A/N: Hey guys! I know it's been a while since I've posted, and I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. (Brownie points to whomever gets that reference.) There's just been so much going on, and I can't even say when I'll post again, but I'll try to make it soon. Anyway, thank you all for all the lovely reviews and follows! You are amazing. And if you ever have any ideas, just let me know and I might be able to work something in there! Love you all, enjoy! :)

Sherlock burst through the doors of the morgue, cocky as ever.

"Sherlock, what did I tell you?" Molly began to scold, but stopped when he held up a note.

I have written permission from Scotland Yard's finest. Just then, Greg walked in himself, and much less flamboyantly.

"That actually sounded like a compliment, Sherlock," Greg commented, half smiling.

"Don't flatter yourself. Everyone at the Yard is completely incompetent. You're the only one with even a modicum of common sense."

The smile fell off the Detective Inspector's face immediately. "Yep, knew it was too good to be true."

John, who had just arrived, took a look around and then smacked his friend across the back of his head.

"Ouch. John, what on earth was that for? You just walked in!"

"Yes, but Molly looks cross, so I'm sure you've just said something stupid or callous."

Just as her boyfriend was opening his mouth to begin what would have been a very long and dreary argument, Molly cut in.

"What can I help you boys with today?"

"Thank you, Molly. We need to look at Victor Carlson's body, if you wouldn't mind. Everybody at the Yard thinks he died of natural causes, but this git here, seems to believe otherwise."

"I told you, the slight yellowing of his skin indicate he was poisoned. His wife murdered him, I know it. She was far too accepting of his death when I spoke with her."

"Anderson would have-"

"Anderson is a moron," Sherlock replied, glaring at the Detective Inspector harshly.

"He's right," Molly cut in again, no longer having qualms about interrupting their little arguments.

"Thank you! You see, I told you-"

"Well, at least he's partially right," she continued, loving the pause Sherlock made after that.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"You're only partially right. He was poisoned, but it wasn't murder."

Sherlock took a deep breath, then looked at Molly gently. "Look, I think you may have missed something. It's alright, it happens, but-"

"Actually, I think you missed something," she intoned just as gently, secretly loving how riled this was getting him.

"I missed nothing, Molly! Clearly you were mistaken."

A wicked grin grew on her face. "Oh? So you noticed the empty painkiller bottle in his pocket?"

Sherlock froze, his eyes growing wide.

"And you also noticed that the whites of his eyes were yellowed as well?"

"Well, it was dark at the crime scene, and-"

"But there was no crime. He overdosed on acetaminophen. I checked the contents of his stomach. Whole bottle in there, not to mention the fact that his brain had swelled, and his liver and kidneys had failed."

It was dead silent for several moments. Then, "But the wife-"

"Probably knew her husband was suicidal and wasn't that surprised to find him dead."

"Then why wouldn't she say that?"

"Why would she say that? Why would she willingly admit to strangers that her husband was so miserable he took his own life? Besides, if he killed himself, she doesn't collect the insurance money."

"Well…..but then…."

He fell silent, an adorably, dare she think it, confused look spreading across that lovely face. He looked from her, to the deceased, and back to her. Suddenly, comprehension flashed in his eyes, then something she didn't recognize before he grew completely stiff.

"John, we're leaving. Molly, I'll see you in an hour."

He was gone in seconds, John apologizing in his wake before obediently following. Greg just shook his head.

"That's going to eat him up inside."

"Oh, I know," Molly said with a smirk. "It'll be even more fun when I get home and I can rub it in."

"You know, you kind of miss it behind that innocent face and the kittens and all, but you have a slightly evil side to you."

"Only when it comes to Sherlock," she laughed.

Molly opened the door to 221 Baker Street cautiously later that evening. She assumed Sherlock would be moody after being told he was wrong. She briefly wondered if that had ever happened. She did not, however, expect to be pinned to door the second it closed.

"Sherlock!" she screeched rather unattractively.

"Hmm," he hummed happily against her neck. She could feel every inch of his lithe body pressed against her, sending a flush right to her cheeks. What was with him?

"I-I thought you'd be upset."

"Upset? Now, why would I be upset?" he whispered in her ear, raising the hairs on the back of her neck.

"Oh, you know, the whole scene at the morgue where I said you were wrong."

"Oh, my dear, you didn't say I was wrong. You proved me wrong," he breathed, and she failed to see the difference.

"You brilliant, gorgeous, sexy woman. You know I love it when you deduce things, and this time you even outdid me. I highly doubt it will ever happen again, but I'm quite impressed."

He had pulled back slightly to look into her eyes. Though part of his statement was slightly insulting, she could see in his eyes what he wasn't saying. Pride. He was proud of her.

"Well, I can't live with you and not pick a few things up," she joked.

"Yes, indeed. Now, where were we?"

He then swept her up in a passionate kiss in which she lost herself quickly. His hands ran down her side deliciously, making her shiver. She felt herself being drawn deeper and deeper into a haze. It was only when she found she was being maneuvered toward the bedroom that she came to her senses.

"No! Sherlock, you're still grounded!" She pushed him away abruptly.

"Molly, this is silly, really. I am not a child. In fact, I'll prove it to you right now." He pulled her flush to his body and she could very well feel that he was not a child.

"No, no, no. You don't just get to bat your eyes and get whatever you want. I'm winning this bet."

"Molly!" he whined, ironically rather like a child.

"No. And because I don't trust you not to try something funny tonight, you can sleep in John's old room." His face turned from pouting to enraged.

"What? How is that even fair?" But she was already heading to the bedroom without him.

"Goodnight, Sherlock."

He stared at the closed door in shock and went back to pouting.