John was a stride and a half behind Sherlock as they made their way through the hallway, he could feel his irritation growing, the git knew his legs were impossibly long compared to his. John knew that far from minding Sherlock actually enjoyed lording it over him, any reason to feel superior, the ego stroking he required was unquenchable.

John, disgruntled now, "Sherlock, can you slow down and walk like a normal person for once?"

Sherlock smirked at him over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow, "Normal John? Or Hobbit speed?"

"Hobbit speed?" John spluttered, outraged. He turned his head and frowned, "Hold on a moment, how do you know about Hobbits?"

Slowly slightly to let John catch up, Sherlock have him his patented poor slow John look, "How do I know about Hobbits? I did have a childhood John, I wasn't born this way, although maybe that would have been preferable, to spring, fully formed clad in a suit, Belstaff, and scarf."

John rolled his eyes, then side-eyeing him, "Why are you so chipper today anyway?"

"While I would never describe my mood as chipper, I am in fact feeling fine, and why not? The sun is shining, I've wrapped up a seven within three hours - a new record – and now I have a six to be getting on with, all in all, my day is going well, John." With that he pushed through the double doors, heading through to Molly's domain.

Entering the morgue they came upon a peculiar sight, Mycroft was smiling – smiling – at Molly. His words drifted across the room, "Six pm Saturday night, see you then Molly."

Johns eyes bounced to and fro like he was watching a tennis match, looking like he'd had his Christmas, birthday and his wedding night all rolled into one, he didn't even bother to hide his amusement.

Sherlock's good mood had dissolved as quickly as tissue dropped in a puddle. He stood watching Mycroft and Molly, only his eyes moved but John could see them ricocheting back and forth between Molly and Mycroft. His face was stony, absolutely blank, giving nothing away, but he couldn't control his eye twitching. John wouldn't have been surprised to learn he was literally vibrating with rage.

John wanted to laugh out loud, instead, just to poke the bear a little he popped up with, "A date? Well, good for them, it's hard to find someone in this city." He nodded sagely at Sherlock as though imparting great wisdom.

Sherlock now looked positively murderous, - considering this was a man who had committed murder and gotten away with it - John wondered if Mycroft ought to begin worrying.

Mycroft looked over at them and nodded, "Sherlock, John, I trust I find you both well?"

Sherlock's eyes were shooting sparks, "May I talk to you in the hallway, Mycroft?" His voice made it plain that it wasn't a question.

"What exactly do you think you're doing Mycroft?" Sherlock's tone was icy.

"To what are you referring brother mine? Talking to Molly?"

"Molly?" He scoffed, "Since when do you call her Molly?"

"Well given that it is her preferred given name Sherlock, it's not unreasonable."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Are you attempting to date my pathologist?"

Mycroft tilted his head, pressing his lips together he sighed before continuing, "In what way is she your pathologist Sherlock? Considering that it's my power and connections securing your access here I rather think that she's more my pathologist than yours."

Sherlock's fists were clenching and unclenching and his eye was twitching again as he stared at Mycroft nearly blinded with rage.

He shrugged and twirled umbrella dismissively. "Enjoy your day, brother mine."

Sherlock walked back into the lab to see Molly chatting with John, he'd obviously said something passably funny because Molly threw her head back and laughed. The tinkle of her laugh grated on his nerves, why did she have to be so… Molly.

Scowling, he stalked over to them, eyes burning into Molly, "What do you think you're doing? Accepting a date with Mycroft!"

Molly's laughter snapped like a twig, her expression was one of stark disbelief, by the time she had turned her head toward Sherlock she appeared just as willing to commit murder as Sherlock.

John's head bounced from one to the other, he briefly contemplated whether or not he could manage to slip his phone out and record this to share with Mary. He thought better of it and settled for just watching the spectacle and planning to call her as soon as he could conceivably escape Sherlock on a coffee or bathroom excuse.

Why is it any of your business who I accept dates with?" Molly and Sherlock stood toe to toe, Molly had to look up to return Sherlock's gaze but in no way did she appear to be the weaker of the two.

John watched as Sherlock's eyes widened, clearly registering – without needing to be told for once – that he'd done something a bit not good – John suppressed a laugh and cursed his rotten luck that he hadn't had his phone in his hand when Sherlock stormed back in.

"Well, I-I, Mycroft is clearly not the right man for you," Sherlock knew he'd made it worse, closing his eyes he puffed out a breath.

Molly cocked a brow at him, "Oh? And who is the right man for me, Sherlock?"

Sherlock pressed his lips together and pushed his jaw forward briefly before spitting out, "Sorry, Molly."

It was very nearly possible to feel him quashing the torrent words that wanted to come out, he breathed in and out slowly and deeply, carefully controlling himself.

The rest of the time spent there was uncomfortable to say the least, John kept quiet and stayed back not wanting to involve himself in someone else's domestic, for as much they each would deny it, that's what it was.

Sherlock sat in a van across the road from Molly's block of flats, he had a plumbing uniform on with 'Jerry' emblazoned across the front pocket, and he had the requisite van all decked out in 'Jerry's plumbing' logos. He was also sporting a fake moustache, and – although he didn't know it – a Mario/Luigi style hat. The pants in his polyester nightmare of an outfit were too short and came halfway to his calves.

The van belonged to a client he'd helped with a cheating spouse case one afternoon due to excessive boredom. Jerry had been only too happy to lend it when he explained to him that his brother was trying to steal his 'woman' - he always found talking in the local vernacular helped to form bonds with useful contacts.

Spotting a town car make it way down the road and pause in front of Molly's flat, he sat up ready to go, the game was on.

The car idled by the footpath but no one got out, moments later the downstairs security door opened and Molly bounded out.

Sherlock was outraged, he may not be the worlds foremost expert when it came to dating, but even he knew that you had to go up to the door.

He raked his eyes over Molly quickly trying to gather as much data as possible in the short time he had before she got in the car and was out of sight.

Jeans – Far too tight, why would she need to try to impress him. A soft coral blouse,in a silky material, - Why does it need to be silky? Is he going to try to touch her?

Molly swept into the car and out of sight. He realised he'd barely gotten any information because he'd been distracted by how she moved in her dressier clothes, she was disconcertingly sexy.

The town car pulled out into traffic and he swung Jerry's van into traffic behind it, the journey they took was a short one culminating in a cul de sac with an Italian restaurant holding court in prime position.

Molly loves Italian, Sherlock's lip curled at the thought that Mycroft knew Molly well enough to select a restaurant that she would enjoy.

Less than a minute later Mycroft emerged looking utterly ridiculous in a 3 piece suit, hardly the standard attire for an Italian restaurant, he held his hand out to Molly and she took his hand smiling up at him as she emerged from the back of the car.

Sherlock snapped, without even bothering to turn the key to cut the engine he shoved the door open, slid out of the van and stormed towards them.

Mycroft and Molly looked up to see Sherlock dressed in a plumbers outfit two sizes too small striding towards them with a demented expression on his face, they both took in the van idling with the door open and stood staring at him with matching expressions of shock.

Sherlock began yelling as soon as he got with distance of them, unfortunately he had forgotten to remove the cap and moustache he had been using as a part of his disguise.

Mycroft's lips were twitching in amusement but Molly had lost it, she was gasping and slapping her knees, alternating that with pointing and attempting to speak. She couldn't get a word out, tears were rolling down her face by the time Sherlock was in front of her.

He ripped the moustache and hat off and frowned at her imperiously, waiting for her to calm down. Her laughter slowed somewhat and she was able to gasp, "Why are you? What are you doing?"

Sherlock glared at her and Mycroft, his eyes sliding back and forth in silent accusation stating, "I might ask the two of you the same thing."

Another car pulled up beside the restaurant and Violet and Siger Holmes made their way out if the car.

"Will? What are you? Never mind, I'm just happy you could make it." Violet pulled him down for a peck in the cheek then moved to embrace Molly and peck Mycroft in turn.

Sherlock stood looking from one to another in total confusion, "Why are you all here?"

"Siger's birthday! Isn't that why you're here" Violet looked around at this point, "What have we missed?"

Mycroft smirked, "Sherlock thought Molly and I were going on a date, he came to interrupt it."

Violet rolled her eyes, Siger looked on with amusement, A man in love doesn't think.

"You didn't figure it out when you saw the restaurant?"

"He didn't actually know the name of it, when I informed him about the party he said he was unable to attend."

Sherlock at least had the grace to look embarrassed, he shuffled his feet and avoided his parents direct stares.

"Well, here's a birthday present Siger, I think our son may be in love," Violet glanced at Molly who blushed. "Well go on then, you two have some things to discuss."

Sherlock nodded, he wished his father a happy birthday, exchanged a handshake, bade his mother and Mycroft goodnight and grabbed Molly's hand abruptly and began dragging her away.

Half way across the road to the van Molly stopped, "No."

Sherlock turned when his hand caught on hers, "No?" His nose scrunched as he tried to figure out what she meant.

"You are not going to drag me from this party like a Neanderthal." She stood with her heels planted firmly as the slight breeze stirred her hair around her face.

Sherlock smiled, she was gorgeous, he was sick of pretending she wasn't everything he wanted and needed. "You want to stay for the party?" His tone was friendly, willing.

"Yes," she tilted her chin up in defiance and his breath caught, the last rays of sunlight golden on her fair skin.

"Okay." His voice gentle as he acquiesced.

"Okay?" In spite of her stubborn stance her voice showed surprise.

"But Molly?" She looked at him, biting her lip, waiting for him to spoil it, "May I kiss you first please?"

Her answering smile made him feel like a king, leaning into her he slid his fingers around the back of her delicate skull cradling her, hair running through his fingers.

His lips pressed against hers softly as he drew her body flush with his. Molly sighed in contentment.

Sherlock pulled back and smiled that gorgeous smile again, she felt dazed, "Would you like to come with me to Baker Street so I can change out of this ridiculous outfit before we come back?"

Molly nodded, then she looked up slyly and asked, "It does look a bit difficult to get out of on your own."

"No, no, it's a just a simple – if ugly," he gestured at it in distaste, " Polyester shirt and pants set," his frown remained until he caught her amused look, "Oh, yes, help, help will be greatly appreciated."

Hand in hand they made their way to the plumbers van that he'd abandoned in his haste.

It was highly unlikely that they would return the party, it's also highly unlikely that anyone would mind.