"I got you a present! John said to get you something meaningful, something that was unique to you."

(Actually, that conversation went more like, "No, Sherlock, when I said unique to her I didn't mean incredibly morbid," as Sherlock presented John with a human heart in a jar. "But -" "But nothing. I'm sure you'll figure out something more appropriate and MUCH less creepy." "But she's a pathologist, she likes morbid." "No. Just, no.")

He stopped in front of the bathroom and turned to her. Her expression was one of complete and utter confusion.

"You got me a present? And it's in the bathroom?"

He nodded enthusiastically before throwing the door open.

He puffed up with pride at Molly's shocked gasp.

I knew she'd love it.

There, in the bathroom, stood a gorgeous claw footed soaker tub. It was huge, much larger than even the one she had back at her own flat. It dominated the bathroom, the copper finish glinting in the fluorescent light.

She stood staring at it in shock for a little too long for Sherlock's taste.

He scooped her up in his arms, shimmying his way through the narrow doorway and deposited her in the tub.

"See?" he said excitedly. "You always complain about how small the tub is and now you have a big one to soak as long as you want."

She fingered the edge of the tub for a moment in silence then looked up at him through her lashes. He was completely taken by surprise at the raw sexual desire in her gaze.

"You put it in your bathroom."

He gulped. Was that a mistake? "Uhm, yes?"

In the blink of an eye, her hand snaked up to grab the collar of his shirt.

He cleared his throat. "Why don't you inaugurate it?"

"I think we will." She smiled and he was reminded of a predator. Wait, that's wrong. I'm supposed to be in charge here.

"We? Molly, you know I prefer to shower."

She yanked and all he managed was a surprised "Oh!" before she dragged him into the tub with her.

Much later, Sherlock guided a yawning Molly into the bedroom. They were both wrapped in towels and Sherlock left her in the room to get some clothes from her old room. Remind Molly tomorrow to move her clothes downstairs. This is getting old fast.

He returned and found Molly seated on the bed, holding a box the size and shape of one used to house clothes.

"Did you get me another present?" Her tone said that she already knew the answer, but he shook his head anyway.

He took the box from her and placed it on the bed. She stood and he shifted so his body was between her and the box. Just in case. Tentatively, he opened it and looked inside.

There was an envelope on top, with what appeared to be a card inside.

Sherlock inhaled deeply. Cigarette smoke. Hm, smells familiar. He chalked it up to his studies on ash.

The card sat on a bed of white tissue paper, making it impossible to see what lay beneath.

The envelope was the exact same type he'd had delivered to him before. Heavy weight, expensive, handmade. He fingered it a moment before lifting it from the box.

The outside was inscribed with FOR THE HAPPY COUPLE and he gave Molly a look before opening it.

Inside, there was a card, as predicted, but also several photos. He scanned them, his brow furrowing, and handed them to Molly.

He watched her face as she glanced through the stack of photos. There were pictures of them at each of the places they had visited during the day. The ice cream shop, the park, even a photo of them kissing in the library.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. He wasn't happy someone had been following them and he hadn't even noticed.

The last two pictures in the stack were different though. Sherlock's brow wrinkled in concentration. One of the places he recognized. The other, not so much.

The first photo was a plain brick building. It was unexceptional to most eyes but to Sherlock, it was very special indeed. It was where he first discovered his love of chemistry. It was his first makeshift lab. The second picture was a small house that Molly seemed to recognize. He watched her reaction to it and deduced its meaning to her. Childhood home then.

He put them aside and opened the card.

Hello darlings,

Daddy is not pleased. It is rude to ignore people. Even if you are in the throes of newly minted couple bliss. Naughty Molly, not breaking up with your boyfriend before having it out with Sherlock. You should be ashamed of yourself, you little hussy. And Sherlock, what do you have to say for yourself, taking your lady love's virtue in such a fashion? I saw that little scene in the alleyway. I think little Molly has a kink for you telling her what to do, Sherlock.

But that is neither here nor there. You have upset me. So it's time to give you another puzzle to solve.

As you know, the final two photos are of places that have special meaning to one of you. Your first lesson is happiness. I've left you a clue at each of the locations. Go visit them tomorrow. You'll figure it out. Eventually.

I'll be in touch.

Love, Me.

P.S. Oh, forget what I said earlier. I'm happy for you both. Here's a gift in honor of your union. It's been a long time coming.

Sherlock read aloud and Molly listened, expressionless.

He put the card aside and reached back into the box.

His fingers closed around silky material and he felt like he was going to be sick. Pulling it out of the box, he saw exactly what he expected.

Lingerie.

Sherlock lifted the flimsy material out of the box and held it up so Molly could see. It was hooker red and highly provocative; Sherlock's jaw clenched in anger as he thought of their tormentor buying that for his pathologist. It was a little too reminiscent of what had happened to her already at the hands of Moriarty and he knew she was thinking the same.

He turned and walked out of the room and into the kitchen, where he lit his Bunsen burner and proceeded to set fire to the offending garment. He then threw it into an aluminum can he kept on hand for when he played with fire and Sherlock and Molly watched it burn.