Not beta-read, so I apologize for any mistakes you will find. Still, enjoy ;)

John Watson was first to admit that Mycroft Holmes was really clever man. Sure, conceited and smug, but clever nevertheless. His ruse with Moriarty's broadcasting effectively ensured his younger brother's and John's best friend safe return to London and therefore averted his certain death.

Everything was taken care off - Mycroft would feed his superiors with informations proving that psychotic crime mastermind is indeed dead, but his companions were still very much in business (though Sherlock took care of that particular problem couple years ago during his another exile). Elder Holmes would also create the evidence that Sherlock was actively taking care of this threat. All Sherlock had to do was lay low until some real crisis arose. Unfortunately, in all his brilliance, Mycroft really didn't think that last point through properly.

Laying low in Mycroft's eyes meant no cases. Sherlock couldn't be seen distracted by some mundane murder (his words, not John's), when he was supposed to be saving the kingdom. So, with nothing else to do, Sherlock decided to sulk. And John was left there to keep him company.

So, here they were, two weeks after his infamous return, John sitting in his chair reading newspapers and Sherlock on couch, dressed in his shaggiest pajamas and blue dressing gown, his back facing the room. He was in the exact position every time John came by and the good doctor was starting to be just fed up with his friend's attitude. And his smell.

"You could at least shower. Starts stink here," mumbled John from behind his papers, not bothering to actually look at his friend, knowing very well he won't reply anyway. And he was right.

John sighed and shook his head. He read some more until he finished the article he was interested in and then he carefully folded the newspaper and threw them on the floor beside his chair. He really couldn't be bothered by thinking he's making a mess. The place was already bloody disaster.

"Greg sent me files on some old cases they have laying around," he tried again, taking some brown folders from his bag, rustling with the papers purposely. Sherlock didn't even twitch.

"Nobody would know if you looked at them, you know, from here. I cleared it with Mycroft." He would not be able to do any real investigation, but he could probably solve them just from looking on the pictures. It could take at least few... minutes, right?

"One of them looks really interesting. Apparently, it involves corpse in the locked room and... unhealthy number of garden gnomes. Sounds quite terrifying to me, to be honest." John browsed through the files, pointing out interesting facts he came across. But Sherlock still didn't react and John briefly thought if he didn't actually die from boredom. He was always claiming he would, one day. But could they be really so lucky?

Another twenty minutes went by, interrupted only by Mrs. Hudson who brought Sherlock his lunch. John thanked her. Poor woman had quite a shock when she saw Moriarty on TV, but recovered in amazing speed once was revealed it was all just Mycroft playing Big Brother again. She and all their friends were informed about the fact in order to prevent them from cracking in panic.

In Molly's case this warning came little too late, because by the time they all got from airport back to Baker St., she was already there mad with fear, repeating again and again that this wasn't possible - she made Jim's autopsy herself and made personally sure he was burned and put in unmarked grave, possible even with bunch of garlic or piece of silver or anything, just to prevent him from ever coming back.

It was surprisingly Sherlock who made her snap out of her frantic rant about ways she ensured Moriarty stayed dead (most of them seemed like taken over from 100 + 1 for vampire hunters). Detective simply gathered his crazy pathologist in tight hug and didn't let go of her until she was calm and collected again. And even then he stayed rather close to her. Unfortunately, that was the last time John saw his friend at least relatively sane. Right after that Mycroft announced his plan and Sherlock started sulking like little child he was.

"You know, it is really nice of you to provide training for dealing with stubborn two years old, but my child is not here yet. And anyway, we will have to first get through the soiled nappies and lost pacifiers phase, before we move to terrible twos." Nothing again.

"Okay, that's enough." John got finally fed up by his friend's behavior. He stood up and in brisk step moved to the couch where his friend was probably already growing in he said piece of furniture. He stopped above Sherlock, giving him one last chance to do this nice way. Nothing, naturally.

"Very well, lets get it done." He grabbed Sherlock's shoulder and leg and started to tug him off the couch. With one strong pull, John managed to throw his friend on the floor, almost falling on him in the process. That finally cajoled some response from the detective.

"Get off me!" Sherlock barked and pushed John away from him. Doctor smirked and in mock astonishment called:

"Oh, heavens! He talks! How quick these kids grows." It earned him only a nasty look from the said child. Sherlock got up on his feet and immediately started sniffling around.

"And now he walks! Miracle!" John didn't stop smirking and Sherlock didn't stop frowning, obviously looking for something.

"Where are my cigarettes?" he asked finally, Billy the skull in his right hand. John took it from him before he could smash it against the wall and placed it back on its place on the mantel.

"Molly threw them out the last time she was here," explained John. Molly kept visiting Sherlock when she had a time, but with flu season in full range, she was busy in morgue, which was full of people who didn't make it through the long waiting in John's office (her morbid joke, not his). Given the fact she (or maybe her gifts) was more or less the only one who could rouse the git from his comatose state, she didn't get there even nearly enough.

"Hm... more likely smoked them herself," mumbled Sherlock and effectively turned John's attention back to him.

"Whatever," doctor sighed, then pointed towards the tray with still steaming soup.

"Mrs. Hudson made you lunch."

"Not hungry." Unsurprisingly, Sherlock didn't even look at the food.

"And we're back to two years old." John was every second closer to banging his head against the wall. But his frustrations evidently were nothing in comparison to these of world's only insulting detective.

"I'm bored, John! My mind is screaming for entertainment which I certainly won't find at the bottom of the plate of chicken soup!"

"You never know, Sherlock, it's very good soup."

"I need a case!"

"I told you, Greg sent..."

"Real case! Not something Lestrade uses as a tray for his daily donut."

"You know you can't." It was probably the longest conversation they had in last two weeks and John would be happy with such development, if Sherlock wouldn't end it with throwing himself back on couch. John understood that being without a case drove Sherlock literally crazy and he felt for him, he really did. But if keeping his head down was the only thing to assure Sherlock will stay alive, he will bloody do it. Whenever he likes it or not.

Seeing that his friend was again ready to go back to his sulking, John quickly tried to come with something interesting enough to prevent him from doing so.

"Molly brought you a diseased liver and bag of toes. That usually makes you happy." Nothing.

"But apparently not now." Still nothing. John rubbed his forehead.

"Sherlock, I really wish you would stop brooding. You are not in prison. Mycroft is taking care of everything." Sherlock snickered.

"Of course he does."

"You could be at least a little bit grateful." On that, Sherlock actually jumped up and addressed his friend with incredulous look.

"For what? If he thought this through properly, I wouldn't be stuck here in the first place."

"He saved your life."

"But he didn't give it back to me." There was hint of real sadness and desperation in his voice and for once, John didn't have the hart to tease him about it. Much.

"Just be patient. Sooner or later, something real will show up what will require your abilities and you will be once again running around with your big coat and diva behavior." Detective smirked.

"If I won't die of boredom first."

"Yes, that would be a real shame."

Afterwards, John actually managed to coax Sherlock into eating some of his lunch. He was in the middle of convincing him to take the bath, when his friend suddenly jumped up again and shouted:

"Oh! I have an idea!" John gave a real pirate "Hooray!" before asking:

"What is it?" Sherlock didn't answer, just smiled enigmatically.

"I will need Mary for that." His eyes got little crazy shine in them and John was genuinely concerned what Sherlock's idea of fun with Mary would entail.

"Uh... will it be safe?" he asked tentatively. Sherlock gave him an impatient look.

"Of course. I don't believe she will ever shoot me again."

"I actually meant for her." She was almost eight months pregnant, after all. But this fact didn't seemed to make it into Sherlock's big brain at the moment.

"Why would I shoot her?" John only sighed and hid his face in his palms. He heard Sherlock chuckle.

"Relax. I merely wish to use her unique mind. Before it gets dulled by diapers and feeding bottles." Now it was John's turn to snicker with amusement.

"I dare you to say that to her face." Sherlock rolled his eyes up and then resolved to the tactic which seem to alway work with happily married men - appraising their wifes.

"She could be invaluable in this." As predicted, John puffed his chest and positively gloated at the mention his dear other half's brilliance. Sherlock watched him with fair amount of amusement in his expression.

"Look at you. Beaming proud over your wife's questionable skills. Who would have thought couple weeks ago. Except for me, of course. I always knew you would sort it out." He always knew how to kill the mood, his dear friend. John would punch him, if he wasn't actually right.

"Sure you did. But you are right. Even after all what happened, I wouldn't change a thing."

"Except me being shot, of course."

"Nope. Not a thing. I thank the god for the day Molly introduced us." At that, John fished the phone from his pocket and wanted to fire off the text to Mary, asking her to come to Baker St. in order to keep they practice child occupied for a while. However, before he hit the first button, he was interrupted by Sherlock.

"Hooper?" John looked up to his friend's face, noticing the frown on his forehead.

"What?"

"Molly Hooper introduced you to Mary?" Sherlock specified his question and eyed his friend anxiously. John chuckled.

"Well, I don't know any other Molly, so yes. They are old university bu..." he didn't manage to finish the word, because it dawned on his mind what he was saying and what Sherlock somehow managed to catch even before he started his sentence. They stared at each other for few seconds, than Sherlock literally flew to the door, opened them and started running down the stairs. John didn't waste a minute and run after him. He heard Mrs. Hudson calling after them, something about why is Sherlock going out in his pajamas, but he didn't paid her any mind. His thoughts were solemnly focused on the same thing as were his friend's:

How could be Molly Hopper, who just celebrated eight years from getting her diploma, be university buddy with Mary Morstan, woman, who didn't exist until some five, six years ago?

Unsurprisingly, it didn't take Sherlock even half a minute before he managed to hail the cab, still dressed in his pajamas and dressing gown and looking positively crazy. But, even in this state, the man had some magnet which seem to just attract cab drivers to him. It was even more puzzling given the fact that Sherlock hardly ever paid for himself.

John managed to jump into the cab in the last moment, Sherlock was clearly determined to get to his pathologist as soon as possible and he wasn't waiting for anyone. He barked the St. Bart's address to the driver (who, to his credit, didn't even blink at Sherlock attire) and then stubbornly stared ahead, seemingly lost in his Mind Palace, probably sorting all informations he ever acquired on Molly Hooper.

Suddenly, dreadful thought came to John's mind. Was it even Molly Hooper? If she knew Mary before she was... well, Mary, who's to say that Molly Hooper, brilliant pathologist with wacky sense for humor and no sense for fashion whatsoever, was actually a real person?

"Once again, you are thinking too loud, John," growled Sherlock without looking at his friend at all. John didn't bother to reply, he just looked at his phone, which he actually was still tightly holding in his hand, and wondered if he should call Mary or not.

"Don't. If... Molly really is tangled in something from Mary's past, we won't her to get warning from your wife," said Sherlock, casting quick sideways look at John to emphasize his words. John nodded and sighed heavily. And just when he thought that everything would go back to normal.

"Things are never normal with us, John."

They arrived to St. Bart's hospital twenty minutes later. Sherlock shot up from his seat, leaving John to pay the fare (naturally) and striding right to the basement of the hospital, where Molly was residing. His dressing grown was flowing behind him dramatically and John thought, that no matter what he was wearing, his friend was and always will be drama queen.

Sherlock didn't slow down the entire way, until he abruptly stopped before two way doors to the morgue. John finally caught up with him. Detective was staring through one of the windows in the doors into the morgue. John followed his gaze and quickly found out what caught his friend's attention: Molly Hooper was staying over the table, ear-buds in her ears and elbow deep in some poor man chest. Usually the sight which brought slight smile on Sherlock's face, but this time, his lips were settled into firm line, his face not giving away any emotion.

John watched Sherlock take a deep breath and then enter the cold morgue in his usual dramatic fashion. Molly didn't acknowledge them at first - music playing in her ears was loud enough for John to hear it from several meters distance. Only when Sherlock stopped on the other side of the table, she caught him by her peripheral vision. With learned shrug she get rid off of one of her ear-buds without actually stopping doing her job and she gave them both wide smile.

"Oh, hi guys! Long time not see. How's it going?" She automatically turned to John, expecting answer for both of them from him as usual - Sherlock wasn't one for casual chitchat. Older doctor gave her just tight lipped smile. Molly looked confused and her frown deepened when Sherlock suddenly leaned across the table with the open cadaver and started to examine her carefully.

"Uh... everything okay, Sherlock?" asked Molly nervously, hoping for an answer. However, Sherlock only continued to stare at her without a word. Not wanting to interrupt his line of thoughts, Molly let him examine her for good two minutes, but then he finally started to freak her out.

"Did he finally cracked?" Pathologist didn't take her eyes from the man before her, but the question was clearly dedicated to the other man in the room. Before John could say anything, Sherlock snapped:

"No, no, no, no, NO! Doesn't make sense." He pushed away from the table and started pacing around. Molly visibly relaxed.

"What doesn't?" she asked, while quickly slipping off bloodied latex gloves and covering the body before her with a sheet. She had a feeling that no matter what brought Sherlock here today (in his pajama!) would require her full attention. And she was right. Sherlock stopped pacing around and strode to her, grabbed her shoulders and shook her, not very gently.

"You are Molly Hooper!" he exclaimed, almost angrily.

"Yes, I know... John, is he high again?" she quickly blinked in the direction where the other doctor stood and then immediately pierced her attention back at Sherlock. Her confusion was quickly receded before suspicion and anger. "Because if you are, I swear to god, Sherlock, I will..." She was interrupted.

"You are not lying to me." Sherlock looked at her like at the most confusing puzzle he ever encountered, because he really didn't understand. She wasn't lying to him - she didn't show any of the signs of lying. She tried to lie him before and he could always tell by the elevated pulse and frequent touching her left ear. Molly Hopper wasn't very good liar, actually, scratch that, she was awful. She was great at keeping secrets, though. As long no one asked.

"You bet I don't! You promised..." Sherlock cut her in the middle of her rant over his imaginary drug relapse. For once, he didn't want to play the game. He wanted answers right now. He needed answers right now. And so did John.

"If you're not lying, then how can you know Mary from university?!" Molly said few more words about him being irresponsible jerk, before her brain caught up with Sherlock's words. She opened her mouth like a fish couple of times, but no actual sound came out.

She was rapidly oscillating her eyes between both men, obviously trying to determine what to do next. At the end, she settled with resigned sigh, when she realized what is going on.

"Oh... you know." Sherlock didn't answer, just continued to watch her intently, so it was John's turn to take the word.

"Yes, we do," he said sternly. Molly gulped.

"I... I don't know what to say."

"Start with saying you're not an assassin. Please," said the army doctor. Molly gave him tight smile.

"I'm not an assassin," she assured him.

"Then who are you?" asked Sherlock, still eying her warily, though John detected a trace of genuine curiosity in his voice and serious lack of any real anger. Peculiar. But of course that even in the situation like this - with the possible outcome being one of his friends being a lair at best and another criminal mastermind hidden in the plain sight before them again at worst - Sherlock would find something he enjoyed.

"Alright. Let's go to my office. It will take a while," sighed Molly, seeing that there was no other way of getting out of this than telling them the truth. As much as she hoped this day would never come, she always knew there was the possibility of her being found out. She actually expected it since Sherlock came back from his two-year trip around the world. She was sure that the second he saw her with Mary, he would just know. But, obviously, she was lucky. That is, until now.

Molly turned and walked to her office, both men closely following her. When they entered, Sherlock and John automatically settled in the two faux-leather chairs she had there, leaving Molly alone to sit on the uncomfortable desk chair, facing them. Just like being their client. Molly smirked. Well, let's hope Sherlock won't find her case boring. With a deep breath, she started.

"We... Me and Mary... we never expected you would find out."

"Obviously."

"Shut up, Sherlock and let her talk."

"Me and Mary didn't met at university. We met six years ago, when she came to me and I helped her to fake her death." The silence which followed could be described only as stunning. John was staring at the woman before him unabashedly agape. Sherlock, on the other hand, lighted up like a Christmas tree. John almost snorted. Leave it to Sherlock to find this fascinating.

"Fake her death?" the older doctor asked to reassure himself he heard it right. Molly nodded nervously.

"Yes... I did... I used to... I was faking people's deaths long before Sherlock came," she threw quick look to the said detective, but he didn't say anything, just watched her, with enigmatic half-smile on his lips. Only after several long seconds he asked:

"How long?" Molly answered immediately.

"It started when I was still at university." John eyebrows disappeared in his hairline. Well, look at that! When he was at university, the weirdest hobby he had was going on walk stark naked after he successfully finished his term's exams and got absolutely smashed with Mike.

"Continue," prodded Sherlock Molly, not uttering a word more about her long second career. Molly inhaled deeply and started:

"There was this boy, he was in the same class as me. He was charming. Very clever, tall, dark hair... certain bad boy aura around him... I had a little bit crush on him." She blushed a little and Sherlock couldn't help but smirk.

"Well, you certainly have a type." She ignored him.

"He got into some problems with local drug dealers..." This time John interrupted, chuckling.

"Yep, definitely a type." He earned dirty look not only from Molly, but from Sherlock as well. However, before the boys could start some row, Molly quickly proceeded with her story.

"... and he owned them some money. Lots, actually. I was already known for my interests in pathology and I was working at the university hospital in the morgue as intern - got there thanks to my grades, I was really good already at school, you know..."

"Yes, Molly, we know. Keep on track, please."

"Oh, yeah, sure. Ehm... well, one night, I was there, in the morgue, when Patrick - his name was Patrick - appeared there. He was frantic and terrified and saying that he's in really big trouble and needs to disappear. I didn't understand at first what he wants from me, but... well, I caught up, eventually. I didn't want to do that at first, but... he was so scared and kept saying that they are coming for him and that they are going to kill him... Frankly, he freaked me out, so I helped him." She made a little pause, which Sherlock used for asking, curiosity clearly visible in his face:

"What exactly that entailed?"

"I took the unidentified corpse which was scheduled to be send off and buried in local graveyard next day, replaced it with adequate weight in the coffin, dressed it in Patrick's clothes, sat it Patrick's car and lit it up. Then I switched dental records of these two so the later identification would confirm that it was indeed Patrick in the car and then I went back to my dorm and had a good night sleep after job well done." She sneered on her own lame joke. Sherlock rolled his eyes, John settled with raising his eyebrows. Molly sighed and continued:

"I gave him some cash I had and sent him on his way. He didn't have any close family to speak of, only some aunt and he spent most of his life in foster care, so there wasn't anyone who cared who would be really looking at him. The second I saw him out of doors, I collapsed and had my first panic attack. I was terrified, scared to death. I was sure he would be caught and brought back and that I would get into trouble. But days went by, then weeks and months and no one came and I just... let it go, sealed in the past and decided to never do something like this again." She probably wanted to end it there, but Sherlock pressed uncompromisingly.

"Something obviously changed." Molly bit her lower lip (and John noticed, that for some reason, that made Sherlock gulp) and started talking again.

"About two years later, I was in my last year of schooling, when this... character showed up. He said that Patrick sent him. That he told him of what I did for him and that he said I would help him too. I refused, of course, didn't want to get into something illegal, and let me tell you, he surely was sodden in something not good. But..."

"But?"

"But then he said he could pay and..." John was almost sorry for her now, for Molly looked really uncomfortable, flaming red spreading from her neck up to her face and even her ears. but Sherlock wasn't about give her a break.

"And you needed money," he added the information which was Molly evidently reluctant to share. The woman nodded.

"Yes."

"Your father." John blinked, surprised by the sudden softness in his friend's voice. He had no idea what Molly's father had to do with anything (unless they made it a family business). He caught Sherlock looking at Molly with the expression he never ever saw on him before and Molly gazing back at him with mixture of sadness and appreciation in her eyes. He suddenly felt like an intruder.

"Yes." Very uncomfortable intruder, for it was clear, that these two shared something he was not privy to. Thankfully, Molly evidently noticed his discomfort and hurriedly explained, rapidly firing her words out, like she needed to get it all out, now:

"He was out of job for a long time and then he got sick and we had debts and I had to pay for school and we couldn't even pay for rent at that time and I just... It was the easiest and quickest way to solve all these problems, because he offered quite a lot. And after we were done, he recommended me to other people and soon enough, I was able to pay everything we owned and even sent my dad into great sanatorium and... suddenly, I was in business."

"And you were enjoying it." John wanted to punch Sherlock for such an insensitive remark, but Molly shrugged and blushed a little bit more (if it was still even possible).

"I did... for a while," she admitted quietly. She gave John another tight-lipped smile and then added, like she was feeling a need to explain herself:

"It was nice to have money. I never had any, so that was really quite... intoxicating. But what I enjoyed most was that thrill and excitement and... also the fact I was able to fool everyone and it was all very... fulfilling. I certainly wasn't bored." John could only shake his head on this. He turned to look at his friend sitting beside him and stated more than asked:

"I guess you can relate to that." Sherlock didn't answer, but the not-so-secret smile on his face widened a little bit. He was certainly enjoying this a little bit too much. But then again, he was also literally dying of boredom only hour ago, so John couldn't very well blame him. But before the doctor was able to sunk too deep in his musings, Molly continued with her story, steady stream of words now becoming more and more raptured and shaky.

"But then my dad died and suddenly... it just wasn't fun anymore. I wanted to quit, stop doing it, but by then, I already had quite a name and... well... criminals just don't take no for an answer. And..." she stopped and then quickly spatted out: "That's when Mary came in."

They were finally getting to bottom of this and John couldn't help himself and prodded Molly to continue.

"Go on." The pathologist gave him a reluctant look.

"I'm not sure I should," she said, looking uncomfortable once again. This time it was Sherlock who spoke, for he picked up faster than John why is Molly so unwilling to continue now. She didn't know how much about Mary John actually knew and she didn't want to make things worse than they already were.

"John knows about Mary's past... well, some of it... We certainly know she wasn't always Mary," reassured her Sherlock that it is okay to talk. Molly sighed.

"Alright. Well, she contacted me. I said no, as I said to everyone those days, but she was... persistent. At the end, I gave in..." Molly paused and Sherlock added the final piece.

"And created Mary Morstan." Pathologist nodded.

"Yes. It was the biggest job I ever done, I always dealt just with making people disappear and sending them away, but Mary wanted to stay, so we had to create the new life for her, here in England," she scratched her head nervously. John butted in.

"You keep referring to her as Mary..." She gave him an uneasy smile.

"It's the only name I know her by, honestly John. She never told me about her life before and I never asked. I rather never asked anyone I worked on." She sounded sincere. John nodded and let her finish her story.

"After we were done, she made sure I wasn't bothered ever again. She was my last job," she casted quick glance at Sherlock. "Except for you, of course." Detective smirked, for some reason looking pleased with himself and Molly continued:

"I didn't see her for some months afterwards, then she suddenly appeared at Bart's, telling everyone she just moved from Chiswick to the city and being friendly and before I knew it, we hit it off and I was telling everyone we are old friends. It just happened." She turned to face John, looking deeply into his eyes while saying:

"She's a good person, John. She may not have always been, but she is now and I would never introduced her to you if I wasn't sure you could suit each other." The doctor gave incredulous look.

"You thought that ex-assassin would suit me?" Like, seriously? What was wrong with... all of them? But Molly just smiled sweetly.

"Well, your best friend is solving crimes as an alternative to getting high and your land lady used to run a drug cartel," Molly said, using the exact words Sherlock did months ago. Smirk on his friend's face told John it wasn't an accident.

"She was just typing," tried John object in a futile attempt to deem at least on of his friends as normal. But Molly shook her head a chuckled:

"Not in those dancing costumes." On that, John snorted too. This was once again getting absurd. With a sight, he stood up.

"I... don't think I need to hear more." He didn't sound angry, but Molly apologized nevertheless.

"I'm sorry." She stood up too, walking around the table until she stopped right before him. John gave her a little smile.

"I can't say I understand it all, but... I really can't be mad at you. You are my friend... and you did introduced me to my wife, after all." He winked at her and then clasped her in a tight hug which Molly gladly reciprocated. Their sweet moment was of course cut short by Sherlock, who was probably feeling left out. Sounding as annoyed as ever, he growled at his two doctors:

"Alright, stop being emotional. It's unnerving." Molly just laughed, but John told Sherlock off with simple:

"Shut up, Sherlock." Not very effective, he had to admit, since Sherlock not only didn't shut up, but even got up and continued talking:

"Go to your charming wife, John, I'm sure you have plenty to discuss." He had a point, so John for once decided to do as he was told by his friend. He let go of Molly and stepped to the door.

"Right. You coming?" That question was addressed to Sherlock, since they came together, after all. However, detective shook his head.

"No." Not really in the mood to finding out why or even argue with his friend, John just shrugged his shoulders. He did want to go home to his wife and talk, after all.

"Okay." Then he turned to Molly.

"See you on Sunday for lunch, Molls?" Only them would make plans for shared lunch after discovery like that. But, John guessed, that was just their life now. His life. And he actually quite liked it. Not that he would ever admit it. He looked at Molly, still standing where he left her and smiled. He was rewarded by bright smile of her own.

"Sure." John nodded and walked to the doors from morgue, leaving his two friends behind to settle whatever they had between them. He surely didn't need to be part of everything.

As soon as the doors behind John closed, Molly became aware of the sharp look Sherlock was giving her. Slowly turning, she leaned against the table to face him. Somehow, not sitting down was giving her feeling of superiority. Well, at least as long Sherlock remained seated. The second he would stand up, she would be little again.

They stared at each other of a while, not saying a word. Finally, Sherlock broke the silence by asking:

"Why did you even introduced them in the first place? You had to know it was risky - especially after I would come back." Molly sighed. Well, no chance of letting that go, then.

"Well, I didn't have much of a choice... Mary saw John few times when he was visiting me here and was begging me to introduce them. I quite couldn't come up with a good enough reason not to. And even if I did, she would just ask him herself. I knew you would eventually find out when you came back, but back then you were dead, so the reason it would be dangerous didn't quite made it. And then I thought they would maybe break it off before you made it back - let's be honest, John's relationships never last - but they were so happy together and then John started talking about proposing and Mary started whining that he didn't proposed yet and... ugh... this is all so messed up." She was starting to babble again, she knew, but for the love of god, she couldn't stop herself. She already told so much today. She needed to get it out all.

"I knew it would happen eventually... in fact, I'm quite surprised that it took so long. I was sure you would know right away. Or at least suspect something was off and then dig up the rest." When Sherlock didn't respond, Molly added:

"I guess we were lucky." That earned her a snort from the detective.

"There is no luck. You and Mary made very sure to cover the tracks." Was that... a compliment? Molly wasn't sure. It sounded like one, but with Sherlock one never knew. She smiled sheepishly.

"Mary especially. She's good." Sherlock actually smiled back.

"I know."

There was silence again, afterwards. Long, long silence. When it was almost ten minutes straight, Molly started to be nervous. Sherlock looked lost in his Mind palace and she pondered over whatever to leave him sitting in her office and go back to work or rouse him up from his coma. She was half-way to the door, when Sherlock scared her to death by suddenly speaking up again.

"Did Mycroft know?" Oh, that was what was going on in that funny head of his! Molly smirked. Sherlock was worried that his brother didn't miss the secret part of her life and thus proving he was smarter than him, after all. She turned to face him.

"If he did, he never said anything." He probably did know. After all, Mycroft knew everything about everyone, especially about people close to his brother. Mary did a good job covering Molly's past all those years ago, but she could only do that much. Molly had a long line of dead people behind her (irony of that statement wasn't lost at her) and she wasn't exactly keeping track about all her interactions with criminal underworld, so it was pretty possible someone or something wasn't taken care of and got caught in Mycroft's information net.

Sherlock didn't answer and Molly took it as a sign that their conversation was really over. For now. She was sure she could expect tons of questions in the near future. She turned to leave, but was stopped by Sherlock's voice again.

"One more thing." Molly sighed. Well, near future was obviously happening right now.

"What is it, Sherlock? I have a work to do." Yeah, like that ever stopped him from taking up her time. Readying herself for an interrogation, Molly looked Sherlock in the eyes. He met her look with a little smile on his lips. He stood up and closed the distance between them. Molly's breath hitched in her throat when he stopped right before her, watching her intently.

"Thank you for coming out of retirement for me," he said finally. Molly blinked in surprise.

"Huh?" Sherlock chuckled at her gob-smacked expression, taking another step closer, if that was even possible. He took her hands into his and continued:

"Thank you for everything you've done. For me, for Mary and John... everything." He was absolutely serious and Molly could feel the heat rising to her cheeks again. With a smile, she answered, pointing to the conversation they had over a year ago, but which had a familiarly intimate feel in it.

"As I said, it was my pleasure." Sherlock recognized the reference.

"We never get to have those chips," he said. Molly played along.

"No, we didn't."

"Would you like...?"

"Yes?"

"Get them?"

"Now?"

"Why not?"

"Sherlock..."

"Yes?"

"You stink." The words flew out of Molly's mouth before she could stop them. She mentally slapped herself. Way to destroy such a beautiful moment.

Sherlock was so taken aback by her comment he literally stepped back.

"That was little harsh. You know I'm bad at this. Really not my area..." And he sounded actually hurt. Molly quickly reached up to him, stammering.

"No! Not that. I mean, you literally stink. Your odor is... not pleasant. At all." She chuckled when Sherlock actually sniffled to verify her claim. When he found out she was in fact right, his ears pinked in embarrassment.

"Oh... sorry. I seemed to have neglected my usual hygiene routine lately." Molly giggled.

"I can say..." She squeezed his hand. Sherlock glanced at her, obviously not quite sure how to proceed now, when the mood was gone.

"So..." Molly took a pity on him. She rose on her tiptoes and in sudden surge of boldness placed quick kiss on his cheek. Before could Sherlock react properly, she was at the door.

"So go home, shower and then come back and pick me up for dinner," she smiled at him and then quickly disappeared in the morgue and labs, before she managed to say something else disastrous. Sherlock didn't follow her, but he was indeed waiting for her at the end of her shift, bathed, freshly shaven and with bunch of crumpled flowers in his hand, murmuring something about stupid social norms. And Molly couldn't be happier.