likingthistoomuch said: Your stories are pull-your-cheeks-you're-adorable cute! Can I too give a prompt...plzzz ...Molly loves outdoors, Sherlock prefers labs...she invites him on a picnic and when he refuses, invites Lestrade...of course our consulting detective doesn't take that very well...

A/N: So here it is, the very last of the 20 Sherlolly prompts. There is actually one more but it's a multi-chapter and will have it's own file. This one is rated K+ for utter fluffy silliness!

Additional Note: The parks mentioned herein are entirely made up in my head. I have no idea if there's a single one near St. Bart's, let alone two. Pray suspend your disbelief if you know the area well as I promise both parks are vital to the story!

"Come on, Sherlock, it'll be nice, getting outside for a change! The weather's perfect for it and I'm sick of being shut up in this lab day and night!"

Sherlock glowered at Molly. "As you recall," he said stiffly, "the reason we're shut up in this lab 'day and night', as you so inaccurately put it, is because your psychotic ex-boyfriend is back from the dead!"

Molly had the temerity to stick her tongue out at him. "Yeah, well, it's been four months, Sherlock, surely one afternoon off won't slow us down. And a picnic is just the thing to help us relax a bit. You said yourself that we should step away from the case for a few hours."

His scowl deepened. "I meant we should get some fish and chips, not lounge about on some bit of green surrounded by screaming children and pigeons and…and…ants!" He hissed the last word as if it was the most disgusting thing he could think of, and Molly did the very last thing he would have expected of her: she laughed.

A lot. Semi-hysterically, he thought with growing alarm. Had Moriarty's return actually pushed her over the edge? But when he made as if to move toward her, she waved him off, the laughter turning to giggles as she got herself back under control. "Sorry, Sherlock, but you should have seen your face!" She grinned, and he grimaced, and was about to make a biting remark when the sound of the door opening caught their attention.

"No luck on that last lead," Lestrade announced glumly, hands shoved into his trouser pockets. "Donovan and Anderson are still in Wales, and the Watsons just called, they'll be in Leeds for at least the rest of the afternoon." He smirked. "Gotta hand it to you, Sherlock, getting your brother to volunteer to babysit for them was pure genius!"

"That was entirely Mary's doing," Sherlock replied, grinning back at the other man, both enjoying the thought of Mycroft Holmes on baby-minding duty. Sherlock was picturing him with a carry-cot in one hand and his ever-present brolly in the other, with his PA frantically googling 'ways to get a 3-month-old to nap' when his good mood was utterly spoiled by Molly Hooper.

"Greg, I'm going mad stuck inside here, what do you think about joining me for a picnic lunch in the park?"

Lestrade's grin widened. "Yeah, sounds great, Molls, you already have sandwiches made or should I scrounge some up from that place down the street with the amazing macaroni salad?"

"Ooh, that's perfect, I was just going to get something from the canteen but your idea is loads better!" Molly exclaimed.

Sherlock couldn't believe what was going on right under his nose. Didn't Molly realize that Lestrade had (once again) got back with his ex-wife? That they were expecting a fourth child (as if a baby could fix that relationship!)? That Lestrade was a womanizing berk – and even worse, was poaching in Sherlock's territory?

Well, granted, it was undeclared territory, but still, he thought he'd been perfectly clear about his feelings for Molly after his return from the dead a year and a half ago! He'd patiently waited for her to realize her fiancée was an idiot – which had taken months longer than he'd predicted, he'd thought they'd have broken things off well before John and Mary's wedding! – and then of course he'd mucked things up with his handling of the Magnussen case. So yes, he hadn't actually told her how he felt about her, but Mary knew, and Molly was just as intelligent as Mary Watson, so how could she not know?

He blinked and looked around at the sound of a door closing; while he'd been caught up in his thoughts, Lestrade had strolled away with HIS pathologist! Oh, no, that wouldn't do, not at all. Not bothering with his coat, Sherlock jumped up from his stool and hurried out of the path lab. He knew which sandwich shop the two of them had been discussing; it would be a piece of cake for him to intercept them there – and send Graham packing, sans Molly.

Unfortunately he was slowed down by a text message from his brother, which he tried to ignore, followed immediately by one from John, which he knew better than to ignore. Once he'd worked out that Mycroft needed some help with baby Allison, and that John was threatening mayhem if Sherlock didn't do whatever it was Mycroft needed – something about which stuffed animal was her favorite at the moment – he quickly resolved the situation (the stuffed bee, with its bright yellow-and-black stripes, was the one that calmed her down the quickest) and hurried after his prey.

Even more unfortunately, he missed Gary and Molly by mere seconds, and was reduced to trying to recall which park was Molly's likely destination. There were several in the vicinity, but the one with the oversized fountain was the least popular and therefore the most relaxing. Confident of his choice, he headed west.

Ten minutes later, grumbling to himself and scowling at anyone who dared look his way, he retraced his steps and headed east for the other park, the one without the playground and wading pool. How could he have forgotten those child-magnets?

Five minutes later he was staring in outrage at the sight that met his eyes: Gavin and Molly lounging on a pair of orange shock blankets, laughing at some shared joke and nibbling on overstuffed sandwiches. Ignoring the stares he was earning from the idiots strolling through the park, he stalked over to the pair of them, glaring down with his arms crossed. "Well, isn't this cozy," he snapped.

Molly stared up at him, brow furrowed in confusion – and probably anger, he realized. Uh oh, he hadn't meant to make her angry, an angry Molly was the opposite of what he wanted! "I meant, um, this isn't the safest place for you to be, Molly, Moriarty's made threats…"

"She's with Scotland Yard's finest," Geoffrey snapped, patting the badge at his hip as if it were some sort of charm against psychotic criminal masterminds. "And her detail is on hand as well." He nodded toward a pair of over-muscled idiots in ill-fitting suits, who nodded back at their boss without once cracking a smile. At least, not until Molly fluttered her fingers toward them in greeting; then they both broke into shy grins and waved back at her.

Oh, that did it; that was absolutely the very last straw. The only man Molly Hooper should have wrapped around her dainty finger was HIM, and he wasted no time in announcing that fact in aggrieved tones.

Lestrade stared, open-mouthed, as Sherlock Holmes loudly proclaimed his love for Molly Hooper. The woman in question wore an equally shocked expression, but as she slowly rose to her feet, she could be seen to be darting her eyes around as she stepped closer to Sherlock. "What is it, is he here? Is this part of some plan to draw him out by making him think you're in love with me?"

It was Sherlock's turn to do the befuddled-gaping thing as he met Molly's worried brown eyes. "What? No, no, that's not…I meant it, I was just telling you how I feel." He risked an irritated glance at Gomer. "Before that idiot managed to worm his way into your affections." He returned his attention to Molly, who looked utterly gobsmacked. Uh oh, had he been wrong about her feelings for him? Was she truly enamored of George? Or had he simply not been as obvious as he thought he'd been?

Ah, the latter, he thought smugly as Molly broke into her widest, happiest grin and threw her arms around him. He returned the embrace, burying his face in her hair (but not until he'd shot a smug grin at Glen and tightened his grip around Molly's waist). "Oh, Sherlock, you great idiot, I've been waiting for you to get your head out of your arse and figure out if you loved me or not!" Molly exclaimed. Then she kissed him, a full-on snog right there in the park, any thoughts of picnics or Gilbert Lestrade firmly banished from her mind.

One of the first things they negotiated for their relationship was picnics: Sherlock said absolutely no picnics ever again, and Molly said absolutely no picnics with anyone but HIM ever again, and of course…Molly won.

With Sherlock, Molly would ALWAYS win.