It was late on a Thursday night in the morgue, and Molly, exhausted from an extended shift, was putting away her belongings to go home when she heard the door open. To her surprise, Sherlock stumbled in, eyes drooping and mouth slightly open.

"Sherlock," Molly said, clearly confused, "what are you doing here?"

"Molly," the detective replied, his speech slurred, "I have to kiss you."

"W-what? What are you talking about?" She paused. "I'm almost done with my shift. I'll drive you home in a few minutes."

"Shhhhhhh, Molly…" by this point he had walked up to her and stopped her talking by putting his finger on her lips. "This needs to be done."

She pushed his hand away from her face. "What? Why?"

"Because John's mad at me."

"John's mad at you, so the only solution is to kiss me?"

"Precisely my point," Sherlock responded, popping the p's as he talked. "For someone who's not me, you picked that up surprisingly quickly."

Molly started saying, "Sherlock, I'm taking you home right now," but before she could finish, Sherlock took another step toward her and put his lips on hers.

At first she kissed back. She had always really liked him and just couldn't resist. Her initial thought was that he was really good at it, especially considering that he was drunk and hadn't kissed anyone in at least several years, if ever. Her second thought was less positive.

True, she had feelings for him, but she was engaged to someone else, and even if the feelings were reciprocated, it couldn't happen like this. She certainly enjoyed it, but it would have to stop.

She pushed Sherlock away.

"Sherlock, you reek of alcohol. I'm driving you home right now."

"But it didn't work."

"What didn't work?"

"I was upset because John's mad at me, so I had scotch because people say it makes them feel better, but it wasn't helping. Then I remembered that John was always happy after coming home from a date, especially if the date included kissing, so I decided to kiss the only female besides Mrs. Hudson that I don't despise."

Molly didn't know how to respond to this at first, so after a moment she tentatively said, "Even not Irene Adler?"

"Especially not Irene Adler."

Molly grabbed his arm and started walking toward the door to take him home, but he wouldn't budge.

"I told you," he said, rolling his eyes, "it didn't work. I still don't feel better. We have to do it again."

"No. I'm taking you home." Her voice was stern, which surprised and bothered drunk Sherlock a great deal more than sober Sherlock would even care.

"You're supposed to be working."

"My shift just ended."

"You can stay here."

"No—"

Once again, Molly's voice was cut off with a kiss. She pushed him off much quicker this time, trying to make her point that she didn't want him to kiss her.

"I'm taking you home. Now."

Around eight the next morning, Molly stopped into 221B to check on Sherlock. She brought him a hot cup of tea, a few freshly homemade biscuits, and an over-the-counter hangover remedy. She found him in the bathroom, vomiting in the toilet.

"How are you feeling?" she asked. "I brought you some tea and biscuits. They're in the kitchen." She handed him the hangover remedy. "I also got this. I thought it might help."

He looked at the label. Once he realized what it was, he asked, "What did I do last night?"

She tried to hide her smile. "What do you remember?"

"I started to consume alcohol at a bar, and the rest of the evening was black."

"You visited me in the morgue, and I drove you home."

He paused for a moment. "I may regret saying this, but I noticed that I was wearing lipstick when I woke up. Do you know where that came from?"

This time Molly couldn't contain her smile. She considered telling him the truth but decided against it. "You… must've gotten into my purse when I was driving you home."

He looked up and got his first clear view of her face since she got there. "You're smiling. Why are you smiling?"

"Oh, no reason," she said, her smile just getting bigger. "I might tell you eventually." She glanced at her watch. "Oh, I should get going now. I don't want to be late for work."

She started walking out, but Sherlock's voice stopped her. "Thank you. It was nice."

She turned around and smiled at him. "Yeah… sure."

Sherlock coughed and leaned over the toilet as he regurgitated once again.

Then Molly walked out of the flat, grinning largely, determined to never tell him about her little secret.