Hi guys, this is my first attempt at a Sherlock fic, any comments are greatly appreciated :)

Let's stir the pot a little!

Chapter Twelve

"So…What do you think?"

Molly sat back in her chair and put down her cutlery, taking a large sip of her white wine and grinning at John devilishly.

"Me? I think you're a dark horse John."

He blushed visibly in the dim light of the dining room and took another bite of his tuna pasta bake.

"Daddy isn't a horse Auntie Molly, he's a sad old man." Commented Rosie, not looking at either one of them and simply continued to doodle on her sketchbook, her own pasta untouched.

"Rosamund." John choked out, "That is not nice at all." He rounded on her sternly, drawing a sad look from her as she batted her eyelashes at him. Molly was struggling to restrain her laughter.

"But Uncle Sherlock said-" She began, blinking puppy eyes back at her father as his face twisted in annoyance - Clearly John thought he should have guessed where his daughter learned such statements. Molly tended to agree and wondered for a moment how much time Rosie spent with her godfather, the notion warming her insides before her face set on fire at the sudden and rather intrusive memory of his tongue inside her mouth. She instinctively sat up and clamped her legs together, focusing intently on John's scowling face,

"To hell with what that idiot says-" John threw more pasta into his mouth, silencing himself by washing it down with half of his pint.

"He said you're the idiot." Came a tentative whisper from his daughter warning her another glare. For a seven – year – old, she was brave in her choice of words, not something Molly would have ever dared to do when she was that small. It was admirable in a way, the burning fire that her goddaughter possessed, igniting those around her and bringing her light wherever she went. She reminded Molly of a side of herself she had once possessed as a young woman, before her tryst with turmoil and despair - Someone who had been clawing their way back to the surface during her time in exile in Australia.

But at this moment in time, John looked lost. This was the point where Mary needed to step in to rescue him, and Molly would need to substitute that now,

"Rosie." She said softly, earning both of their stares, "Enough." Rosie blinked a few times, smiled, and then nodded at her, returning to her sketch book and John finished the rest of his meal and beverage, a comfortable silence falling over them briefly.

"I expected him last night, you know." John commented flippantly, breaking the peace, "Surprised he didn't show."

Molly feigned ignorance and took another large gulp of the wine, "Oh?" She breathed, "Who's that?" She replaced the glass on the table with far more force than she had intended, drawing the questioning gaze of the other two occupations of the room.

"Sherlock." John replied, scooping the last of his meal up, "I told him where we were going, thought he may show up, you know, make an effort. Bloody self – righteous git."

Molly held her breath. He didn't tell John he had seen her. They were best friends, surely he would have no need to hide the information from him, she certainly hadn't considered not telling Meena. Though now she could honestly say she regretted doing so. It put her in a precarious situation, he clearly didn't want anyone to know what he had done. A wave of sadness overtook her, and the only explanation she could find was that she had dared to hope. An unwise decision on her part, she reasoned, he was always playing games with people and their emotions, she had just fallen foul to it yet again. Molly felt more stupid than she had in a long time, of course it hadn't meant anything, he was probably just buttering her up to ask her for something,

"Right. Yes. Got you." She replied, lips pursed tightly as she sunk deeper into her chair, necking the remainder of her wine, and regretting how empty her glass felt.

"I expect it's for the same reason he's not come tonight-" John continued, offering to top her glass up and pour himself one in the process.

"He was supposed to be here?" Molly cut across him, sitting up straight and flushing head to toe. John was giving her a rather odd look and even Rosie had paused her shading to squint up at her,

"Er…Yeah…I assumed that would be alright?"

"Yes…Yes of course John, why wouldn't it be?" She snatched at the refilled wine and took another large gulp.

"Well, I know maybe you two need to talk about-" John began again, only for a large banging noise to silence him and they all looked in the direction of the front door,

"JOHN!" Molly's eyes grew wide, and she gulped, finishing the newly poured wine at the sound of Sherlocks voice resonating throughout the household. Her stomach clenched painfully, and anxiety shot through her, "I NEED you immediately. Mrs Hudson will have Rosie; we HAVE to go. I-"

He burst into the dining room and Molly involuntarily stood up, slamming her glass onto the table, and staring at him, nostrils flaring and blood rushing to her head from both the wine and her rapid movements. He was staring at her, as though he hadn't expected to see her and wasn't exactly sure how he was supposed to proceed.

"Finally decided to join us then?" John rounded on him, taking a sip of his wine, and raising both eyebrows at his friend. This seemed to snap Sherlock back into reality,

"John, this is important."

"Yes, tea is ready Sherlock. Please. Sit and eat. You remember Molly, don't you?" John ignored him and turned back to the table, waving his arm in her direction as though it was their first – time meeting.

"John, we're wasting time." He spat venomously and his eyes narrowed as John's head snapped back in his direction, giving him a furious look. Sherlocks face contorted painfully before smoothing over, "Fine." He choked out before turning to her - The look on his face caused her blood to boil with fury, "Hello Margaret, I see you are well. But it's time for you to leave now, I need John."

"Sherlock! How-"

"Outside." She cut in coldly, noting him flinching as John gagged on his wine slightly, "NOW." She pushed her chair backwards and stalked towards the door he had just appeared through. When only his eyeballs moved to follow her, she took a step towards him and hissed, "Get outside."

"You're in trouble!" Rosie giggled to herself, though the adults in the room chose to ignore her. Sherlock moved a little awkwardly and then left the way he had come, not uttering another word and she turned back to the table, Rosie obviously trying to contain her laughter and her father clearly having some difficulty in understanding what was going on,

"John, get Rosie ready, I'll take her for a few hours. Text me if you need me to keep her overnight – Maybe pack for it just encase." With that she spun on her heels and snapped the door behind her. She stalked out after him and onto the doorstep. He was facing out into the street, collar up and pulled tight around him, hands shoved deep into his pocket.

'Eugh…He looks good…' She thought dismally before mentally scolding herself and giving herself a physical shake, reminding herself why she was so angry at him,

"You absolute prick. What the hell is wrong with you?" He spun around at the sound of her voice and rolled his eyes at her, making her feel physically sick at his attitude. He was acting like he had been teleported backwards a decade to when they had first met, but she was definitely not the same Molly and wouldn't be pushed around by him,

"I don't have time-"

"Yes, you do." She cut him off, squaring up to him and forcing herself to look directly into his face. She could see his eyes twinkling with something which looked uncharacteristically like delight and intrigue, "Why didn't you tell John you were at the club last night?"

One side of his lip tugged up a little, "It wasn't relevant."

Fury flooded her body completely and filled her with a level of rage she had rarely experienced. He thought her immaterial, that much was clear to her, "Oh? I'm guessing that wasn't the only irrelevance of your night then." The temptation to smack him as hard as she could was bubbling to boiling point and Molly had to take a step back from him for fear she would actually strike him.

"You can't just play with people like we're puppets, Sherlock. That was not acceptable behaviour between…Friends!" She spat venomously and his smug little smile fell from his face, his features turning steely as he leant forward a little, bringing them back nose to nose,

"I seem to recall that you weren't exactly complaining-" Mollys entire body flooded with colour and she cut him off,

"Bastard." He gave her another smirk and stood back straight, removing his hands from his pockets, and tidying them behind his back as he puffed his chest out,

"I hadn't realised I was so utterly repugnant to you. Really Molly, were you honestly that drunk?"

Molly's hand clenched into a tight fist, and she felt it involuntarily twitch as she restrained herself for strangling him to death for his mockery. Though, she needn't have bothered with her own restraint as his own hand shot out and clutched at her wrist tightly, dragging her forwards and mere centimetres from his chest,

"If you so much as attempt to hit me, I'll kiss you again."

Molly stopped breathing. All she could do was stare at the close proximity of his mouth, acutely aware of his eyes constantly scanning her face, his fingertips pressed into her pulse. She half considered doing it anyway, just to see if he would keep true to his word, to make sure that last night hadn't been some figment of her imagination.

She released a shaky breath and looked up and into his eyes, swallowing thickly as the deep storm clouds he possessed pierced her very being and causing her to shiver slightly. The memories of him crushed against her flooding back into the foggy mind and the temptation to pull him against her and back into her door dried her mouth and caused warmth to pool low in her stomach.

One of his hands remained clamped around her wrist as the other twisted to the fishtail braid resting on her shoulder, giving it a small tug before tucking a wisp of hair back into place by her ear.

"Wh-…What are you doing..?" She whispered, her voice thick and a lump forming in her throat as her organs shook with anxiety and she could only focus on the piece of his shirt directly in front of her. It was becoming almost impossible not to react to his tormenting behaviour and if she didn't escape the situation, she was either going to embarrass herself by trying to kill him or make a complete fool of herself by trying to kiss him again.

It had been so long since their last relatively normal interaction, she was completely at a loss how to handle the situation. He was an angry mess between the arrogant and self – centred being that she had first met and the mature, more emotionally connected man that she had left, and the yoyoing between the two was causing Molly to become just as unstable. Her inability to understand his motives and unusual close behaviour was instilling a sense of erraticism that she hadn't experienced since her teenage years and the feeling unsettled her greatly.

There came a creaking and a rush of air from behind her and Sherlock practically leapt a foot backwards and out of her reach,

"Right, well, bags all in the kitchen, she's just brushing her teeth-" John began, stopping suddenly as he looked between the two of them, Sherlock as impassive and bored looking as ever, Molly pale and shivering slightly,

"Everything alright?" He asked, sounding a little nervous. Molly waited for Sherlock to answer, but he simply turned and began walking down the street causing Molly to internally deflate,

"Yes, it's fine." She sighed heavily, watching as John began to hurry after the detective, waving as he went, "Let me know."

~x~x~x~

"What do you think then?" Molly pushed Rosie under the table just enough so that she could ready her hot chocolate, but not so far as she could no longer stroke the tabby cat that was perched upon her lap. She removed the little girls' shoes as well as her own and storing them in a cabinet by the side of the carpeted area they were now seated in.

"This is the best." She grinned, scratching the feline gleefully as it purred and pawed at her knees, "I love kitties."

"I thought you would like it." Molly smiled back at her, taking her own seat on the overly cushioned sofa opposite and taking a long drink from her latte. She would often come to this particular café before she adopted Toby and loved to learn all about their likes and dislikes and exactly how to care for them properly, addressing their needs and wants to ensure she was ready to take that step in her life. She remembered the day she put her name forward to adopt him, the elderly lady who had been serving that day had been chatting to her about a new stray that had wandered in only the night before had pointed him out and the rest was history. He had turned out to be a delightful cat, perhaps a little rough around the edges, but she loved him all the same.

Seeing Rosie now taking the same pleasure she once had filled her with nothing but joy, and Molly was contented to watch her goddaughter play with a fish shaped feather teaser and light the entire room with her laughter as she settled herself upon a plush faux sheepskin rug not too far away.

"What a coincidence to find you here." Came a clean, crisp voice as the other half of the sofa Molly was sat on depressed and a man sat beside her.

"Now that," She started, not even needing to look at him, "Is a complete lie Mycroft."

"Quite." He replied curtly. "It appears as though young Rosamund is doing well."

"Do you not see her much?" Molly enquired, though she already knew she needn't have, he barely saw him own brother on a regular basis, never mind Rosie.

"John Watson and his daughter are, of course, a sensitive interest of mine." She raised an eyebrow at him, and a smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth, "I keep tabs."

Molly smiled to herself and took another sip of her beverage. She should have known than John would have wormed his way into the elder Holmes brothers concerns in the same way that he had done the younger. Rosie was simply the icing on the cake.

"So," She began, "What do I owe the pleasure of you seeking me out this time? People will begin talking, you know."

He gave a rather un – Mycroft – like snort which seem to take even him by surprise, and he straightened himself a little, fixing his already impossibly neat tie and squaring his shoulders,

"Don't make such ridiculous suggestions." He snapped and Molly giggled at him, enjoying flustering him and being only encouraged to push it further,

"Are you saying I'm ugly?"

The comment seemed to throw him, and he simply blinked rapidly at her before throwing one leg over the other and slotting himself back into the cushions,

"I would say that you are not unpleasant." He said cautiously and she rolled her eyes at him, "And the added benefit that you are above goldfish status is always a positive."

"Pardon?"

"Not by much. But enough that I can endure your existence."

"Right…Got it."

Molly truly wasn't sure whether or not she should be insulted, but decided not to dwell on it, she could see a glint in his eye that surprisingly she was not unused to. All she could liken it to was playfulness – But not the kind he had with his brother which entailed competitiveness. A joyful mischief of teasing and one – upmanship that she had become rather fond of during their brief conversations. She fleetingly wondered if this was the relationship Mycroft had craved with his younger sister and it saddened her to think that, from what she had been told, it was as good as an impossibility.

"So. About you stalking me?"

"Dr-" She glared at him and he cleared his throat loudly, "Molly." Followed by an over – the – top shining smile which caused him to grimace, "I require your assistance."

"How delightful," She sat up a little and drained her cup, placing it on the table and smiling over at Rosie who was waving at her enthusiastically, "How can I assist?"

"Do you like food?"

Molly gave a loud and exaggerated sigh, "What is it with you Holmes' men and asking dumb questions about food?"

"I beg your pardon?" Mycroft gave her a disapproving stare and knitted his eyebrows together at her,

She gave him a pointed look and ignored his question, "Yes. I like food. Where are you taking me?"

She apparently again took him by surprise, and he shifted uncomfortably much to her delight,

"It's not a date." He clarified, causing her to burst out laughing at the notion of him thinking she could possibly make such an assumption,

"I never said it was." Molly snickered, "Although it sounded like you were asking." She lifted her foot a prodded his leg lightly with her big toe and he looked at her with utter disgust, batting her foot away with a swift tap of his still gloved hand,

"I wasn't."

"You suuuuuure?" She sang at him, revelling in his discomfort,

"YES." His nostril flared as he glared at her, visibly flushing as he readjusted his sitting position. Mycroft removed one of his gloves and whacked her foot with it in a fashion not unreminiscent of a challenge to a duel. She laughed again and he glared at her,

"I require a companion for this Saturday's Gentleman's Final at Wimbledon."

"And you think I look like I am a man that plays tennis?" She asked flippantly, watching Rosie slowly become a ball of giggles overtaken by several felines all vying for her attention,

"Wha-" He began and shook his head at her, seemingly regretting asking at this point, "No – Of course not." He paused for the longest of times, and Molly assumed he was debating how to continue, perhaps to compose himself into not speaking to her in a condescending and imposing manner,

"Would you…Care to accompany me?"

"Sure." She smiled back at him, noting the visible relief that took over his entire body, "Sounds fun,"

"Oh, thank heavens, Mummy has been pestering me about it incessantly since last year and I couldn't stand the thought of being stuck with the two of them again all day without respite." He drew a hand down his face as thought it would smooth his features back in to place, seemingly at ease enough to permit himself a drink now as he motioned for the attention of the nearest waitress, "Sherlock of course is as useless as ever in entertaining them,"

Molly involuntarily flushed at the mention of his brother and her heart skipped a beat, something that did not go unnoticed by Mycroft,

"I see that appears to still be a sore subject." When she did not answer and refused to look at him for fear of him seeing right through her, he gave a curious laugh, "Oh? Or is it?"

"I will not be discussing it at this time." She huffed, folding her arms into themselves and gulping in embarrassment,

"Interesting…"

~x~x~x~

"Absolutely not." John stated, ragging the coat from his daughters back as she tried to wrestle herself out of his grasp and cling to Sherlock's leg as he made his way down the hall and into his flat.

"Why? Auntie Molly got Tobes from there, and he's not a flea ridden mangey-" She began as John pulled her firmly into him and detangled her from the garment and allowed her to run after Sherlock, throwing herself onto his settee.

"I said NO." John shouted after her, rolling his eyes as he hung up her coat and followed the two of them in, noting Sherlock's absence and hasty retreat from the conversation. He had been more talkative than usual during their investigating escapade but had fallen into silence the moment they had collected Rosie from Molly at Radnor Gardens, not speaking to her, and acting as though he would rather be anywhere but in her presence. In truth, he was starting to irk John by behaving in such a manner. He hadn't exactly expected them to run into one another's arms like long lost lovers, but he had anticipated a somewhat awkward return to speaking terms. The fact that this had not occurred, and the situation had somehow seemingly escalated to an even worse state, was confounding.

He collapsed next to his daughter and pulled her legs over his lap, allowing her to lay down,

"Since our dinner yesterday was cut short, what do you think to asking Auntie Molly back over this weekend? I'm not sure how much longer she's in the UK, so we should make the most of it while we can." There came a smashing of glass from the kitchen and John was in no doubt that Sherlock had been listening intently,

"No." John looked back to Rosie, a puzzled look on his face as she twiddled with the ends of her hair,

"No?" His eyes flicked back towards the kitchen where Sherlock's looming shadow fell around the corner, "What do you mean 'No'?"

"Mr Holmes is taking her to tennis." John snapped his head to look at his daughter in disbelief and then back towards the kitchen, his friend now having drawn himself into the room and staring at his goddaughter intently,

"Sherlock?"

"Noooo Daddy, not Uncle Sherlock. Mr Holmes." Both of them were staring at her now, and she shifted upright, obviously a little uncomfortable with all of the attention. John meanwhile was thoroughly bamboozled. His daughter could only mean the elder Holmes sibling, but as far as he was aware, they had not once met before, never mind held polite conversation, even less likely that they were taking the time to actively seek one another's company.

"Mycroft?" Sherlock asked slowly – To which Rosie nodded in relief and settled herself back against her father,

"Yes. He came to see the cats with us. And now he's going out with Auntie Molly." John saw Sherlock visibly stiffen, his upper lip twitching and a hazed look taking over his features. It appeared he was just as intrigued by this sudden turn of events as he was,

"What's Mycroft doing talking to Molly?" John mused, stroking Rosie's hair and staring intently at Sherlock who had not moved since this last revelation, "Shall we find out?"

Japan's Arc Angel x