I was at a complete loss as to how I'd ended up in this current state.
After being woken by the glaring light streaming through the windows, I'd found myself tangled up in very crumpled bed sheets with a bird's nest for a hair do and a killer headache; it was as if someone had punched me in the face whilst I'd been asleep.
The surroundings soon came into focus though. As the fog around my brain lifted, it wasn't difficult to realize that I was in my front room in a heap on the floor; but as I'd said, how I had ended up here was a complete puzzle.
Alright then Molly, I thought. No use in panicking. Just start from the beginning.
I remembered going to work yesterday. The lab had been chaotic with Sherlock and John running in and out after supplies for their case, I'd escaped to the morgue to keep out their way but of course, Sherlock had decided to bug me.
"Molly? I need those dishes, now would be good!"
"You know where they are, get them yourself." I grumbled to the detective, I wasn't in the best of moods and really didn't want to deal with Sherlock Holmes. Instead of answering, I heard a sharp intake of breath and knew that I'd shocked him, but then again I had never answered back so of course he'd be surprised.
"Look Sherlock, I'm pretty busy today," at this very moment I was stitching up a corpse, "can't you just do it yourself and let me get on with my work? Not everyone has the time to run around after you."
Groaning at the memory, I felt the guilt settle in my chest. I knew I'd been unfair to Sherlock but I really had been having a bad day and he hadn't made it any easier, especially when he…Oh God.
Right at that moment, the fuzziness cleared in an instant and I remembered exactly what had happened and how it had started, how I'd ended up like this and why I had a headache. Now I really did wish I'd been punched in the face.
I, Molly Hooper, was lying on my living room floor with two bottles of vodka beside my head, and a comatose detective currently sprawled on my couch. How had this happened? Well, it had all started when Sherlock knocked my tea over…
"Sherlock you're doing my head in!" I screamed out to the bewildered man who had just elbowed my mug off the table, chipping the cup and drowning the floor with brown liquid. Instead of just getting the dishes and leaving, he started to make endless deductions about why I was in a bad mood which of course, were all right and now he had ruined my tea. I wish I could have thrown it over his head.
"Molly, you really need to calm down, your stitches are going wobbly."
"Well they wouldn't do if you just left me alone. Don't you have John to annoy?"
"John left half an hour ago, something about a date. Dull." I had to suppress a wince at those words. For months after Sherlock's return I'd wished our relationship would move on a step, seeing as I'd helped him and all that. But still he remained oblivious.
As I performed the last stitch, I glanced over to him and felt my mood disperse a little. He was perched on a desk, with his hands under his chin and his legs crossed, looking so mischievous and lovely. He really was perfect.
"How do you know dates are dull if you've never been on one?" As soon as the words were out of my mouth I wanted to kick myself; where had that come from?
Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "If this is your attempt at asking me out on a date Molly, it isn't very subtle."
"I wasn't asking! All I'm saying is, how do you know they're dull?"
"Why would I want to sit around in a restaurant making small talk, which you know I find pointless, as the lady flirts openly whilst dropping hints about how we should go back to mine-"
"Alright you can stop right there," I groaned, not wanting to hear the rest of that sentence, "not all dates are like that you know."
This got his attention and he tilted his head to the side. "What are you suggesting Molly?" He knew that deep down, I was suggesting we should go on a date, and right at that moment I was tired of holding back. Whirling round to face him, I smirked as his eyes widened at the sudden confidence I was displaying. Point 1 to Molly.
"You're never one to pass up a challenge Sherlock. Come round to my place at seven, let's see if I can interest you then." And with that I left him, confused and intent, whilst I strode out of the morgue with a grin on my face.
Seven O' Clock.
A knock at the door broke me out of my daydream and I had to take a deep breath to quell the fluttering in my stomach. I'd made as much of an effort as I could, even adding lipstick which Sherlock had said, in his own way, that he had liked. With one last look at myself in the hallway mirror, I opened the door and smirked up at the detective who was casually leaning against the door frame, a twin smirk on his own face.
"What are you up to Molly?" He scanned my face, obviously trying to make deductions but was unable to, seeing as I had perfected the emotionless look.
"Come in and find out." Stepping aside, I suppressed a giggle as he scanned the flat, noticing the bottles on the counter straight away.
"Two bottles of vodka and a pack of cards, you do know I'll win right?" He'd guessed my plan.
"Oh Sherlock, I wouldn't be too sure. I never told you did I? I'm actually pretty good." He quirked an eyebrow and smiled down menacingly at me, for someone so annoying he had this ability to make your heart stop in your chest, I had to remember to breath.
"Don't look at me like that Sherlock, do you accept the challenge or not?"
"Well look at you, I think I like this side of you Molly. I accept the challenge." Trying not to melt at his words, I strode over to the counter and pulled up a chair, indicating that he should do the same.
"We can start with blackjack first, the winner gets a point each turn and the loser has to take a shot. Then we'll go onto the next game."
The tension in the room was thick once the game had begun, I was cursing at my hand but had perfected a decent poker face over the years, but unfortunately Sherlock had too.
"I win!" He grinned and threw his hand down, causing me to curse out loud this time as I had been so close to winning, "do you give up now Molly?"
"It would be so boring if I did," I growled, taking my shot and staring him down. "Best of ten remember?" The next go was better, the hand that was dealt was pretty decent and I soon managed to get the score that I had wanted. Pushing a glass over to him I indicted to the bottle.
"It's your turn Sherlock, I win."
"Are you sure Molly? I don't think you can beat this." He put his cards down on the table. 20.
"Oh Sherlock that's such a good score! Sorry though, you're wrong." I threw down a nine, a ten and a two. 21.
Sherlock's mouth dropped open in surprise but he quickly recovered, he didn't even wince as he took his shot and then began shuffling the deck at top speed. "Again Molly, I'm not done yet."
So that's how we'd ended up here. After Black-Jack we'd played about six more different games and had matched each other score wise; in the end the winner hadn't been determined seeing as we'd both crashed from all the alcohol.
Turning around to peek at the detective, I jumped as I found he was very much awake, his eyes staring into mine with such intensity my heart began to quicken.
"Sorry, I didn't think you were awake," I stammered, "You were pretty comatose."
"I recover quickly." He sat up and reached out a hand, grabbing mine to pull me off the floor, "you on the other hand will need aspirin, a lot of it."
Scowling at him, I turned the light on bright and grinned when he winced. "I can be as good as you, you know. I'm not weak."
He shot me a look as he began throwing his coat and scarf on, "Oh I know, you surprised me last night, I'm quite impressed."
This stunned me. "Impressed? Really?"
"I wouldn't have expected you to match me Molly, of course I'm impressed." He was at the door at this point and waved in a farewell manner, "It seems you were right, not all dates can be considered dull. Oh and Molly?"
"Hmm?" I was too busy daydreaming to understand what he was saying, his words had left me giddy.
"I want those dishes by tonight, I suggest you get dressed and get to work." The last thing I heard was his laugh as I threw the cushion at him.
