"Sherlock, you've got to stop doing this." Molly rolled her eyes at the man in the Belstaff coat from her position on the couch. When she heard the lock click from the outside, she didn't even bother to get up. Of course it was him.

"I can't stand her." He grimaced in distaste, prodding Molly to get her to stand up. Reluctantly, she set her book aside and got off the couch. He plunked himself down onto it and patted his knee.

Sighing, she sat back down.

"She comes every morning with the smell of at least three different male colognes on her, and it's obvious we're both not investing much in this fake relationship," he grumbled into her neck as he shifted her closer to him.

"Well, you're not much better, are you?" She glanced sideways at him.

He had begun to come by often about four months ago despite Tom's presence, and the excuses he came up with for barging in became increasingly more ridiculous. Sometimes, he offered no explanation at all. And worst of all, he never called Tom by his name (which he obviously knew) and refused to call him anything but "Meat Dagger."

The first time, he had simply picked the lock and came in (while she and Tom were having dinner no less), and without breaking stride, claimed he was being chased by clowns and tucked himself away in Molly's bedroom for the entire night.

She had to sleep on the couch.

The next time, he had come by around 10, simply claiming he needed to sniff Molly's hair to relax because it has the distinct smell of Jasmine and, ignoring Tom's scathing glare, grabbed Molly (also ignoring her half-hearted protests) and sat down on the couch with her, burrowing his face in her hair until they both fell asleep on the couch.

She had never been able to deny him anything. And those instances were simply proof.

The final time, almost a week later (when her relationship with Tom had almost returned to normal), he dropped by while she and Tom were watching a movie together. He sat down in front of the telly and grabbed Toby (who was surprisingly all too willing to be petted) and claimed Toby was the key to solving one his cases. Toby. A cat.

Tom finally broke it off, telling her she should stop deluding herself into believing she didn't love Sherlock Holmes. She hadn't had it in her to deny it.

But she hadn't forgiven Sherlock for three months after, refusing to give in to his pouts and puppy dog eyes. She had even changed the lock on her door.

Only recently did their relationship gain some semblance of normalcy, except now Sherlock seemed more prone than ever to wanting to touch her. She stacked it up to his need to feel wanted since he hadn't visited John in a long while.

"I do need your bedroom though. I hope you've changed your mind about that?"

"You've already chased Tom away and practically moved into the spare!"

"It's not big enough. I need room to think. Besides, the walls were gray. Reminded me of prison."

"Well, you objected to me moving into it too."

"Not good for the guest to chase the resident into the guest bedroom. Bad etiquette."

She scoffed. Since when did Sherlock care about etiquette?

"Anyways, I need that room to air out all my clothes. Janine gets her perfume all over me and I can't get it out, even with two washes."

"Oh, so you decide to stink up my apartment with another woman's smell?" She leaned slightly away from him, staring down at him.

He leaned up, placating her with a peck on her lips.

"Of course not. I need your scent to mask the smell so I don't gag. This case is too important to mess up because of such a small thing."

"Well, you can't keep coming here every chance you get, you know. She'll notice you're not there at night." Molly frowned. "And you've GOT to stop climbing in my bed every night. It's not decent."

He stared at her blankly.

"But it's cold."

"Get a heating pad or something. I dunno. It's not proper, Sherlock."

"You're starting to sound like Mrs. Hudson," he grumbled. "You let me hold you all the time. I don't know why the place or time makes any difference."

She smoothed back his curls.

"When we get married, okay? Didn't you say you wanted to save your first for marriage?"

His cheeks turned a fiery red, and he glanced away.

"What's 'not decent' is my future wife having done it with others before me."

She pecked him on the nose.

"I'll make it special for you, don't worry. Now shoo. Janine might get suspicious."

He groaned when she got off him, dragging himself upright and donning his Belstaff.

"I'll be back tonight," he told her, pinching her bum (she jumped, startled), and strode out the door.