Disclaimer: I don't own a thing.

They managed to slip back home that night. If it required slinking on their bellies a couple more times, it was worth it. They were just lucky that most officers were blind to anything not literally jumping into their line of sight.

Sherlock half-expected a sharper dressing down for his outburst behind the club, but apparently his alpha didn't think it needed addressing. The concern about avoiding cops alerted to the presence of two bloody dogs (in every sense of the word) on the way was punishment enough, it seemed. A good night was all he got when they trotted up to 221B. And even if it was just like any other evening, Sherlock could feel the wolf barely holding in a whimper. It didn't like John leaving, and liked even less John leaving with anything unaddressed between them.

The morning after they had a large breakfast, which included a few different kinds of meat. Sherlock had never been picky, or vegetarian, but he didn't expect the sound that left his mouth - accidentally, which made it worse. It qualified as a moan, which was embarrassing enough. But the look John threw him, over their plates, said that he found his flatmate's appreciation of his cooking (of course John took over these duties) delicious in itself.

Sherlock hated his wayward transport for a hot second. It wasn't supposed to betray him like that. Not until the plan to not only seduce, but keep John long-term was firmly in place.

He needed some support. Ideally an expert, but no one he knew had been capable of actually maintaining a sentimental relationship. Well, except his parents, and he'd rather die than go to mummy asking how you kept a man.

He would have to make do with what he had available. Which was...not much, honestly. First order, maybe one of the worst possible options ever, what with her record, but still. She'd be understanding if nothing else. And even if John could smell the lie on him, he'd assume one of a different kind than the reality, at least hopefully.

"I have to go out," he announced, after the last bite.

"Mmmh. Where?" John replied.

"Going to see Molly. Surely there must be something that she can do without. "

His alpha huffed a laugh. "Hopefully. I have a shift, and I'd really rather know you weren't bored. Though, remember: Proper labeling is a must. I'm not joking."

Sherlock shrugged. "Yeah, yeah, of course." As if it mattered in the present circumstances.

If he got lucky, he'd truly be able to beg something off her (maybe an ear or two, he was thinking) but first, he needed to lay the cards on the table like he'd never properly done. Though he figured that she had understood anyway. Despite her nonexistent gaydar, Molly was actually smart.

Just his luck, then, that she wasn't at the morgue. He should, by now, know her schedule. But it wasn't important enough. He must have deleted it at some point, to make place for...how would he know? Balance of probability said something John-related. The amount of data he had on his flatmate (his alpha, corrected the wolf, and really, now so wasn't the moment for him to sneak to the forefront) was obscene. Word, hopefully, soon intended.

He didn't, though, delete her address, so a text of warning and he was on his way...again. Molly was even lucky enough not to need too much of a commute, so he was soon ringing her bell. Of course she'd be in. Where would she go?

"Sherlock! What's up?" she asked him, while he got comfortable on her sofa. That was usual. What was not was Toby's attitude. Usually the cat ignored him for a good long while, but would eventually come close and sprawl all over Sherlock. This time it took a single look at him and hissed wildly, before jumping on a table and, from there, to a bookshelf.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but Molly stared at him, hands going to her hips. "You tell me what you've done right now, mister, so I can decide if you're allowed to stay."

"What?" It came out a little more barked than he would have wanted, but he was surprised.

Why would she let the furball decide something so insane. "Need I remind you that Toby was perfectly okay with snuggling up to Moriarty?"

She glared at him, shielding her cat from his presence. "Exactly. He was okay with Jim and doesn't mind my smell when I come back from work. So imagine how bad it must be for him to react this strongly to you."

Sherlock scoffed. "It's a dumb cat. I've just started volunteering at a shelter. Not for humans, if you're wondering. One for abandoned pets. You know, they let you walk the dogs and everything without actually having to go through and adopt one, and risk Mrs. Hudson's precious floors."

It was Molly's turn to snort. "Yeah, because you're so careful with the state of the house. I mean, I'm thrilled to hear that, but I'm not sure you're telling me the truth. Toby isn't dumb, he's a very well socialized kitty, and usually doesn't hiss at dogs. I could totally see him not wanting to cuddle you, but this..."

"There was a Czechoslovakian Wolfdog among the others, and I couldn't resist him. Maybe he's a little too much wolf for Toby's tastes."

She let out a slow sigh. "Okay. Yes, I guess it makes sense. Sorry, but if I don't listen to Toby, who will?"

"He's a cat," Sherlock pointed out again.

"And you're on thin ice, mister. You've always known better than to disparage him, what's up with you?"

He actually did, usually. It wasn't like he ignored Molly's inordinate fondness for her feline companion. ...Oh. Was he reacting to the cat's unwelcoming attitude in kind? He knew better than that. He shrugged, incapable of making himself apologise. He hadn't started it, anyway.

"I doubt you came here to argue about my baby anyway. Not that I'm not happy to see you, but why are you here?"

He smiled at her. He definitely appreciated not having to beat around the bush. "Did you know that John is bi?"

She laughed, self-deprecatingly. "My gaydar, or LGBT-dar, has never worked too well, and you know it. I had no idea. Did you really expect him to confide in me?"

"Well, you make it easy," he retorted.

"Thank you." She smiled again, this time shyly pleased. "And congratulations, I guess?"

Sherlock blinked. "What for?"

"Oh." A hand went to her mouth. "I thought... Did you discover it because he has a boyfriend now?"

The smallest growl slipped out before the sleuth could contain it. "Sorry, sorry. No, no boyfriend, he's...he's in between. Told me, actually - offered to, you know."

"Well, then I was right. Congratulations!" Molly clapped her hands. Toby climbed up yet another shelf.

"I haven't accepted. Yet."

"What? You better have a good excuse for it!" she snapped. He was pretty sure this wasn't how she was supposed to react.

This was why he was here, though. "John doesn't do long-term."

"What?" Even more incredulous than the first. She'd known John almost as long as he had, though. "Did he actually tell you that?"

It was Sherlock's turn to snort. "He didn't have to. I was there while he dumped his string of girlfriends...and for all I know, maybe I managed to miss him fucking men inbetween, blinded by all his proclamations. Even if he never used the word straight. You'd think I would be better at sussing out these details. " His fingers drummed on the armrest.

"Newsflash: even you are human."

The detective managed to hold in the laugh that wanted to burst forth, but it was a near thing. Though her point stood: he'd been human when he'd been so easily blinded.

"Anyway, we were all around while John played his serial monogamy game. Very serial, yes. And rather quick, I'll concede. Have you ever wondered why?"
Because none of them was worthy of him, obviously. I am still shocked that he'd pick them at all. "

"You could say that." Molly's head shook, something like wistfulness in her eyes.

"You need to help me make sure I'm an adequate partner. I can't give him up after a week, Molly. I can't."

"Sherlock, dear. I didn't mind helping you when you were too busy pining, because really, I'm a professional myself at that, and sharing coping mechanisms? It was fine. I still love you enough that I can't see you hurting if I can help it." Her voice was soft.

"I don't pine." And he didn't pout, either. Even if Molly might object to that sentence too, right now.

She laughed. "If you don't, I never have, either. Long? Covet? Yearn? I don't care which verb you prefer. But if, you know, back when I was at the acme of my crush, you'd offered? You wouldn't have been able to finish that sentence before I'd have been all over you. And if you'd dumped everyone you'd been in a relationship with for years if I so much as whistled your way? I wouldn't worry."

"I wouldn't worry either if you were involved," Sherlock huffed, snappish. He wouldn't care, also - well, not like that - which would definitely help.

"Don't play dumb, it doesn't suit you. All I'm saying is, you're assuming John will stick to the pattern you've seen till now, and are ignoring a pretty big variable."

"What?" He hated having to ask.

"You, Sherlock. Relationships are formed by two people."

"I'm not ignoring me, that's exactly why I'm worried!" He got up, too nervous to stay still. Toby hissed again, and looked ready to attack. A welcome distraction.

"You know, for someone so arrogant when he wants to, I didn't expect you to have self-esteem issues. John's gone on you, that's why his relationships are so short, and even the blog readers have figured that out by now. Go home, stop stressing, and let him have what you both want. Or I'll have to involve someone."

"You wouldn't," the sleuth retorted.

"Oh, I would. I just need to decide whom. I know you haven't noticed it, and it's okay, but I'm trying to grow up, Sherlock. Try to do the same. It's nice."

He left in a huff. Of course. Which didn't mean that he was going to just obey her. He needed to think this over.