It all just rolled into one as I wrote it, hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it. Thanks again to all reading this, and especially Bucky5, Yarnandahalfspin, and espee for the reviews!

C is for Coffee, Concussion, and Cake

"Molly, why is there a stack of takeaway coffee cups in the corner?" Tom asked, they had been building up over the past couple of weeks and were getting untidy.

"Sherlock," Molly answered awkwardly,

"As in they're there for him, or they are his?" The more Tom got to know about Sherlock Holmes, the less the understood about his life.

"Both, sort of, he has a habit of sporadically turning up for coffee and then disappearing before he drinks it. This way, I don't end up losing all my mugs. He just used to walk off with them. They'd turn up in the morgue about 3 months later." Molly flashed him a quick smile, why did Sherlock have to over complicate everything in her life?

"This is another of those supposedly normal things." Tom realised

"I've worked out over the years how to make him as minimally invasive as possible- bit like keyhole surgery" She nodded, keyhole surgery was a lot less painful though.

"Yeah," Tom replied quickly, paling a little at the notion of surgery. Both of them turned around sharply at the sound of a large thump.

"MOLLY! COFFEE!" Came the dulcet tones of Sherlock Holmes from her bedroom.

"Why doesn't he use the door?" Tom asked, the man's obsession with windows was very odd.

"In answer to your question, I've just been chased from Woolwich. I managed to lure him in the direction of John, who shot him. I didn't really want half a drug gang at your door. Hence, window. Molly, coffee." Sherlock said without taking a breath, making his way over to the sofa.

"Please?" Molly knew she was pushing her luck, but post-case Sherlock was the easiest to manipulate into manners.

"PLEASE! COFFEE!" He shouted tripping over his own feet and ending up face first in the rug in front of the tele.

"Don't bother Molls, he's passed out." Tom called to the kitchen

"Suffering from a mild concussion." Sherlock said in his special tone of voice reserved for correcting people

"Oh no, we're not doing that again." Molly almost shrieked from the kitchen.

In the days of yore (read: pre-John), when Sherlock got into scrapes he would get Molly to patch him up. A sprained ankle here, a broken finger there. The occasional burn. There was one particular incident that Molly was not proud of, nor did she ever want to repeat. Said incident had involved chemical smuggling, Sherlock had managed to prevent a substantial amount of something (she hadn't really been listening) that could significantly improve the production of something (it had been a long day, and as much as she loved chemistry, the ramblings of a graduate chemist aren't the easiest to understand). Mostly, she was just pleased that what sounded like illegal heavy duty organic synthesis had been prevented. Unfortunately, as it was being done illegally, there was a distinct lack of fume hoods employed by the criminals, and Sherlock had 'got a little dizzy' on the solvent fumes. Molly had sent him to shower to try and get the smell of those solvents (diethyl ether and DCM woman! Very distinctive smells) and help him clear his head. It was within five minutes of hearing the shower start up that Molly heard the noise she'd been dreading, an almighty bang, followed by a crash. Strangely, it was the lack of cursing that had worried her most; Sherlock would never say 'I'm alright' but he didn't usually give her (too much) undue cause for concern in such situations. She knocked on the door,

"Ok?" She asked briefly, expecting a grunt. Upon receiving no reply, she pushed the bathroom door ajar, still no noise. Molly was greeted by the sight of a very naked Sherlock Holmes face down on the floor, unconscious but breathing. She checked him for any obvious signs of trauma and then went to call an ambulance. An hour later a very angry Molly and a very groggy Sherlock were sitting in the A&E at King's. People wouldn't have batted an eyelid had Sherlock not been wearing the shower curtain and obviously nothing else. It took three hours to go through the tests required, Molly had snuck a sedative in his tea to stop him leaving the hospital halfway through the process, and it had the handy side effect of shutting him up, he'd caused three divorces and a broken nose in the first half an hour. Once he was cleared to leave, Molly hailed a cab, which wasn't easy given her traveling companion was somewhat indecent. She tried offering the cabbie double, and was about to give up entirely and walk him home when the driver took a double take,

"You Sherlock Holmes?" He asked, Sherlock gave a small nod,

"He is, he's concussed and sedated," Molly explained

"He saved my misses, he travels for free with me, you should have said, love!" The taxi driver grinned and helped Molly get Sherlock in the back.

"I'm not spending my evening in A&E with you again." She reiterated,

"What are you going to do then?" Sherlock asked, more than a little agitated.

"Well, I suppose I could make brownies."

Mycroft was partial to a little cake. Every now and again, he would indulge his not-so-secret pleasure and make a journey over to Molly's. He'd been monitoring Sherlock for the past hour or so, making sure that he had effectively shut down the drugs ring, mostly feeling very bored. He had a very rare gap in his schedule, people taking time off for family holidays over Easter and the like. He didn't disapprove, only in that it made him less busy. His attention was firmly grasped by the word brownies, he text Anthea; he was going to need the car.