A/N: Here I go again, writing another WIP (shame on me, I know). If you've watched the film you'll quickly realise that my story's not really going to match for reasons (I didn't have the heart or imagination to make Sherlock happily married to some random person).

So! Full Summary:

Sherlock and Molly meet on a commute to London when he rudely takes the last seat she had meant to occupy. Their independent choice to take the 7.39 every morning has them meeting on a frequent basis, and they come to tolerate each other. They're at different stages in their lives. He's trying to recover his own sense of normalcy after suffering a drug relapse and she's looking forward to a new route in her career and budding life with Tom, her fiancé.

What starts out as friendship of sorts rapidly develops into something more when they find themselves incorporating each other into their lives in more ways than would be deemed appropriate, for either of them.

Enjoy~

The horrid blare of the alarm broke through Molly's wonderful dream. She had been just about to give her acceptance speech for the Nobel Prize in Medicine when the obnoxious lyrics of Heat of the Moment suddenly spurted out of her mouth. With a frustrated groan, she slapped the snooze button before burrowing further into her pillow. If she tried hard enough, perhaps she could recreate the dream. A warm hand slid around her and it took a few moments for it to register that a kiss was being delivered onto her neck.

"'Morning," the voice murmured into her hair.

Molly hummed in response, her eyes still stubbornly shut. She'll be damned if she can't at least get a photo with the Prize. It only felt like a moment, but the blasted song blared once more, indicating that half an hour had in fact passed by. Finally fed up she sat up bolt right and was prepared to give the machine a deadly glare when she took note of the time.

6:54 am.

"Oh my God."

She nearly delivered a smack on to her fiancé in her desperate effort to untangle the sheets from herself.

"It's almost seven. God, Tom why did you let me snooze?"

She didn't wait for a response for she had already slammed the bathroom door and was frantically trying to brush her teeth and scrub her face at the same time. Not effective, she knew but she was all panic at the moment.

"Molly, calm down."

Tom's muffled voice carried through the door. He sounded near. For a split moment, molly felt guilty for waking him up, but that was soon forgotten when she remembered why she was panicking in the first place. Today was her interview at St Bartholomew's Hospital to finalize her MD project proposal. She was almost certain it was a sure thing, but she couldn't get help but get agitated. If she botched this now, she would have wasted months of preparation and set herself at least a year back on her track to get a consultant post. So no, she will bloody well not calm down. She hadn't even heard the bathroom door open when Tom's hands landed softly on her shoulders.

"Calm down," he soothed. "There's no rush."

Molly glared at her him through the mirror, although she probably didn't look very intimidating, what with a toothbrush comically sticking out of her mouth.

"Your train doesn't even leave 'till 7:39 remember? You have plenty of time."

Easy for you to say. You're not the one about to face a critical career crossing. At least that was what she had meant to say; what really came out was a string of muffled noises.

"You've been ready for week and we both know you've got this." When that didn't seem to convince her, he went on. "I swear I've heard you rehearse this enough times for me to take the interview for you. Would you like me to?"

He nudged her playfully as he asked, and Molly couldn't help smiling back at him.

"There we go," he grinned triumphantly as he bent down to give her cheek a kiss. "Now I'm going to go and get the coffee started. You are calmly going to get ready, meet me downstairs to enjoy some jabs over what will probably be my burnt toast, then have me escort your loveliness to the train station. Okay?"

"Okay," Molly mumbled, still trying to sound put out. She was still nervous, but not as wrecked as she had been moments before. She could always count on Tom to cheer her up.

"Sherlock."

He made no move to acknowledge his name, utterly determine to remain in his bed for the rest of the day, week if need be.

"I'm glad that you've remembered how to sleep, I don't think it would be a good idea to sleep through today."

God, he was insistent, Sherlock thought as he pulled the sheets to cover his face. But he knew if he ignored John long enough, would finally leave him alone.

"Sherlock I know you can hear me."

"Okay that's it."

When he heard his receding steps, Sherlock was sure he had won. Smirking, he shifted to face the other side of the bed and was in the process of mentally preparing his next dream when a bucket of ice-cold water was dumped over his head. Sherlock all but forgot to breathe as he spluttered.

"JOHN WHAT THE HELL!"

"Good morning to you too."

John calmly put the bucket down as he watched Sherlock tried to compose himself. Assured that his flat mate wasn't going to die from acute hypothermia, he then walked off to the kitchen pour himself a cup of coffee. Having finally pulled the wet sheets away from himself, Sherlock stomped off to the bathroom for a very hot shower.

Warm, dressed, and properly pissed, Sherlock then stormed into the kitchen to glare at a John who was now calmly reading the newspaper.

"Finally up then?" he asked, eyes still focused on the headlines.

"That was cruel and completely unnecessary."

"Worked though didn't it?"

Sherlock retaliated by noisily clamouring for a mug in the cabinet.

"I'm not going," Sherlock said as poured the black substance into his mug. John was not known for making a good cup and if he could go by the colour it would seem that he may have been trying to brew poison. Challenge accepted, he thought as he took the mug with him and to sit at the small dining table with John.

"Mycroft made it clear that if you don't meet him then he won't let you get back to your consulting work and don't say he won't as he's done a good job blacklisting you from getting cases so far."

When it was clear that Sherlock was going to going to be stubborn about the matter, John finally abandoned the newspaper.

"What, do you want me to take you at gun point?"

"I'd like to see you try."

The vicious look Sherlock received for his retort had him dipping down for an rather large sip of the tar-like coffee. Okay, maybe that hadn't been an empty threat.

"It's either that or you go back to rehab."

Sherlock nearly choked on his gulp. "But I'm clean!"

"Then explain to me why you're not doing everything in your power not to get back to your work."

John was right; he knew that. His most recent relapse had been a great deal more difficult to recover, and it was mainly thanks to John's support that it had only taken him 4 months to recover from it. Although he would never admit it Sherlock marvelled at how he had tolerated him. His relapse had properly burned every other bridge he had managed to build before then. He was almost certain he had disappointed DI Lestrade one too many times to hope to salvage that friendship. In one of those incredibly rare moments where it would seem that John could read him, he said, "Lestrade said to stop by the Yard later on today."

John's knowing smile indicated that he had seen the fleeting look of hope that passed his features, but he would be damned if he couldn't feign indifference.

"The train leaves at 7:39," John said before picking up the paper once more. "Don't be late."

A/N: Sorry I didn't have them meet yet. They're definitely in the next chapter which I'll be posting in an hr or two. Tell me what you think?