A/N: FYI I reordered the scenes in chapter six. They all take place on the same day, so it doesn't really matter, but it made my calendar-keeping nerd heart happy :)

John arrived home nearly a fortnight later to find his best friend in his sitting room and his wife in the shower. Despite the fact the plumbing had been upgraded since the Edwardian terrace was built, the pipes still groaned when hot water ran for more than one hundred seventy-two seconds, as Sherlock had discovered on a very bad day in a very bad week of a crime-free London. Currently the consulting detective sat cross-legged on the floor in front of his goddaughter. John's hope he had an update on Mary's case or more information from Mycroft faded when he saw the line of three flashcards between them.

"What are you doing?"

"Helping Josephine expand her sign vocabulary," Sherlock said, moving his hands in such a way that made her giggle in delight.

"I can see that. What are you doing here, today?"

Sherlock looked up with his "isn't it obvious?" expression.

John took a deep breath, reminded himself that he'd already finished the visit with one of his post-stroke patients, and tried again. "Why are you here?"

"Oh!" Sherlock removed one of the flash cards and tapped another.

Josie fisted her tiny hands with thumbs out, moving them up and down in front of her. Sherlock unfolded her pinkie fingers, then repeated the sign that made her giggle. The water shut off.

"I'm baby-minding. You have a date with your wife tonight."

John blinked once, then twice. "I do?"

"Yes, and since you smell like a combination of baby sick and methylene blue, I suggest you follow her lead into the shower."

Not only was this solid advice, it had been John's plan since approximately ten that morning, when said christening in sick had occurred. Although, he realized as he heard the sounds of movement upstairs, if he went now, he might catch Mary before she got dressed.

"Cheers, Sherlock!"

Mary stood in front of her open wardrobe with a bath towel wrapped round her body and a hand towel scrubbing her short blonde hair. "What do you think, the jade dress or dark jeans and a jacket?"

John kept his movements casual, coming up behind her to drop a kiss on her nape. "How about—" he gave the larger towel a strategic yank—"neither?"

"John!"

It was a token protest, smothered in laughter as she turned in his arms, gloriously nude, her own arms circling his neck. He slid both hands down warm, still-damp skin to cup her bottom, snugging her against him before lowering both his face and his voice. "Hello, wife."

Her breath warmed his lips, the edges of her mouth lifted in the beginnings of a smile, and he closed the final distance between them. They got a little lost in the kiss, basking in the privacy without Josie, secure in the knowledge they wouldn't be interrupted … at least for the moment. When Mary finally broke away they were both flushed and breathless.

"The jade dress," John said after a moment.

"Wha'?" She blinked before focusing in on him, blue eyes dark with desire.

He smirked, indicating the wardrobe behind her with a tilt of his head. "Wear the jade dress. I'm going to get in the shower."

###

"Mary!" Sherlock yelled up the stairs. "You're going to be late! John's been down here for twenty minutes already, and you had a head start!"

"You're wasting your breath," John said without looking up from the football scores on his phone.

Sherlock huffed and resumed his pacing, a drowsy Josie content against his chest despite the noise. John couldn't decide if he feared her getting used to Sherlock's outbursts or was grateful for it.

"Even allowing for hairstyling and makeup, that's more than a thirty-minute difference!"

John shrugged, thumbing to the next article. "She'll be down when she's ready. What's the hurry, anyway?"

"Yeah, Sherlock." Mary's voice was light with teasing. "What's the big rush?"

"You have reservations," he said with dignity.

John had stood and stuffed his phone in his pocket as soon as he heard her voice. "You look gorgeous." The jade-green dress clung to her curves and swirled just above the knee. The V-neckline was lower than it had been the last time she wore it, now stretched by milk-swollen breasts, and she'd paired it with a fuzzy black jumper and blood-red lipstick he looked forward to smudging at the earliest opportunity.

"Thanks," she said, her smile knowing and just a bit naughty. "You sure you're okay, Sherlock?"

"Fine. She's asleep already."

And so she was, John realized, glancing at his daughter nestled under the flap of Sherlock's suit jacket. John placed one hand on the small of Mary's back and began steering her towards the door.

"There's breastmilk in the refrigerator, and you know where the bottles are," Mary said. "Be sure to use the one marked 'hs,' for hour of sleep." Her feet were moving, but she was still talking, so John increased the pressure of his hand and nodded at Sherlock to get the door. "That means I pumped it while nursing at bedtime, so it will have more melatonin in case—"

"We'll be fine, don't worry, goodbye!" Sherlock shut the door in their faces.

"They'll be fine," John said reassuringly, maintaining the unrelenting pressure. "Josie's been sleeping through the night for over a month, you know that."

"Yes, of course I know that, considering I was the one who had to wake to feed her," she snapped, then paused. "I'm sorry, it's just—"

"Hard, I know."

She gave him a disapproving look before sliding in past the car door he held open for her, and he knew she'd caught the double entendre. Whistling jauntily, John circled the car and got in.

###

Their starter had just arrived when Mary, who was facing the door as usual (a preference that made a lot more sense once he found out about her past), lit up and gave a wave. Curious, John glanced over his shoulder and spotted a dressed-up Molly Hooper trailing the hostess while being closely followed by a clean-cut man who, shockingly, was neither especially tall, nor dark-haired, nor wearing a long wool overcoat.

Suddenly it all made sense.

"Molly, how nice to see you here," Mary said warmly as the hostess's approach brought Molly and her date within hailing distance of their table.

"Hi, Mary." Molly's voice had none of her usual cheerful enthusiasm, and she didn't break stride.

But the hostess did, turning to see if her guests wanted to pause for a greeting.

"And you must be Liam," Mary gushed, beaming up at him. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Won't you join us, please?"

"Oh, no, we—" Molly began.

John pushed back his chair and stood, avoiding the kick he knew was coming. "John Watson," he said, extending a hand, forcing the other man to stop and acknowledge his presence or be obviously rude. "Molly's told us a lot about you." Implicit in the firmer-than-usual handshake was an I don't believe a word of it. "Do sit down. Molly, love, so good to see you." He grabbed her hands, bussed one cheek, and guided her to the inside chair between him and the window. "Mary and I have been talking about having you both for dinner, but you know how it is—city, suburbs, work, new baby…." He smiled at the hostess. "We're fine, thank you."

Across the table, Mary was wide-eyed with surprise, but when he met her gaze and winked, her smile shifted from pleased to mischievous.

"Liam, my friends John and Mary Watson. John and Mary, Liam Hunter. We met through work." Molly gave in and made the introductions with good grace.

"Ah, the famous Dr. Watson," Liam said. "I've read your blog—entertaining stuff."

"You're a doctor too, I understand," John said, sliding the plate of antipasto towards the newcomers with a "help yourselves" gesture. "What is it again, psychology?"

It had been a while since he played the protective older brother role, but judging from the chill emanating from his left, the sex of the target didn't make much difference. Harry always hated it too, no matter how much John insisted it was for her own good.

Liam let the insult slide and stabbed two olives and a tomato with a toothpick. "Hematology, actually. Molly has been an incredible help in my research on antimalarial resistance."

"Yes, well, that's the thing about dead people—doesn't matter how much blood you draw, you're not going to hurt them."

Mary stifled a laugh at the inappropriate dinner conversation before saying, "I imagine a ready supply of uninjurable test subjects is quite a help."

"As is a brillant colleague," Liam said.

Molly smiled slightly at the praise, and John gave the man points for not only complimenting her in front of her friends, but on something other than her appearance.

"You mentioned a new baby, Dr. Watson. Surely not from the lovely woman beside me? It's unthinkable you've given birth recently, Mrs. Watson." Liam gave her an appreciative once-over and John subtracted the points.

"Josie will be nine months old on Wednesday. And it's Mary, please."

"Mary it is. Thank you. Wait—" he turns back to Molly. "Josie, that's your goddaughter's name, isn't it?"

Molly nodded, her face softening as it always did upon sight or mention of Josie. "She's absolutely adorable."

"I'm certain. Molly has a picture of the christening in her flat, but do you have anything more recent?" Liam asked Mary.

Damn, he's good, John reflected as Mary turned to pull out her phone. Molly, on the other hand, had still failed to look at him or accept anything to eat.

"Sherlock put you up to this, didn't he?" she hissed as Liam dutifully aww'ed over whichever photo Mary showed him.

"What?" John said in genuine surprise. "No, of course not. We hadn't met Liam yet and thought it would be nice to spend a little time getting to know him."

Molly gave him a "yeah, right" look, further reassuring John his brotherly skills had not rusted from disuse.

"I need the ladies," she said abruptly, interrupting the slideshow across the table. "Mary?"

The women exchanged some silent eye conversation that John roughly interpreted as

MARY: No, you don't.

MOLLY: Yes, I do, and you have to come with me.

MARY: I don't want to. I want to stay here and interrogate Liam without you.

MOLLY: That's what John is for.

MARY: No.

MOLLY: You can't break the girl code. We always go to the bathroom together.

MARY: Dammit.

###

Molly gave the stalls a cursory check to confirm their emptiness before rounding on Mary.

"Sherlock put you up to this, didn't he?"

"What makes you say that?"

"Because I told him I'd make him fill out the paperwork for every lab supply and body part if he interrupted my dates with frivolous requests."

"When was this?" Mary asked, intrigued by the display of spine from the "otherwise reluctant to enter the dating pool" Molly.

"Months ago, sometime in the summer," Molly said with a wave of one hand. "Answer the question—did he or did he not?"

"Of course not," Mary said indignantly. "I saw you enter the restaurant, and it would have been rude to ignore you."

This much was true. That Mary had recruited Sherlock so she could interrupt Molly's date was not the issue here.

Molly's shoulders slumped, and she turned to the mirror by habit, smoothing her hair. "I'm sorry, Mary. I just—"

"What made you ask about Sherlock? Did you tell him you had a date tonight?" If so, he'd given no indication of it.

"He was at the morgue today," Molly sighed. "A case with Greg Lestrade."

"So?" Mary checked her own reflection, tugging on the bodice of the dress. No wonder Liam had commented on her appearance.

"He deduced I had a date tonight. He's always been able to do that. I don't know how."

Interesting. Mr. "I'm Married To My Work" spared the memory on his hard drive to notice when Molly "My Friend and Pathologist We Just Work Together" Hooper showed interest in another man.

"He's nice," Mary said. "I can see why you like him. Cute too."

Molly nodded, fiddling with the clasp of her handbag.

"But?"

"I don't know," she sighed. "Maybe I'm putting too much pressure on myself. Maybe I'm holding back because he's leaving in three weeks."

Or maybe you're still in love with someone else.

"Live a little, Molly. No one's saying you have to marry the guy, or even sleep with him. Enjoy going out, having someone to do things with, a reason to get dressed up."

Their eyes met in the mirror, both of them wearing dresses and makeup, and the friends shared a smile.

"You're right, as usual," Molly said. "I'm sorry for accusing you."

"Don't mention it."

###

Molly and Mary excused themselves to the loo, and the two men sat in awkward silence for a few moments before Liam said,

"You're a lucky man. A beautiful wife and daughter. I can see why Molly thinks highly of her."

"So are you. Our Molly's pretty special." For a moment John thought he'd gone too far with the possessive pronoun, but Liam didn't react, too busy staring in the direction in which Molly disappeared.

"Yes, she is. I've never met anyone quite like her. Most people as clever as she is aren't half as kind. She has a great heart."

"You know, if you want to move to your own table when they get back, it's fine," John offered.

Liam turned to look at him. "Trusting me alone with the prize?"

There was something about his tone John didn't like, and he narrowed his eyes. "No need. Molly can take care of herself."

"But she has friends watching out for her."

"Of course. That's what friends do."

"Am I supposed to be intimidated, Captain Watson?"

Liam placed the slightest emphasis on his rank, and the switch from the equality of "doctor" to the implied inferiority of "soldier" did not escape John's notice. He smiled, a cold smile dreaded by the underlings of the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers.

"Oh, I'm not the one you should be worried about."

###

Much, much later, after entrees were eaten and checks paid, goodbyes said and Sherlock thanked, Mary and John lay nestled together in post-coital bliss.

"You," John said, nuzzling her neck, "are amazing."

Mary hadn't quite caught her breath yet, but she lifted her head and kissed him anyway. They lingered after the kiss broke, hovering in each other's space, enjoying the closeness.

Mary lifted one hand and smoothed the hair she had rumpled back into place. "I love you."

They'd left a single lamp on, and in the glow of the light behind her she saw a slow smile spread over John's face.

"I love you too," he said. "Even when you're barmy."

It was such a shift in mood she blinked and pulled back. "What?"

He sat up, leaned over the side of the bed, and returned with his discarded dress shirt. "You're cold," he said, holding it out to her.

Mary was surprised to realize he was right and slipped her arms in before buttoning the front and laying down again. She turned to her side and John spooned behind her, mimicking the first physical intimacy they shared once they began rebuilding their marriage after Christmas.

"I haven't worked out exactly how you did it, but I know you and Sherlock conspired to interrupt Molly and Liam's date tonight."

"Don't blame Sherlock. It was my idea."

"I know," he said dryly. They laid in silence for a few minutes before he added, "There's something about him. I can't put my finger on it, but—"

"He's a bit too smooth, isn't he?"

"Mmm," John agreed. "Something."

"Molly has sensed it too. I don't think they'll be together much longer."

"No thanks to you," John said with a pinch to her bum.

"If they were really meant for each other, nothing I said or did would make a difference," Mary insisted.

"You're such a romantic," John accused, dropping a kiss to the side of her neck.

"Speaking of which, that protective, brotherly attitude you had was super sweet."

"Sweet?" His voice was full of indignation, and Mary felt him rise up on one elbow behind her.

She laughed. "I don't think Liam thought so, don't worry."

He laid back down with a grumble, and Mary reached back to stroke one lean leg in semi-apology, letting her hand linger on his thigh.

"Molly will forgive you," she assured.

He was quiet for a moment, then said, "Yeah, Harry always did too. Eventually."

Mary stilled; it was so rare for him to speak of his sister, and she waited to see if he would say anything else, maybe share an anecdote as an example, but he simply reached across her and turned out the light.