Home

After three weeks of living together in a safe house designated by Mycroft (because a deranged Moriarty copycat targeted them both), Sherlock and Molly are finally allowed to go home.

Molly is confused when Sherlock asks if they will go to his place or hers. Wouldn't they just return to their respective homes, she asks. He pouts that they will be unable to continue their game of playing "Guess the famous murderer" each evening and he won't get to eat the delicious crepes she makes each morning.

Mycroft quickly grows tired of waiting for them to tell the driver of his car where to go so he steps in and tells him to send them home. Their own homes.

After a couple of weeks of arguing, Molly comes around and Sherlock is quite smug and ecstatic about it. Mycroft sends his movers to collect Molly's things while she is at work since one of her reasons for being against it was packing and sorting through eight years of life lived in one flat.

She's both annoyed and tickled by Sherlock's celebration of her giving in. She supposes, in the end, the move is a good decision. The flat is considerably larger and she will save a lot on rent. Getting to spend more time with Sherlock is an added bonus (except for the times that she knows he will drive her round the bend). She recalls that John's old room is also very spacious and bright.

However, when she arrives at Baker Street after her late shift, she can see several things wrong with this living arrangement. The biggest being that John's old room has been turned into a (rather lovely) office for her. All the books are stacked and properly sorted on a large bookcase. She has a great, plush chair by the window for reading that Toby is currently occupying. Her framed credentials and artwork from her flat are all nicely hung on the wall above a desk where her laptop is set up.

The problem is… she has no bed and her clothes are nowhere to be found.

A little investigating reveals that her things have been neatly organized into the only other bedroom in the flat. And, her toiletries have been placed into the bathroom just outside of it.

Upon being questioned, it is now Sherlock's turn to be confused. After all, he has been asking her to move in with him. He never said anything about her being a flatmate occupying John's old room.

Molly is a little dumbfounded and isn't quite sure what to say even as Sherlock directs her to her belongings to get cleaned up and ready for bed. Her favorite pillow and bolster are situated on the side of the bed that she prefers and a book that she's been reading is on the bedside table next to her reading glasses.

Sherlock, with glasses perched on his nose, is already sitting in bed with his laptop. Molly stands there not exactly sure what is happening. While they were in the safe house, it did happen a few times where they chatted until very late and they fell asleep on the same bed. Waking up with someone else was nice when it wasn't awkward.

"Well?" Sherlock looks up expectantly.

She doesn't miss the smirk that momentarily shows up on his face as she tells him that they will talk about this in the morning because she's too tired to deal with things now. She suspects this was his plan all along.

Molly settles in under the covers as Sherlock puts his laptop away and turns off his lamp. She refuses to acknowledge that the bed is like a soft cloud and the sheets are silky and smooth against her skin.

"Your turn," he murmurs in the darkness as he rests on his side facing her back and her long hair fanning out over her pillow.

"Huh?" She doesn't turn to face him.

"I did the last one," he says somewhat impatiently. "H. H. Holmes, America's first serial killer. Again, no relation and you guessed correctly. So, it's your turn."

"Sherlock," she groans in frustration. "It's really late. If I had the proper energy, I'd be yelling at you right now about these living arrangements."

"Just one?" He says quietly after a few moments. "Please. It's been weeks."

"Two and a half."

"Please, Molly."

It isn't the words he says, but his tone that makes her open her eyes. It sounds like… he's missed her. She doubts he'd ever admit that out loud.

"Okay, fine." She huffs and rolls over. "Just one. And, you're making breakfast tomorrow."

His grin does funny things to her insides while simultaneously tempting her to throw something heavy at his head. But as he nods, all she can do is smile because all of this kind of feels familiar and comfortable. And, nice.

"Welcome home, Molly Hooper."

But, he's still getting an earful in the morning.