A/N: And now a word from our sponsors...[if you couldn't tell I think I'm totally hilarious.]
Anyways, a few notes: I do not own Sherlock or its characters.
I regret to inform that I'm not from, nor have I ever been to, the UK. I apologize for incorrect terminology or phrasing because all my knowledge comes from television and the internet.
I was watching Star Trek while finishing this story so Sherlock may seem a little Spock-y at the end, just an FYI.
I'm not good at writing Molly's character and making her come across the same way as she is in Sherlock, so any tips or feedback you have on characterization or description is SUPER DUPER LOVED. PLEASE REVIEW!
Thanks for reading!
***UPDATE***
A sequel to this story, entitled One Million Nights, has been posted. Read & Review and please enjoy!
"Sherlock where are we going?" Molly Hooper pestered for the fourth time, still without receiving a reply.
"Patience." The man in the driver's seat of the rental car answered.
"Like you've got any of that," Molly huffed under her breath.
"I can hear you," Sherlock Holmes remarked flatly, "I told you, I'm on a case and needed to visit the victim's cabin. John is unavailable and I need an assistant."
"But you haven't told me where we're going. We've been driving for hours!" the forensic pathologist countered.
"We will arrive in approximately 11 minutes and 38 seconds," Sherlock calculated in his head.
A little less than 12 minutes later the two arrived at a tiny, two room cabin tucked into a hollow in the large hillside. Sherlock and Molly exited the vehicle, stepping into the flurries floating down from the cloudy sky, and approached the shack. He shook the doorknob, noticing it was locked. Sherlock reached up and plucked a pin from Molly's brown tresses, ignoring her protests. He worked the lock until it popped and the heavy wooden door swung open.
"Here," Sherlock handed Molly her hair pin back without even turning to face her.
Molly sighed and rolled her eyes, knowing she was powerless against Sherlock, "looks like no one's been here in years," she commented.
"The man's family isn't aware of its existence. It's a secret."
"How do you know that?" Molly asked, unbelieving.
"He was killed in his flat in London but had traces of wood, perhaps from chopping firewood, in his hair but not in his clothing. That suggests he changed his attire but didn't bother taking a shower or washing his hair so he most likely was not unclean, but was trying to hide something. He also wore a strong cologne, too strong to have been applied in the morning before work. He was trying to cover up another scent, perhaps the smell of fresh cut wood, or another woman's perfume. I analyzed the wood fragments from his hair along with dirt samples from under his nails and pinpointed that he had recently been in this area on the country. I assume her was here shortly before his death and can only insinuate that whatever he was doing here was important, obviously." Sherlock explained quickly and without stopping for breaths.
Molly nodded, "what am I supposed to be looking for?" her brow was furrowed.
"I'll know when I see it."
"Wha-what am I doing here then?"
Sherlock straightened his spine and faced Molly, his eyes were wild, "I need an assistant," he insisted before bending over a nearly-full drawer.
Molly and Sherlock continued to tear apart the cabin for another couple of hours. They found nothing of interest, only a box of candles, a pack of matches, firewood, blankets, canned food, and a pillow with a black bear embroidered on it.
"Sherlock, I don't think there's anything interesting her," Molly suggested.
"Perhaps I've got the incorrect cabin," Sherlock mused.
Molly gaped at the consulting detective, her mouth shaped like an 'O.'
"Don't make that face Molly, it's unbecoming."
Molly closed her mouth and frowned at Sherlock. He looked around the cabin a few more times then quickly moved toward the door, his Belstaff sweeping out behind him.
Molly followed and then proceeded to walk into the tall man when he stopped suddenly, "oh no," she whispered, peering out from behind Sherlock to the weather outside. The ground was covered in a abundant layer of white flakes, drifts had piled up against the walls of the cabin and the rental car seemed to be half buried. Snow continued to fall thickly.
Sherlock stepped carefully outside and walked over to the automobile all while Molly watched from the doorway. He yanked open the car door and turned the ignition. He attempted to move the car by gently pressing the pedal, but the back tires only spun and refused the budge. Sherlock stepped out of the car and pulled his coat collar tightly around his neck and ears.
"Well, Molly, it appears as if we are stuck here," Sherlock stated as he rushed into the warmer temperature of the cottage.
Molly turned and inspected the cabin again. But instead of searching for clues and interesting bits of information she was now seeing it as living quarters for the duration of the storm.
Next to the door sat a small wooden dining table with two chairs. Kitchen cabinets and counters dominated the wall to the left along with a sink, a fridge, a two-burner stove, and an oven. On Molly's right was a door leading to a tiny loo. The far wall had a fireplace with a large hearth and in the far corner stood a double bed. The cabin held no other beds or furniture.
Sherlock stepped to the center of the room and looked around, spinning as he glanced over his own shoulder, "ahh, here we are," he grasped the packet of matches and brought them to the fireplace along with the crate of firewood. He made quick work of lighting a fire, substantially warming up the room.
"Wha-" Molly hadn't even finished the word when she was interrupted.
"What am I doing?" Sherlock inquired, "well we're stuck here, probably for the night as it will be dark within the hour and I started the fire because I certainly can't let you freeze, can I?" He smiled quickly, causing his eyes to scrunch up.
Molly let out a deep breath and the few strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail flew out in front of her face. She would be here, in the minute cabin, all alone with Sherlock Holmes for the next 12 hours. What could go wrong? She thought to herself cheekily.
Molly moved toward the kitchen and scanned the shelves for something edible. There weren't many options so she selected a few cans of soup and began to prepare them.
"You won't mind me sleeping here, next to you, will you, Molly?" Sherlock pondered.
"What?" Molly squeaked nervously. She whipped her head around to look at the man she was sharing the room with. She noted that he had set up a pile of blankets on the floor next to the bed, "oh, umm, yes, uhh, yes that's alright," she stammered.
The two ate their dinner at the rickety dining table in silence. Molly had long since moved on from Sherlock, but she still felt uncomfortable around him at times, especially because he was able to read her like an open book.
They spent the evening in quiet conversation. Sherlock explained his current case to Molly and she told him about her recent autopsies at work.
"Molly, I must say that I have much enjoyed your company of late. Since you engaged in a relationship with Tom you have felt more comfortable around me and less awkward due to your sentiment towards me and I appreciate that despite the fact that Tom was an imbecile. I am also glad that you have ended contact with the idiot," Sherlock expressed.
The woman across from Sherlock blushed and smiled to herself, "I'm glad also. He was an idiot," she chuckled quietly.
"And Molly?" Sherlock added.
"Yes?"
"You're smiles reach your eyes now indicating that you're much happier now. I am pleased that you are content."
Molly grinned shyly, and leaned forward to press her lips to Sherlock's cheek, "thank you."
She rose from her chair and walked to the loo. She prepared herself for bed and when she exited the bathroom she observed that Sherlock had settled himself beneath the blankets on the floor next to the bed in the corner.
"Are you sure you're comfortable on the floor?" she questioned.
"Despite what everyone believes about me, I do have the ability to act as a gentleman. You will sleep in the bed, after all it's only one night."
Molly nodded and climbed into the double bed. It was hard and lumpy, but miles better than the floor. She heard Sherlock tossing and turning and struggling to sleep on the dirty floor. She felt sorry, taking the only bed and making Sherlock uncomfortable.
"Sher-Sherlock?" Molly whispered.
"Mmm?"
"Do you want to- I mean, you need to sleep and the floor is- we could share the bed, if you'd like. After all, it is only one night," Molly spoke nervously.
She saw Sherlock sit up and turn towards her. He crawled up next to Molly. She rolled to her side, away from Sherlock and felt her pulse quicken and was thankful Sherlock couldn't see her dilated pupils in the darkness. So much for not feeling anything. She thought. Sherlock's warm body was pressed up against her own. She felt his breath tickle her neck and his fingertips brushed against her arm.
"Molly?"
She had never heard Sherlock sound unsure before, "yes?"
He wrapped his arm around her body and pulled her near to him. Her breath hitched.
"It is cold," he commented, "and after all, it is only one night."
Sherlock and Molly fell asleep together, warm and comfortable, relishing in each other's presence.