A/N: This takes place probably a bit before Christmas in HLV.
Sarah, you've asked for a "drug-confrontation". There you go... ;-)

A HUGE thanks to my beta Pipsis, who was a tremendous help. You rock!

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. No copyright infringement intended. I do not make any money of this (unfortunately). All rights belong to their respective owners. Bla, bla, vampire emergency, bla...

Love dares you to care for the people on the edge of the night. – Under Pressure, Queen

"You look ravishing tonight, Dr Hooper."
Molly turned around to the well known deep voice behind her.
"If I may say so," the man added at seeing the pathologist's somewhat uncomfortable expression. When she remained silent, he took a step towards her, invading her personal space, like he often did. Molly looked up at him – as he was considerably taller than her – contemplating if she should take a step back or not. He was so close… He leaned down and the petite woman stopped breathing. He whispered into her ear, "Have I ever told you that you are my favourite pathologist?"
It was his hot breath against her cheek that made Molly finally take a step back to put some distance between them and with a stern expression she demanded to know, "Are you drunk?"
He stood up tall again and answered with mock irritation, "No! What an insulting assumption! And that's just because I paid you a compliment?"
The pathologist took another step back and sighed annoyed, "No, it's because you are drunk. I can smell the alcohol and you are slightly staggering."
He tried to put on a – what he thought to be – enticing expression. "And you find me even more irresistible when I'm inhibited."
Molly arched an eyebrow at him. "Oh, is that so? And how did you deduce that?"
Suddenly he looked confused. "How did I what?"
Molly sighed again and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I think it would be better if you'd take a cab and go home, Dave."
From day one the tall surgeon had told her to call him by his first name. So far she had refused to grant him the same privilege. Generally she was on a first-name-basis with all her colleagues, but something within her rebelled against the thought of hearing Dr David Foster call her by her first name. She had not liked him from the start. In her opinion he was a sleazy guy who tried to get every woman into bed. And the way he behaved right now only confirmed it.
Dave looked affronted by her suggestion, "Going home, now? The party has just started, and...," again he advanced towards her and tried to sound seductive, "… it is better to enjoy and to regret, than to regret that one did not enjoy!."

Molly could not believe his nerve. She was pretty sure she would not enjoy anything with him. She knew why she had not wanted to come here in the first place. But she had refused the previous years, so Mike Stamford more or less forced her to come. Additionally when she had agreed to come to the annual St Bartholomew's fundraiser, she had still been engaged and been looking forward to a night in a nice dress and some dancing with her fiancé in a tux. Now she looked good with her light make-up, her hair cascading over her shoulders in soft curls and a really nice gown she had bought on a whim three years ago, but had never had an occasion to wear it. It was a long gown in salmon with a flaring skirt and an off-the-shoulder neckline. The top was a bodice with an overlay of crystal sprinkled lace and flowers.
And now she was here alone – that was the price of not being engaged anymore. In a moment of weakness she had considered asking Greg Lestrade if he would accompany her, but she had dismissed the thought immediately. She did not want Greg to get the wrong impression, or even raise any false hope. She knew all too well how it felt when someone was using your feelings for him to get what he wanted. Thus she was standing alone by the bar with a glass of champagne in her hand and had to endure the advances of Dr Womanizer. He was still looking at her expectantly and she desperately tried to think of something to say to put him into his place without being too rude, when her phone went off, signalling an incoming text. She could hardly repress a sigh of relieve when she started to retrieve her mobile from her clutch. Whoever had given her an excuse to turn away from Dave was a saint. She would kiss them as soon as this was over.
Molly opened her inbox and mentally revered her previous thoughts. Not a saint and definitely no kiss.

Come to Baker Street immediately. SH

Molly rolled her eyes. Her phone made a noise again.

Now. SH

"Charming as usual," she thought and clutched her phone tighter in her hand. She had wished for an excuse to leave the fundraiser, but this...
"Be careful what you wish for," she mumbled.
"It is him, isn't it?" Dave's loathing voice reminded her that he was still standing beside her.
She saw no reason to lie to him, "Yes."
The surgeon huffed in annoyance, "I don't understand how you can get along with him. He's such an arsehole."
Her loyalty to Sherlock made her angry and she felt her cheeks getting hot. "You just don't like him, because he made a remark about your 'good relationship' with nurse Nancy while your girlfriend was present."
"Ex-girlfriend," he growled.
Molly shrugged in a see-that's-what-I-am-talking-about-kind of way.
Her phone indicated a new text.

I am waiting. SH

Dave nodded towards the device in her hand. "What does he want?"
"None of your business," Molly snapped and he looked a little taken aback by the sharpness in her tone. But he recovered quickly and was back in Casanova-mode. "Oh, the kitten has claws, who would have thought? Interesting..."
Molly made a disgusted face and looked at the new message.

Molly? SH

The pathologist was in a dilemma: She had the choice between a sleazy, drunk colleague who probably would not let her be until she'd slapped him, or an annoying consulting detective who probably only needed her to hand him a lighter so he could turn on the Bunsen burner. She massaged her temple. A decision between a rock and a hard place...
Suddenly she could feel Dave's hand on her right arm and a shiver of disgust ran through her. Decision made. She stepped away from her colleague and said with a strong voice, "Goodnight Dave. Don't forget to regret."
He stared dumbfounded after her as she made her way to the cloakroom. While walking she texted back.

On my way. MH

The reply came a second later.

Took you long enough. SH

For the thousandth time Molly Hooper asked herself why she always gave in and let him do this to her.

A/N:
Under Pressure: Writer(s): Mario Johnson, Freddie Mercury, John Deacon, Brian May, David Bowie, Roger Taylor, Robert van Winkle, Floyd Brown Copyright: Aftershock Music, Emi Music Publishing Ltd., Ice Baby Music, Queen Music Limited, Tintoretto Music, Qpm Music Inc.,

"It is better to enjoy and to regret, than to regret that one did not enjoy!" is a quote from Giovanni Boccaccio's Il Decamerone – I found a few different translations of it in English (since I only know the quote in Italian and German) and just decided to pick the one I liked best ;-)