How to Play a Game Called Murder

Chapter 31: Rude Wake Up

"Morning?" a voice called out from the door to 221B.

Molly shot straight up in bed, clutching the sheet around her, and began shaking Sherlock, who merely groaned and wrapped an arm around her waist in a futile attempt to pull her back down. He winced as he felt her tiny fist hit his upper arm and groggily opened one eye to glare at her.

"It's John!" she stage whispered, and he groaned again.

"Ignore him, he'll go away." Sherlock tried to pull her back down again and she giggled.

"Sherlock, no, go see what he wants." She pulled at him until he shot her a dirty look and stood up, jerking the sheet from around her body and wrapping himself in it before he exited the door, her incredulous voice ringing out behind him, "Put some clothes on first!"

He smirked, thinking how many times he had walked around the flat with nothing but the sheet during the time John was living at Baker Street, and called back through the closed door, "Why bother? You'll just take them off of me as soon as he is gone!"

Hearing her shocked gasp, he made his escape into the kitchen.

"Morning John." Sherlock nodded at his former flat mate. "Coffee?"

John rolled his eyes at the sheet but made no comment on it. He gestured to the sitting room. "This looks familiar."

Sherlock glanced over at the piles of books stacked on every surface and nodded. "Another case, another book search. This time it should be easier though. It's obviously a book we both own, and has to be at least five hundred and fifty pages."

"I won't even ask how you know all that." John rubbed the bridge of his nose. "So what now?"

Sherlock handed him a mug of coffee, simultaneously sipping his own, and crossed to the couch, picking up the photos and wordlessly handing them to his friend. John examined them a minute before laying them back down on the coffee table.

"Sherlock, how long is this going to last? I don't know whether I can leave Mary's side anymore. Are you sure that you're actually trying to catch this guy?"

Sherlock eyed the doctor, his face hard. "Why wouldn't I be trying to find him?" he asked coolly.

John sighed and lowered his voice a bit, leaning in confidentially. "You know Molly isn't going to leave you when this is over, right? It's ok to end it."

"You're an idiot if you think I'm prolonging this, John!" Sherlock snarled. "You really think I'm afraid I'm going to lose her? You really think I would let anything keep me from solving a case? Especially when the people I care for are being threatened? I died for you, John! I killed for your family! And we are only friends! What wouldn't I do for Molly?!" By the time he finished, Sherlock was practically screaming at a shocked John, who was backing away almost imperceptibly.

"Alright, alright. I just wanted to make sure. No need to yell mate."

"Yes, well, you know how much I hate stupidity." Sherlock replied, with a shrug, his mood swinging back to calm instantly.

"Yeah, cheers." John rolled his eyes before looking around again. "So, need some help?"

Sherlock raised a brow. "Already bored with family life, John?" he smirked.

The doctor pursed his lips. "I'm not even going to dignify that with a response. Tell you what, I'll dig around the books while you and Molly go get the other clues."

Sherlock nodded and stalked back into the kitchen to pour another cup of coffee which he doctored up and took with him to his bedroom.

He cracked open the door and saw Molly. Or rather, her bum, as the woman herself was busy digging around under his dresser, searching for, he assumed, her discarded clothes from the night before.

"Your shirt and bra are still in the kitchen, if you're looking for them." He nonchalantly leaned against the door frame, his arms folded together with the mug of coffee tucked under his elbow and a smug grin on his face.

Molly popped up with a surprised squeak. "Oh Sherlock, don't scare me like that!" When she realized what he had said, she blushed crimson. "John didn't see my clothes in there, did he?"

"He didn't mention it if he did." Sherlock held out the cup, offering it to her. She stood and reached for it, but he raised his arm at the last minute and grabbed her with the other, pulling her close and bending his head to kiss her heatedly. He separated himself after a moment, taking pride in the dazed look on Molly's face. "Here you go." He pressed the mug into her hands. "I'll go get you some clothes."

He dropped a kiss to her cheek and left the room, heading through the kitchen and sitting room, then up the stairs to the spare bedroom. He dug around a little, coming up with a pair of trousers and a jumper that weren't terribly large. A bit more searching and he had socks, and a matching set of bra and knickers. He smiled, pleased with himself, and went back down the stairs, passing a bewildered John with a mischievous grin and a shake of the pile of clothes in his arms.

Moly was sitting on his bed, sipping the coffee, her hair drawn up into a messy bun. She eyed him as he deposited her clothes onto the bed beside her.

"Ta." She set down her cup, and busied herself with getting dressed. "We're off to the café now, right?" He nodded, already knowing what she would say next.

"Yes, you may eat breakfast there."

She smiled. "Great." She pulled her jumper over her head. "So what does John want? I heard you yelling but I couldn't make out what you were saying."

"Oh, he just came to see if we needed any help. I told him to sort the books while we go find the ciphers. That'll save us a headache." He opened the door for her to exit the room when she finished dressing.

"Good morning John!" Molly chirped, happily, smiling at the man standing in the sitting room, glancing helplessly around him at the mountains of books. He looked like he had just realized he was getting the raw end of the deal, but was used to it.

He smiled up at Molly, a hint of wonder in his eyes. Sherlock realized that his friend was thinking of his earlier words of what he would do for the pathologist. He strategically placed his arm over her shoulder, giving John further evidence that he meant what he said.

Molly was chattering away at John, asking how Mary and little Amanda were doing this morning. He grinned back at her and Sherlock rolled his eyes, knowing that if he didn't interfere, that they would never get out of the flat.

"Everyone's fine, Molly, let's go." He tugged on her hand.

She playfully hit him on the shoulder. "Play nice, Sherlock." Molly winked at him cheekily and he was tempted to throw her over his shoulder and carry her back to the bedroom but they had things to do, dammit, and he couldn't let himself get distracted, even if her scent was driving him crazy and all he could think about were her lips wrapped around his cock.

Just as he made up his mind to take her back to his room to ravish her, she took a step towards the door and he snapped out of it, shaking himself like he had suddenly gotten a chill.

"Alright, alright, let's go." She led him down the stairs and out the door. He hailed a taxi and Molly gave directions to her favorite café.

Sherlock sulked the entire ride there.

I cannot get distracted. I cannot get distracted. I cannot get- dammit, Molly is distracting me!

Sherlock glowered. He knew that objectively, he was as brilliant as ever, but now that he had Molly, he found himself less in control of his mind. It wandered without his consent. All too often, he found himself thinking about his pathologist when he should be dwelling on other things. He wouldn't let her go. Not now. But he needed to regain control of his mind. If he couldn't do that, he wouldn't be able to guarantee he wouldn't make a mistake that would cost them all dearly.