Sherlock and Molly begin a romantic relationship. Can you imagine the dates? I can.

Chapter 1 inspired by an incredible suggestion by katdemon1895. Thank you!

"It wasn't my fault," Sherlock Holmes insisted petulantly to a scowling John Watson as the former limped down the private jet's steps. Thankfully, John had chosen to take advantage of his upgraded clearance status to drive right up onto the tarmac instead of parking outside the airport. Sherlock was going to need more substantial support than his current companion could provide.

"It really wasn't his fault, John," Molly Hooper said apologetically as she struggled to support Sherlock's weight. When they were close enough, John took over for her, careful of the bright blue boot on Sherlock's foot.

"Well, whose fault was it then?" he grunted a bit as Sherlock's weight shifted to his shoulder.

"Mine," Molly admitted with a wince, "I wanted to take a closer look at a particular skull in the catacombs and, well, it went downhill from there."

Sherlock frowned, "I wouldn't say it went downhill. Turned out to be one of the more fascinating cases I've had in a long time."

John shook his head as they levered Sherlock into the back seat of the car, "Only the two of you would go on a date in a catacomb and end up thwarting an international identity-theft ring." He straightened up and sighed, "Only you two would think visiting a catacomb constitutes a proper date in the first place."

"It was fun," protested Molly and Sherlock in unison. He could see from the looks on their faces that they were absolutely sincere. How, John Watson wondered for the thousandth time, did he end up with such nutters for friends?

He huffed a laugh, "Yeah, when you said you were 'borrowing' a private jet from Mycroft to take Molly to Paris for the evening, silly me thought you were going to have dinner and take a stroll along the Seine."

"You have met me, haven't you?"

"Touché."

Once John got his passengers settled and they started the drive back into London, he finally asked for the full story. It turned out to be quite a good one and he made Molly promise to make notes for him later so he could make a blog entry. It turned out that the skull Molly wanted to look at wasn't several hundred years old. It wasn't even several months old. It was practically still juicy (Molly's words).

Their investigation uncovered several sets of recent remains among all of the ancient ones. This eventually led to the discovery that a large-scale identity theft scheme, masterminded by a private nurse was stealing the identities of recently deceased seniors with no families. The private nurse didn't kill anyone, just waited for their inevitable deaths, but didn't report the death. Instead the bodies were secreted away and an impostor was brought in to take the dead's identity, then make a full recovery, thereby receiving the deceased's pensions or other assets. It wouldn't have been worth the effort for one or two, but dozens of identities had been stolen in this way and their credit histories exploited on the world market.

"The only snag was that they had to hide the bodies," Sherlock continued as John and Molly settled him in his chair at 221B. "Couldn't bury them just anywhere: too many bodies, chances were excellent that at least a few would be discovered. Don't need any pesky questions being asked. So they accelerated decay, maybe storing the bodies until it happened naturally. Acid bath more likely as it was less likely to attract attention from the smell and it would corrupt any trace DNA. Once the skeletons were clean and given a faux ageing treatment, they stored them among the other ossements. No one would notice one more set of remains among hundreds."

"Except Molly," John interjected.

"Except Molly," Sherlock agreed, looking stupidly proud of his girlfriend. Molly blushed.

"Job hazard," Molly said a shy shrug. "Their artificial ageing technique was amateurish. Couldn't help but spot the difference."

"Well you could spot it. I doubt any other forensic specialist would have been able to do so easily. Your volunteer work at archaeological sites has proven invaluable."

Molly grinned, clearly a bit flustered at the compliments, "Well, thank you, but I'm sorry about ruining the date. Especially since you got hurt." She gently propped Sherlock's leg on small ottoman she had pulled out of the corner.

"Well, you'll just have to make it up to me then," Sherlock said in a low voice. Molly blushed again.

John was ridiculously pleased to see the two flirting and excused himself to make tea. Molly followed to help and within a few moments they had a tray set up. John was looking for biscuits when heard a faint chime.

"Molly!" they both jumped a bit when Sherlock bellowed. Molly immediately checked the watch on her wrist.

"Oh! Excuse me a moment, John. He likes to keep to schedule on our dates." Molly gave him a smile and walked back towards the seated detective. John smirked as he watched Molly lean over and give the man a peck on the lips. Leave it to Sherlock to schedule the good-night kiss. The smirk grew to a grin when Molly tried to pull back, but Sherlock caught her wrist and whined, "we have ten minutes allotted for the good-night kiss and that barely took up ten seconds!"

"Yes, well, we're usually standing in front of the door to my flat. I can't kiss you for ten minutes while you're sitting. It's uncomfortable."

He tugged on her wrist, "Well sit here then," he said, indicating his knee, "It's practical and appropriate for a woman to sit in her romantic partner's lap, isn't it?"

"Quite," Molly said happily as she settled on his knee. It became obvious they hadn't done this before as Sherlock shifted a bit more than his injured leg would necessitate. John's heart stung in compassion for his friend, knowing new types of physical contact were difficult for him to adjust to, but adjust Sherlock did and soon the couple were contentedly trying make each other's faces disappear. John nobly resisted the urge to take a video of their epic snog and send it to Greg Lestrade. Instead, he finished the tea tray and left it on the kitchen table, then quietly left the flat. He had a feeling they were going to go a bit over schedule.