Okay so... REALLY got into Sherlock fandom recently. And The Full House by Emcee Frodis (#7895293) is one of the most WONDERFUL Sherlolly stories you will ever read (Seriously! Go read it!) Then I read Hooper House Rules by Amalia Kensington (#7973501), which is a collection of short fics based in The Full House ficverse. And, well, I couldn't get either of these amazing stories out of my head. So, as stupid as it is of me to try & match up to these wonderful writers, I really wanted to have a go.

This is my contribution (though if either of the other two should tell me to take this down because it offends their eyes I will do!) They're just mini one-off fics set in specific points during The Full House ficverse.

There are BIG SPOILERS for both the Sherlock series & The Full House/Hooper House Rules here, so go read & watch them first before you do anything else!

DISCLAIMER: I own none of these characters but if I owned a Sherlock I'd perhaps be the happiest woman alive.

Chapter One. Distracted. Set around Ch2 of The Full House.

Sherlock's eyes flickered open and he frowned a little to himself, staring up at the ceiling of Molly Hooper's living room. As usual, his fingers were steepled beneath his jaw and he lay neatly sprawled across the pathologist's sofa. Something had broken him from his reverie.

Footsteps were awkwardly thumping their way up to the front door of Molly Hooper's flat. Sherlock listened. He could tell by the familiar soft thud that they were Molly's, though they were much more sporadic & uneven than usual - she clearly kept stopping after every three steps or so. Occasionally they also fell a little harder than usual, which indicated that she was perhaps carrying something heavy. The detective glanced at the clock - it was several hours after the usual time she left work. Obviously, something had kept her late.

On cue, Molly opened her front door with her shoulder & awkwardly side-stepped into the small front room. Sherlock saw she had her usual handbag hanging from one shoulder, but was also cradling several box files in her arms, & had a laptop bag slung across her chest. She was clearly struggling to manoeuvre herself; closing the front door with her hip & holding some of the post she'd collected from the mat in her mouth. Sherlock imagined that if John were here, he'd rush to help her. As it was, the detective was rather comfortable in his current position & wasn't going to move.

Molly gave the merest flicker of a nervous smile - envelopes clenched in her teeth - as she bundled all of her files & the laptop over to the small dining table, giving a great sigh when she'd put them down. Sherlock watched her rub at the back of her neck as she padded off to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea.

"Sherlock, do you want-?"

"Coffee, thank you." He cut her off, pressing his praying fingers to his lips & shutting his eyes again.

A few moments later he felt Molly's presence by his side & heard the tinkling of a china cup being placed on the table by his head. The smell of the strong black coffee invaded his nostrils. He then heard Molly move back to the dining table & sit in a chair to begin sorting through the papers & files she'd brought home.

Sherlock opened one eye & glanced at the back of the pathologist's head for a moment. He couldn't help himself.

"Was it your mistake?"

Molly turned a little in her chair looking startled, "My mistake…?"

Sherlock gave a humourless snort of laughter, "Something has clearly been keeping you late at work tonight. And I know from following up all current cases with Lestrade there are no new nor particularly mysterious bodies since yesterday. Judging by the amount of paperwork you have, & by the strain in your neck & shoulders, the amount you have been doing, there has been some sort of cock-up at the mortuary, has there not…?"

Molly looked surprised but impressed. Through his one open eye, Sherlock could clearly see something akin to reverence in her expression. He rather enjoyed that.

"No, not my mistake." She tittered, turning back in her chair, "Some new boy from the forensics department trying to play mortician. He's made a proper mess of it. Misdiagnosed a couple of big things that pretty much turn the whole case around. Carter was furious when I told him."

Her eyes quickly scanned over a graph on a sheet in her hand as she muttered.

"His analysis are never explained fully, his simulations are sloppy… The police are going mad at us. And, of course, it's up to me to sort it all out." She rolled her neck on her shoulders & winced at the pain in her joints, "I've just been hunched over going through all this paperwork all day."

"You are the only competent in the morgue," Sherlock stated plainly as he closed his eyes again.

"Th-Thankyou, Sherlock," Molly squeaked, the usual nervousness returning to her girlish voice.

He didn't open his eyes when he responded this time; mainly because he didn't want to witness the ridiculous blushing of her cheeks whenever he spoke to her.

"That was a statement of facts, Molly, not a compliment."

Sherlock meant to delve back into his mind palace - where he'd been before Molly had disrupted him with her uneven footfalls on the stairs - but he found the sounds of her shuffling through sheets of paper distracting. He repositioned himself on the sofa, exhaling a little more loudly than usual before taking long, steadying breath & settling himself, eyes closed.

The silence was broken by the creaking of Molly's wooden dining chair as she shifted her weight. Sherlock frowned angrily.

"Molly. I am trying to access important information & require as near to perfect silence as possible for optimum concentration."

"I-I'm sorry, Sherlock," She mumbled. Even as she spoke, the dining chair gave another creak as she fidgeted.

"Do stop jittering so, Molly." He reprimanded her, "It's terribly distracting to hear the chairs groan under your weight,"

"M-My weight…?"

"Yes, your weight. And no, before you even ask, that wasn't me suggesting you are morbidly obese or any other such nonsense. You are a perfectly adequate size for your height." He sighed again; a little more dramatically than last time, "But could you please just keep still & silent for longer than a minute! I need to think!"

"Can't get comfortable," She muttered almost inaudibly, flexing her shoulders again, "My back's killing me."

Before the end of the last word had left her lips, she suddenly heard an alarming growl of irritation, saw a flurry of movement behind her & felt long, slender fingers on each shoulder. Instinctively she tensed & tried to turn but Sherlock's voice cut through her surprise.

"Sit still!"

Without any kind of hesitation, Molly quickly obeyed & sat perfectly straight, facing forward. Sherlock wondered if the years of fantasising about him like a lovesick puppy had conditioned her body to automatically accept any orders he gave it. He half-smiled to himself at the theory, though he was glad she wasn't able to see him smirking. Life would be so much simpler if he had this sort of effect on everyone. Swiftly he began to massage his fingertips into the soft tissue above her collarbones, pushing at the hardened muscle tissue.

"Wh-what are you doing…?" Molly croaked.

Sherlock didn't respond straight away. He was concentrating on running the pads of his thumbs up & down the sides of Molly's neck. He could feel her begin to slacken beneath him.

"Making you comfortable," He replied curtly, "So that I can then get some peace & quiet."

"Oh," Molly managed, though Sherlock could hear it was becoming an effort for her to speak. The skin behind her ears was already growing hot. He couldn't see her face, though he supposed it had turned beetroot red.

He paused & lifted his hands away from her. "Would you like me to stop?"

Molly shook her head, the word "no" barely making it out of her parted lips.

Sherlock lips twitched in a small smile as he continued. His pale fingers deftly made short work of her shoulders & slid up a little to the top of her spine. He moved in tight circles, pushing at the skin until her head loosened and fell forward. It was rather like feeling butter begin to melt under his fingertips.

Molly gave a little groan. Immediately, she tried to sit up straight again, flushed with embarrassment.

"Oh God, I'm sorry, Sherlock! I didn't mean-! I'm not-! It's just - I haven't been massaged in a long time & my shoulders are really tense and-"

"Be quiet Molly."

Sherlock gently pushed her head back down with one hand before grinding his palms onto the backs of Molly's shoulders. She sighed & seemed to lean into his hands a little.

"How.. How did you learn how to do this?"

Sherlock sighed, "Do what?"

"I thought you only retained useful information. You said you deleted anything that wasn't useful to you." Sherlock thought her heard a smile creep into her voice, "Knowing how to massage people can't be useful to you… Can it?"

"You do not have to be trained as a masseuse in order to lessen stress in overworked muscles," Sherlock responded as he moved his hands further up toward her neck, "I have an excellent working knowledge of both muscle structure & human anatomy & am well aware of how applying pressure to different joints can feel both relaxing & pleasurable."

This answer seemed to satisfy her. That, or perhaps she'd completely lost the ability to speak.

Sherlock continued to mould the skin around her neck; his fingertips brushing at her hairline. He grazed the base of her skull & used his nails to softly massage the skin up & around her ears. Goosebumps began to form on her skin. He ignored them, pushing his digits in wider & softer circles up & down the curve of her throat. He felt her swallow hard as his fingers slid a little further toward her chest.

Then, he stood upright.

"Better?"

It seemed to take Molly a few seconds to come back to reality, but she lifted her head & smiled meekly at him. As he had deduced, she was a rather alarming shade of crimson.

"Yes. T-thankyou."

Sherlock nodded formally, "You're welcome."

He strode back to the sofa & fell back onto it, resuming his prior position & closing his eyes. Molly said nothing & for a while the little apartment was perfectly still, though Sherlock found he was still unable to concentrate. He wondered if the pathologist was turned in her chair & watching him. Of course she was, he didn't even have to open his eyes.

"Stop staring at me, Molly. It's distracting."