"Doctor Holly Mooper!" Sherlock exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air, his face joyful.
Dr Molly Hooper stood in the doorway of her flat, taken aback.
"Sherlock? What's going on?"
The detective gave no response and she darted out of the way as he barged his way into her cosy flat at 2am on a Sunday morning.
Molly took a moment to collect herself before she followed him into her living room.
She was sure the sight of Sherlock Holmes trying and failing to extract himself from his Bellstaff would have been really quite funny had she not been dog tired after a twelve hour shift which had only finished an hour ago.
She sighed and left him to his thrashing around, heading to the kitchen to make some tea. Molly set the kettle away and gathered two mugs and some milk. She turned around as she waited for the kettle to boil, planning on asking Sherlock exactly what was going on and why he had shown up at her flat hammered. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she collided with his broad chest, now free of his coat.
Sherlock grinned at her.
"Molly. I'm so glad you're here. I wanted to see you. The thing is, I'm not feeling quite myself. My brain, it's not… cooperating," he gestured wildly towards his curly head, "I seem to have lost control of my thoughts. I need you to help me Molly," he implored, his face so serious that Molly had to laugh.
She took his arm and led him to the sofa, giving him a gentle shove. She sat down next to him.
"Sherlock, it's okay. You've just had too much to drink. You'll feel better in the morning. I'm making some tea, we'll drink that and then you can sleep it off. Who were you out with, John?"
Sherlock shook his head then started removing his suit jacket in a similar fashion to his coat.
"No, Greg. I'm hot Molly."
Molly smirked.
"I know. Here, let me help you before someone loses an eye."
She managed to extract him from his jacket and laid it neatly on a chair.
"I'm just going to make the tea Sherlock. Don't move okay?"
Sherlock nodded solemnly and Molly headed for the kitchen. As she pottered around making the tea she wondered if Greg was in a similar state and how Sherlock had ended up on a night out with the DI.
She carefully carried the hot tea through to the living room and set it down. She looked up to inform Sherlock to drink his tea and promptly stopped in her tracks. He hadn't been lying when he said he was hot. Dr Molly Hooper had a shirtless and drunk Sherlock Holmes lying on her couch. She stood over him and he looked up at her, grinning in a way she'd never seen before.
"Molly, Moly, Molly, Come and lie with me."
He opened his arms and made grabby hands at her.
Molly sighed and rolled her eyes. If he remembered this in the morning he'd be mortified.
She sat carefully on the edge of the sofa, about to explain that she would fetch him a blanket to sleep under when she felt his large hands grab her and pull her down next to him. She shrieked in shock and found herself face to face with the detective.
His ever changing eyes gazed at her and she felt her pulse elevate. She'd never been this close to him before. He suddenly wriggled towards her, his hand coming up to comb through her hair.
"My lovely Molly. How I have longed to touch your lovely hair," the detective mumbled.
Molly sighed and tried to pull herself free of him, only to have him tighten his grip on her.
"Noo Molly, stay with me. Don't go." Sherlock managed, before falling asleep.
The pathologist stilled her movements and took a moment to think, her head pressed against Sherlock's chest. What was he on about, talking about her hair? She obviously couldn't take anything he said seriously, he was clearly off his face, but she let herself imagine that it was real for a moment, and let herself enjoy being so close to the detective. Before she knew it she had fallen asleep.
Sherlock awoke to a screaming bladder and a mouth like the Sahara. Oh, and a pathologist asleep on his naked chest. He gently rolled Molly off of him, trying his best not to awaken her, and headed to the bathroom to relieve himself. Next he downed 2 entire glasses of water along with some painkillers for his imminent headache and found his shirt. He sat in a chair and gazed at his sleeping pathologist.
Despite being pretty damn hammered last night, he did in fact remember everything that had occurred whilst he was at Molly's flat. God, he had even admitted the hair thing. Although he knew he'd made an utter fool of himself, he couldn't bring himself to feel embarrassed.
You'll have to tell her now you div.
John of course, the little man in his ear. With a sigh Sherlock got up and headed for the kitchen. No doubt the smell off coffee would rouse Molly. Sure enough, five minutes later his pathologist was yawning and stretching to life, gratefully accepting the steaming mug. As she took a sip she couldn't help but think what a shame it was that Sherlock had found his shirt.
"Molly, I must apologise for my barging in on you last night. Somehow I managed to end up in various bars with Lestrade and some other rather unsavoury members of the yard. Something to do with Christmas or some such nonsense. They must have been slipping extra alcohol into my drinks," he scowled at the last bit, clearly annoyed at having been tricked.
Molly smiled softly.
"No worries Sherlock. I can't say I was thrilled to have my sleep disturbed after a 12 hour shift but I'd rather you be safe in my flat than wandering the streets when you were that drunk. Anything could have happened to you."
Sherlock nodded.
"May I speak frankly Molly?"
She snorted.
"I assumed you always did. A little too frankly at times."
"Yes well, that's the thing. You see, I remember last night. And those things I said, about your hair and what not. Well, I want you to know that they are in fact true. In vino veritas and all that. And I would very much like to take you out one evening soon. If that would be agreeable?"
Needless to say Molly was stunned. So much so that she almost dropped her coffee. She held Sherlock's gaze for an unsettlingly long time, causing him to squirm in his seat.
"Molly, are you alright?" he said eventually.
"Oh my god, you're not joking are you?"
Sherlock got up and sat by Molly on the couch, taking one of her small hands in his.
"No, I'm not. I know I've said some truly awful things to you in the past Molly and for that I have no excuse, only that I am cruellest to those I care about the most. It's a sort of defence mechanism I suppose, to protect myself from feeling. But I'm tired of it and its making me miserable. I want you Molly. I suppose last night was the push I needed to articulate my feelings."
Molly smiled.
"Well I'm not sure articulate was how I would describe you last night."
Sherlock laughed and gave her hand a squeeze.
"I know, I'm sorry."
"I must say, I did rather enjoy the part where you took your shirt off though," she said, a light blush on her cheeks.
Sherlock smirked.
"Really? Repeat, sober performance?"
"Yes please."