John Watson sat comfortably in his old chair, his new wife perched on the arm beside him. He was feeling more than a bit nostalgic at the moment, surrounded as he was by all of the loud patterns, comfortably mis-matched furniture and general clutter. There was also the caged panther pacing from one end of the room to the other, also known as Sherlock Holmes.

It had been a long time since John had been in a position to see Sherlock in such an agitated state. Mary had insisted they visit that day for this very reason. John, although always (almost always) happy to see Sherlock, had a feeling this might not have been the right day for a friendly catch-up. He was proved right when he heard someone leaning on the door bell and simultaneously banging on the door downstairs.

Mrs. Hudson's surprised shout could be heard just before the sound of someone running up the stairs. In a few moments, Molly Hooper, her hair in a state and her lab coat flapping behind her flung herself into 221B's sitting room.

"What is it?" She gasped, "What's wrong?"

"Ah, Molly," Sherlock said spinning to face her, "thank you for coming." With that, Sherlock Holmes did the most shocking thing John Watson had ever watched him do.

He kissed Molly Hooper.

From their standpoint by the fireplace, all John and Mary could see of Molly was two arms flailing. John heard a rather embarrassing noise and was shocked to realized it came from Mary. The look on his wife's face was completely indescribable and totally priceless. It also summed up John's own feelings nicely. John looked back when Molly disentangled herself from Sherlock. She looked angry.

"Stop doing that!" Molly stamped her foot for emphasis.

"I couldn't think straight," Sherlock said, no trace of apology present, "I needed to calm my mind."

"You can't just snog the living daylights out of me whenever you need to calm you mind!"

"Wait, whenever- You've done this before?" a stunned John asked Sherlock.

"Would you prefer I go back to the drugs, Molly?" Sherlock shouted, "because I certainly can't continue like this!"

"Then take a case!" Molly countered, "That's what you normally do, isn't it?"

"There aren't any cases," Sherlock was back to being manic, throwing his hands up in frustration, "Don't you think I've tried?!"

"Well, actually," John was about to put in, but received a none-too-gentle punch in the arm from his significant other.

Sherlock hadn't bothered to pause in his tirade, tossing unopened mail and newspapers about, "There's nothing! London has become pathetically void of crime worthy of my effort! I'm BORED. And when I'm bored, very bad things happen. Like violence, mayhem and me with a needle in my arm!"

"And when, exactly, did you find out that snogging Molly Hooper had the same effect as shooting heroine?" John had to ask, fully expecting to be ignored. He wasn't disappointed.

Molly huffed out an unintelligible word, then took a deep breath and visibly calmed herself, "You can't just call and put me in a panic so that you can kiss me. I left work, Sherlock! You can't just go around snogging me senseless when ever you feel like it," Sherlock started to make a comment, but Molly cut him off, "No. Sherlock, you know how... you know what I feel for you, please don't pretend otherwise. Kissing me like that, well, it's not not appropriate in any way." Her voice had deflated over the course of her little speech and she ended in a wobbly whisper. "and it's...It's not fair to get what you need and leave me with more dashed hopes."

Sherlock was quiet for several seconds. Straightening up, his face mophed from his I've-been-a-naughty-boy-without-realizing-it to his I-see-potential-in-this look.

"What would be fair?"

"What!?" the outcry came from Mary, not Molly. All three of the other occupants of the room looked at her. Mary grabbed the chair cushion and stuffed a corner in her mouth.

"What would be appropriate conditions under which I can indulge in a bit of a snog whenever I feel like it."

"It would be slightly more appropriate if you were my boyfriend, and-" Molly started.

"Fine. I'm your boyfriend."

Molly sighed, "And even then it wouldn't be appropriate -or even practical- all of the time."

Sherlock got a shrewd look on his face, "All right, I can kiss you when I want 95% of the time, but you owe me a 5% boon in another area."

"60%. It will almost never be appropriate for you to kiss me at work and I almost always see you at work. And the other 40% will depend on the boon," she finished suspiciously. "I'm giving you as much access to the research cadavers as I'm legally allowed."

"Not the kind of boon I mean, although..." Sherlock shook his head, "No. If I exponentially increase the amount of time we see each other away from St. Bart's then the percentage should increase. 95%"

"70%, but you have to take me out at least once a week. And by out, I mean proper dates."

"Dates?"

John snorted at the look of panic on his friend's face. Mary gave his shoulder a shove even as she made a noise of sympathy. After a moment of consideration, Sherlock resumed negotiations, carefully not looking at John.

"If I'm going to be expected to escourt you to view the sentimental slog that passes for entertainment and similar things, then I'm afraid I will have to insist on 99%."

"I don't like rom-coms. The cinema's not really my idea of a proper date."

Sherlock looked well and truly confused as he finally shot a glance towards Mary and John. Mary took the cushion out of her mouth long enough to say, "Every couple is different, Sherlock. You and Molly will enjoy different things."

"Exactly," Molly sent Mary a grateful smile, "you don't have to research what other couples do, Sherlock. You can take me to the symphony or the ballet, or a midnight walking tour of Whitechapel or to that restaurant that serves fried tarantula. The object is to spend time with me, away from work and, more importantly in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with a case." Molly took a breath and squinted at him, "80%."

Sherlock considered her counter offer, "We choose dates that won't defeat the purpose by making me even more bored than ever-"

"As long as it doesn't have to do with a case. And you have to agree to celebrate at least two special occasions."

"All right. How about this: we have dates once a week, celebrate two special occasions, of my choice,"

"Mutual choice."

Sherlock sighed, "Dates once a week, two special occasions to be determined, I get face time as often as I wish 90% of the time AND you have to wear your hair down the other 10%."

"Practical and appropriate, Sherlock."

"Fine, you have to wear your hair down whenever you aren't at work and we are together."

Molly narrowed her eyes at him, then nodded and smiled as she held out her hand, "Deal."

Sherlock took her hand and pulled her in for another kiss. This time Molly wasn't so quick to disentangle herself. In fact, her hands seemed awfully preoccupied with Sherlock's curles before falling to his shoulders and heaving the tall man back a step. Sherlock made a growling noise.

"You're already breaking the agreement!"

Molly rolled her eyes, "I'm supposed to be at work, Sherlock! We aren't in your 90%!" She grabbed the bag she had abandoned at the door when she rushed in and started down the stairs.

Sherlock followed, quizzing her on her shift and when his designated time would start. Having bullied her into agreeing to take a cab straight from work back to the flat, he walked back in, hands in pockets, looking very pleased with himself. Mary, who had really dipped into her reserves to stay out of that little bit of live theatre, squealed in delight. Her eyes were wide as saucers and filled with an almost manic joy. She shared a brief look with her husband before flinging the cushion away and dashing down the stairs, presumably to grab Molly for a "girls' chat" about what just happened. If Mary had her way, Molly would not be making it back to work anytime soon. John could faintly hear his wife yelling to Mrs. Hudson to put on the kettle.

Sherlock smoothed his hair and strolled back over to his chair. John waited a beat after Sherlock flopped down and said, "I can not believe that worked."

Sherlock grinned, "It did go rather well, didn't it?"

"You do know how lucky you are right?"

"Lucky," Sherlock scoffed, "Luck had nothing to do with it. I had a well thought out plan and it worked."

John sing-songed, "Luck-y"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and went into explanation mode, "I knew your suggestion of 'talking' to Molly about my desire to enter into a romantic arrangement would never work for two reasons: one, I don't 'talk' about 'feelings.'"

John could hear the quotation marks. He shrugged and made a noise of agreement.

"Molly knows this and would immediately be worried that something was genuinely wrong with me." John snorted. Sherlock ignored this and continued, "Plus, I'm afraid my... less than chivalrous behaviour towards Molly in our past interactions has made her rather wary of my sincerity. I merely devised a plan in which the parameters of our evolving relationship seemed to be set by Molly herself, allowing me to get what I wanted, and Molly to believe she has the upper hand in our romantic partnership."

"Oh, she has the upper hand," John said with a bright smile, "and now that she's your girlfriend, you will never have the upper hand again."

"Nonsense," Sherlock said. John smiled fondly at the complete naivete of his friend. Sometimes he felt like a dad helping his pre-pubescent son navigate the strange new waters of sentiment. John smiled and picked up the newspaper, shaking it out as he said, "You keep telling yourself that when you're holding her purse at a boutique or taking her cat to the vet."

Floating up the stairwell from the vicinity of Mrs. Hudson's kitchen was the faint sound of feminine laughter. John was pleased to see Sherlock look a bit disturbed.