Oh, wow. It's been a month since I updated. Yikes. Sorry about that. Hope you find this chapter was worth the wait and I will really, really try to get the next one up sooner. Thanks for your incredible feedback and for all the subscriptions and alerts. You make a gal feel loved.

Many, many thanks to the incredible, fantastic beta, hobbitsdoitbetter. She's amazing - she's the reason for many of the scenes coming to life, the 'romance' of the words, if you will. If you're not reading her stories - go...do it now. No Capes! is more awesome than I can even say - as are all of her works.

And to the reviewers - RiverSong11, MizJoely, GirlWithTheNotebook, Renaissancebooklover108, skybird716, AJP910, DD, Crimson and Chrome 42, Nocturnias, razzle-dazzle 1606, Get Sherlocked, In These Words, Angels-heart1, crooney83, NicoleJacobs, Tollandm, Dodge1989, Justmandy0811, Starcrier, Val & Jude - your support means the world. Thank you for taking the time to fill in that little box down there.

Now, back to the story.

~oOo~

The Armenian restaurant was cramped, crowded and fantastic. Molly and Sherlock spent an hour eating, discussing cases (well, if discussion could be defined as Sherlock regaling her with stories of his successes) and watching- deducing- people. She knew she wasn't very good at it, but that didn't deter Sherlock. He would choose someone, offer up the first deduction and then throw it to Molly for her interpretation. (Come on, Molly, give it a go. You can't be any worse than John.) At first she took it seriously, but after a few minutes, she began to come up with outlandish stories for their targets, slyly smiling and chuckling as she ran down their mysterious dossiers. He caught on to her game as soon as she identified a short, stocky man as an international spy and, before she'd realized, they'd passed an hour eating and inventing all manner of double lives for the unsuspecting patrons.

It was… surprisingly fun, actually.

Despite the specter of someone 'out there' with intentions toward her that may or may not involve a scalpel (she didn't really want to dwell on what other instruments might be involved), Molly was happy - happier than she'd been in a very long time. Sherlock's admission of his...fondness- she was still hesitant to define it as anything more- toward her filled Molly with such a sense of contentment and hope that she genuinely felt as if she were in some sort of alternate universe. For so long she'd waited for any hint that her feelings for him might be reciprocated that to actually hear the words and then embrace him so intimately (he really did smell lovely) - it made her fear that it was all some elaborate joke. But the seriousness in his eyes and easy demeanor with her during lunch wasn't a charade - this was the Sherlock she'd wanted to know for years. The Sherlock who hid from the public and those he didn't trust.

He just wasn't hiding from her anymore.

She wished they could stay tucked in their own world for the rest of the day. But, life waited and the two of them gathered their things and walked outside to be greeted by a rare sunny London afternoon.

"Oh, it's so lovely today. Such a waste to spend it in my lab instead of at the park."

"Well...then don't." She turned to look up at him. He'd turned away from her and was presently surveying the crisp, blue sky.

"What?"

He looked down at her in that distinctive Sherlock fashion that said she really must be an idiot for asking (eyebrow raised, lip cocked to the side). "I said...don't waste it."

Molly's nose crinkled. "I do have work to finish."

"Rubbish. Those bodies aren't going to get any more dead, Molly. And I'm sure you've plenty of time off saved up."

Sherlock Holmes suggesting a lazy afternoon off? She was in that alternate universe after all. Molly crossed her arms and faced him, squinting her eyes and leaning forward. "Who are you and what have you done with Sherlock?"

He rolled his eyes. "Really, Molly. I am capable of enjoying myself."

She began to respond when the text alert on Sherlock's phone sounded.

Molly raised her eyebrow and smiled. "A Dalek alert tone?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I watched a lot of television during the down time when I was away. It's an inventive show."

"One that I've been telling you to watch for years."

"Yes, well..." Sherlock's undoubtedly witty response died in his throat as his eyes scanned the screen, a scowl descending upon his face as he read the message. He looked up from his phone, clicked off the device and put it back in his pocket. "Lestrade has an urgent case. I would imagine we'll only be gone a few hours. Then we can go to your flat and pick up items you'll need to stay at Baker Street for the duration."

"While I appreciate you wanting me to be your Consulting Assistant," - her fingers made quotations in the air- "I really do need to finish up my reports this afternoon. And," he would probably give her that Sherlock Look again, so she spoke over him. Molly really wasn't sure she'd heard him quite right. "Did you just say you want me to stay at your flat?"

Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. "It's the obvious course of action, Molly. I can't very well ensure your safety if you're in another location."

"But I can stay with John and Mary. You don't have to…"

"Molly, you should know better than to think I do anything because I have to. I'm a selfish, annoying bastard. But I'm also a selfish, annoying bastard who is committed to keeping you from harm. I think I made that quite clear in our earlier conversation. Now, kindly shut it and do what I say without arguing, yes?"

She nodded her head and smiled. "Just in this one instance. After that, all bets are off."

He returned her smile and slowly, tentatively brought his hand up to caress her cheek. She shivered at his touch; she knew he did not give them easily. That was plainly evident in the unsteadiness of his hand on her face and his awkward, boyish smile as his thumb trailed along her jawline. For a split second they just… stared at one another. And then, as suddenly as he'd made the gesture, his hand returned to his side.

"Good," he said softly. He looked slightly… disconcerted by what he'd done. But not, Molly couldn't help but notice, sorry. "You're welcome to boss me around another time then," he said, nodding his head curtly and turning away, attempting to shut down the conversation further.

Molly didn't want him to do that. She didn't want him to walk away. Even that fleeting glimpse of this new Sherlock seemed to be… habit-forming. So though he moved back, her own hand followed him, her nearness chasing his. She stopped, one hand on his arm and looked at him. She needed…she didn't want that brief moment of contact to end.

And besides, it was best to get this out of the way now.

"Sherlock," she said, "I really do need to get back to the hospital. I will stay at your flat as you've asked, but as much as I like the idea of you looking after me, I can't be with you all the time. You have cases...I have work. Your brother arranged for a bodyguard and I'm sure James is very effective at his job." Molly moved closer and resisted the urge to take his hand in hers. Don't push, Hooper. "I promise I'll be safe..."

A slight scowl descended over his face. Serious Sherlock, she thought. She could practically see him measuring his words before he spoke. Her previous warning about not talking to her as if she were an idiot had obviously made some sort of impact. "I'm not entirely comfortable with you at the hospital by yourself," he said stiffly, after a moment. "I think you should remain with me."

"I've got James here to look out for me, don't I?"

Sherlock glanced at the man standing behind them, then looked back to her. His face shifted - the concentration lines softened but the intensity remained. Apparently James passed muster, or at least would do until Molly's real protector was free. It was…it was the most arrogantly sweet thing she'd ever seen him do. "True," he said. He turned his head to look at her and this time his expression was once again intense. "But you stay with him, Molly. Until I've found this anonymous git, you're in danger."

She nodded. "I will."

He inclined his head in return. The stiffness of the Old Sherlock was back. "See that you do," he said curtly.

Molly fought back the urge to smile. All those time he'd chided her, ignored her attempts at conversation - and here she now stood with his attention firmly focused on her...And, it seemed, on her... mouth? Definitely, Molly realized, her mouth. His eyes darted from her eyes to her lips and back again, the look almost furtive. His brow puckering in a frown as if he couldn't quite understand what he wanted to do...or why he'd never done it before. Molly hadn't been kissed often (understatement of the century, she thought) but she was sure Sherlock Holmes intended to kiss her now. In fact, she was so sure of it that they stood for a moment before he moved forward ever so slightly and she shifted towards him involuntarily. Her eyes never left his - she didn't want to break whatever moment hung between them - and as he got closer she felt his hand come up to gently cup her elbow. It was almost like he thought she'd walk away. But as suddenly as it began, Sherlock abruptly stepped backward, cleared his throat and clasped his arms behind his back. He looked…he looked almost rattled, and Molly had to make herself push down the knee-jerk reaction that she'd misread the situation.

He was fond of her, she reminded herself. She hadn't misread anything at all. He was just a little nervous, and they had that in common.

Sherlock pointedly stared at James and directed his next comment toward the bodyguard. "Don't you take any chances with her. If there is so much as a hair out of place when I see her next, you and I will…have a chat." She saw James nod curtly - a hint of a smile shone in his eyes. Sherlock turned to address Molly. "I'll be back at Baker Street as soon as I can. Try..." He threw her a slightly wry look. "Try not to get into too much trouble before I get back."

She smiled shyly. "I make no promises."

He shook his head. "I really wish you would."

He darted forward and kissed her cheek before she could stop him, then turned and walked away briskly, his belstaff flowing behind him like a cape. Sherlock Holmes, London's own superhero, she thought to herself. She pulled her handbag up higher on her shoulder and looked back at James. "I suppose my afternoon off will have to wait, James. Let's head back to my corpses, then."

"Whatever you say, ma'am," he answered, and they set off. Maybe someday, Molly mused as they went, she and Sherlock would spend a day in the park and she would get that kiss.

And maybe someday some lunatic wouldn't be trying to ruin her life.

She shook her head ruefully to herself. Somehow, she doubted today would be that day.

~oOo~

The afternoon passed quickly with Molly finishing the few reports that she'd started the day before. The lack of sleep the night prior, stress over what her stalker intended for her - and those around her - had finally hit her hard. As she hit send on the last document, she was overcome with exhaustion. She sat back in her chair and ran her shaky hands across her face. Molly just wanted to go home, make herself a cuppa and snuggle on the couch to watch tv with Toby.

Poor Toby. Her sweet cat must be going crazy about now. She hadn't spent a night away from home since she'd gotten him. It was a good thing her 'two men' already seemed to get along well - if she was to be in Holmes Protective Custody for the foreseeable future, she had no intention of leaving Toby home alone. When Sherlock stayed at her place briefly after his death, Toby would follow the man around everywhere. She'd even caught the little furball cuddling with Sherlock on her sofa. The fuzzy traitor.

Molly gathered her things, shut out the lights and walked out of the lab. She nodded at James who quickly stepped up beside her. Sort of nice to have a strong, semi-handsome bloke to be her protector. Although, she thought, it'd be nicer if he was taller and had cheekbones that could crack an egg.

She smiled as she realized that that was precisely what was waiting for her in Baker Street, and set course for home in order to pack her bags - and her Toby - and get to her new lodgings with all possible speed.

~oOo~

Sherlock solved the case within thirty minutes, left Lestrade at the crime scene and was now stomping his way through the backstreets of London. He would have had the bloody case wrapped up within fifteen minutes if he could have concentrated for more than three minutes at a time. But that had been impossible: Facts and data fell away when the image of Molly's highly snoggable face appeared prominently in the forefront of his mind. He'd thought of her in a sexual way before - he'd thought of many women in a sexual way before- but those thoughts had been ...detached. Separate. Borne out of curiosity and boredom rather than some absurd notion of romantic passion. But Molly wasn't his then. She was someone just outside of his reach. Tucked away safely in what John dismissively called the 'friend zone'. But now they were...a couple? Boyfriend and girlfriend? Partners? Lovers?

Was that what he wanted?

He turned a corner and almost ran head on into a teenager. Sherlock stopped, cursed and bypassed the young man - oblivious to Sherlock due to his furious texting. He remained where he stood, staring ahead at nothing while thoughts flew fast and furious through his head.

Was this what affection for another person truly meant? He would now turn into John Besotted Watson, texting Molly at all hours of the day and night, mooning over her like some idiotic school boy with a perpetual stiffy?

Ridiculous.

Ridiculous, and yet...not. He'd faffed about at the crime scene with Lestrade hovering about, waiting for Sherlock's brilliant deduction as if angels were going to sing and the heavens open wide at any moment. But Sherlock couldn't observe…couldn't see what was obviously right in front of him until he forced himself to shift all data regarding Molly firmly away in his mind palace so he could focus on the task at hand. And even when the case was solved (finally) and Lestrade offered his copious 'brilliants', 'amazings' and 'who'd have thoughts', Sherlock could think of nothing other than what Molly might taste like.

You would have found out if you'd had the bollocks to follow through on that kiss earlier, moron, a voice that sounded remarkably like John's pointed out.

You still might find out what she tastes like today, a voice that sounded strangely like Molly's opined.

Sherlock shook his head, tried to force the thoughts away. He needed to damn well pull himself together. If he'd known this is what would result from a romantic entanglement with another person, he never would have made the rash decision to engage in one with Molly, for God's sake.

Bloody liar, you are, a voice whispered, and he thought this one might be his own.

Sherlock huffed a curse word to himself and pushed his feet to move - skulking his way through the streets, his hands stuffed in his coat pocket and face staring down at the pavement. It would be easy to blame Molly for his distraction. The feel of her next to him, the smell of her hair as he'd held her close, the smooth texture of her skin underneath his lips - all of Molly's Data flooded his brain. And though he knew he probably should, he couldn't seem to push it away this time. He didn't want to. It was in Sherlock's nature to succumb to an addiction and he couldn't help but think that Molly might become his newest one. The thought should have frightened him- Any addict, even he, had respect for the power such a compulsion could wield. You didn't get free of it by underestimating how much it could or had cost you. And yet…if Molly and puzzles were to be his poison, then he might consider himself lucky. Maybe addiction was the most appropriate word to describe what he was feeling - he wouldn't go so far to say it was anything else (yet).

And if that was so then he supposed there were worse fates.

Still, he needed to rein in these overwhelming...urges and focus on finding the culprit who dared to infringe on the personal safety of his pathologist. He brought his head up to search for a taxi - the afternoon light was giving way to dusk and it was about time he returned to Molly. He was reaching in his pocket for his phone when it rang. An almost embarrassing surge of happiness flooded his chest as he saw the name Molly Hooper flashing on the screen. He swiped his finger across the display and placed the phone next to his ear.

"Molly, I'm finished here - dreadfully boring case. I need to help Lestrade redefine the use of the term 'urgent'. Waste of my time. Anyway, taxi's here - you still at Bart's?"

That delightfully warm feeling vanished at the sound of Molly's terrified voice.

"Sherlock...someone was in my flat." Her voice shook. "He was here."

There was no question of who the "he," was, just as there was no question of what Sherlock would do. He barked at the driver to change directions, heading away from Bart's and to Molly's flat, listening to Molly all the way there, trying to calm her, aware only of the anger- no, rage- coiling in his chest.

The idiot who did this was going to pay.

~oOo~

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