Molly slumped into bed face first. Her feet hurt, her head ached, and she smelled like formaldehyde. Molly let out a low groan. She bunched up the covers around her like a cocoon, already half-asleep, when her phone buzzed in the dark. It was a quick little buzz, the kind that jolts you awake and catches you off guard. Molly rolled over and squinted at the text she received.

"Coffee date tomorrow. Asking but also telling."

Molly leaned against her pillow with a smile.

"No asking needed. 10 AM." She texted.

"Good. And bring a butcher's knife." He added.

"Sure." Molly typed. She was used to this sort of thing. Last time, she had to burn 27 diluted solutions with a flamethrower. A butcher's knife was a relief. Shutting her phone off, Molly closed her eyes and fell asleep.

A honking taxi woke her up.

"Oh, stop it." Molly yawned. She shut her eyes against the light streaming through the curtains. The taxi driver continued to blare his horn down the way; and the used A/C unit she'd bought off of Amazon clinked and clattered away in the corner. Here she was, living her best street apartment life. Well, maybe not best life. Broken sinks, weird smells, and monthly rent weren't exactly what Molly had in mind for her best life. However, these things formed life as she knew it. That stability was comforting.

Molly stretched her arms and fell back on her mattress, feeling the springs bounce her up and down. She sniffed her sheets. Great. Now they smelled like formaldehyde.

"Yay," Molly said, "More laundry!" As she stripped the sheets off her bed, Molly remembered last night. Coffee. With Sherlock! She ditched the blankets and turned on the shower. After spending considerable time belting out Defying Gravity offkey, Molly stepped out of the shower. Wrapped in a towel, she scrolled through Pinterest. Then she noticed it was now 9:54.

"Oh. Oh no. Oh my-" Molly screamed as she slipped on a puddle of water. She threw her hair up into a wet mess of a bun before desperately attempting to slide jeans onto her damp legs. Without thought, she grabbed the nearest sweater and ran to the door. Snatching her purse off of the kitchen table, she put on her heavy coat and went out the door. Molly stopped. Remembering the text, she scrambled back inside to yank a butcher's knife out of the wood block. Wrapping it in a dish towel and stuffing it into her purse, Molly dashed outside. She was a sight to see running down the street. Careening around the corner to Speedy's, she stopped to catch her breath before opening the shop door. The place buzzed quietly. Looking around, Molly saw a couple of construction workers in the corner, a business woman with a cup of tea, and a barista cleaning the counter. She looked at her phone. 10:13. And no sign of Sherlock. Confusion turned to frustration as she went to text him.

"Ah, Molly. Good morning!" Sherlock came in behind her, standing in a blue bathrobe and slippers. He hadn't touched a comb in days. The businesswoman glanced up and frowned before looking away.

"Sherlock," Molly whispered, looking around at the coffee shop. "Really?"

"Hmm, were the slippers too much?" he said. Molly glanced down to see two fluffy llamas with sombreros adorning his feet.

"Sherlock, We're in public," Molly shut her eyes.

"And?"

"Just...pretend you care, ok? I ran—"

"—late. I know. Your hair's wet, your sweater and pants don't match—unusual since you plan all your outfits the night before—and your cheeks are red from sprinting the 5 blocks from your flat to mine." Sherlock said off-handedly. He did a double take. "You look—"

"—Atrocious. I know. Thanks for rubbing it in." Molly said.

"—Radiant." Sherlock said. "Your face, I mean. In a good way." Sherlock looked her in the eyes.

"Oh." Molly chuckled. "Really?"

"Really," Sherlock said. "So, did you bring it?"

"Right here." Molly tapped her purse.

"Good." He said.

They approached the barista, who looked between them briefly with a raised eyebrow and stepped up to the register.

"Morning. What'll it be?" She asked.

"Two coffees." Sherlock said. "One black with 2 sugars, the other with 3 sugars and milk. Oh, and do you have any whipped cream?"

"Sure do."

"Put a bit in the second cup." Sherlock looked at Molly while he spoke and gave her a half smile. She elbowed him playfully.

"How did you know about the whipped cream?" She asked.

"Canister in your fridge. There's a coffee stain on the dispenser." He looked forward.

Molly put her arm through his and smiled. "Your bedhead is really cute, you know?" She murmured. Sherlock opened his mouth for a playful retort when barista returned.

"Here you are. Two coffees."

"Thank you." Sherlock said, taking one cup in each hand.

"Come again." The barista waved.

Molly sat down at a free table. "This'll do nicely." She said, brushing off some crumbs. Sherlock sat down and slid her cup across the table.

"How's Rosie?"

"She's with John today, thank goodness," Molly sipped. "I finally got some sleep after surviving work yesterday."

"Survived?" Sherlock remarked.

"It was so frustrating," Molly complained. "There must have been a mixup...I don't know. The whole thing's a nightmare. I found a needle in a body's thigh, so, naturally I reported it to the Coroner. He came in, and poof! No needle. Something happened, Sherlock. I didn't take it out or anything, and there wasn't even a puncture wound. Anyways," Molly exhaled. "I'll definitely hear about it later. Some intern probably brought in some new cadavers before I was done."

"I'll look into it later for you. Might even be interesting." Sherlock said.

"Thanks," Molly said. "And about the knife. What did you need it for again?"

"Right! Yes." He slapped the table. "Come with me."

Author's note: Hi guys! I hope you enjoyed reading this. :D It is the first of a two-part story/one shot thing. Can you relate to Molly? I know I can. I'm always running late lol. What do you think Sherlock is getting Molly into? Leave a comment and we'll see what happens!

~Yours Truly,
silvannight