"Licence my roving hands, and let them go
Before, behind, between, above, below." ― John Donne

They didn't talk about the call or the events surrounding it. Another time and in other circumstances, they should have but in this here and now, it never came up. Instead, he showed up at Barts one day unannounced watching her warily out of the corner of his eye as he made his way to 'his' microscope and sat down. She looked up when the door opened and then dropped her gaze to the file she'd been working on.

Sherlock immediately bent to the task of preparing his slides, grumbling a little under his breath when he found only two clean ones in the nearby box. The samples he needed for his experiment required six at minimum. His first clue that she'd approached was the smell of her strawberry shampoo and then the quiet clink as she sat a fresh box down by his elbow. He smiled his thanks and let out a breath when she nodded back before returning to her chair.

Two days later, he trailed behind her as she left for the evening and held the door as she slipped into her coat. Her quiet thank you warmed him almost as much as his Belstaff against London's evening chill.

Five days after that, he preceded her to the curb and waved for a cab. Neither spoke as he climbed in after her and relayed her address to the driver. The silence held even when they got to her flat. She looked at him for a full minute before handing over her key so that he could unbolt the door. Coats and shoes were left in the entrance and then he went to the kitchen to put the kettle on. He knew she'd change, wash her face and then let her hair down before coming back. It was the same routine she'd always had and Sherlock found it comforting that some things hadn't changed. He heard her soft step in the hallway and her murmurs to Toby before she came in and sat down. They studied their hands until the kettle shrieked its readiness.

Three days later, he sank into the plush cushions of her couch and rested his head on his bent arm as she wandered about, turning off lights and double checking the locks. She glanced his way once...unblinking and intent...before she headed to her room. He rose up when he didn't hear the door shut behind her. There it was...wide open like an invitation. He followed after Toby and paused with one hand on the jamb, looking down at the petite form huddled under a yellow striped duvet. "Turn out the light and come to bed," her sleepy mumble enfolded him, drew him in until he found himself sliding in beside her, his body conforming to hers. After that, neither of them slept alone.

She kissed him good morning and good night. He held her hand when they took their aimless walks on her evenings off. Seldom was there a time when he didn't find some way to touch her...a pinkie grazing her hand when she passed him something in the lab, a playful tug to her pony tail when he followed Lestrade out on a case, fingers playing lightly over her pulse point when he wound her scarf around her neck, his foot nudging hers when they sat side by side on her couch watching telly.

They hadn't gone further than those few hesitant steps but he wondered. He toyed with it, mulled it over, tore it apart and then put it back together again. If she had any opinion on the subject, she masked it exceedingly well because she never tipped her hand. Sherlock decided that if things were going to progress beyond their current domesticity then it was up to him. He knew of only one way to ensure that nothing would be overlooked. And so he put his considerable mental facilities to work on the most important experiment he'd ever conducted...the seduction of one Dr. Molly Hooper.

The first three steps: Make an observation. Form a question. Form a hypothesis

He found that, more than anything, it made him happy to simply watch her. It didn't matter what she was doing, Sherlock found that he was fascinated.

When she was absorbed in her work, there was a quiet intensity and focus about her. Each movement of her capable hands had purpose and forethought. She didn't need to think about what she was doing; muscle memory and familiarity giving each act a fluid perfection. It was a dance and he'd already composed her accompaniment. Someday soon, he would play it for her and see if she recognized it for what it was.

Taking her ease, she was calmness itself and he reveled in those moments. Evenings when she tucked her feet under her as she curled up on the couch...reading a medical journal or some lurid who done it from a best seller list...his head in her lap and her fingers idly toying with his curls. He lay there…eyes closed, lost in thought…entranced at the sheer sense of contentment he felt. Only with her, could he completely let his guard down. He was safe there. Loved.

She was playful with him. Silly jokes and rolled eyes and snorts of laughter when he tossed exasperated looks in her direction after an ill-timed remark. She tickled him. Tweaked his nose like he was a petulant child to be indulged. Swapped sideways smirks and teasing winks when some of his clients were especially trying.

Fierce. Loyal. Determined. Uncompromising. Especially when she felt like he wasn't getting his proper due. Donovan was on the receiving end of a well-aimed fusillade more than once; Anderson running a close second. Even John wasn't immune to her sharp tongue if she felt the situation warranted. Sherlock, himself, had been skewered after one of his acid tipped remarks struck her wrong. His Molly was magnificent when roused but he much preferred to stay on her good side where possible.

It was taxing to narrow his focus on which of her many sides would most likely come to the fore if/when they made love. There were so many variables to consider and he found that he was loathed to exclude any of them. The more data he collected, the more accurate his conclusions would be and the likelihood of repeating his results would rise. He hypothesized that she would take her queues from him; that his demeanor would act as a basis for hers. That would be his control. If he was soft, then so should she be. If he allowed himself a bit of free reign, there was no reason to suspect that she wouldn't do the same. He found himself looking forward to it.