I find the two scenes with Sebastian and Sherlock in The Blind Banker very interesting subtext wise, in particular Sherlock's reaction to Sebastian's claim that "We all hated him" at uni and also his face when Sebastian is all harsh to him in the bathroom *ooh that gives me an idea for a later chapter...*

The basics of this story are:

Sherlock, Sebastian and Molly are all at Cambridge together. Sherlock is studying for a BA in Chemistry, molly for a BA in Human Biology and Sebastian for an MA in Land Economy. Sherlock has feeling towards Sebastian, who is an arrogant sod who, as we will see later, wil do anythign for laugh, especially if its going to put the wind up Sherlock. Molly is hopelessy in love with Sherlock, even back then. We will also see Sally and find out why she hates Sherlock so much, as well as Mycroft being his usual interfering self and Lestrade saving Sherlock's arse.

Christmas Eve 1999

To start this narrative in a manner most poetic and intriguing would be to describe how the hallowed halls of Cambridge are void of life on this night. The only sounds the whispering of the wind outside and the ticking of one of the majestic grandfather clocks. This however would be a lie. 11:30 pm on the 24th December 1999. Outside, the screams and shouts of drunken party goers penetrate the snow filled air. Alcohol pulses though the veins of the city like its life's blood, hypnotising the senses and swaying the morals.

In one of the student halls however, a solitary room is filled not by a drunken haze and heavy thumping bass. Instead, the mellowful tones of a lone violin, the player strumming out an almost violent improvised melody. He stops playing abruptly at the sound of a knock at the door.

"Come in" murmurs the young student, setting the Stradivarius back in its case, running his slender fingers over the smooth maple.

The doors open and Molly Hooper skips in holding a small handmade box and sits on the edge of the bed.

"You aren't coming to any of the parties, Sherlock? Her voice is clear – untainted by alcohol. Sherlock Holes shakes his head, sitting down next to her with his legs crossed.

"Has hell frozen over?"

Molly shook her head ruefully.

"Then I'm afraid not. Not exactly my type of party" He smirked.

"Well I am sorry Sherlock. I'm sure you'd much rather be at good old Chez Holmes having Christmas with you parents…and your brother"

Sherlock flung himself sideways off the bed clutching his stomach in a dramatic manner.

"Oh god no! Anything but that. Please spare me the horror – the unending horror of Christmas with my family" As he rolled around feigning a dying man he grabbed hold of Molly's arm and pulled her off the bed. She tumbled down onto him lying face down, her face only centimetres from his. The two of them stared at each other for a moment, before Molly, blushing, jumped back to her feet rearranging her fluffy pink jumper. Sherlock still grinning sat back up straight but remained on the deep blue rug.

"Have you thought any more about what I proposed last night?" he asked quietly.

Molly looked crestfallen.

"I – I can't Sherlock. You know I just can't."

"Please Molly. You know that I trust you above everyone else. And you are the only one at Cambridge I'm close to. The person I've ever been closest to…" There was no response.

"Molly, I'm begging you to reconsider."

"Sherlock," Molly folded her arms defiantly. "Sherlock, I am not helping steal cadavers from the morgue."

"It wouldn't be stealing! You are a biology student! They would let you take them"

"Only in class and only occasionally – I can't just sneak in and take a few random body parts." She tried to keep a straight face, but her eyes were dancing with amusement.

A clock somewhere struck midnight. Christmas day. Molly sank to her knees next to Sherlock.

"Chirstmas day." She whispered.

Sherlock nodded grimly.

"And your birthday." She continued

Sherlock groaned. "Another year of hell over and done with."

She nodded and took the small box off the bed and removed the lid. Nestled inside amongst green and red shredded crepe paper was a cupcake decorated to look like a Christmas pudding, with a solitary candle on top.

"Happy birthday, Sherlock" She said, almost as a whisper. She took a ligther from her pocket and lit the candle.

"Blow it out and make a wish" She said.

Sherlock smirked. "Really Molly? Am I not too old for these childish games?" Nevertheless, he closed his eyes and blew out the candle, before opening them again and looking her straight in the eyes.

"Happy now?" he said.

Neither of them were entirely sure what happened next, but suddenly Molly had pushed Sherlock backwards and was passionately kissing him on the floor. Sherlock, panicking pushed her off him and leapt to his feet, straitening his shirt and brushing himself down. Molly looked mortified.

"You know that wasn't what I wished for?" Sherlock murmured, embarrassed and slightly angry.

Molly could hardly speak. "Sherlock I – I'm so sorry-"

"Just get out" Sherlock flung the door open and stood there, not looking at her, waiting for her to leave. Molly obliged, her eyes stinging with tears and running down the corridor, hearing the door slam behind her. Why must she let her feelings rule her actions so much? She never meant for that to happen. It was just asking for deeper heartbreak.

Outside, she wrapped her jumper around her against the cold night air and wishing she had a scarf to further keep the chill out. As she got to the centre of the courtyard, she passed Sebastian Wilkes, who was staggering slightly as he made his way back to his dorm. He nodded at her.

"Merry Christmas" he said happily, his eyes slightly glazed from drink.

"And you!" Molly replied, a little too cheerfully, trying to hide the tears. Of all the people to walk past, it had to be him. Of course she wasn't what Sherlock Holmes had wished for…

Back in his room, Sherlock sat in the windowsill, tears rolling down his chiselled cheekbones, looking out at the courtyard. He could see Molly making her way across, fighting against the snow and wind. Another figure appeared through the flurry of white. It was him. Sherlock turned away, unable to watch any interaction between them. He rummaged around in a draw for a moment before pulling a small bag. He sank to the floor once more, leaning against the wall. He gritted his teeth as he pushing the syringe deep into his veins and distributed the drug into his bloodstream. As the haze descended, he reflected. No-one gets what they wish for.

Hope you enjoyed!

Reviews mean cookies and slash!