Inspired by SammyKatz review that Graves made her think of Rupert Graves so I thought I'd dedicate a chapter to him! As always, many thanks to all reviewers/followers/favouriters/readers love to you all, you make exam revision so much better. Due to popular demand, I will do a sequel of getting together, but at the moment there are at least 20 more chapters of this in the pipeline to go first.

G is for Greg

It had been a horrible week, not quite the level which usually drove her to drink, but horrid none the less. Greg however, had spent a lot more time one the case than she had. With retrospect, perhaps they hadn't bothered her that much more than she expected for an 8. Thus, Greg and Molly were sat in the pub; him drinking his sorrows upon finding out his wife had cheating again, and Molly consoling him. It was still fairly early and neither had eaten yet, so Molly offered to cook them something and said he could crash at hers if he was too upset to go home. She had been with more than her fair share of cheaters, so they spent the journey home discussing the best revenge to get on a cheating partner.

"You sure Tom won't mind?" He asked as they entered her flat, Molly shook her head,

"I'm allowed to lend the sofa to a friend in need." She said defiantly, "If he wants me to stop having male friends now the gang is back together then he's not the man for me, is he?"

"By which you mean, he has to be able to hack the bunch of weirdoes you hang about with," Greg grinned, Molly laughed, and beckoned for him to sit down,

"We are a bit odd, but where's the fun in normal?" she said instantly regretting her words, she chose Tom for a normal, stable lifestyle. He didn't fit in to her life pre-Reichenbach, during Sherlock's absence the group had crumbled, each grieving in their own way and throwing themselves into work, but since his return and she didn't have to lie about his mortality any more, life was different again. Not in a bad way, not quite pre-suicide, but still not normal enough for normal-Tom it would seem.

"I don't think we're wired for normal, army doctor, sociopath, pathologist, homicide detective. We all like our stuff a little morbid," Greg grinned, flopping into the squishy sofa,

"We are a right bunch. Tea, coffee, beer, wine?" Molly asked, pleased she wasn't the only one that thought they were a strange group of friends. She found the oddity quite endearing, but was getting the impression Tom was quickly growing tired of it. Partners were supposed to compromise, if she wasn't allowed to talk about her job, and had to put up with his really boring friends, then he'd have to deal with a few eccentricities from her not so boring ones.

"Beer if you've got any Molls, please?" Greg asked, grateful for her hospitality, he'd really hoped his wife had got past cheating by now, but according to Sherlock that was not the case.

"Sure, I'll dig something out of the freezer for dinner; it'll be about an hour. Tom will be late tonight, I can leave his is the oven." Molly called from the kitchen, faffing about with glasses and bottles. They spent the time the food was cooking bitching about exes, discussing Greg's kids and how they whole saga was affecting them. The conversation moved on to the week's events, and how neither of them understood how John still had a vague sense of sanity. They laughed fondly at memories of John and Sherlock's escapades, and decided they were pleased he was getting married, even if it increased the chance of a Sherlock Related Incident exponentially. John deserved to be happy, they concluded, he'd had to put up with the man-child long enough.

"He said that to me you know, after we finished that case. He told me I deserve to be happy," Molly commented, it had put her in an awkward position. He'd asked her to go to fish and chips with him afterwards, and to any onlookers it was the perfect date for the two of them. Sadly, she was engaged, and it does not look good going to dinner with another man when you are betrothed. Even if that man is Sherlock Holmes and likely has no idea about any social context to the situation. In hindsight she'd definitely done the right thing, as Tom wasn't taking too kindly to their friendship, he probably would have flipped over dinner arrangements.

"That must be easily the nicest thing he's ever said to you." Greg said, taken aback by this revelation.

"It was unnerving actually, he was being nice. Freaked me out a little if I'm honest," Molly laughed at the absurdity of her statement,

"Only with Sherlock could you be put on edge by manners." Greg rolled his eyes and chuckled to himself. It was more than a little ridiculous really.

Molly served lasagne and they ate slowly, continuing to mock the self-diagnosed sociopath. It wasn't often they could let off steam , as due to the demands of their jobs and strange working hours they didn't often get a chance to meet outside of cases. They spent the rest of the evening laughing, reminiscing and it wasn't long before the conversation had rolled around to their favourite topic again, Sherlock bashing. Molly was in the middle of describing a particularly gruesome autopsy she did when Tom walked in the door, unfortunately for him, neither Greg or Molly heard the door go,

"…So there I was, elbow deep in Mr Hodges, who had been dead a while before he got to me so smelled awful, when he bursts in, coat billowing like he's wearing some kind of cape. I asked him what he wanted, trying to deal with this man's decomposing bowels, and he picks up one of the feet, dislodging the body, and suddenly I'm up to my shoulder in Mr Hodges. My face was practically in his stomach, it took days to get the smell of putrid food and acid out of my hair. Since then I've forbidden him from touching corpses while I'm inside them. Surprisingly he's obeyed, although I did threaten to put bits of spleen in his coffee." Molly finished the two of the roaring with laughter, when Tom walked through the lounge into the bathroom looking decidedly green.

"Is he alright?" Greg asked, after 5 minutes of silence, during which Tom had not reappeared.

"He doesn't like me talking about my work, weak stomach," Molly said quietly, wringing her hands together nervously, as if she'd done something wrong.

"Why is there a man on the sofa?" Tom asked testily, he'd had a long day, and wasn't expecting to come home to his future wife enjoying the company of another man.

"You remember Greg, from Scotland Yard- his wife got caught stepping out again and he didn't want to go home. It's only for a night," Molly smiled weakly; she disliked upsetting people without reason. Although it did seem like Tom was out to get her a lot more recently.

"Do you let any Tom, Dick and Harry stay here?" He half-shouted, throwing his hands in the air in frustration. He turned his back on her and got ready for bed in silence.

"No, just my friends when they need somewhere to stay," Molly mumbled, she sighed quietly to herself, with the proportional of male friends she had, this did not bode well.

Molly and Greg were both out early the next morning, leaving Tom in bed with a cup of tea. For once, she was grateful for the early shift. Greg grinned conspiratorially at her,

"He shouldn't talk to you like that, so I put a laxative in his tea, that's what friends are for right?" He said in a low voice, referring to the conversation he'd heard the night before. Molly couldn't help but giggle incessantly for most of her day, she had such good friends.

A/N: Now taking prompts for H, I and J!