"I've got to go," Sherlock grabbed his coat from the rack in her office, tugging at the scarf stuck under the sleeve of his coat. He quickly wrapped it around his neck, not bothering to check. "I'll be back for those samples later, will they be ready?"

"They will if you remember to switch the machine on," Molly said with a grin, hanging up her lab coat. "I've got that John Doe funeral, so I'll be back after lunch to let you in,"

"Ugh, fine," he jogged across the lab, turning on the centrifuge on before jogging out, kissing her forehead in thanks as he passed. She flushed pink, taking her coat and scarf from the hook. Sherlock was much more affectionate lately. She hoped it would last. Perhaps it was a turning point for them. Still, even if it wasn't, it was just easier to be around him. Tying her scarf around her neck, she sighed, so pleasantly comfortable at that very moment. Life wasn't perfect, there was a fake Moriarty running loose, along with the rest of the London underbelly creeping up into the news now that Sherlock Holmes was back in London, but still. If it meant Sherlock came to her flat every two days to use as a bolt hole, that he'd brush her hair because it helped him think, or he'd let her make dinner and actually sit with her and listen as she talked, then she'd take the good with the bad.

Outside Barts

"Nice scarf," Mary said as Sherlock strode up to the car. He frowned at her.

"Thank you…" His nose twitched. "New perfume, Mary?"

"No," now it was her turn to frown, though there was a twinkle in her eyes.

"Hm. My coat was near Molly's at Barts, must have been too close to hers."

"Oh, yes," Mary nodded, wide-eyed and trying very hard not to giggle.

"Okay," John jogged out of the clinic, checking the doors to be sure they were locked. "Let's get going- what in God's name are you wearing?"

"What?" Sherlock asked, and Mary nudged her husband, shaking her head slightly. John stared at his former flat mate, utterly confused. Sherlock Holmes was wearing Molly Hooper's pink and black striped scarf, tucked snugly around his neck and down the front of his coat to keep from flapping in the wind.

"Have I missed something, are you and Molly finally sorting things out?"

"What? What do we have to sort out?" Sherlock asked. John glanced between Mary (who looked as if she was on the verge of a laughing fit) and Sherlock.

"You know what, never mind, let's go."

St. Mary's Cemetery, unmarked gravesite

"Do you smell cologne?" Molly asked, low. Greg turned, eyes settling to the familiar blue scarf around her neck, mouth twitching, fighting a grin.

"No…why?"

"No I just…I've been smelling cologne since I left the hospital."

"Since you uh, put your coat on?"

"Yes, well nearly," she shivered, burying her nose in the scarf, keeping her eyes on the entrance of the graveyard, waiting for the hearse to pull in. "It's not a bad scent, just thought I was going mad-" she suddenly straightened, eyes alight. "Oh I'm such an idiot!"

"Yeah?" Greg chuckled, having guessed her predicament.

"My coat was under Sherlock's on the hook, his cologne probably got on my collar!" Greg rubbed his forehead.

"Ok." Molly sighed, hands deep in her pockets as she danced from one foot to the other, pleased she had 'solved' the mystery.

It didn't take long for the burial, a priest came and went in about five minutes. Molly and Greg watched a man with a snow-plow push the dirt back over the coffin.

"Not very dignified, is it?" she asked.

"Well, better than sitting in storage for eternity." She was looking at the grave.
"What makes you think this isn't storage?" He looked at her, almost horrified, then shook his head.

"You spend too much time with Sherlock."

"Do I?" She smirked.

"Come on, I'll give you a ride back to Barts, need to meet him and John anyway."

Barts

They all arrived nearly at the same time, Sherlock noticed before Molly did, seeing the familiar blue around her neck. He stopped short, reaching up to suddenly realize that the scarf around his neck was in fact her black and pink striped scarf she'd knitted last April. Mary saw him pause.

"Problem?"

"No," he straightened, chin up. "Not a bit, why?"

"Oh, nothing, you seemed to suddenly remember something," Mary smiled, and he knew she'd known all along. She moved closer, both of them watching as Molly unzipped her coat. "Are you going to tell her?"

"Not if you won't." Mary looked up at him, surprised, but smiling. "Her scarf is warmer than mine," he excused.

"Mmhm," Mary moved past him. "Molly, Sherlock was wondering if you wanted to join John and I for drinks tonight?"

"Oh!" Molly turned away from the coat rack as she hung up her coat and scarf. "That'd be lovely!" Sherlock was about to protest he had extended no such invitation, but Molly had turned to him, smiling so brightly, her cheeks rosy from the cold. He felt Mary shove him forward, and he caught a whiff of his cologne on Molly's collar mixing with her own perfume and heaven help him if it wasn't the most intoxicating scent in the world.

"Yes," was all he managed to get out.

"You said something about eight o'clock…at Angelo's."

"Oh that'll be fun," Molly said, and flushed, realizing how close Sherlock was to her. "Oh, I got a text from Stamford, he said your tests printed out, they're waiting for you to look over them."

"Excellent!" his eyes lit up. "Would…you care to join me?"

"I've got ten minutes before I have to take care of my next body."

"Perfect!" he stepped aside for her to lead the way, leaving John, Mary and Greg in the hallway. At once, they all looked at each other, heaving a sigh.

"Think this is ever gonna happen?" Greg asked.

"Oh yes," Mary smiled brightly. "Especially if we help it along." She stuffed Molly's scarf into the sleeve of Sherlock's coat, doing the same with Molly's coat and Sherlock's scarf. "Come on, we've got work to do."

"What work?" both Greg and John asked.

"Matchmaking, dearies," Mary said, a hitch in her step as she took them by the hand. "Come on!"

Mary Watson was nothing short of brilliant. A fact she well knew. She also knew Sherlock Holmes was head-over-heels for Molly Hooper, but the stupid clot would never make a move because he was so hung up on the idea that Molly was over him. Well. She could fix that in a hurry. But how? Thus far, invitations to the two of them to meet her and John for dinners had fallen flat with amiable partings at the end of the night.

"I could get him drunk," John offered, and Greg nodded eagerly.

"No, no, he'd hate himself in the morning, thinking he'd done some awful injustice."

"What about Mycroft?"

"We talked about locking them up," Mary shrugged.

"Can he and Anthea arrange something?" Greg asked.

"A double date with his own brother?" Both Mary and John spoke at once.

"Okay, but we'll have to think of something. Something where he can…" Greg gestured helplessly. "Woo her?"

"She deserves to be treated like a princess, all the crap she's gone through for him."

"Hmm," Mary nodded agreeing. Suddenly, her eyes lit up. She whirled around. "Oh!" John looked at her curiously, knowing the wheels were turning. "Oh!" she clasped his face, kissing him soundly. "Oh John Watson, you are pretty as you are brilliant!"

"Yes I know," he answered. "Why am I brilliant this time?"

"Princess- there's a winter ball-" she waved her free hand, digging through the stack of mail. "It's perfect, it's swank, it's absolutely- ah!" she held up the invitation.

"Where'd you get that?"

"Mycroft sent me one for that errand we did for him while we were on our honeymoon."

"You mean when he dropped off that wrapped package-" John gave her a look. "Don't tell me that was a bomb."

"No, no, not entirely," Mary shrugged, ripping open the invitation. "I'm sure if I asked Anthea she'd get Sherlock and Molly and invitation, and if we tell Mycroft it's a matter of getting his mother off his and Anthea's backs as far as grandchildren go, I'm sure he'll be thrilled to help Molly find the most perfect gown and accoutrements." She hurried off to make the appropriate calls, and John and Greg looked at eachother.

"You're gonna need a suit, mate," Greg said with a grin.