As per usual I must thank my nearest and dearest for a TON of help with this little story. MrsMCrieff was a huge help with Brit questions (ain't she sweet!). And MizJoely… bless this woman! I had my Molly going in an entirely different direction with my first draft and she said… um, no! It's not working. Of course she was right. So I made some changes, sent back the re-write and here it is. I certainly hope you all like it.

I'm gifting this to Moonunit, simply because I love her!

I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~

"I don't know why this had to be so cloak and dagger. It feels a bit… dirty."

"You let me worry about that, huh? This is why you asked for my help, doctor."

"But did we have to meet in an alley? Why not my flat, or even a nice café?"

"Because you never know when he'll turn up, now do you?"

"No, no I suppose I don't."

"I've got the evening all arranged... All you have to do is show up and look gorgeous."

"Sure, no pressure."

"Oh, come on, Molly… this will be brilliant! Trust me. Friday, seven thirty, at my house. Leave everything in devious hands!" Wink!

Sigh. "Why do I feel like I just sold my soul to the devil?"

"I should be offended, but really I'm not!"

"That doesn't make me feel any better."

Molly arrived at the Watson's at exactly 7.30 Friday evening. She not only wanted everything to go as planned, but she really didn't want to piss off Mary. That woman is scary!

"Oh, you look yummy!" Mary said in lieu of a greeting, kissing Molly on both cheeks.

"Thanks. I spent most of the day at a salon being demeaned by a group of hipsters. But in the end I do believe I've been 'de-frumped' as they called it," Molly explained as she straightened her skirt.

She did feel pretty, though. But Mary had given her very specific instructions: go shopping, go to a salon, DRESS UP! She'd followed the instructions, the rest was up to Mrs. Watson. This was her hail Mary (giggle)! If this didn't work, she was officially giving up. Really giving up… really! If Mary Watson, former spy (or somesuch, she really didn't ask questions) couldn't make this happen, no one could. She had considered asking Mycroft, but she didn't think he cared for her very much and wouldn't so much help her but rather laugh in her face.

"Okay, so David's here already. He's chatting with John. I'm going to introduce you and..." Mary started explaining as she put Molly's handbag on the hall tree.

"Wait! Who's David?" Molly asked.

"My accomplice. Don't worry, Molly I have this well in hand. You just go be your sweet self and I'll take care of everything!"

"Why do I feel like I'm going to regret this?" Molly nibbled on her thumb nail. "It suddenly feels a bit…"

"Sherlockish? I know, but it's necessary. To beat him, you must think like him. Trust me, I know what I'm doing."

"You keep saying that, it's making me nervous. Why did we have to involve David?"

"What's the worst that could happen?"

Molly cringed as her mind conjured a multitude of possible disasters.

"Look, either this works or maybe you'll hit it off with David… who knows!" Mary winked… again. "All you have to do is make yourself scarce when Sherlock gets here. The entrance is everything!"

"Yes, I understand that, Mary. You explained that part of the 'plan' very carefully." Of course Molly had thought that she was being set up with the detective, not some bloke named David. "How do you know that Sherlock will even show up?" Surely she didn't just invite him, Molly thought, now that she realised that she was on a blind date.

"I had to call in a favour," Mary explained.

"To whom?"

"Mycroft. But he owes me! Besides he was happy to help. He adores you!"

"I-I'm sorry? Mycroft Holmes… adores me?

"Of course he does, Molly. Everyone does. You'll see!" Then she effing winked again! "Let's go!"

Introductions were made. David seemed really lovely, which only made Molly feel worse. I can't pretend to be on a date with this sweet man, she thought as she sat next to him on the Watson's settee. He told her about his job, his hobbies, his pet iguana named Bertie. But she wasn't listening, not really, moral alarm bells were going off far too loudly. Also there was a voice in her head (it sounded a lot like her Gran) saying 'Margaret Elaine Hooper! How could you be a party to this flimflammery!' (It must have been her gran because she'd never used the word flimflammery in her life!) The voice continued to berate her but she tried to tune it out and imagine that this was completely real. Yes, she thought. He's nice and cute! Who cares about Sherlock Holmes when there's sweet iguana owning… oh, what did he say he did for a living?

John brought the 'couple' some wine, giving them a wink before leaving (always with the winking!), making Molly wonder if he was in on it or if Mary had kept her husband in the dark as well. While the Watsons were preparing dinner the doorbell rang.

"David, can you get that for me?" Mary called from the kitchen.

He smiled at Molly as he got up.

David had a very good feeling about this set-up. He'd noticed Molly during Mary's wedding. She was a pretty little thing. He hadn't actually talked to her though. She'd been on the arm of some tall goofy looking fellow. The one who had had that brilliant idea about a weapon made of meat! When Mary called him about dinner he jumped at the chance to meet Molly and get to know her.

On the way to answer the door David couldn't help but think how well the evening was going. Molly was lovely, even lovelier than he remembered, and a doctor! She was clearly enjoying herself. He could tell, he had a sixth sense about these things.

His good mood wasn't to last though, because when he opened the door…

"You!"

"You!"

"Mr. Hopkins, you don't take warnings very well, do you?" Sherlock said, his voice even more terrifying than David remembered.

"I'm w-well within my three planned social encounters. This is only the second time I've seen M-Mary this year. And John's here!" he quickly added.

The psychotic detective narrowed his eyes and said, "I still don't like you, you know."

"I'm on a date!" he replied, trying to sound confident.

"You're on a what?"

"A date."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "How ridiculously boring. I need to see Mary."

David turned and rushed into the lounge looking for Molly, determined to prove he was not interested in his ex. She was nowhere to be found. He continued on into the kitchen hoping at least to find Mary and get rid of the crazy man who he was pretty sure was obsessed with his ex girlfriend. I mean what kind of bloke does that sort of thing for his mate? He would do anything for Derek, his best friend, but warn off other men… menacingly? This man was clearly unbalanced.

"Mary, um, Sherlock's here," David said as he tucked himself into the corner of the kitchen.

She turned around. "Sherlock! Oh no, not tonight we're having a dinner party."

"I'm not here to rob you of your husband, Mrs. Watson," he said, kissing her on the cheek. "It seems I've been relegated to messenger boy." He rolled his eyes.

"Taking on odd jobs, are we?" Mary asked with a grin.

"My brother says..." He paused and shook his head, then mumbled, "I can't believe I'm doing this. He says: The wheels are yellow, the upholstery's brown." He sighed. "The dashboard's genuine leather."

John and Mary both smiled, listening attentively. David was just confused.

"That was lovely. Sherlock but I really wish you'd sang it," Mary said.

"Don't push your luck and there's... more." He cleared his throat and looked away. "At a slow clip-clop, don't you hurry with the surrey, withthefringeonthetop," the last few words came out as one. "I assume there was some point to that."

Finally Mary and John couldn't take it anymore: they both started laughing.

"That had better have been a matter of national importance!"

Mary finally calmed down. "Um, yes, yes it is, Sherlock. Very important coded information are held within those… words. But, uh, how did he manage to get you to do that?"

"There may have been some threats leveled at my access to St. Barts," he said uncomfortably. "His agents may not take issue with his love of musicals, but I certainly do."

"What do you do at St. Barts?" David asked, forgetting his attempt to be invisible.

Sherlock turned and looked at the now-terrified, man. "Why are you still here?"

Mary stepped closer to her ex, putting an arm around his shoulder (which made him extremely nervous) and said, "Sherlock, you remember David. He was an usher in our wedding."

"I remember him," Sherlock growled.

Just then David was saved by a pretty little brunette. "Hey! Oh, Sherlock. What are you doing here?" Molly said.

David immediately moved away from Mary and put his arm around Molly's waist, pulling her close. See! I'm with this one! He wanted to shout! But settled on letting his actions speak for him as he smiled at the woman.

It was a bit early to be so touchy-feely with someone he'd basically just met, but he wanted to get the point across to the crazy man that the reason for his presence was his date… NOT Mary! Surely that would get the madman off his back!

Sherlock, however, didn't seem nearly as pleased about the turn of events as David thought he would be. As a matter of fact, he seemed… angry, murderous even. His eyes traveled between David and Molly, studying the couple carefully. "Molly, why are you here?" he asked slowly.

"Um, I'm on a...a date?" she answered, sounding a bit nervous.

"With… the usher?"

"With David, yes."

"You're on a date… with Mary's ex?" he confirmed in a low voice.

"Yes. She thought we might like each other and…" Molly started.

"Oh, she did, did she?" Sherlock turned his dangerous glare to Mary.

David watched as Mary met the detective's eyes, a challenging glint in her own. "I did, Sherlock. Is there any reason you can think that they wouldn't?"

Silence descended on the kitchen and David wondered if perhaps he should just excuse himself. He was scared, but no coward, so he stayed.

John watched the exchange between his friend and wife for several seconds before speaking up. "Well, you've delivered your… message, Sherlock and we have guests… so…"

He never took his eyes off of Mary but answered his friend. "Your wife asked me a question, John. It'd be rude not to answer." Stepping closer to the blonde woman he said, "I can think of twenty-three reasons why this date shouldn't take place, Mrs. Watson. But you know all about that, don't you. You've set up this little scene after all."

What? David thought. He looked at Molly; guilt was written on her pretty face.

She moved away from him and put her hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "It's my fault, Sherlock. I asked for Mary's help. Don't be angry with her, please."

He turned on her and his features immediately softened. "You may have asked her for help, but this wasn't what you had in mind, was it?"

Molly shook her head.

What the hell? David thought.

"Doesn't matter. I take full responsibility." She turned and looked back to David. "I'm so sorry. You are very sweet. But… umm… Oh, God... I feel horrible." She looked down at the floor.

Sherlock put his hand on her chin, pulling her face up to look at him and said, "It's not your fault. Mary clearly didn't think this through."

As the final pieces fell into place, David realised just how big of a chump he really was. Humiliated and angry, he suddenly didn't care about the crazy man anymore. "Not her fault!" He turned and looked at the small woman. "Of course it's your fault!" he said without thinking. "What's wrong with you people? Mary I thought you were my friend! And John… who knows what's wrong with you? Molly… you want this… this… psychopath? Well you can have him! I actually thought you were a nice girl. But clearly you're just…"

"Don't finish that sentence, David," Sherlock warned, a protective arm around Molly's shoulder.

"Why? Because you have my number? You'll what? What are you going to do if I insult poor Molly here? If I call her a lying..."

John patted David on the back as they walked toward the street. "How's the nose?" he asked.

"Find," he answered. "Find… Find… Urg...You know what I'm saying!"

When they reached David's Vauxhall Astra John turned to the man and said, "I'm really sorry you got caught up in all this. The girls… I don't' think Mary meant any harm, if it's any consolation and as for Molly, she wouldn't hurt a fly. Literally I saw her catch one and put it out a window once. Also for the record, I didn't know what they had planned. I suspected, but didn't know. Of course once Sherlock started reciting show tunes I pretty much figured it out."

"Why does he hate be?" David asked, holding an ice pack on his swollen nose.

"He's very possessive of the people in his life. With Mary he was just making sure there were no outside threats to our marriage. Molly however…"

"He's in lub with her, isn't he?"

John laughed. "Pretty much."

"I don't want to hear from any ob you eber again," David said as he unlocked his door.

"Understood," John said with a nod.

When he got back inside he found his wife sitting on the sofa alone. "Where's Molly and Muhammad Ali?"

"They're still in the kitchen. When I left things were just about PG13, but I imagine they're moving quickly toward an R rating by this point."

John made a face. "We prepare our food in there, Mary!"

"That's what bleach is for, my love."

He sat down next to his wife. "So, David never wants to see us eber again."

"I figured as much. That's a shame, I like him."

"Me too."

"I'll give it some time and then ask him for lunch, smooth things over. He's still allowed one more planned social encounter this year. Perhaps we can convince him we're not completely horrible."

"Hmm, perhaps," John said.

Just then a slightly disheveled Molly and Sherlock stepped out of the kitchen. "Sorry about the pheasant, but I did turn off the oven. We are adjourning to Baker Street. Oh and I stirred the blackberry jus. Enjoy your dinner." Sherlock said, tugging Molly toward the door.

"Thanks Mary, and you too John!" Molly called back over her shoulder.

Once the door closed John looked at his wife and said, "That was diabolical, you know,"

"Yeah. I know," Mary agreed with a sigh.

"Brutal actually. And not telling poor Molly..."

"But don't you see? She wouldn't have agreed if she'd known. That's what he loves about her, John. She's not like us. She's… so... "

"Yeah, she is."

"Hungry, love?" Mary asked as she stood up.

"Starved!" he answered.

I know... Sherlock wouldn't recite Surrey With The Fringe On Top under any circumstances, but I couldn't resist! Picture it for just a minute! Anyhoo, let me know what you think. Just having a bit of fun! Thanks for reading. ~Lil~