AN: I own none of this. I make nothing. All I get is the satisfaction of your lovely reviews. So you know, do the thing.

This fanfic was created for JenlockPilgrim (of tumblr & AO3 fame) for a Sherlolly secret-Valentine ficathon. So if anyone owns anything, she basically owns this story.

Spinning.

Soooo... much... spiiinning.

Molly wasn't quite to the point of black out drunk, but it was a close thing. She giggled into her sixth drink? No seventh drink.

It tasted like lemons.

Lemons.

Lemons. That was a weird word.

Leeemooonsss.

Lee moons.

Lemmings. She giggled.

"It tastes like lemmings." She said this to her friend Cecilia, or rather the spot where Cecilia had been, but now there was only empty space. Molly frowned. "Lemmings." She worked her mouth around the word, but it felt wrong. "No, it tastes like lemons." She giggled into her drink for what felt like the hundredth time that night.

The music was loud in the small two up two down, but Molly had managed to find a quiet spot in the bedroom upstairs. There weren't too many people at the party, but Molly still preferred a bit more solitude than what was being offered downstairs.

She tipped her head back against the wall and stared at the ceiling. It was white. Or off-white. Eggshell white? She had never bothered to find out, or care really.

Molly shook her head at her meandering thoughts, but regretted the action immediately as it made her head swim. God she needed more to drink. Even with alcohol coursing through her veins all Molly could do was think. The thoughts were about wall colours and strange sounding words, but she didn't want to think at all.

She looked around the small room then down at her drink and sighed. She was becoming maudlin again. And today of all days should have been a happy one. It should have been perfect.

She was a doctor.

Almost a doctor; she had certainly finished her Foundation Training. Now all Molly needed to do was specialize. Maybe she would pick something interesting like forensics.

It didn't matter though. None of it mattered. It should have been a good day, but her father had died a little less than a year ago.

Cancer.

And now she was alone.

Really alone.

The last of the Hoopers.

Molly tilted the drink and gulped down the sugary lemon concoction. She needed another drink. She did not want to remember the day anymore and what it should have been like.

She stumbled up from her seated position on the floor and lurched across her bedroom. The music was still blaring and laughter rang throughout the house, but Molly ignored it all as she made her way to the tiny kitchen on the ground floor. She grabbed a beer and proceeded to finish it as quickly as possible.

She burped and swayed a little on her feet. It was bad to mix beer with hard liquor, but she wanted to forget, and alcohol was nature's remedy for a shitty day. She giggled at her stupidity and grabbed another beer.

From Molly's position in the kitchen she could see Cecilia sitting on her boyfriend's lap snogging the living daylights out of him as they ignored everyone else.

One of her friends was bouncing around the sitting room regaling the rest of the group with funny medical school stories, while his wife, brother, and the brother's boyfriend were laughing from their seats on Molly's small sofa. She noticed one of her friends and his girlfriend were nowhere to be seen.

Molly sat on the sofa's arm to stop herself from getting dizzy. She watched her friends laugh and act silly as she tried to follow along with their jokes. They had all met their first year studying medicine, and formed a tightknit study group. So they knew what a bad day it was for Molly and why she didn't quite join into the fray.

She looked around at the different couples and grimaced. Everyone had managed to conveniently pair off, except for Molly, who was the odd man out. She tried to never let all the cute coupleness bring her down. She was happy they were all happy. Really she was.

Oh who was she trying to kid, Molly hated being alone. The death of her father had only emphasized how much she yearned for companionship, even just simple no-strings sex would satisfy Molly.

She was alone.
So alone.

So...

alone...

Molly steadily drank her beer and continued watching her friends. Despite the music, Molly heard the doorbell ring throughout the tiny house. She stumbled slightly to the front door while her friends continued to laugh raucously at some dirty joke that had just been relayed using carefully placed napkins and a finger. Molly turned the knob and opened the door to find her lost friend and his girlfriend, and apparently they had picked up a stray, because a third scruffy looking figure stood behind them in the shadows.

Molly frowned. "Mark you're late."

Mark laughed. "I was already here love. Had to step out for a call, couldn't be helped. But I did run into my old mate," Mark gestured carelessly behind him, "at the pub nearby." Mark said all this with a bit of a drunken slur as his girlfriend leaned heavily onto him.

Molly stepped back as the couple made their way into her father's hou-

no...

her house.

She turned back to the strange man still standing in the shadows of her porch. She couldn't tell for sure from the lack of light, but he seemed a bit out of it.

"Come on William, step lively," Mark called out as he settled on the floor beside the other couples.

William scowled, and Molly wasn't sure if it was the directive or the thought of entering her house that made him seem so standoffish.

Molly smiled invitingly at the new addition to the party, and he finally stepped out of the shadows and into her home.

Maybe it was the liquor talking, but Molly had never seen a more beautiful man in her entire life. He was quite tall and fit with dark curls and intense blue eyes. If it hadn't been for the mix of vodka, gin, and beer, she may have felt a bit shyer and tongue-tied, but liquid courage enabled Molly to put her best foot forward.

"Sooo... William is it?" She tried to put on her most beguiling smile as she wavered back and forth in front of him. Or maybe it was William who was wavering? One of them was swaying anyway.

At the mention of his name, the man grimaced briefly at Molly before he began looking around the small sitting room. "Obviously," he retorted, glancing briefly in her direction, before he continued to scan the room. "Why else would Matthew call me by that name."

"Mark."

William turned to her with a raised eyebrow. "What?"

"Mark," Molly repeated. "His name is Mark. So clearly if you can't remember his name, you can't expect me to not ascertain that what he called you was correct as well." Molly paused to make sure what she had said made sense, then nodded. She swayed a bit. Bad idea that nodding. "You also keep making faces at the mention of your name."

A smile spread across his face, and for the first time Molly felt like he was really looking at her. "I go by Sherlock." A look flashed in his eyes, but was gone before Molly could make out what it meant. "I really haven't been William in a long time."

Molly pondered that statement for a moment as Sherlock glanced briefly down to her red dress and bare feet. "I understand completely," she said, placing a hand on his arm. She heard catcalls from her friends, but she gave them the middle finger with the hand not holding onto Sherlock. They laughed at her gesture and continued to chatter on about whatever they had been talking about.

"Do you?" He looked her in the eyes with an intensity that took her breath away, and she stepped closer to him.

"I haven't been Margaret for almost a year now," she whispered. And for a brief moment, Molly thought of the one person who had aways called her by her full name.

"Your washroom is upstairs?" It seemed more of a statement than a question, but Molly nodded then grimaced. Nodding was still bad. "I'll be back." And Sherlock slowly walked up the stairs as if ascertaining they were where they were supposed to be.

Molly meandered among her friends as she waited for Sherlock. She laughed at their stupid jokes and finished her second beer (ninth alcoholic drink), but Sherlock had yet to come down.

With a quick glance around at her friends, Molly made her way upstairs, but not before Mark yelled out, "You show William what you're made of sweetness!" Everyone cracked up laughing and Molly restrained herself from rolling her eyes lest she make herself dizzy again.

The bathroom door was open and clearly Sherlock was not in there. That, of course, left her father's ro-

no...

her room.

Dim light could be seen from the crack in the slightly ajar door, and Molly slowly pushed on the knob. Sherlock lay on the center of her bed staring up at the eggshell white ceiling.

"Your father's house. Now yours." His voice was like liquid molasses, and Molly couldn't help the swooping feeling low in her stomach.

"Pardon?" She hadn't really paid attention so much to the words as to the sound of his voice.

Sherlock sat up a bit until he was leaning on his elbows in order to look directly at her. "This was your father's house, but he's dead now and you've taken it over. Though this wasn't the house you grew up in, because that one was sold off... most likely after you went away to university."

Molly felt her heart constrict and her breath shorten. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes as she tried to maintain her, albeit drunken, dignity in front of this strange man laying on her bed in her father-

No!

Her room!

Sherlock tilted his head at her, and for a fleeting moment Molly wanted nothing more than to smack him. But the moment passed quickly as she took in the way Sherlock seemed to cling to her bed as if centering himself. She frowned at him and took a step closer.

"Are you drunk?" Molly forgot all about his terrible comments of a minute ago as she began to giggle.

Sherlock snorted and laid back down on her bed. "Well I wouldn't be the one to talk as you smell very much like the pub I left earlier."

Molly rolled her eyes and really did make herself dizzy, so she moved closer to the bed until she was able to sit beside the apparently quite drunk man. His breath wafted across her face and she could detect a slight minty smell. "Did you use my mouthwash? Did get sick in my washroom?" She accused.

Sherlock smirked and closed his eyes. "I needed to clear my mind palace, and I failed to calculate the sweet spot for my alcohol intake."

Unable to control herself, Molly giggled at the clearly ridiculous man on her bed. Apparently, her own alcohol intake had finally hit the sweet spot that she had been searching for all night. She giggled again at the thoughts that ran through her head.

"Mind palace?" With the alcohol pumping through her system, Molly threw the concept of personal space out the window and leaned over the prone figure on her bed. She studied his face closely as thoughts seemed to flicker across the contours of his sharp cheekbones and prominent cupid's bow mouth.

"Yes," his voice rumbled, and she could feel it in her chest as close as she was. "It's where I store everything I know." He opened his eyes and seemed unsurprised at her extreme closeness.

"Do you know quite a lot?" Molly whispered as she stared into his beautiful light blue eyes.

"Yes." Sherlock reached up and slipped his large hands into her hair. He stared at her for a few moments before he pulled her down for a kiss. It was tentative at first, but Molly maneuvered herself until she was laid out along his length and their kisses grew more passionate.

As Molly lay on top of a man she barely knew and had only met an hour ago, the rational part of her mind that still managed to make itself known through her drunken haze protested her behavior as very unladylike. The rest of her that wanted to forget the day, and that knew the amount of alcohol she had consumed would allow that to happen, ignored the rational part in favor of drunken sex with a beautiful stranger.

As Molly felt the telltale sign of arousal in the man beneath her, she heard him mumble something she couldn't quite make out. "What?" She questioned between kisses down his long neck.

"I'm deleting this in the morning," he said again as he slowly moved Molly off of him and onto her back.

"Okay, whatever." Molly closed her eyes at the feel of Sherlock awkwardly unbuttoning her shirt.

Molly woke the next day with a headache so intense that she could barely move except to throw up in the wastebasket conveniently located near her bed. She struggled to remember what all happened the previous night at her party as she took in her nude state. She certainly felt like she had had sex, but she couldn't recall which of her friends she could have possibly slept with seeing as they were all in relationships. Deciding that her memory loss was probably for the best, Molly slowly made her way to her washroom to get ready for her day.

Six weeks later Molly had thrown up four days in a row before she admitted that the lack of a period and tender breasts probably warranted a trip to the chemist, even if she was on the pill.

Two days later, after some discrete questioning of a few of her friends, Molly determined that she had not actually slept with any of them, but with a friend that Mark had brought to her party.

Two days after that Mark relayed that the 'friend' was named William 'something or other,' and that he knew him from his days back in secondary school on the academic competition circuit. Mark maintained that he was really more of an acquiantance and didn't know how to contact him, but he directed her to the nearby pub where he had run into him.

Five days later, none of the pub employees could recall the man in question.

Tall, dark haired William was nowhere to be found and Molly had no clue what to do. After a week of contemplation, a week spent staring at her eggshell white ceiling in what used to be her father's room, Molly decided that she was keeping the baby.

It wasn't exactly the best timing, but after feeling so alone following her father's death, the thought of not being alone with a baby all her own made Molly smile. It might have been a little selfish, but Molly knew she would love her child more than anything and that loneliness wasn't the worst reason to have a baby.

Four weeks later, Molly contacted an estate agent and began looking for a place with a second bedroom.

AN2: I just want to make clear that both parties were drunk at the time they engaged in sexual congress, and that given the choice while sober, Molly would have definitely still had sex with Sherlock. Sherlock on the other hand, I'm not so sure, but he was certainly attracted to her, so who knows.

I hope I didn't offend anyone or cause any triggers with this plot device, but it had to occur for the sake of the story. I could have chosen for Sherlock to be sober and for him to just delete the event, but I felt it would be better if both parties were drunk, so not to open that flood gate of a sober person taking advantage of a drunk person.