Sherlock paced around 221B, trying to think of something to do. It was getting late but his mind was racing and he couldn't get it to calm down. He hadn't been on an interesting case in a full week. The best he had was a 5 on his scale, a 7 on John's, but it just wasn't good enough. He spent the day wandering around the city, looking for something unusual to happen but nothing turned up. So, he went over to St. Bard's in the late afternoon to see if Molly had anything for him. He barged into the lab and made her jump from where she was sitting behind a microscope.

"Jesus, Sherlock," she muttered before turning back to examine whatever she had in a petri dish next to her. Sherlock frowned. Usually she would be up and greeting him, asking if he needed anything or what case he was working on. He deducted that she was still mad at him for his little drug run in, although he wasn't really sure why. He knew she cared for him, but it shouldn't have been enough for her to be so upset. And Sherlock didn't like being in a position where Molly was upset with him.

"Molly," he said as he went and sat on the other side of the lab desk, trying to get her attention. She had the lights turned down and papers and tools scattered everywhere. He could tell that she had been working hard all day. She just continued to stare at the pools of liquid lying around her. Sherlock sat there, utterly perplexed by her lack of attention towards him. He could figure out any lock or passcode in the world, he could take one look at a person and tell their whole life story, but lately he was having trouble with the mystery that was Molly Hooper.

He tapped his fingers on the desk impatiently and could begin to see the irritation in the crinkles on Molly's forehead from above the microscope. He sighed loudly, getting up now and pacing the room. She let him suffer for a few minutes before sitting up and snapping off her gloves. "What, Sherlock?" she sighed. He stopped pacing and turned to her.

"I am impossibly bored," he said while crossing his arms and pouting a bit.

"What do you want me to do?" She was now cleaning up the desk, dumping samples back into containers and putting the cover on the microscope. She had yet to look at Sherlock in the eye and he was becoming increasingly irritated. He went back over to sit on the stool.

"Surely you have something interesting here. I can't imagine you sat around here all day looking into petri dishes. Even someone like you can at least be a little bit intriguing." He regretted the phrasing as soon as it left his mouth, knowing that it was a tad insulting. She finally looked at him, but instead of the look of adoration that he usually got, he received a glare. "I'm sorry," he relented. "I didn't mean it like that, Molly. I find you very intriguing. Which is why I came here." He blushed at his own statement, realizing that he held a trace of sentimentality, but her eyes softened and she sat down across from him.

"Well I can't help you today," she said, now looking in his eyes, at least being able to stand his presence. "I have a date." He immediately looked down and Molly wondered if she was deciphering his expression correctly. It looked like one of disappointment although she could hardly tell why. She thought that he would be happy whenever she had a date or a new boyfriend. It would mean that little lovesick Molly, with the close-to-celebrity crush on the infamous consulting detective, would be out of his hair for a while. But, no, she decided. He definitely looked disappointed. "What?" she questioned. "Honestly, Sherlock. I figured you would deduce that."

"I wasn't paying attention," he shrugged. Molly looked up at him with a face of pure shock. Sherlock Holmes? Not paying attention? There had to be something wrong. But there wasn't. Sure, there was something up with him, but it wasn't wrong. Because for the first time in his life Sherlock Holmes was actually feeling something for a woman. Yes, there had been Irene and Janine. But it was different with Molly. He actually liked her. He was infatuated by Irene and able to easily use Janine. But, when it came to Molly, the feelings were something else entirely. Sometimes he would be out on a case when thoughts of her popped into his mind palace out of the blue. He would try to suppress them, try to lock them away, but it never seemed to work with her. She was the one thing that he couldn't break down enough to store easily. Of course, he had a room for her. It was filled with the fact that she made perfect coffee, the way she looked at Sherlock when he was deducing, how she slapped him when she got angry, the crinkle between her brows when she was concentrating hard, the way she smelled, the way she felt when he would accidently brush up against her, the fact that Sherlock loved… He shook his head, trying desperately to shut the door. But no matter how hard he pushed, it would always find its way open.

And for Molly, she would always love him. No matter how many people she tried to go out with to forget about him, no matter how many times he insulted her, he would always be the one that her heart belonged to. It was something about the way he cared for his very best friend, his brother, or his landlady. It was how intelligent he was, for she had always been attracted to intelligence. Or maybe it was the way that he looked at her, like he was truly sorry, after he said something hurtful. She didn't see him use that look with anyone else, only her. And it made her wonder what was going on in that vast expanse of his mind.

They were sitting across from each other, stuck in their own heads, until Sherlock spoke up. "Can't you cancel? I need something to do." Molly almost felt a little bit bad for him. She knew that he had been lonely ever since John got married and moved out, but she had to quit giving in to him. Otherwise he would always just use her.

"Oh, c'mon, Molly," he stated now. "When I came in here your stuff was scattered everywhere meaning that you were working hard all day, with no thoughts of this date running through your head. You haven't left yet and it's getting close to dinner time which means that your leaving straight from here but your hair is a mess and your finger nail polish is chipped and drawn on hastily and you didn't spend as much time on your make up this morning as you usually do which means that you don't actually want to go on this date but you feel obligated to because…" He cut off, not sure why Molly was actually going on a date when she clearly didn't really care about it.

"Because it's Valentine's Day, Sherlock," she finished for him. "And as ridiculous and idiotic as you would find it I'd rather not be alone." She stood up and started to gather up her things so she could get ready.

"It's Valentine's Day?" he asked confused. The day had completely slipped his mind. It was probably why John wasn't answering any of his texts. He was too busy with Mary.

"Yes," said Molly as she started toward the door. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go get ready." Sherlock nodded and she walked out.

Now here he was back at the flat, still pacing and desperately wracking his brain for things to do. Molly was probably out being romanced by some idiotic bloke who would never appreciate her and he was stuck in his flat, by himself, once again. If he would have remembered that it was Valentine's Day he might have gotten the courage to ask her out himself. But then again, why bother? Feelings messed everything up anyhow. He was just thinking about how he was going to finally start to forget about Molly when there was a knock at the door. "Who is it?" he called as he sat down on the couch, his hands on his temples. It was probably Mrs. Hudson wanting to wish him a happy Valentine's Day. She had always been one for sentimentality.

"It's Molly," said a voice from the other side of the door. He shot upright wondering what on Earth could be bringing her to his flat on Valentine's Day when she was supposed to be out with someone else. This wasn't right. This wasn't supposed to happen. He felt himself growing nervous. "Sherlock?" she questioned. He realized he hadn't even let her in yet. He walked over, taking a breath before opening the door. She stood there, looking absolutely beautiful in a red dress, her hair braided to the side. But she also looked a little tired and sad. He immediately felt an ache in his stomach for her but stopped it, remembering that he was trying to suppress all of those feelings and thoughts for Molly. But having her in front of him didn't make it very successful.

"Hello," he said and motioned for her to come in. "I thought you had a date."

"I did," she started, fumbling with her hands. "Well I was supposed to. I thought… I was… He stood me up," she spit out finally. Anger overtook Sherlock for whoever this man was. He knew he wouldn't be good enough for her. "Are you still impossibly bored?" she asked him, and Sherlock smiled at bit, realizing that she had come at just the perfect time.

"Are you hungry?" he asked her, and her eyes lit up. "We could share a meal, although I'm sure everything is filled up by now."

"Yeah. But I'm always up for some Chinese."

And that was how Sherlock came to be walking down Baker Street, on his way back to 221B, carrying a bag of Chinese food and a bottle of wine. When he walked into his flat, Molly was sitting on his couch in a pair of his pajama pants and a tee shirt that he lent her. They were baggy on her small frame, but he still thought she looked beautiful, no longer caring about pushing his feelings down. She was flipping through channels on his telly and when he set the food down on the coffee table, she looked up and smiled at him.

Ten minutes later, Sherlock was on the couch beside her, in his own set of pajamas. They both held take out boxes, glasses of wine sitting on the coffee table in front of them, and they argued over who the killer was in a murder mystery movie that Molly had found. "It's definitely the son," said Sherlock before taking a bite of his noodles, suddenly not bored in the very least.

"There's no way that it's the son," Molly laughed. The wine had set them both at ease, calming their nerves and allowing them to just sit and enjoy each other's company. They had never really been together outside of work but it was something that Sherlock thought he could get used to. He was surprised that he could be doing this right now, watching a movie and chatting with Molly, while not wanting to run off and do something. His mind was completely calm for the first time in a while.

"It is the son. His alibi had no real basis whatsoever and he's been acting… sketchy," said Sherlock.

"Did Sherlock Holmes just use the word sketchy?" They both laughed, looking at each other. "I say it's the mother."

"And why do you say that?" He asked as he set his container down on the table and she mimicked him. They both fell back comfortably on the couch, their shoulders almost touching.

"I just do. Does their always have to be some long explanation of deductions?" she asked, smiling at him and he returned the look. She still looked a little bit sad despite her few smiles and bouts of laughter.

"No," he replied. "But I have made a deduction about that date of yours tonight."

"What?"

"He is a complete and utter idiot for standing you up, Molly Hooper." She grinned at him and scooted a little bit closer. "You know, Valentine's Day has its origins with being alone. There was an Emperor, Claudius the Second, who outlawed getting married because he thought that men would make better soldiers if they didn't have families. Valentine was a priest at the time and he thought that this command was wrong. So instead of following the Emperor's wishes, he married young couples in secret. He had always believed in love."

"Why didn't you delete that?" she asked curiously. She didn't think that the history of Valentine's Day would ever be of use to him.

"I just thought it was a good story," he replied simply, a blush creeping up his neck and into his cheeks.

"You know, you can actually be sweet sometimes, Sherlock. You better watch out or people might think you have real emotions." He smirked at her and reached over to grab her hand. They touched but he immediately retreated, suddenly embarrassed at the gesture. As the night went on, he could feel himself giving in even more to that nagging feeling of liking- no loving- Molly. And after all, she was just stood up. He imagined that she didn't want anything to do with men right now. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"It's okay," she replied and reached over to intertwine her fingers with his.

They watched the rest of the movie in silence. Molly had been right; the mother was the killer. Sherlock looked over to tell her that she won to find her asleep on his shoulder. Not wanting to disturb her, he slowly reached behind the couch and pulled a blanket over the two of them. He turned off the telly and reached over to turn off the light. He untangled his fingers from Molly's and slid his arm behind her back, pulling her closer to him. He felt sleep begin to pull him away as he whispered "Happy Valentine's Day, Molly." He took the moment and stored it in her room in his mind palace, not bothering to even try to close the door.

The next day as the two of them sat down for breakfast and Sherlock shared the news that she was right about the movie, John walked in looking a little bit shocked that Molly was sitting there in Sherlock's pajamas.

"Hello, John," said Sherlock.

"Hi, John," echoed Molly as she blew on a cup of tea. John stood there in the doorway, unable to even speak. The last thing he expected when he came over that morning was to find Sherlock and Molly casually eating breakfast after they had obviously spent the night together.

"I…uh…" he tried but nothing came out.

"John, I thought I taught you to use your words," said Sherlock, giving John a small smile. Molly suddenly stood up, seeming to catch on to what was going through John's head.

"I'm going to go change. I have to get to work soon." She got up and walked out of the kitchen, Sherlock's eyes following her.

"So, Sherlock?" John asked now, sitting down at the small kitchen table. "Did you have a nice Valentine's Day?"

"It started out bad," said Sherlock, now getting a hint of a smile. "But it ended pretty well."

"I can see that," said John now. "Did you and Molly uh…" he trailed off, not even sure of what he was asking.

"We had dinner and watched a movie. It was surprisingly not boring in any way." Molly walked out now, dressed in the clothes she had on yesterday.

"I have to go but maybe I'll see you later?" she questioned Sherlock and he nodded. He stood up and tentatively gave her a hug. "Bye."

"Bye," he said and went over to open the door for her, and walked back into the kitchen, happier than he had been in a long time. "Was that right, John?" he asked, sitting back down at the table.

"Was what right?"

"She was stood up by some idiot. So I got Chinese and a movie and made her breakfast and held her hand and let her sleep on my shoulder. I obviously don't know how to comfort people, so was that right?"

John smiled at his best friend, knowing that he had just taken a major step forward when it came to his relationships. "Well, Sherlock, you obviously do know how to comfort people because that was perfect." Sherlock's phone dinged and he looked down, smiling at the screen. "Is that Molly?" He nodded and opened the text.

Thank you for a great Valentine's Day. Come down to the lab if you get bored again.

I'll be there in an hour –SH

And with that Sherlock found his best case yet, the ultimate ten on his scale. The case of Molly Hooper.