Okay, this story is for my dear friend OhAiné. There's a fair bit of silliness a foot, I will not apologize for that (for I am silly.) MizJoely beta read this story, bless her soul. But any mistakes are all mine. MrsMcrieff helped with some Brit issues (we have completely different names for certain hats... unbelievable.)

I hope you like it Ainé... remember, you've always counted and I've always trusted you.

I own nothing (well not nothing... but only Ainé knows what I do own.)

Sherlock Holmes was lying peacefully on his sofa reorganizing his mind palace as he had been for – God knows how long. He was moving from completed cases making his way to his files on obscure poisoning techniques when he felt someone suddenly shake him... by the shoulders... vigorously. He refocused his eyes to see a very small, very anxious pathologist staring down at him. "Molly?"

"Oh good, there you are," she said, taking a step back. "All right, get up. I need your help."

Sherlock shook his head and sat up, swinging his legs over the sofa. He took in her appearance from bottom to top: high black boots, tight black jeans, a form-fitting black tee-shirt and a short black leather jacket. She was also holding a black beanie hat in her hands and fiddling with it nervously. She looked rather... delicious, actually. Unfortunately he spoke before thinking. "Molly, why are you dressed like a sexy cat-bugler?"

The statement seemed to shake Molly out of her distress and he watched as a pink blush formed on her cheeks. "Um, sexy?" she said looking confused for a moment, then waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, never mind that. Can you show me how to pick a lock?"

Ah, that explains the all black. He'd finally sent Molly over the edge and driven her to a life of crime. It was only a matter of time really. Sherlock stood up and adjusted his dressing gown. "Why would I want to do that?"

"Because I asked it, and I never ask you for anything," she said, her voice slightly unsteady.

Sherlock made his way over to the mantle, looking for his stash of fags. Molly's presence was agitating him, for some reason. He was disappointed when he got there, though. I will repay this treachery, John Watson, he thought. Say goodbye to your five favorite jumpers. He turned back around to see that Molly had followed him closely. "Molly," he said, pausing for effect. "Why, pray tell, are you in need of that particular skill?"

Molly closed her eyes and took a cleansing breath. "Because I am. Are you going to help me or do I need to pull out the 'you owe me card'?"

Ah, yes... she is desperate. "Explanation, Molly. That's all I require."

"Fine. I need to get something back from... someone. This someone refuses to return it and this something is... well, it's mine, so I don't really feel like it's an actual theft." She nodded at the end of her vague explanation, looking quite satisfied.

Sherlock was done playing games; he'd just deduce it. He started closing in on her personal space. "Tom. He has something of yours. It's personal, obviously, though has little or nothing to do your relationship." He narrowed his eyes as he advanced on her. "From your childhood- no... late adolescence. You were never invested enough in that ill-fated union to have given him something of your father's- no, not a watch or his favorite pipe." He continued to pace around the black-clad woman. "This is personal, but only to you." He paused. Stuck. Molly always did that to him. He could only deduce her to a certain point, then she left him floundering. He was standing right behind her. He leaned down and spoke directly in her ear. "What is it Molly? I won't help you unless you tell me." He saw her shiver. I've still got it, he thought with a grin.

"If I tell you, you'll show me how to break into his flat?" she asked.

"I will help you." He didn't elaborate as to how.

"Fine, it's a mic stand... frrrrom a concert," she said dragging out the r nervously.

What? I would have never guessed- NO, no... I don't guess. Sherlock moved slowly to stand in front of her once again. "What concert?"

"That's all you're getting," Molly said indignantly.

I'll know soon enough, Sherlock thought. "Right," he said clapping his hands together and walking towards his bedroom. He quickly looked through his wardrobe trying to find the right suit. He cursed himself for instantly choosing Molly's favorite shirt: aubergine, tight, first two (sometimes three) buttons opened. He chose a white one instead, just to spite her for looking so inviting. Seven and a half minutes later he emerged, Armani clad and ready for a little B&E.

Molly rolled her eyes when she saw him walking back into the sitting room. "You couldn't have given me your instructions in your lounge clothes?"

"I could have, except I'm not instructing you this evening Miss Hooper. I'm accompanying you."

As they made their way down the pavement towards Tom's flat, Sherlock couldn't help but take Molly in once again. Her nerves had calmed, which was certain was due to his presence. She now walked with dignity and purpose, a focused look on her face. She'd fought him at first, but being sensible, and knowing it was pointless, she'd eventually given up. He was coming, no more arguments.

He had been trying for, well, far too long if he were honest, to rid his mind of the notion that Molly Hooper was anything other than a dear friend and trusted colleague. Today wasn't helping. The short leather jacket ended at her waist, showing off her extremely shapely legs and hips. He searched his mind, but couldn't remember seeing her in such tight fitting trousers before. The boots added an additional three inches to her petite build and also did lovely things for her bottom. Her hair was pulled in a high pony tail at the very top of her head, leaving her long elegant neck completely exposed. He rather enjoyed seeing Molly's hair down, but he had to admit there were advantages to her chosen hairstyle. It had been a bit of a fight to get her to leave off the beanie hat (she was convinced it somehow disguised her.)

"Sherlock!" Molly's voice brought an abrupt end to Sherlock's... ogling. "Will you come on? I want to get this over with." She had turned her head slightly to get his attention. "I usually have to run to keep up with your giraffe legs," she said almost to herself.

Sherlock picked up his pace. Once by her side he said, "I... was being considerate. You usually complain about my brisk walking pace. I really can't win with you, can I Miss Hooper?"

"I'm not in the mood for your Miss Hooper nonsense, Sherlock," Molly said as they turned the corner. "I'm barely in the mood for you at all."

Sherlock grinned. He really did love getting under her skin. Speaking of under... Damnit! No, have some self control Holmes, he told himself. "And how do you know that Thomas will be out this evening?" he said as they approached the correct building. He hadn't needed Molly's directions, but he followed her nevertheless. He knew exactly where the buffoon lived. It was one of the first things he'd done upon his return. After visiting Molly in the locker room of St. Barts and seeing that ring on her finger, he made a call to his brother to retrieve some information.

Mycroft was just so smug. 'And what purpose could you possibly have for needing information on Miss Hooper's future husband?' the overblown bureaucrat asked.

He was livid that Mycroft hadn't giving him a little forewarning. 'Give it to me Mykey or I'll tell Mummy that you have no plans this weekend and would just love to accompany her to see Fiddler.' (Though he had already sent his mother a text telling her just that.)

After a short silence Mycroft gave him all the intel he'd collected on the future Mr. Sherlock's Pathologist. Nothing. Normal and dull as a brick, but completely safe and not a psychopath . Most importantly NOT Molly's type. It was only a matter of time.

Not really appreciating being ignored, Sherlock asked again, "How do you know that the flat will be vacant tonight, Molly?"

"I just do, why does it matter how I know?" Molly asked as they came to a stop a building away from Tom's.

"I'm assessing the risk; trying to decide exactly how we should approach the situation."

Molly sighed. "Fine. My friend Sheila is dating Tom's cousin's friend's nephew, Matt. Matt told Jason, the friend, that he'd heard from Martin, the cousin, that Tom met a new woman, Sharon apparently, and that they were going out tonight. Also, that the mic stand stealing sod plans on staying the night at hers! Poor girl, she's in for a disappointment." Molly planted her hands on her hips once finished, as if that was a sufficient explanation.

Sherlock blinked. "Molly, you're going on..." he held up his hand and started counting. "I believe that's... yes, fifth-hand information. I'd feel more comfortable if I had Big Toothed Todd from my homeless network tail him for a couple of days."

"Why is he called Big Toothed?" she asked seeming genuinely intrigued.

"He only has the one tooth... and it's rather big."

"That's horrible Sherlock! You shouldn't make fun of the less fortunate!"

"I'm not making fun of him for God's sake, he gave himself the name!" Sherlock exclaimed.

Molly shook her head. "Look we're here now, let's just get this over with. I want my mic stand back!"

Sherlock knew there was no point in arguing. Molly Hooper could be just as stubborn as him when she wanted to be. "Fine, when was he leaving?"

"Well, Matt told..." she started.

"The time Molly. I swear if you give me another list of names I will go find Mary Watson and beg her not to be so precise this time!"

The small woman looked aghast. "That's not funny, Sherlock! And I was told he'd be gone by 7.30."

Sherlock looked at his watch. "Good. If everything went to plan he's been gone for forty-five minutes. And we're not going in the front. This... is why you needed me." He headed towards the rear of the building, Molly hot on his heels.

Approaching the door to Tom's flat Molly suddenly grabbed Sherlock by the arm. "Is he in there?" she asked.

Sherlock rolled his eye wondering if he should have just let Molly get arrested and then bailed her afterwords. Less aggravation, certainly. He plastered a comforting smile on his lips. "No, he's not. I wouldn't have let us come this far if that were the case." He took out his lock picking tools, then paused as something occurred to him. "Molly," he said turning back to the pathologist. "Why is the stand even here? You two never actually lived together."

Molly stiffened. "No... re-reason."

Sherlock slipped the tools back into his pocket then folded his arms across his chest.

Molly narrowed her eyes and clenched her jaw. "Why does that even matter?"

"Molly, I'm committing a felony for you, the least you could do is answer a simple question."

"How many felonies have I committed for you, Holmes? Also, I didn't ask you to come tonight!"

Sherlock cocked his head to the side. "Ah, I see, you two were..."

"Fine! God, you're insufferable! I brought it over to... well... we were... it's to do with David Bowie. See, he's this singer..."

"I know who Bowie is." He smirked as he reached into his pocket to pull out his tools once again. "Role playing? You're a kinky bird, Molly Hooper... interesting." He turned and started on the lock. He made quick work of it and soon they were striding into Tom's apartment. Sherlock looked around. "What a dump!"

"Yeah, he's a bit of a slob," Molly remarked.

"So, if Tom was Bowie, did that make you Iman?" he said with a smirk.

A bright pink blush started to form on Molly's cheeks. "You're an arse!"

"Really Molly, she's got at least nine inches on you." Molly remained silent, so he stopped his teasing. Sherlock wasted no more time in the sitting room and immediately made his way down the hallway.

"Where are you going?" Molly asked.

"To the bedroom, obviously." He opened the door and took in the cluttered room, Molly right behind him.

"How do you know it's in here?"

He looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "All right, I'll check the closet." Just then they heard the front door open. He was very grateful that he remembered to lock the door after entering. He ran quietly to the window and found, as he suspected, a fire escape. "Quickly!" He motioned to the now opened window and Molly made her way out onto the metal platform. Once he was out as well, he closed the window, leaving it cracked about an inch so they could hear when Tom left again. They tucked themselves on either side of the window and waited.

Sherlock heard Molly's ex walk into the room then...

"Ground Control to Major Tom
Ground Control to Major Tom
Take your protein pills and put your helmet on"

Molly looked at Sherlock with pleading eyes. It was really too perfect... like a dream come true. Sherlock beamed as the man in the room continued to sing.

"Commencing countdown, engines on
Check ignition and may God's love be with you"

Sherlock was having a very hard time containing his laughter as he watched Molly cover her face with both hands and shudder.

That's when Tom's mobile rang.

"You got Tom!" he answered."No mate, not tonight. I'm keepin' a low profile." Pause. "Ah, see I had this brilliant idea. I let it slip that I was seeing someone tonight and knowing Molly's obsession with the unattainable, it shouldn't be long now. " Pause. "What'd you mean?" Pause. "She always wants what she can't have; bigger tits, curly hair... that consulting bloke. Gay as the day is long but she was completely in love with the sod." Pause. "I don't care what the papers said! I know a queer when I see one." As Tom walked out of the room he said, "She was so pathetic about it."

Sherlock tried to catch Molly's eyes, but she was deliberately keeping her head turned away from him. A minute and twelve seconds later Tom reentered the room, still on the phone. "No! I'm gonna give her a taste of her own medicine. She'll come crawling back then, after a few shags, I'll dump her and see how she likes it." Pause. "Because she's a bitch who broke my heart... that's why! Pining after that arse while he pined after that blond fella." Pause. "It's not cruel! I introduced her to my mum for fuck's sake!" Pause. "Alright, how about this? She called out his name once during sex!"

Sherlock heard Molly try to stifle a sob.

Molly's feelings were hurt and she was mortified. He blamed his distracted thoughts for what happened next. Sherlock was looking in the window, trying to decide how he was going to murder the arsehole when Tom noticed the movement and he and Sherlock locked eyes. "What the hell!" he shouted as Sherlock sighed then opened the window.

"Ah, Theo!" Sherlock said as he made his way into the bedroom.

"Sherlock?" Tom asked. "What the hell are you doing on my fire escape?" he said tossing his phone on the bed.

It took less than a second for the detective to have a convincing lie ready. "I'm investigating a rash of break-ins." Tom's eyes grew even larger. "Oh, don't worry, it's the building across the alley. But your fire escape made for a convenient location for surveillance." He finished with a perfectly fake smile. "Isn't this a coincidence."

Tom seemed to buy the reasoning and relaxed. "My name's Tom by the way. I'm sure Molly's mentioned it."

"It's possible... a time or two." Sherlock feigned deep thought. "But of course not for quite some time, I suppose."

Tom crossed his arms defensively. "Really? We were engaged for nearly a year and she only spoke my name twice in your presence?"

"Well, she was never really fully invested in your relationship, surely you know that." Sherlock knew he should just excuse himself, go back to the alley and help Molly down the ladder. Mic stand be dammed, it just wasn't happening today. Unfortunately for everyone involved, he couldn't help but wind Tom up.

"What do you mean, not fully invested?"

Sherlock gave an almost apologetic look. "Tom, right? Tom, you have to know you were simply a place holder. A cheap copy, as it were."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Fuck you mate! You were never interested in her! Besides, I deduced the truth about you!" Tom was heating up now.

"Oh, really. And what deduction did your small mind come up with?" Sherlock challenged, planting both hands on his hips and squaring on the man.

"You don't want her, you're a fa..."

Tom was suddenly unable utter his derogatory slur because Molly Hooper had snuck into the room while the men were distracted and slugged her ex in the nose.

"Molly whad the fuck?" Tom yelled holding his hands up to his injured face.

"You're an imbecile!" she screamed. "I can't believe I ever let you see me naked!"

"You fucking hit me!" Tom took one fateful steep in Molly's direction which, as it turned out, was a huge mistake. Poor sod.

Sherlock had him by the throat and pinned against the wall before he knew what was happening. The detective spoke into Tom ear. "First things first. Where's Molly's precious mic stand?"

Tom made a sort of gurgling sound and Molly intervened. "He can't speak Sherlock, or breathe for that matter."

Sherlock loosened his hold and Tom took a deep breath. "Under... the... bed," he said catching a breath between each word.

Molly dropped to the floor and quickly found her beloved piece of memorabilia. She hopped up, looking triumphant.

"Next, and this is important so do pay attention: Molly doesn't want you. It's over. She's not jealous of your fictional girlfriend. Don't contact her or tell her friends to contact her for you. As a matter of fact if you see her on the street, turn and walk the other direction. Are we clear?"

Tom nodded (as best as he could,) then Molly walked up. "It's okay, Sherlock. We've got what we came for, let's go." She turned on her heels and dashed out of the room not, looking back.

Sherlock let go of a grateful Tom and started to leave. He paused in the doorway and faced the battered man. "Oh, and by the way... very much... not gay."

"Sherlock!" Molly called from the sitting room.

"Coming love!" Sherlock answered, throwing Tom a wink.

The cab ride was nothing if not tense. Molly had laid the stand in the seat across from them when she got in. Sherlock rattled off the address to the cabbie. He expected some resistance from Molly, but she seemed not to have noticed. She kept her face to the window, refusing to look at him. Twenty-five minutes later they rolled up in front of 221B.

That got Molly's attention. She started to give the cabbie her address but Sherlock stopped her. "That won't be necessary." He pulled out a hand full of bills and paid the fare.

"Why won't that be necessary? I need him to take me home too."

"You're coming with me, I need to look at your hand."

Molly looked down at her right hand; it was red and her knuckles were a bit swollen. "It's fine Sherlock. I just need some ice."

"I'm sure I can provide that for you," he said as he got out and motioned for Molly to follow.

She huffed but joined him on the pavement nevertheless. "Ya know, I'd really rather just go home right now. I feel like being alone."

Sherlock ducked back inside of the cab and grabbed the stand, completely ignoring her words, then headed toward the building. Teasing that moron had been fun, but Molly was clearly still upset about what had been said. Something had to be done. He paused as he unlocked the door; was he really the right person to attempt to lift Molly's spirits? Clearly no, but needs must. This wouldn't be easy.

Sherlock turned to see Molly frozen on the curb. He walked up to her. "Indulge me. Please?" he asked, giving her his fake 'I need this face'.

Molly narrowed her eyes. "What's with the face?"

"What face? This is my face."

Molly shook her head and charged toward the door. Once inside Sherlock stood the mic stand next to the coat rack and asked Molly to go upstairs and wait for him while he went to Mrs. Hudson's for 'provisions'. She reluctantly agreed.

Sherlock knocked on his landlady's door. "Oh, Sherlock dear. How are you?" she answered.

"Spectacular," he said dripping with sarcasm. "I need an ice pack and tea, also some biscuits wouldn't go amiss. Those chocolate ones I like, if you have them." He started to leave but Mrs. Hudson grabbed him by the sleeve.

"Sherlock, are you injured?"

"No, no. Molly bruised her hand punching her idiot of an ex in the nose. It was amazing, I wish I had filmed it. But there's some swelling. So..."

"Hold on," she said just before disappearing into her flat. A few moments later she came back with an ice pack wrapped in a kitchen towel. "I want that towel back, young man and I'll be up shortly with the tea." Sherlock started to leave and she stopped him once again. "Sherlock, are you finally going to explain things to that lovely girl?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Don't play games with me Sherlock Holmes. I've known you far too long. You should tell her how you feel or maybe just plant a big kiss on her, that works too," she said with a big grin.

"Mrs. Hudson, I have absolutely no idea..." He was cut off from his protestations when older woman smacked him on the side of his head. "Ow!"

"Tom's not the only idiot! Now, go take care of her and do as I said." She turned around mumbling something about ridiculous young people and their needless time wasting.

Sherlock slowly walked up the stairs as he considered his landlady's words. She's the one being ridiculous... just because I find Molly attractive and kind and intelligent and clever and interesting and attractive... Damn, I said attractive twice, didn't I? No, I made this decision a long time ago and I'm not going back on it. Just because the rest of the world gives into these... these... urges... NO! I'm Sherlock Holmes, I'm above all of this!

By this point he'd reached his door. He opened it and found Molly standing by the window, arms wrapped around her middle. She'd removed her jacket and taken her hair down. Daaamn-it! "I have some ice for your hand," he said.

Molly turned around and smiled. "Thanks."

He approached her with every intention of handing her the ice, but something went wrong (or so very right, depending on how you look at it). He dropped the towel and ice on the floor and grabbed Molly's face. He didn't mean to kiss her. No. He really had meant to hand her the ice. However now that they were kissing, he thought this was a rather nice outcome.

Molly was the first one to break the kiss. "Are you trying to soften me up so I'll tell you where I got the mic stand?" she said, her tone sounded somewhere between teasing and serious.

Sherlock swallowed and shook his head. "No." He kissed her again, this time deepening it, slipping his tongue in slowly, just in case. Molly didn't seem to mind; as a matter of fact she reached up and buried her hands in his hair, causing him to emit an undignified moan. He broke the kiss this time. "It was a Bowie concert, wasn't it?"

Molly giggled. "I wish it was someone that cool. I'm not telling."

He lowered his mouth and started peppering kisses along her throat. "I'll figure it out eventually, you know?"

"I promise... ahhh, oh God... you won't," she said.

"Mrs. Hudson's bringing tea," Sherlock whispered in her ear.

"I don't want tea."

"Me either," he said as he picked her up and carried her into his bedroom.

Okay, there we go. Looks like Hudders is in for a surprise when she brings that tea! Please let me know what you thing! Thanks so much for reading. ~Lil~