Author's note: Wow, how life has changed in the space of a week with so many shutdowns and closures and cancellations. But, hey, at least we still have fanfiction, right? If you're stuck at home with nothing to do but read, now's the time to start responding to the authors to keep us going with our writing. If you feel isolated, this is an opportunity to get to know us, to share how you are feeling. So, connect with people and don't allow yourself to get down about everything. We writers are just as anxious about what is happening around us, and we need you to keep us going now more than ever. Also, as the world deals with this pandemic, let us take time to think of and pray for the health professionals who are putting their lives on the line each day to try to develop a vaccine for COVID-19, and those who also care for those who have been infected with the virus.

On a less serious note, relax, take a deep breath, and take a break from all the madness of toilet paper shortages and the like.

Although this story fits into my single Sherlock/Molly universe (as part of the 2017 Diary timeline), it can be read alone as a one-shot, and hopefully people will still find it rather entertaining.

Warning: If you have issues when it comes to reading about killing of mice, I recommend you steer clear of this story. I don't want my readers to get offended at reading about how to dispose of household pests.

Sun. 24th Sept. 2017

Sherlock and Molly had just finished a quiet, later than usual dinner, because she had slept most of the afternoon in preparation for beginning night shift at midnight, and he decided it was time to broach a subject he had been thinking about quite frequently lately.

He and Molly had been married for several weeks now, and things were getting back to normal in their lives. She was back at work, except for when the morning sickness was bad enough to require a day at home, and he was taking cases regularly. But something was missing.

Ever since he and Molly had become engaged, he had stopped doing his experiments on body parts for two reasons. Firstly, because he and Molly had been busy planning their wedding in the space of two-and-a-half months, and secondly, because he felt it would not be prudent to store body parts in the fridge once she had moved in and started cooking meals regularly for them both.

Nowadays, the fridge was often stocked with various leftovers from meals and staple items he had rarely bothered with before, like eggs, milk, cheese, bacon and other food staples. There simply wasn't room for body parts as well, not to mention that Molly would most definitely have considered it unsanitary.

We really should get a dishwasher, mused Sherlock to himself, after they washed and dried the dishes together, then retired to the sitting room. As had become a habit, Sherlock sat in his chair, and Molly sat on his lap sideways curling her arms around his neck.

After some time spent in experimenting with and experiencing the delights of Molly's mouth with kisses, as was his wont after a meal, he held her against him and began to speak.

"Molly, I've been thinking, and I would like to resume doing various experiments on any body parts you might have to spare from the lab."

She lifted her head from his shoulder to look at him. "You're not suggesting that you store said body parts in our fridge, are you?"

"No, no," he assured her hastily, stroking her back. "I thought perhaps we could put a fridge down into 221C, to go along with my other lab equipment. That way I would have easy access to anything I need."

Molly relaxed again against him. "That sounds like a good idea, but I hardly think it would be necessary to buy a new fridge, especially when you intend to use it for body parts rather than food. Perhaps we could find one secondhand?" she suggested, linking her left hand with his right one.

"Well actually," he said slowly, looking at their joined hands, "I've been thinking about that as well."

She raised her head once again expectantly, and he continued. "How would you feel about us buying a nice new fridge for the flat and then putting the old one downstairs in the basement?"

Her lips curved upward. "That's a wonderful idea, Sherlock. Do you think we could get a fridge which has an ice-maker as well? I'd love to put crushed ice in any cold drinks we have."

Sherlock pursed his lips. "Much as I would like to have a fridge like that, I don't think it would be prudent. It would require a long water line to extend from the sink to the fridge." He circled her palm with his thumb in a soothing gesture, hoping she would not be too disappointed.

Molly sighed and looked at their hands briefly before looking back into his eyes. "I guess you're right. Promise me one thing."

He smiled. "If it is within my power to grant it, you know I shall do so."

Molly giggled. "You sound exactly like one of my Barbara Cartland heroes with your delightfully formal speech." He pouted until she added, touching his cheek gently. "Don't worry, It's one of the things I love about you, the way you tend to get all formal in the way you talk. I love it because it makes you seem more like someone from the Victorian era or earlier, when the speech of the aristocrats was always so impeccable. You do, after all, have some royalty in you."

"True," Sherlock conceded, "but you were asking for my promise on something; what was it?"

"If we ever leave this place and buy a house of our own, I want a fridge with an ice maker so I can have my crushed ice." Her lips twitched, and he chuckled.

"I promise I will do my best to make that happen when the time comes." He stressed the word when, because he had every intention of one day using Baker Street merely as his consulting rooms so they could raise a family together outside of central London.

She bent forward and lifted her head, pulling his own down to hers with one hand to give him a sweet kiss. "Thank you, Sherlock."

His hand tightened around her waist and he prolonged the kiss a little more, as always, enjoying the sweet sensation that her lips provided. Finally he pulled himself away from that all-too-intoxicating temptation that was his wife to say, "Why don't we spent some time looking at refrigerators now?" Then he gave her one of those looks she always thought of as seductive and continued. "Once we have found a fridge and ordered it, we can reward ourselves with some more non-verbal communication."

Molly giggled and hopped off his lap. "I like the sound of that. Let's get this done."

Sherlock stood, then picked up his laptop from his desk, and they went to the kitchen so they could look at it together and inspect the various refrigerators that were on offer which could be delivered. He supposed they could have physically gone out to different places to look, but shopping from home was much more convenient.

They selected a fridge that was actually quite similar to the one that already existed in the flat, with the freezer on the bottom and the stainless steel front. In the end, Sherlock had to call the company to make sure they would be able to transfer the old fridge to the basement before bringing up the new one. With the purchase made and arrangements for delivery in a week, Sherlock and Molly spent the rest of the evening in much more pleasurable pursuits, beginning with a competitive game of Battleship which Molly had brought over when she had first moved to Baker Street that they had not played together before.

They did it with an intriguing twist, removing an article of clothing for each sunk ship. Sherlock claimed a narrow victory and his wife's last article of clothing as he sank her cruiser. Then he carried his delectable prize off to the bedroom.

…/…/.../.../.../

Sat. Sept 30

One week later Sherlock ran his hand along the stainless steel front of the new refrigerator in the kitchen of 221B Baker Street. Then he hastily grabbed a tea towel and wiped off the smudge marks. It wouldn't do for Molly to see her new fridge in anything but pristine condition when she arrived home from work to view it for the first time. It was a shame this was her weekend to work, or she would have been home to see the fridge being delivered.

The old fridge had been moved to the basement and set up. Now all they had to do was wait for a few hours for the fridge to cool enough so that it could be used. In the meantime, Mrs. Hudson had kindly allowed Sherlock and Molly to store the majority of their fridge and freezer items in her own fridge. A few miscellaneous smaller items were being temporarily stored in a cool box under the window. The delivery men had said the fridge would be cool enough to use after two hours.

Sherlock pulled his phone out of his trouser pocket and texted Molly.

New fridge has arrived. Old fridge safely moved to basement. Start stockpiling those body parts for me.

He added a ;) emoji to show Molly he was teasing, although he did hope she would find something for him soon.

Her response came back quickly.

Great. How long till we can start using it?

Two hours. By the time you get home, I should have everything transferred from the cool box into the new fridge. I'll see you when you get home. Love you. XOX.

He smirked. He always enjoyed getting that in first, even though he suspected Molly was completely unaware of the fact that he considered it a bit of a competition.

Love you too. XX, came the response and Sherlock put his phone back in his pocket.

Just then a knock sounded at the door. "Hoo hoo," sang out his landlady gaily, inviting herself inside as usual. She could be forgiven though as she was holding a plate full of lovely jam and cream scones. Even now that he was married, she still took great pains to take care of him if he happened to be at home and Molly was at work. He appreciated it very much.

He took the plate of scones from Mrs. Hudson. How did you know I haven't eaten lunch?" he asked with a raised eyebrow and a smile.

She gave him an indulgent smile. "It was a pretty safe bet. I've noticed over the years that more often than not you skip the midday meal, because you just can't be bothered making something to eat."

His lips quirked. Mrs. Hudson was definitely more observant than she let on. "Well thank you, and I appreciate it."

"No problem. Just bring the plate back down when you're done," she told him, then paused at the entrance to his flat. "Actually, would you and Molly like to come over for dinner this evening? I have a new friend coming, my line dancing instructor, and I'd love for you to meet her. She's European and I want to see if you can guess where she's from."

"You're having line dancing lessons?" asked Sherlock, surprised. "My parents quite enjoy that."

"Actually, they were the ones who told me about it. We were talking during the wedding reception, and they informed me they have gone to many places for their line dancing, even America - said it keeps them young," she responded with a smile.

Sherlock nodded. "Oh yes, I recall they were in Oklahoma for some line dancing convention or other just last year. I'll text Molly about it, but I'm sure she'll be happy for us to come for dinner. She'll be home around four-thirty."

"That's perfect," responded his landlady. "Ida will be here at six. Just let me know." She gave him a wave and added, "I'm making lasagna," then headed back downstairs.

Sherlock quickly texted Molly, and she said dinner with Mrs. Hudson would be lovely. That done, he sat down to eat the scones.

Soon afterwards he went down to 221C and ate the last scone while inspecting the fridge in the basement, making sure it had been set up properly where he wanted. Satisfied, he returned the empty plate to Mrs. Hudson, informing her that Molly had been pleased to accept the dinner invitation, and headed back upstairs to spend some time reading Molly's diary as he waited for her to return home from work.

[See A Journey through Molly's Diary, chapter 21, to read about the dinner at Mrs. Hudson's.]

Sunday

The following day, Sherlock headed downstairs to the basement once again. Molly had told him she had procured a kidney for him, and he wanted to make sure the fridge was cold. Upon entering 221C, however, Sherlock was rather disconcerted to see mouse droppings as soon as he entered. He could have kicked himself for taking food in there. Crumbs from the scone had undoubtedly dropped on the floor. He certainly didn't need mice making themselves at home in his lab.

Fortunately, Mrs. Hudson had some mouse traps which he borrowed. Setting a trap for a mouse was completely unfamiliar to Sherlock, so he had to look it up online and find out the best thing to tempt a mouse with. One of the suggestions was hazelnut spread, and Sherlock and Molly had recently purchased a jar of Nutella, after discovering they both enjoyed the spread when they had a picnic during their honeymoon.

Three traps, three little smears of Nutella and Sherlock waited.

Monday

The next day one of the traps had been activated, but no mouse lay within, much to his chagrin.

Tuesday

The following day the second trap had been licked clean of the Nutella but again, no mouse. Sherlock pursed his lips in frustration. It was taunting him too, leaving droppings all over the floor as if to show it had made a home there.

How the hell is the mouse avoiding the bloody trap? he wondered, highly irritated. Molly had provided him with the kidney as promised, but he hadn't even tried to experiment on it, he was too distracted by that elusive mouse.

Wednesday

After another unsuccessful attempt to catch the mouse, Sherlock had had enough. Obviously traditional mouse traps were not an option for this particular mouse.

He walked upstairs to the flat in a huff and slammed the door petulantly behind him.

"No luck then?" called Molly from the kitchen where she was preparing a stir-fry for their dinner.

"Unfortunately not," he growled, running an agitated hand through his curls as he strode into the kitchen to observe his wife at work. He leaned against the counter and compressed his lips in a thin line for a few moments before saying, "I guess I'm going to have to employ other measures with which to catch the confounded thing."

Molly looked at him then questioningly. "If a mouse trap doesn't work, what else can you use?"

He slammed a fist down on the counter with more force than was necessary. This mouse was so aggravating. Molly jumped a little and gave him a disapproving look. He flashed her a penitent smile. "I don't know. I don't like not knowing."

She shrugged and returned to chopping the last of the vegetables for the stir-fry. "I guess you just have to look on the internet to see what else you can do."

He wrapped his arms around her from behind and kissed her neck before he let out a sigh of frustration. "I guess I'll do that now."

He walked into the sitting room and retrieved his laptop, sat in his chair and did a search. Soon enough he hit upon an alternative method, a glue trap on which a mouse would walk, then get stuck. He ordered a two pack from Amazon Prime. The traps even came with bait. If this didn't work he would have to call an exterminator.

Friday

For the past two days, as he waited for the traps to be delivered, Sherlock continued to set the regular mouse traps, and the mouse continued to elude him, and it was with a feeling of relief that the package arrived in the post.

His relief disappeared as soon as he read the instructions about humane disposal of rodents:

Dispatch of trapped rodents humanely - Rodents trapped on rodent boards must be dispatched quickly and humanely. Placing the glue board in a clear plastic bag and dealing the rodent a sharp blow to the head with a blunt instrument would be an appropriate mode of dispatch. Drowning is NOT acceptable.

Sherlock did not really relish the idea of hitting the creature on the head to dispatch it, but he assumed he would be able to do it when the time came. The mouse was a pest and needed to be dealt with.

The instructions stated that the traps needed to be checked within twelve hours of placing, so he decided the best time to put up the trap would be late that night and he could check it in the morning. It would be Saturday, and Molly would be home as well if for some reason he needed her help.

Therefore, at ten o'clock that evening, Sherlock went downstairs to the basement and placed a glue trap on the floor of 221C, then he crossed his fingers and hoped the infernal rodent would be caught.

He slid into bed next to Molly and told her, "Well, let's hope this time I get this bloody mouse once and for all."

Molly moved to slide her arms around his neck and looked into his eyes. "For your sake, I hope so. This mouse has been distracting you way too much this week and making you grumpy."

"But not too grumpy for this," he told her silkily, skimming a hand along her body and capturing her lips with his own.

Oh no, he would never be too grumpy for that.

Saturday, Oct. 7

In the morning, Sherlock headed downstairs first thing, chewing on his lower lip and hoping against hope that finally he had been successful.

He opened the door to the flat and turned on the light, and his eyes widened in shock and pleasure. At last, he thought exultantly. The mouse was well and truly stuck on the trap, and it was moving feebly.

He stepped closer to the trap and bent down. It wasn't even a big mouse; the creature was brown and looked a little undernourished, and it seemed to be looking directly at him with its large eyes, pleading with him to set it free.

Sherlock gulped and suddenly felt guilty. It's just a pest, he reminded himself silently. Nonetheless, the rodent continued to look at him, at least it seemed to, even as it made a small movement every once in a while. "I'm sorry, little mousy," he said softly, and he pressed his lips together. Quit being sentimental, he told himself, then continued to speak out loud. "It was either you or me."

He suddenly realised he had not brought anything with him in which to strike the rodent, nor put the trap and creature in a plastic storage bag, so he headed back upstairs.

Molly had just made their breakfast, and she turned to him with a smile. "Good timing, breakfast is ready. Did you catch him this time?" She began to dish out the scrambled eggs and bacon onto plates for them, and Sherlock took a seat at the table.

"Indeed I did. I have emerged victorious in this battle." Then he gave her a wry smile. "Unfortunately, he is still alive and needs to be put out of his misery, so I need a blunt object for that, and a bag in which to put the trap and mouse."

Molly set down the plates at the table and sat as well. "Do you want me to help you take care of it after breakfast?" She raised an eyebrow at Sherlock.

"That would be most beneficial," he told her with an accompanying nod, then began to eat, enjoying as usual the way she added curry powder to give the eggs more flavour. He watched as Molly added ketchup to her own eggs. To him, eggs and ketchup did not belong together, but to each their own, he supposed. They definitely were of once accord when it came to extra crispy bacon though, he thought as he picked up a piece of bacon and enjoyed its crunch. John, who had often cooked breakfast when he had been sharing the flat with Sherlock, had been more inclined to make rather unsatisfying, undercooked bacon that came off as being soggy rather than tasty.

Unfortunately, thoughts of the mouse made him lose his appetite before his plate was emoty. On the other hand, Molly seemed to have enough appetite for both of them. No sign of morning sickness today, apparently, and she ate the remainder of his breakfast after she finished her own.

After breakfast, Molly got a resealable plastic bag from a drawer, then bit her lip. "So, how are we supposed to kill the mouse exactly?"

Sherlock grimaced. "It says to put the trap and rodent into a bag and then give it a sharp blow to the head with a blunt instrument."

Molly frowned. "Well, what kind of blunt instrument should we use? I don't really relish the idea of using one of our kitchen utensils."

Sherlock folded his arms across his chest and considered the issue. Finally he blew out a breath and said, "I guess I'll see if I can borrow a hammer from Mrs. Hudson."

With the matter decided, the couple headed downstairs, and Sherlock knocked on the front door of Mrs. Hudson's flat. The elderly lady was only too happy to provide a hammer for Sherlock. "I certainly hope there are no mice in my flat," she commented, and he heard the apprehension in her voice.

"By the small number of mouse droppings on the floor of the basement flat, I can assure you there is only one creature that has been making its home there," Sherlock informed her confidently, and Mrs. Hudson was appeased.

As soon as they entered 221C, Molly looked over at the trap. "Wow, so much trouble for such a little mouse," she remarked, with a sideways glance at Sherlock. She was still holding the plastic bag while Sherlock held the hammer. "Well, why don't I hold the bag and you put the trap and mouse inside, and then you can dispatch it quickly."

Sherlock strode over to the glue trap and carefully picked it up. The mouse looked at him, and he shifted his gaze away. "Hurry up, Molly," he said, and she hastily brought the bag over to him.

Sherlock continued to avert his gaze as he slid the mouse, trap and all, into the bag which Molly then sealed and set on the bench.

"All right then, Sherlock," she said brightly. "Hurry up and put it out of its misery before it suffocates in a most inhumane manner."

Sherlock's lips twitched, and he raised the hammer to deal the killing blow, then hesitated. He could see the mouse still moving feebly and looking at him through the plastic bag. "I can't do it, Molly," he confessed. "I'll feel like a murderer."

Molly rolled her eyes at him. "It's a mouse, and it is a pest," she told him, shaking her head with amusement. Then she added, rather naughtily, "You've dealt successfully with much bigger pests in the past."

Sherlock frowned. "That was a bit not good, Molly. Even if it's true, you know I will always feel guilty over what I did, even if it was deserved." Magnussen had certainly been a big problem, one of the worst sort, and he knew Molly was only trying to lighten the mood, but he would always be haunted over his actions of that fateful Christmas Day.

Molly laid a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. You're right. I should not have brought that up." As if she were trying to make up for her careless words, she took the hammer from Sherlock.

Then Sherlock stared in admiration as his wife calmly swung the hammer and dealt the killing blow herself. He averted his eyes from the actual procedure, though.

She turned to look at him, then extended the hammer. "All done."

He took the hammer from her and flashed her a quick smile. "Thank you, sweetheart. Are you going to tell Mrs. Hudson I couldn't do it?"

She picked up the bag and looked at him once again. "Of course not. I'll let you take the credit, but you owe me, Sherlock."

He slid his free hand around her waist and kissed her cheek. "Let's return the hammer and dispose of the bag, and we can discuss your terms," he suggested.

They returned the hammer to Mrs. Hudson, where Molly glibly said what a hero Sherlock had been dispatching the rodent so humanely, and they returned to their own flat, where Molly deposited the plastic bag into the rubbish bin in the kitchen.

After they both washed their hands thoroughly - after all, one did not wish to get any germs or diseases from being in close contact with one of those creatures, especially not a pregnant woman, Molly slid her arms around Sherlock's neck and pulled his head down to hers. Then she whispered into his ear the payment she required for services rendered.

Sherlock's eyes glinted, and he scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bedroom to fulfill her terms of service.

As Molly lay in his arms afterwards, Sherlock kissed her hair and reflected that if this was the payment she required for being the one to dispatch rodents, he might just have to start looking for them and setting them loose in that basement flat on purpose.

Author's note: They say that life imitates art. In this case art imitates life. This little story was inspired by my husband setting one of those traps for a mouse we had seen in our basement. When it was caught, he got all sentimental about it and felt sorry for the little critter, and I dealt with its disposal. I wrote this soon afterwards, in September of 2018, so it has been on my iPad for a long time.

I have to give credit to an English reader, who has since left the fandom, for the information on glue traps and what a big deal it is to use them in England. Here in America I guess we are a little less concerned about the welfare of those pesky little critters.

So this was just a bit of married Sherlolly fluff. I hope it made you smile anyway, thinking of Sherlock wimping out and Molly acting the hero LOL.

As I said in the initial author's note, please take a moment and spread some kindness by leaving a review. Follows, favourites and feedback are also appreciated. Guest reviews also great - Guest James Birdsong, if you see this, thanks for your recent reviews too!

To my regular readers/reviewers, I love you guys so much! Endless thanks for your support!

Spread some kindness, not the virus, people - stay home if you can!