Molly squinted at the screen of her phone as she placed her suitcase down on the floor. It was the only thing lighting the room, meaning that no one that lived in 221B was there.
When are you coming home? He is driving us MAD. – Mary x
When Molly glanced down at the screen again, she smiled at first, knowing who the text was about, and then let out a groan as she knew they were probably ready to kill him. She had received the text two hours ago, but had not noticed it until now. She had been away at a pathology conference for the past four days.
Molly dialled her best friend's number and it was answered after only a few rings.
"Molly?" was Mary's greeting, but she could hear the small giggle and the noise of others in the background.
"Ta, it's me; I'm home," Molly replied with a slight pause. "Is everything alright?"
"Oh, yeah… everything is much better now," Mary replied smugly. She knew by the tone of her friend that she had been up to something. "You should come join us."
"Yeah, sure, is… do I hear Sherlock with you guys?" At a pub? Molly questioned to herself; he must've been severely bored. That must have meant that Sherlock was interrupting another date of John's. Of course, he could not 'ruin' anything since the couple were married, but that did not make Sherlock any less irritating.
"Yeah," she answered with a light chuckle, "but he is a bit… incapacitated."
"Oh god," Molly countered, but could not help letting out a laugh. "I'll be there soon."
When Molly got to the pub, she saw John and Mary at one table, chatting amongst themselves with an occasional glance in Sherlock's direction. Sherlock, at his own table, was talking – to whom, she didn't know.
Before she went over to Sherlock, she approached the couple and gave them a look. "What did you do to my boyfriend?" she asked, trying to conceal a smile at the man ridiculously talking to himself just a few feet away.
"We told him he had to drink if he'd like to stay with us," John said proudly, amusement spread across his features.
"I suppose he gets what he deserves then."
She walked over to Sherlock and leaned down so she was almost level to him. She cupped his chin and turned his head towards her; his eyes closed and he fell silent. He knew the familiar touch, but had not yet made the connection in his muddled thoughts. "Had a bit, then?" Molly asked playfully as she looked over her drunken detective.
"You walked away while I was explaining the significance of the different types of tobacco ash," he said, a slight pout in his voice.
"That was John and Mary," she corrected him, shaking her head a bit as she tried not to laugh. She had only seen him drink a few times, but never enough to alter his state.
"Oh," he said, closing his eyes again, trying to clear his vision. When they opened, he was smiling at her. "You're home," he said smugly as he leaned in for a kiss.
"Your deduction skills are sharp today, Mr Holmes."
When he pulled away, he grabbed the chair closest to him and moved it over so it was barely an inch from his. He then tugged Molly down onto it, pushing a loose lock of hair behind her ear.
"Don't you want to sit with John and Mary?" she asked, knowing she probably shouldn't have since he had most likely been bothering them since she had left for her conference, but asking nonetheless.
"No," he stated as if it was obvious, "I didn't miss them."
Molly couldn't help but let the smile grow wider. Normally, he was not as vocal about his affections. "I missed you too," she said as she laced her fingers with his, pulling his hand into her lap.
She watched him as he every so often closed his eyes to clear his vision and reopened them again. And… was he swaying in his chair?
When he heard Molly giggle, he narrowed his eyes at her. "What?"
"You're drunk," she said, continuing to giggle.
"I'm fine," he said as he picked up his glass with his free hand and took another swig of his whiskey.
When he set it down, he began explaining, again, to her the significance of the different types of tobacco ash. She sat there trying not to smile at him as his words began to slur, and also took opportunity to finish his drink before he had a chance to; she did not like whiskey, but he did not need any more.
When Sherlock almost fell out of his chair, in which he denied ever doing so, she decided that it was probably time to take him home.
Sherlock refused to let Molly help him, and he was doing okay, only stumbling a bit as he walked ahead of her.
"You sure you'll be fine getting him home?" John asked as she was walking past.
"Yeah, I'll be fine!" she said back as she continued on towards Sherlock. "You two have fun, sorry for the interruption!"
By the time they reached the flat, the alcohol had hit him a bit more. She helped him out of the cab, and they started up the stairs.
"I don't need help, Molly," he told her stubbornly, but did not remove his arm from around her shoulder. She had an arm around his waist and held him up as best as she could.
When they got in the door, Molly closed it behind her and looked up at Sherlock. She smiled at him as she gently reached up and loosened the scarf around his neck, pulling it off and hanging it on the coat rack. He watched her quietly as she then slowly began to undo the buttons of his Belstaff.
It was not that he needed any help with getting off his things, they both knew that, but she missed him. She may have only been at her conference for a few days, but she left before Sherlock returned from his latest case; they hadn't seen each other in almost two weeks.
Sherlock began to do the same for her, unbuttoning her jacket after taking off her scarf, fumbling a bit with the buttons. She watched patiently and smiled contentedly.
After hanging up her things, his hand came up to cup her cheek and she closed her eyes as she felt his warm touch. "You're home," he said again, trying not to slur as he affectionately rubbed his thumb over her cheekbone.
"Mmm," she mumbled against him, a smile on her face.
After standing there for a moment, Sherlock fumbled again, falling forward as he pushed Molly against the door.
She gasped for a second in surprise, but then met his eyes and bit down on her bottom lip. "Sherlock, you need-" but her concerned sentence was cut off by a groan when he kissed along her neck.
Molly brought her hands up to his chest, about to gently push him off when he claimed her lips. Her hands stilled as she sank into him. "You should go to bed," she tried to tell him between kisses.
He tasted different than he usually did; this time of whiskey. She had missed him so much, though, that she couldn't help but let herself be a little weak, if only for a few moments. "'m fine," Sherlock tried to confirm to her through kisses in response.
"Did John outsmart you?" Molly challenged deviously to try and change the subject, in hopes that she could lure him into bed so he could rest.
She was correct in her assumptions; there were many things about him that were typical. Sherlock pulled back, his eyes narrowing at her as she began walking towards the bedroom. Sherlock, trying his best to keep his balance, followed her.
"No," he told her, "an experiment."
"Experiment?" she questioned.
"I slipped something into my drink to test its potency against the alcohol. I wanted to see if it dulled or intensified intoxication."
"Sherlock…" she protested, shaking her head. "Are you… is it something dangerous?" her eyes went a bit wide. She should expect something like this from him, but it still bothered her.
"It won't kill me if that's what you're asking," he said with a smirk on his face, moving his lips down to hers again.
Molly did not return the kiss, not as amused as he was by it. He had a pout on his face as he pulled away to look at her. "You are upset."
She sighed as she saw Sherlock's heavy lidded eyes. She didn't say anything, but grabbed his hand and pulled them towards the bed. She just wanted Sherlock to rest, and get whatever he took out of his system. They both laid down without bothering to change into bed clothes.
Molly curled up on her side on the bed and felt Sherlock wrap an arm around her. Her back faced him as he pushed her hair over one shoulder. He found her hand and she willingly held his as he pressed feather light kisses against the back of her neck.
"Margaret Hooper," he whispered her full name sleepily, lips still against her neck. He did not use the name often, but it was always used in the same fashion. It was his way of being gentle, his way of asking her to forgive him.
When she squeezed his hand tight, he nudged his nose against her. "Will you be fine in the morning?" she asked. "It won't do anything to you?"
"It will be out of my system," he murmured, beginning to fall asleep as he spoke. Clearly the alcohol was wearing off, but made him exhausted.
She turned toward him, slipping closer to his chest and further into his arms, laying there contently against a sleeping Sherlock until her own body shut down.
He seemed much more… innocent maybe was the word. He was very affectionate and less self-aware. Of course, she hated that he took something; it was bad enough that his sleeping and eating habits were not healthy.
But she loved him, and she wasn't going to ask him to change. She also did not want to see him hurting himself though. He would feel the same way if she pulled that.
Little did she know that even through his hangover in the morning, Sherlock would still be affectionate with her since he had missed her his two weeks away from her. And no promises made, but he told her that he would try to think more before taking something again.