A/N & Disclaimer. This story, just like the rest of my Sherlollies, is all written early in the morning, which means it's not of fantastic quality. I would put this with the one shots, but I don't think it will be one. This story is unbeta-ed, so any grammatical or spelling errors are solely my fault and I apologise. The idea came from a roleplay I had with a lovely person.

I make no profit from writing these stories, it is simply for my own enjoyment. All belongs to the BBC and its writers.

Sherlock, ive got something to tell yyou. xMolly

What. SH

Mary said I probly shouldn't, but I don't care. xMolly

Are you… drunk? SH

Maybe a little. xMolly

Don't you wanna hear what I have too say? xMolly

Not particularly, but I have a feeling that you're going to tell me anyway. SH

You have got fantastic eyes. xMolly

And a very nice behind. xMolly

You are very drunk, Molly Hooper, and I think you should go to bed before you say something you regret. SH

I'm not sleepy. And I can't go to sleep I'm in a cab. xMolly

Look outside. xMolly

Sherlock glanced outside into the night, which had been covered by a soft blanket of snow. Below his window, a small figure was climbing out. He groaned, just as a persistent knocking came at the front door.

"You shouldn't have come, Molly." He said, after unlocking the door and pulling it open to reveal a wobbly-looking pathologist.

"I came to-" She began, but Sherlock interrupted her.

"Shh, don't wake Mrs Hudson." He told her, assisting her up the narrow flight of stairs to his flat. When they reached it, she lowered herself onto the sofa.

"I came to tell you," Molly started again, her words slurring, "That I like you." She looked pleased. "Lots." She added.

The consulting detective sighed. "You are clearly disgustingly drunk, Molly." He disappeared into the kitchen and returned holding a glass of water. "Drink." He commanded, handing it to her. She took it, grumbling, and he watched as she gulped it down. "Are you hungry?" Sherlock asked when the glass was empty.

Molly shook her head, but Sherlock went into the kitchen and reappeared, moments later, with a plate of toast. "Eat that, and then you're going to bed." He told her. Her eyes narrowed.

"You're not my mother, Sherlock Holmes! You can't just order me around like that." Molly said, sounding annoyed.

"Molly-" Sherlock said, voice low, the same way it was when she talked too much in the lab. She shut up and ate the toast.

"There's a spare toothbrush in the bathroom and you can borrow a shirt to sleep in. It should be big enough to cover what's necessary." Molly blushed. "You're staying here tonight, you can't be out alone in this state. You'll take my bed, of course."

"No, I couldn't possibly impose on you like that, and if I must stay, I'll take the couch." She said, trying not to sound as drunk as she was.

"Don't be ridiculous, Molly. I hardly sleep anyway."

"No, really, it's fine. I'll take the couch, or- or we could share the bed, or..." Molly regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth.

"I really don't think that's a good idea, in light of recent events." Sherlock said, staring very pointedly at something that wasn't her face. "I've got to finish a case anyway, I'd only be disrupting your sleep."

Molly blushed. "I'm sorry. I'll just go- go to bed now, thanks." She slipped off the couch and made her way to the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash off her makeup.

I've ruined everything she thought. He can't even look at me.

When she walked into the dark, plain bedroom with the periodic table hung on the wall, Sherlock was nowhere to be found, but a large t-shirt lay on the neatly made bed.

When Sherlock was sure that Molly was actually asleep, he crept into the bedroom to get a pair of pyjamas. He knew better than to take the ramblings of a drunk seriously, but he couldn't help but hope it was a moment of drunken honesty. Well, the part about her liking him. He couldn't care less about the lovely eyes and a nice behind.