The first thing Molly noticed when she woke up was the smell. It was a woodsy smell, with hints of spices that she couldn't name. The overall scent was familiar and soothing, but she couldn't quite place it with the pounding in her head. The second thing she realized was that she was stark naked.
Molly Hooper never, under any circumstances slept in the nude. She had to be ready in a moment's notice in case of an emergency at the crime lab.
As she hesitantly opened her eyes, Molly took in the details of the room she had slept in. The whole place seemed incredibly dark and dreary. Dark brown carpeting, dark blue damask wallpaper, dark wood moulding, and all the furniture was of a similar dark wood as well. The black down comforter matched the black curtains, thankfully drawn shut. Her eyes fell on the bedside table, which held two aspirin and a glass of water. She downed the medicine and continued to scan the room. She saw her clothes from the night before neatly folded on a chair and a robe draped on the back.
Keeping and eye on the door, Molly quickly slid from the bed and donned the robe instead of the uncomfortable club clothes that her cousin has coerced her into. Melanie rarely visited London and for than Molly was grateful. Mel always had to visit the late night scene, and she always had to take her favourite cousin with her. This usually ended with Molly half dragging half carrying a very wasted young woman back to the quaint flat near the crime lab that Molly called home. This time, however, it was the pathologist that let the liquor get to her head.
Molly delicately turned the doorknob, unaware of what she would be met with. As she opened the door, a wave of delicious aromas slammed into her. Her stomach growled, causing her to wonder when the last time she had a good meal was. Molly followed the smell through a cluttered siting room. She noted the dark theme continued into this room, as well as a skull on the mantel, a violin case in the corner, and a red laptop, among other curious knickknacks.
She swept through the archway to the small and equally cluttered kitchen when her heart nearly stopped.
Siting at the kitchen table, drinking tea and reading the paper, was Sherlock Holmes.
"Good morning Molly. I had John help me prepare breakfast," Sherlock said when he noticed Molly walk in. "You took the aspirin, good, I hope you're doing reasonably well."
Molly was still trying to grasp the reality of what lay in front of her. She was in Sherlock's flat, Sherlock's, and he had made her breakfast. She'd also wager a year's paycheque that is was his room she had woken up in.
"Molly?" Sherlock set down his paper. "Sit down, eat. I can hear your stomach."
Molly was still floundering for words as she sat down as assessed the meal in front of her. Eggs over hard and bacon extra crispy, exactly how she liked it. There was toast with raspberry jam and a big glass of orange juice too. For a moment she wondered how her ideal breakfast lay before her, then remembered It was Sherlock. He knew everything.
"Erm, th-thanks," Molly's eyes flickered up to Sherlock's penetrating gaze then back down the meal also staring her in the face.
As Molly ate, Sherlock watched. His elbows resting on the table, hands laced in front of him, the index finger on one hand pressed against his lips. He took in the way she held her fork, how she kept brushing her hair behind her ear with her left hand, how her eyes kept flicking up to his and around the kitchen. He knew she wouldn't remember anything from the night before, and he was pondering what to tell her when he heard her fork clatter onto the plate.
He lowered his hands and leaned back in his chair. Here come the questions.
"So, er, um, how did I end up here?" Molly asked nervously.
"You and another woman, your cousin if I'm right, were staggering along outside. I saw you through the window. When John and I came outside to assist, your cousin asked us to hail a cab while you had something else in mind," Sherlock explained.
Molly flushed and darted her eyes to the table. So she had instigated whatever had happened. Lovely.
"Um, what exactly was that?" her eyes hesitantly raising again.
"Well, you told Melanie to go on ahead. John took her to make sure she arrived safely. Then you asked to see my flat. I said it was nothing extraordinary, but you insisted. When I opened the door to my bedroom you sort of fell on me and I believe your words were 'take me, I'm yours.' I must say, it wasn't very you," Sherlock finished with a smirk.
Molly's eyes, getting progressively wider as she listened to Sherlock recount last night, were the size of saucers. Her face bright read and burning. She was mortified, but she was still dying to know what else has transpired.
"A-and then?" Molly whispered, almost terrified to ask.
"And then, Molly, you stripped down to nothing and climbed into the bed. Approximately 30 seconds later, you were our cold. I drew the covers over you, folded your clothes, and went to sleep on the couch. Which I'll have you know, is no easy feat for a man of my stature."
"Oh. Oh my God. I am so sorry," Molly stammered, turning redder if such a thing were possible. She was mortified. Sherlock has seen her naked! Sherlock Holmes! Molly wanted to die right then and there. She was mortified.
"I've has worse cricks in my neck, oh, you meant the nudity," Sherlock modified when he saw Molly's look. "It's quite alright. The human body doesn't perturb me."
"Oh. Okay. Um, good."
"And your behaviour was obviously due to your inebriated state. So let's swing by your flat. You need to get dressed; I have a different body I need to look at."