A/N: This is written in response to this tumblr prompt:

This one is based on a scene from Friends: Molly is enormously upset, wearing a hideous fluorescent green bridesmaids sari with gold sequins, for Meena's wedding. She comes out of her bedroom at 221B and to her chagrin, everyone is present to bask in the travesty. Sherlock in particular, can't stop sniggering. Molly shoots a deathly glare at him, smiles sweetly, and mouths, "Not putting out for a week."

I tweaked it a little because (a) I happen to love saris so I decided to still keep 'em gorgeous and (b) I couldn't quite place the phrase intended for Molly, so I didn't use it. Also, I am unfamiliar with that scene from Friends. I still hope I've kept the essence of the prompt and that everyone can find something to enjoy :) x

Unravel

At first, all Sherlock could hear were footsteps. They were nervous footsteps, sounding like Molly was pacing the room. Occasionally, he heard a few thumps, possibly from her bumping into the wardrobe or the back of a chair. Then there were one or two times when he had heard the clattering sounds of things dropping. The first one sounded distinctly like her jewellery box falling from her dressing table and spilling its contents all over the floor.

He was not sure whether or not to intervene. Sherlock had learnt to leave Molly alone when she was flustered. His advice to her at times like these was often poorly timed and therefore poorly received. So he learned swiftly to stay out of her business unless there was a distinct cry for help.

"You sure she's all right?" John asked, sipping tea at the kitchen table. The Watsons had popped by to visit and were all privy to Molly's little emergency. Sherlock was giving them a live feed as to what she was doing, based purely on the sounds coming out from their bedroom.

Thump.

"Well, sounds like she got herself tangled in the pallu again. Most possibly knocked her knee on the edge of our bed."
"Are you not going to ask if she's all right?" asked Mary, who was feeding baby Sophie a bit of porridge, "Or should I go in and check on her?"
"No, no," Sherlock said, raising both hands to tell them to calm down, "She will call for help if she needs it."

Minutes later, it seemed she was indeed calling for help, but not his. She was calling Meena. Sherlock could hear the faint dial tone as Molly dialled Meena's number and put her on speaker. An unwise move, in Sherlock's opinion, considering Meena was probably knee-deep in wedding preparations herself.

"Meena, I love you to death but this sari will be the death of me!" Molly exclaimed as she tried for the umpteenth time to wrap the intricate piece of patterned silk around her body. Molly flung the ends of the pallu clumsily over her shoulder, only to have it slide down, unravelling her eight attempt at the sari.

The bride-to-be, Meena, was on the speaker phone with Molly as she tried to calmly remind her friend of all the tutorials she had given her on how to put the sari on. Molly took a deep breath and did her best to follow Meena's instructions.

"Okay, Molly, sorry, I need to get my makeup done now and I have to get off the phone. If you can't remember what I told you, just google it or something. I'm sorry, love! I've got to go!" came Meena's apologetic voice.

"God…" Molly uttered hopelessly to herself. She swathed herself with the palluand looked at her ridiculous reflection in the mirror. Molly looked like the most ornate mummy anyone had ever seen. The emerald silk with its gold embroidery snaked around her like a python about to choke her. Molly realised just then that she had gotten her skirt tucked the wrong way round and it was just an absolute disaster. It did not help that time was running short and she had a taxi coming within the next half an hour. Perhaps Sherlock could figure it out, Molly thought. After all, Meena had said it was possible to google and he was a smart man. Surely he would get the instructions in a jiffy and save her from looking a right fool.

"Oh no," Molly remembered, "Weren't the Watsons calling in on us this morning?"

It was too late to worry about that now. Molly was going to ask for help and if there was going to be an audience, so be it.

"Sherlock…" she called out as she stepped out of the room and walked towards the sitting room.

When Molly emerged, everyone's heads turned and their eyes widened in both shock and amusement. Molly looked a terrifying mess of green and gold and fabric. They could not make head or tail of her outfit and whatever she had done with her hair had become undone in the process of getting the sari on.

Without thinking, Sherlock opened his mouth to speak.

"You look terrible, Molly," he said, only to regret it the moment he had spoken.

John and Mary now turned to stare at Sherlock, their eyes still wide but with fury this time.

"Nice going, Sherlock, yeah, real nice," Mary said, handing Sophie over to John so that she could get up to Molly.

Molly glared at the man she loved who, at this very moment, was the ultimate perpetrator, and recipient of her silent wrath. She would have her revenge, but not now. Mary shooed Molly back into the bedroom and together with the powers of the internet, got Molly ready in time for the cab to take her to Meena's wedding.

It was close to midnight when Molly returned after a night of wedding revelry. She was exhausted but happy. Meena was a dear friend and it was such a joy to be part of a momentous day with her. When she emerged at the door to their flat, she saw her husband sitting by the fireplace, quietly waiting for her.

"Molly, I—" he said, getting up from his chair.
"Not a word," she said, walking up to him.
"But I need to apol—" he muttered.
"Shh. Not a word, I said." Molly repeated, placing a finger over his lips.

Sherlock surveyed his wife and how beautiful she looked. The emerald green of the silk matched her skin tone and her hair perfectly. The shine of the gold thread highlighted the natural sparkle in her eyes. It was absolutely ravishing. There was something very deceptively sensual about the sari. It seemed to conceal everything and yet, hinted at the sculpture beneath it, subtly accentuating everything about Molly that was beautiful. In his attempt to carve out his apology, Sherlock had ended up researching everything there was to know about the sari and the multitudes of ways it could be worn. As he studied the mechanics behind Molly's sari and the drapery methods she had chosen to employ, the corners of his mouth could not help but lift as his mind spun.

Molly could see the cogs of his mind spinning and from the look on his face, she knew exactly what he was thinking. They were a married couple after all and if anything, Molly was a lot more astute than he was when it came to reading humans.

"So, have you figured it out yet?" she whispered to Sherlock, giving him a gentle kiss on the side of his neck. That was his tender spot and also where his jugular was. It seemed a good place for punishment.
"Of course I have," he answered, blinking from the sensation that ran down his spine as she continued to kiss him.
"And what are you going to do about it?" she asked, wrapping her arms around him and leaving more kisses along his jawline.
"Well, if I've deduced the right method of drapery," he began, a slight cheekiness in his voice, "Then the unravelling should not be difficult.

He slid his arms around her waist, enjoying the way her body contoured nicely against his. Though it looked like there were a hundred layers of fabric swirling around Molly, they were all very light and he could feel every line and curve of her body as he held her to him.

"Do you like me in a sari?" she whispered, before kissing him below the ear.
"I do, very much," he answered, sneaking his hands beneath the fabric where the skin of Molly's waist was hiding.
"It shouldn't take too long to unravel me then." she said, "Would you like to?"
"I most certainly would," he answered, his hands sneaking under more of the fabric.
"Well, in that case…" Molly whispered, biting her lip.

She snapped herself out of his arms and adjusted her sari where he had been fiddling with it. With a devious smile on her face, she began walking back to their bedroom. When she reached the door, she turned to see Sherlock, rooted to the spot in their living room. His expression made her laugh. There was such a crestfallen look in his eyes, a look of recognition that he was about to be very, very miserable.

"I'd better learn to unravel it myself," Molly exclaimed with a laugh, "Don't want to be looking terrible again."

With that, she let out another evil chuckle and entered their bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

It was only a week later that Sherlock was finally allowed to 'unravel' his wife. It was a painful lesson in learning to watch his mouth, but Molly was kind to her husband. In the week that followed, she agreed to let him hide all her clothes as she joined him in wearing only bedsheets while they traipsed around their home 221B with not a care in the world.

END