It had started with a phone call the previous night.

Molly had known her younger sister, Lily, was pregnant. It had come through the grapevine, and then when Lily had added her on Facebook (which came later since Molly only checked it perhaps once a week). The two had been close in childhood, but had drifted apart after that. Since their father's death, they rarely spoke.

And now Lily was pregnant. Well, Molly thought with a smile that wouldn't leave her face, not anymore.

The call had came late last night, though the pathologist had still been awake. After ten hours of labour, Lily had given birth to a baby girl. Emily, they had named her: Emily Annabella Sharma.

Her sister had spoken to Molly after that, wondering whether it would be okay if Molly could take a day off work to come and see them. Molly was only too happy, and told Lily she would be over as soon as she could.

Which left Molly at her current predicament – trying to smother her smile while she stepped on the tube to St Bart's for her shift.

"Sherlock... we don't really need to bother Molly with this..."

"Nonsense!" The detective smiled brightly at John, climbing out of the cab and heading towards the morgue.

John huffed, giving the cabbie some notes before following, "This is hardly- look, Sherlock, you can't go badgering the poor woman about every little detail! She has a job, you know. Just because you're so bloody bored-"

Sherlock turned at the sound of John's mobile. "That would be Mary, John, wondering if you'd call her. She's probably found another flat. I'd say she likes it, judging by the fact she's texting you now and not later this evening. My advice would be-"

"To call her, right, I know. Like I couldn't think of that myself." John sighed, leaning against the wall to call Mary back, "Look, just be... less like yourself, for once, yeah? Molly's been putting up with you a lot lately, and I'm not sure how much more she can take."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "please leave the deductions to me, John. You remain astonishingly bad with them." And with that, Sherlock opened the door, making his way to the morgue.

The detective didn't get far, though, before he heard Molly's voice on the phone, "yes, of course... lunch then? I'll be getting off a little later, so an early dinner... yeah, it'll be lovely! See you soon..."

Sherlock stopped in his tracks, an unfamiliar feeling of dread uncoiling within him.

What was this?

Molly had only been back in the lab after her conversation with Meena promising a lunch date for a couple of minutes when Sherlock breezed in.

"Oh, Sherlock!" After the whole incident with his faked suicide, Molly found it easier to speak with him. It was a little refreshing, to say the least, not stumbling over every second word. She smiled brightly, still brimming with excitement over her niece (and not being able to wait to tell Meena about it). "What have you come to bother me with today, then?"

The detective didn't answer, however. With a scowl on his face, he moved to the microscope, preparing a sample of something Molly didn't recognize.

"Uh... Sherlock?" She tried again, "Is everything alright? Where, um, where is John?"

She may not have been stumbling over every second word, but the fifth and sixth words needed some coddling still, it seemed.

John Watson opened the door to the lab only a minute later. "Sorry 'bout that. Hello, Molly."

Smiling, the pathologist was glad that Sherlock's foul mood didn't seem to be infecting John. "Hey, John. How's Mary?"

"Great! In fact..."

The rest of Molly's shift had gone smoothly. Relatively smoothly, anyway, when one discounted Sherlock. John had informed her that Mary had found a flat nearby at a reasonable price. By the way he had spoken about it, Molly didn't doubt the two had already made up their minds about taking it.

Could that have been the result of Sherlock's foul mood? Molly knew from experience the detective didn't always take well to change (after his fall, he tended to stay at her flat whenever he was back in the country, complaining about all sorts of things to the prongs on forks to how tea was served at hotels). John had given him plenty of time to adjust, however, one could never be sure.

Molly and John's bright conversation only seemed to aggravate Sherlock further. He gathered his long coat, barked some instructions at Molly, and stepped out without another word.

"Sorry about that," John muttered before following, "I really have no idea what's gotten into him. He was fine before."

Not even the thundercloud that was Sherlock could darken Molly's day, though. She finished her shift, made arrangements to take the next day off, and went out to have a pleasant evening with Meena.

The following day Molly went to see Lily. Her sister was home now, and her husband, Robert, greeted Molly at the door. The pathologist felt her eyes get a little wet at the sight of Emily, with Lily's bright brown eyes and Roberts dark, curly hair. Though, Emily did seem to take after her father more, which caused Robert to laugh when Molly voiced this observation.

"I've seen pictures of Rob as a child," Lily whispered to her sister when he went to get the women some drinks, "Emily could be his replica, I'm telling you."

The day ended with Molly feeling light and giddy. Overjoyed after spending time with her sister's family, she promised to find time to visit again soon, and left while the sun was going down.

It was only when she stepped on the tube to get home did Molly finally check her mobile. To an outrageous number of messages.

Sherlock's been hanging around the entrance since the morning. He won't talk to anyone, just stands there. Any ideas?

-Mike S

Hey Molly. You wouldn't happen to know where Sherlock is, do you? He hasn't answered his phone, and he disappeared this morning.

-John W

Lunch time, Sherlock is still at the entrance. When I asked him about it, he said he was waiting for you. Told him you took the day off. He grumbled and walked off. Fair warning. What did you do?

-Mike S

Mike just texted me about Sherlock. He hasn't gotten back yet, though. Let me know if you find him.

-John W

Molly sighed, worrying her bottom lip before sending off a quick text to both Mike and John. Did something happen to Sherlock's phone? It was practically grafted to his hand! Why wasn't he answering anyone? She typed off a message for him too.

It had maybe been thirty seconds before her mobile beeped in response.

Waiting at your flat.

-SH

She smelled the smoke (John would be annoyed; Sherlock had told his friend that he quit) before she saw the detective standing next to her door.

"Sherlock!" Molly scolded, "it's freezing! What are you doing outside!" The pathologist unlocked the door, and stood to the side to allow Sherlock entrance. "How long have you been here? Why didn't you just go inside? You've broken in often enough before."

Once the pair got inside, though, Sherlock simply stared at her. Molly sighed, letting her demeanor fall. Well, if he was going to be like that... "tea?"

"You weren't on a date."

The statement seemed to come out of nowhere, and it forced Molly to pause before setting the water a boil. "Pah-pardon?"

"Yesterday, I heard you in the hall, you said you were going on a date. And you were cheery, and had put on makeup that morning, and you were wearing a new pair of shoes – one's that were expensive. All signs that you had met someone and were going on a date-"

"Sherlock-" Molly tried to interrupt, but the man kept talking. It was true that she had worn makeup. It was something she only did when she was in a particularly good mood, and anyway, Meena had picked a nice restaurant for their lunch. Plus, those shoes were actually quite old, just unworn. Molly had decided not to let them go to waste.

"You didn't come into today – took it off instead. Mike told me you arranged it last minute-"

"Sherlock, could you... were you jealous?" Molly wasn't sure what made the words come out of her mouth, but they seemed to slip out before her filter could stop them.

That shut the detective right up. He scowled, went to the window and must have found something absolutely fascinating to look at there since his eyes never strayed.

He still hadn't said anything by the time Molly was finished preparing the tea. Sitting his on the end-table near him, Molly stood next to him, holding her own. "What's wrong, Sherlock?"

His expression darkened, "it seems there had been some miscommunication."

"You don't say," she mumbled, before placing her cup on the windowsill and touching his arm.

"I was under the belief that we were... together."

If this was a scene happening on the telly, Molly probably would've laughed. Probably. As it were she was currently having a hard time breathing. Togethertogether? As in... Sherlock thought they were a couple?

...What?

If it was possible, his expression got even darker, "as it has become obvious I was mistaken, I will take my leave now."

"Sherlock, you clot-"

And then she kissed him.

It had just started with a light peck on his lips, to Molly's defense. Perhaps the giddiness of her reunion with Lily, Emily and Robert, combined with Sherlock's confession short-circuited her brain. It didn't help when Sherlock's arms snaked around her to deepen it.

To call Sherlock a pro at kissing would've been a gross overstatement. He was rough, rusty, but at that point it really didn't matter to Molly. She kissed him until her lungs reminded her of a human's biological need for oxygen, and the wrapped her arms around his neck, digging her hands into his soft curls.

"I think you'll find you were less mistaken than you believe," she mumbled, feeling his embrace tighten in response.