Food all done and set out – check.
Drinks, plenty of drinks and mixers – check.
Glasses, plates and cutlery – check.
Bloody starters!…ok calm down. Order fish and chips and nuke some popcorn….there, done. Starters – check.
Molly was finally satisfied. She hadn't hosted a party in ages and today few of her uni pals were coming over. Her ipod plugged in, and she was ready to roll.
The party was in full swing; drinks were disappearing, parallel conversations were flowing, the sitting area was converted to a temporary dance…nook.
Only Molly's bedroom was out of bounds, she didn't want a repeat of a couple she barely knew going at it full swing on her sheets.
"Molly, Vic is taking ages in the loo and I need to go…like now!"
"Oh, he'll be out soon, Miranda."
"He'll be out only if he'll be out of her soon, they've been in for some time now. Dammit woman, I need your loo!"
Cursing under her breath, Molly unlocked her bedroom and had barely opened it before she was pushed aside and her friend rushed into her ensuite. Same time, she felt her phone buzz in her skirt pocket.
Just as she moved to answer, a blood curling scream sounded from her bathroom, followed by Miranda rushing out, holding unzipped her pants by the waist.
"There's….there's a man….a man with a phone, in your bathtub." She yelled and ran out of her bedroom.
This is attracted everyone's attention, with someone even turning the ipod off and yet another brave soul handing a cricket bat in her hand, asking her to be careful. Like the scream and the silenced music wouldn't have alerted the intruder already.
Having an idea as to who had interrupted her party, Molly walked over to her bathroom and was least surprised to see a pajama clad Sherlock reclining in her bathtub.
"You may want to flush that first," he pointed out with a pained expression on his face. "And I called you to-!"
"Why are you in your pajamas in my bathtub?"
"Why are there people in your house? Where am I supposed to rest after a case? I just solved an eight!"
"Why do I care? Go to Baker Street! And I am having a party here, so get up and leave. And stop scaring my friends."
Making a sad face with puppy eyes, he complained.
"Waterworks department is excavating right outside, I can't rest there and- !"
"No, don't want to listen. Just leave."
Molly just folded her hands and looked at him sternly. He stared back for a few minutes till he finally hoisted himself out of her tub and out of her bathroom.
"Will I have to change in front of you? I am not leaving in my pyjamas!"
Molly huffed and left her bedroom, answering the barrage of questions thrown at her.
"Just a friend from work…don't ask…no he isn't ill…yes we can start the music…he is leaving Miranda, what do you mean why…yes, I flushed… not that, that's my coat… yes I will heat the food now …I know you are hungry Vic, gimme a minute…yes Cass, I have your salad…"
And the party resumed. So much for friendly concern, Molly muttered, checking up the booze stocks and heating the food in her kitchen.
She realized after sometime that conversation in her living room had gotten muted and there was a different buzz instead.
Wondering what was happening, she was stopped short by the sight in front of her eyes.
Sherlock, dressed in designer fitted jeans and T-shirt, with a leather jacket and perfectly mussed up hair, looking more gorgeous than ever, was dancing slowly with her friends, somehow lending a veryintimate air to the atmosphere. He gestured at the others to join him, which they did without much ado. Food and Molly forgotten, her uni pals were more interested in interacting and dancing with the new consulting hotshot.
"Oh, good job Molly, making him join in. The f-u-n in this party just arrived. God, he is so hot, I am sweating. You never told us Sherlock Holmes was so much fun!" Somehow her friend had forgiven the man for giving her the scare of her life and was busy drooling over him instead.
Sherlock totally ignored her and interacted with her friends as if they had known each other for ages. Molly could not help feel irritated at him taking over the soiree so effortlessly.
Knowing that the food was forgotten, she was switching off her microwave when she heard shouts of approval and commotion coming from her living room.
Her friends were leaving…or rather were being led by a still grooving detective out of her flat.
"Hey Mols, we're going dancing to the club, come join us. Sherlock's getting us free entry!" They couldn't leave fast enough, laughing excitedly and tripping over each other to get to the door.
She fumed at her traitorous friends and the conniving, charming consulting detective. After trying to convince her to join them and then pretending to be reluctant to leave, all her friends finally left.
Looking at her messy home, she was suddenly relived that they had left before creating more of a mess.
Good riddance! Traitors!
And Sherlock! She would get back at him, she had no idea how but she would.
It was redemption of a very high level when a few days later, Sherlock returned home to see half the Met, the Watsons and even a few of his homeless network having a party at Baker Street, with music blaring and food and drinks already laid out.
"Nice gig Sherlock, we should do this more often," a grinning Anderson gushed on and on, ignoring Sherlock's horrified expression.
And to top it, his parents were attending too, dancing to swinging music. And with Mummy watching him with a hawk eye, there was no escape route; he would never hear the end of it if he wasn't the perfect host. No boy of her was going to turn his back or be rude to his guests in her presence, there were some rules that even he didn't dare overstep.
Mycroft! He knew his brother was involved, this wouldn't have occurred without his inputs, though the absence of a certain pathologist also didn't go unnoticed.
As he lay in bed later that night, patience almost worn out and socializing quota for the next decade used up, he actually smirked and muttered, "Well played Molly...but the game is on!"