Sherlock was sat in his chair, happily in his mind palace, when John walked in after dropping Rosie at playgroup for the day.
"Morning Sherlock, nice to see you've gotten changed," John spoke sarcastically, looking at his best friend and former roommate, still in his pyjamas.
Today was Molly's day off, so it was no shock, that she walked out of Sherlock and hers' bedroom, and grabbed a cup of coffee (Sherlock's favourite, that has grown on her) and scratched Toby behind his ears - earning a happy purr.
"Morning, Sherlock," Molly said, walking over to where he sat and placed a kiss on his cheek. She swears that Sherlock had reflexes like a cat, as he grabbed her cup (the one gifted from Sherlock's parents after the wedding 'Mrs Always Right'), pulled her into his lap so her legs were hanging over the side of his chair and kissed her soundly on the lips.
"Good morning, Mrs Holmes," Sherlock said, bizarrely sweet to John, but becoming the norm for Molly, as she looked at the love of her life, her husband and her best friend, all wrapped up into the same person.
John was reading over his blog, with Molly still in Sherlock's lap, as Sherlock reads through the cases they'd been given overnight, and Molly continues to read a crime book she'd started a couple of days ago.
Anyone could tell that Sherlock was itching to say who had killed whoever, but he knew that saying who was the murderer would extremely not good, would find himself in the dog house and on the slightly uncomfortable sofa, rather than in his comfy bed with his wife.
As Molly shut the book, and it went onto the coffee table, she looked at her husband, who she could tell by the tapping of his fingers on the back of his phone that he was quietly waiting.
"Go on then, who did it?" She asked, leaning back against the arm of his chair and looking at him.
"Butler," he simply stated, as he solved yet another case via his phone.
Molly looked over at John and give him a slightly smug smile. "There was no butler in the story, Sherlock," she said, making John laugh loudly and Sherlock look down at his wife for a second as his face fell into one of 'buffering' that he rarely shows when he gets something wrong.
She giggled at her husband's very confused face, she wrapped her arms around his neck and waited until his buffering face passed.
It took him longer than what Molly would have thought for his buffering face to disappear. "Who was the killer then?" Sherlock asked, looking down at his the woman in his life that he never wants to let go.
"The husband's brother," Molly said, resting her chin on Sherlock's shoulder.