When Molly woke the following morning, she was alone. She felt the other side of the bed: cool. So he was gone a while. Her hand brushed a piece of paper. Squinting in the dim light which filtered through her curtains, she read

"Couldn't sleep. Went home. Come to Baker St later if convenient. In fact, come even if it isn't.

SH"

Molly rolled over and looked at the clock. It was already 11am. Of course that's what Sundays are made for. She reached for her phone and sent Sherlock a text.

What time do you want me over?

x

Now, of course.

SH

Gosh, just as demanding as ever. Despite that, she still got up and was on her way over to Baker St an hour later, slightly irritated at her own willingness.

John answered the door. His eyes widened and he raised an eyebrow when he was saw who it was.

"Hey, Molly, what are you doing here?"

"Sherlock asked me to come over."

"He did?"

Molly smiled but even John's human level of perception noticed it wasn't a real smile. She ran up the stairs ahead of him.

Sherlock was at the window, in his dressing gown, playing the violin. He did not turn around.

"Ah, Molly, what took you so long?"

"Breakfast, showering, you know…ordinary things."

She came up behind him and tapped his shoulder.

"You didn't tell John," she hissed.

"Correct." He raised his voice; "John, Molly's coming over, I forgot to tell you."

Molly grabbed his arm and squeezed hard, forcing him to turn around. Through clenched teeth, she said;

"No, you did not tell him!"

John arrived back in the room and surveyed the strange tableau before him.

Molly had Sherlock's arm in a vice grip and he was making a classic "what did I do?" face. Something was very off.

"What's going on here then?" he asked.

Molly let go of Sherlock and sat down in the armchair. She crossed her legs and bounced her foot up and down. She glared at Sherlock who looked back at her stubbornly. It was like a Mexican standoff. Molly appeared to win.

"John, we have something to tell you," he said finally.

"Ok. Is this about a case?"

"Ha!" exclaimed Molly.

"Not exactly. Do you remember when we met and you asked if I had a girlfriend and I said it wasn't really my area?" his words came out in a rush.

"Yeah…what's this all about it?"

"I changed my mind."

"About what?"

Sherlock gestured at Molly, who beamed.

John was still confused.

"Oh do keep up. Do I have to spell it out for you, John? You're remarkably slow before your second cup of coffee!"

"John, Sherlock told me yesterday that he has feelings for me. He stayed at my place last night." Molly spoke smoothly, her doctor voice, quiet but confident.

John slumped down onto the couch. He looked at Molly, blinked and then at Sherlock.

"Is this a joke?"

"Ha!" said Molly again. "That's what I said when he told me!"

"Molly, I apologise in advance for what I'm about to say. It has no bearing on you whatsoever," said John.

Molly nodded, not quite sure what she was sanctioning.

"Sherlock, are you quite alright? Have you been taking drugs again?" John asked.

Sherlock exhaled noisily.

"John, I am fine. No, I am not taking drugs again. I haven't run tests yet but I suspect that I'll have increased levels of various hormones. Is it so unbelievable that I might be interested in a woman?"

John threw another apologetic glance at Molly.

"Well, yes. I knew that faking your death was going to have changed you but I just didn't expect you to turn into a normal man!"

"I remain unchanged in most respects. I thought you would be happy for me, for us."

"Oh I will be, once I'm sure you're not up to something! He's an excellent actor, you know," he added to Molly.

She had had enough.

"He's not up to something, John. I'm quite sure."

"Better not be. I know where you live, Sherlock!"

"Are we done here?" Sherlock was already growing tired of this conversation.

"Carry on…I'll just sit here and observe you both."

Sherlock picked his bow back up and resumed playing.

"Er, Sherlock, what am I doing here?" asked Molly.

"You wanted to hang out. We are hanging out."

"Does this hanging out consist of me watching you play the violin?"

"Well, you don't have to watch me. You can just listen and read or something."

"This is going to be brilliant," said John. He folded his arms and settled in for the show.

Molly sat back in her chair. The thought of what she was getting herself in for hit her all at once. In all the time that she'd wanted to be Sherlock's girlfriend, his lover, it never occurred to her that she would also be his official number 1 groupie. What would this entail that she didn't already do? Would she be his Penny Lane, his Band Aid, his shoulder to cry on – surely he never cried – but would he be hers? One could always hope…

oOo

End note: so rather to my own surprise, I find this story is finished. I wrote half of another chapter but it just didn't seem to go well. I'll reuse it in some other fic. Hope you enjoyed this one.