An arrangement is born when Sherlock provides his shoulder for Molly after each unsuccessful date.
It was late. Too late. The sky was dark, the streets empty and lamplight flooded Baker Street in an orange glow.
In the partially lit living room of 221B, Sherlock glanced at his watch and drummed his fingers impatiently against the leather chair; he and Molly had been in this ridiculous arrangement for several weeks now. It had started innocently enough, a particularly bad dinner date had sent her fuming to Baker Street.
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