A/N: Most of it published on tumblr, last bit finally added. Secondary title I can cheekily say is 'The sign of Three'.

Could almost be rated 'M', but not really.

"He thinks it's a date."

She'd been wrapped up in her own work, weighing a Mr Seymour's heart. Looking up with her goggles, she saw Sherlock holding the door to the morgue open - "Sorry?" she said, scrunching up her nose.

"He asked you out for a coffee-," he said walking inside.

Molly raised her brows, "You mean Derrick?"

Never had she thought he'd be bothered with who she talked to during work, since he always seemed occupied when she had visitors.

He rolled his eyes, "Yes."

"So?" somehow her answer had caught him off guard, since he looked properly confused. It was fun seeing him like this, as she often did these days, since she didn't play 'nice' all the time anymore, "It's a date."

His brows were furrowed, his lips in a blatant pout, "And you want that?"

"Want what?"

"Coffee," his blue eyes were narrowed, looking much more intense than needed to be regarding something most people drank daily.

If there was some underlying subtext with coffee, she'd obviously missed out on the memo, "Umm…yeah?"

Sherlock blinked for a few seconds, "Ah." With that he walked off, and she busied herself with her work.

She tried not to look surprised when she went up to the lab to look over Mr Seymour's blood samples, and found a cup of coffee on the counter. The fact that it was clearly not from the cafeteria or the shop around the corner, its label quite posh and the smell rather intoxicating made it clear he'd made some effort.

"Is that for me?" she said, eyeing Sherlock who sat still as a statue by the microscope, not looking at her whatsoever.

"Yes."

She grinned, taking a large sip, "Thanks," she said, glancing quickly over her previous paper work, to see if her assumptions were correct, which they were.

Molly intended to leave, coffee in hand, but was surprised to hear, "Wait."

Wheeling around, she stared at Sherlock expectantly.

He was looking at her at least.

"What?" she said with a raised brow.

"Coffee."

"Coffee?"

He looked absolutely infuriated when he stood up from his stool, striding to stand in front of her, while she looked up at him, hiding her amusement.

"I thought-," he started.

She didn't let him finish, "Are you asking me out for a coffee?"

His mouth shut immediately at that, his cheeks flushing ever so slightly, but for him he might have turned red all over, since he regularly didn't blush. Not like she used to do in his presence.

Sherlock's eyes were above her head, fixed on the wall, "Yes," he bit out, sounding very much like a child.

Molly grinned, "Well…go on then."

Blue eyes flickered towards her, a light snort escaping from him, "Would you like to have coffee with me?" he said slowly.

She stared up at him thoughtfully for a second, "It's a bit late."

Immediately he looked deflated, but she soon added, "Dinner would probably be better – my shift ends in an hour after all." He looked entirely out of his element, like her words meant something again, but he smiled at her, so she suspected it wasn't an idea he was against.

Molly left him after that, congratulating herself on not being overly flustered, though she couldn't help herself when he texted her not long after –

It's a date - SH

"Why would I be nervous?" he spat, brows furrowed, an agitated look flitting over his face, before he reverted it to something resembling calm.

John tried not to roll his eyes, or do anything to show that he found the whole situation funny, as Sherlock had been finding ties and tossing them around, before finally leaving the ties be (then fidgeting with how many of the buttons of his dark purple shirt should be undone). It was classic male behaviour, though not classic Sherlock, if John discounted the constant ruffling of his hair. His first actual date with another human being, if one neglected the first catastrophe that ended with Molly being nabbed by some thugs when she went to the toilet, though in his best mates eyes it was probably a success.

"I didn't say anything," he said pursing his lips, trying to fix his eyes on the telly. Sherlock had rung him up for support, or well, first pretended it was a case, then he let him stew in the sitting room by himself, while Sherlock kept on changing his clothes. John couldn't hide his grin though, despite how much he put his hand in front of his mouth.

Sherlock eyed him with a narrowed stare, looking positively harried.

"I might be inexperienced," said Sherlock taking a step back from staring at himself on the mirror above the fireplace, while he slid on his dress jacket.

"Most men are, but luckily, this isn't someone new."

"What?" his head turning towards him in record speed.

John stifled his laughter, "Umm, well, you've known Molly for years?"

"And?"

"Well… you'll avoid the awkward bit, I think."

"What awkward bit?" said Sherlock, looking utterly bewildered.

"You know small talk," said John with a shrug, "The pair of you can talk normally – like you usually do."

Sherlock blinked several times, until he strode off to his bedroom again, and John knew with a sigh that he was going to change again. He understood why, since this wasn't a casual after-work dinner, this was actual dinner, with actual food and actual conversation, which possibly didn't involve talking about body-parts (though he wagered they'd go that road despite eating).

"Flowers?" John suggested rubbing at his brows.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Flowers are given because the man's guilty of something."

"Okay," said John exhaling slowly, trying not to be irritated, "Then don't give her anything. I don't think she's expecting anything anyway."

"Why won't she?"

"What?"

"Why won't she expect anything?"

"Because you're not exactly huge on the whole-," John grimaced, as he tried to find the right word, faltering, as Sherlock stared at him confused, "Alright, umm, anyway, it's probably too much to bring on a first date, even if technically it isn't your first."

"So it isn't a first date?"

He was talking to a child, "No."

"Oh," said Sherlock, who proceeded to look at the floor, looking if not a bit flustered.

"What's wrong then?" said John chuckling, until he immediately understood, "Oh – oh – well – that's –that's not going to happen tonight."

For a few seconds it almost seemed like Sherlock seemed indignant by that comment, though luckily he didn't say anything, as John went on, "Anyway you're going to a restaurant, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Then you only need to worry – if – wait – are you actually worried about that?"

"No," said Sherlock coolly, though the fingers that righted up his shirt collar said otherwise.

"Right, well, it's only if she asks you up after anyway."

"Obviously," said Sherlock, like he knew already, which somehow John doubted.

"You know I would have thought you'd youtube all of this or something?"

"It's easier talking to someone who has had first hand experience, despite how unsuccessful their previous relationships have been."

John sighed, "I suggest not telling Molly that."

"I know what not to say, John!"

"Do you, really? Seems like you've overlooked that bit for years," he said laughing.

Sherlock chuckled, the tension visibly leaving his shoulders, "It's only Molly."

"So you've not been panicking at all tonight?"

"No."

"Yet you've changed your-,"

"Don't-," said Sherlock giving him a look, at which John promptly shut up, but smiled wordlessly at him.

"Yeah, only Molly my arse. You're bloody nervous!"

"A date is hardly a daunting event."

"If you've been on one before."

"I have."

"Because of a case – doesn't count."

Sherlock grimaced, "Shut up."

Somehow she wasn't nervous, though when she swore profusely as her zipper got stuck due to her shaky hands, she wagered that maybe she was a bit on the uneasy side of things. It had felt easier skipping out in her after-work clothing, bag slung over her shoulder, having an easy meal out in the nearest restaurant, but this was adult.

Molly was well aware she was an adult, though at the moment she'd rather they stayed in and ate rubbish food, while watching some stupid reality program, but that wouldn't be a date. That would be Sherlock using her flat as a bolthole, even showing up comforting her once, which should have basically been a sign really.

He'd been extra attentive lately, and she wasn't blind to it, but she never really expected he'd actually want – the doorbell went off in the distance. "Oh God," she said, hurriedly getting the zipper of her dress up by pure luck, slipping on her shoes, and sprinting towards the door.

He was right on time and of course he looked amazing, probably tossing on some clothes easily, and wasting no time in getting there. But she did freeze at the sight of the single red rose in his hand, which he gestured towards wordlessly, clearing his throat, while he pointed at the offending rose, "I – thought – you'd like – you look…"

And immediately her previous nerves were absolutely banished, a wicked grin on her face, "Thanks," she said, taking it from him gingerly, aware that she didn't own a single vase in her flat, though she quickly fled to the kitchen bringing out her tallest glass, filling it with water, hoping it would survive for the time being.

"Sorry I didn't expect you to be so…on time," she said giggling brightly, grabbing for her coat, but he surprised her by taking it for her, holding it so she could slip it on.

She looked up at him biting at her lip, "Thanks…again"

He gave a silent nod, clearing his throat, "Lovely…"

It was like a delayed action, she only smiled in return, grateful that she wasn't the only one who felt out of their element. Molly didn't find dating in it self - challenging, but this was him - Sherlock Holmes. The man who was married to his work, and he was taking her out for dinner.

"Well, let's go," she said fetching her keys and bag, "Where are we going? Is it posh?"

They walked down the steps, him ahead of her, with her lagging behind, trying to seem comfortable, especially when he waited at the bottom of the steps.

"It's fine."

"Is it Angelo's?" she said with a raised brow.

"No," he said smirking, "Not Angelo's."

"So you've got someone else off a murder charge then?" she said, walking past him.

"No, I thought that we'd do something different."

"You're not bringing me to a crime scene?"

"No."

"Oh, that's too bad. I would have liked that," she said, turning to look at him, but he went to hold up the door for her.

Another unexpected move, more or less, though Molly realised that he did that automatically, it's just the first time she'd ever properly noticed his behaviour.

"I do hold the door open for John," he said out of the blue, glancing at her.

"I always thought you two went on dates," she said.

A burst of laughter escaped his lips, brightening up his face, and whatever nervousness he seemed to have had cleared off as well, while he hailed for a taxi.

Soon he held up the taxi door for her, a bit more ostentatiously than before and she got inside. Sherlock said an address quickly to the cabbie, seeming quite confident, while she righted up in her seat, her hand accidentally landing on his thigh when she lost her grip.

Immediately she sensed his leg tense underneath her hand, though he said, sounding rather hoarse, "I don't mind."

"I-," she started.

"We can-," he began.

Both of them shut up, while she gently removed her hand from his thigh and took hold of his hand instead.

Blue eyes turned to her immediately at that, "I thought, well, if you don't-,"

"No, it's fine…it's more than fine."

Shyly she smiled at him, turning her head slowly to the window, preoccupying herself with the view of buildings they passed, aware of the warmth of his hand in hers, while he slowly tangled his fingers with hers.

Besides her fingers, her cheeks felt intolerably hot, and suddenly the chilly evening was the opposite of it. Slowly she turned to glance at him, only to find him already looking at her, though he turned his head towards the window at that.

Molly thought she could hear someone chuckling, feeling a bit irritated by the cabbie who noticed the two adults fidgeting like teenagers, and having sweaty palms.

She noticed he wasn't used to the business of holding hands, though he turned rather comfortable with the idea, stuffing hers with his in his pocket to avoid the chill of the air, while they strode the rest of the route to the restaurant.

The traffic had been a bit too busy, and they were ahead of schedule.

Apparently he'd lied about the time, as John had informed him that women had a tendency to take time getting ready, while he'd informed him that Molly was perfectionistic about schedules.

Obviously the only problem with the walk was the fact that neither was speaking, though it wasn't uncomfortable silence, quite the opposite, which was a first for her.

Usually when it became silent on a date, it bode for terrible things, but she knew he was probably thinking a great deal. Sherlock's mind raced constantly, which had often led her to leave him alone on her settee, with Toby spread across his stomach (sometimes sitting on his face, when the cat couldn't endure being ignored any longer).

Molly was suddenly jerked backwards when she noticed he'd halted in his step, and she worriedly looked up at him, wondering if he'd decided against the idea in the end, but his soft smile spoke otherwise, "Molly…I…."

Expectantly she waited for him to finish the sentence, the insides of her stomach dancing, but he gave her one of his infamous kisses on her cheek, soft and unnecessarily long, hovering closely to her lips.

Her smile was too wide for words, positively hurting her cheeks.

She felt his hand squeeze hers and she bit her lip, "Thanks," she said, though seeing his look of confusion, she added, "I like you too, Sherlock."

Her legs were crossed towards him, feet angled his direction, and elbow propped up on the table, her fingers playing with her auburn hair. All of the signs were in a favourable position, the conversation was not stilted, nor unpleasant or dull, though he did see others flinching in surprise when they eavesdropped. For others it seemed like a customary sight – that they were obviously on a date, but it didn't stop the waiter from leering heavily at her, while he narrowed his eyes on the man. However, her smile only brightened, as she suddenly emptied her glass of white wine rather quickly, "So…"

Something was stuck in his throat, for it felt rather dry, as her fingertips idly caressed her pale neck, " – should we pay?"

He stood up at record speed, causing her brown eyes to widen up at him, while he more or less flung money on the table, beckoning for the waiter.

No, he wasnot nervous.

The signs that he knew of were there, but no invitation had been made.

But he did not reach for her hand, nor did she touch his, while they drove off, the taxi stopping at her flat, "Umm…" she said, looking at the purse in her hands, before she lifted her head, meeting his eyes head on, "Do you want to come up?"

"Yes," he said rather breathlessly, not hesitating to leave the taxi.

This was different.

This was not like him striding into her flat, demanding to use her bedroom, or just occupying her space. It wasn't like that whatsoever, though she did not seem unnerved by his presence, when she walked inside the flat with him following her.

He saw it was cleaner, that she'd made effort to do so, and he licked at his dry lips, his eyes paying close attention while she slipped off her heels, "I'm just going to change…could you put on the kettle?"

He blinked – tea– that was normal - that was what she made every time he visited. He was torn between relief and disappointment, but he divulged himself of his coat and filled the kettle with water.

In the middle of this he heard her voice, "Err…Sherlock – could you help me a bit?" At those words he lost his grip on the kettle, water splattering across his dress shirt, but he ignored it, "Are you okay?" she called out from the distance.

"Fine," he said, before walking towards her bedroom, carefully sliding the half-open door open.

She was surprisingly still in her dress, as he'd half-expected to find her naked. He wasn't entirely sure what he'd do if she were.

Her back was the first that greeted him, "The zipper – it's stuck," she said with a sigh, her voice normal and not affected.

"Oh," he said carefully, eyeing with some amusement the zipper, which had caught itself on the fabric.

He was in her bedroom.

Not unfamiliar, but the setting was certainly different.

Yet it wasn't.

It was Molly.

His…Molly.

She was not trying to trick him.

Quickly he got hold of her zipper, trying not to be distracted by the soft skin he came in contact with, his brows furrowing the more he opened up her dress, "Done," he said as he finished, his voice barely a whisper.

"Thanks," she said, wheeling around beaming up at him, though her grin faltered at seeing his face, her pupils immediately dilating.

He stared at her uncertainly, not entirely sure what to do, but he did not want to stand quietly by.

It was a trick of the light, he reasoned, moving closer, placing his hand on her slim waist, as he watched her pink lips part, hearing her breath hitch in her throat.

But he did not stop himself, leaning down to meet her lips; it was soft, chaste, and quickly over. He'd barely made contact before he withdrew, but somehow she only looked amused, "Tea?" she said after a minute of silence.

"Yes."

She raised a brow at him, "You have to make it though."

"Obviously," he said distractedly, nodding.

Molly stared at him expectantly, "Oh," he said after a minute, escaping her bedroom, too aware of the small burst of giggles he heard come from the room when he'd finally put on the kettle. It took him some seconds to realise there was no water to boil in the kettle, however.

She walked out in her robe, not managing to decide on what to wear, so she opted for the one thing she knew he was comfortable with, as well as her. Yet Molly immediately saw her mistake when she caught sight of him sat on the settee swallowing deeply. Tucking away some stray hair behind her ear, she settled down besides him, keeping close, but not too close, "It's been nice, then?" she said, frustrated with the fact that her cheeks had flared up.

She really shouldn't have invited him up, but she hadn't really thought it through. When he seemed to be considering what to say, she quickly blurted out, "We're not having sex!"

Immediately she grimaced, realising just how very bad that sounded. Hurriedly she brought up one of the cups of tea on the coffee table, ignoring his stare, feeling utterly embarrassed, until she heard a soft chuckle.

With wide brown eyes she stared at him, while he started to outright laugh, and she soon joined in, relieved that he wasn't cross or upset, "Sorry," she started, "It's just - you seemed so nervous, and I didn't want you to feel like we had to."

"And your way of relieving me of worry was to tell me we aren't going to have sex?"

She frowned at him.

"Anyway…I wasn't nervous," he said with a raised brow.

Molly looked at him doubtfully, smiling while she eyed his shirt, "How come you're wet?"

He narrowed his eyes at her, releasing a sigh, before bringing up his own cup of tea to his lips, "I had an accident."

"Okay," she said, "Well - we'll probably – you know – in the future – if you want."

She held back her giggle when he choked on his tea, though he seemed to regain his composure quite quickly, glancing at her briefly, "Since if you don't want, that's alright too…" she rambled on, trying to cover up his silence, and avoiding his stare.

Molly was rather surprised mid-sentence by Sherlock pressing a finger gently on her lips, "I do," he said, his eyes searing into hers, before he let his finger drop, "I do want…you." It was her time to swallow, aware that one of his hands was pressed at the back of her neck, tickling the spare hairs there, while he leaned closer, smiling at her lips, brushing against them softly, but not drawing back. Her insides squirmed when he made contact, much longer than the first attempt, and certainly less afraid. Not many men seemed comfortable by the idea that they weren't going to have sex, unlike him, who soon drew her closer towards him.

She didn't try to think much about her position on his lap, or his hands pressed on her waist and backside, or the feel of his curls underneath her palms, while she deepened the kiss. Neither did she try to read too much into the low guttural moan that escaped his lips, while they snogged, or when her back was suddenly pressed against the sofa, and he felt hot on her skin.

Of course it went from quite innocent, to his hands prying open her robe, causing her to whine against him, until both of them more or less froze, rather aware of what was bound to happen if they continued. Slowly they moved from one another, spots of pink appearing on both of their cheeks, while the pair tried to regain their composure, "I should probably go to bed," she said standing up from the sofa, wrapping her robe a bit more closely to her body, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Yes," he said rather breathlessly standing up with her.

She nodded, staring up at him, her eyes landing on his lips, "I should."

"How many dates?" he said, making her blink.

"Sorry?"

"Before…"

Molly blushed, an amazing achievement considering the amount of red already in her face, "Umm…I don't know…I think-,"

"I read it was three."

"Oh," she said, clearing her throat, "Three?"

"Us being in the restaurant would signify two, wouldn't it?" he said, seeming a bit more confident, while she became rather aware of where he was going with it, though she didn't protest, not at all, "Then me being here would be-,"

"Three," she finished off, giggling slightly, "But I'm still going to bed, Sherlock."

He nodded gravely at that, and she went to her bedroom with him following her.