Here's oneshot for you! Just a bit of silly fluff (cleansing my palate from the angst fest that is Immaculate Protection). Of course big thanks to MizJoely for her beta work and wonderful support!

I own (still) nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~

Where'd that come from? Sherlock wondered as he watched Molly strain a bit to dig further into the corpse on the slab. She was concentrating so hard that little lines had formed on her forehead and her tongue was sticking out, just a bit. He continued to watch her facial expressions change under the protective plastic shield as he tried to figure out where the hell that word had come from.

After a few more minutes she looked up and spoke. "Here we are. Just as I thought. By the colour of the tissue..." she said, launching into her findings. Sherlock, however, barely listened; he was far too distracted by his previous thought.

How could I possible find Molly Hooper adorable? And, more importantly, since when do I use that word? He dipped into his mind palace to try to find references to it in the past but was quickly pulled out by the pathologist shaking his arm.

"Are you even paying attention to me?" she asked, sounding put out. "I rushed to get this done for you and you're just drifting off."

He panicked for a moment, not remembering what she'd said about the cause of death. "I'll... need a copy of the autopsy report to take to Lestrade."

Molly made a face, a rather ador… NO! She just made a face. "Why? You usually just fly out of the room once I agree with you."

Ah. He'd been right about the poisoning. Of course I was right.

"I won't have the tox screen though, understand," she added. "I can't even speculate on the report."

He still needed more information, presumably the information she'd imparted while he was 'drifting off'. "I'm aware," he said flatly. "The report, Molly. There's a murderer loose." Not really. He was fairly certain the murderer was the man that had been found unconscious at the scene and was now resting comfortably (though restrained) in a bed upstairs. The idiot had slipped on some spilled water on the floor and knocked himself out. God, did I call this a six? It's not even a four. Why did I agree to this one? You got excited at the chance to see Molly! You hadn't been here for three days… sentimental fool! his treacherous brain reminded him. He shook himself.

Molly huffed. "The things I do for you, you insufferable man. Let me put him away and clean up and I can give you a preliminary report. It won't be complete."

He stood there watching and getting more uncomfortable as the minutes dragged on. "Would you... like some coffee?" he asked, just for a reason to leave, now that he had to wait for the report.

She looked up, surprised. "Ah, I'd prefer tea, if you don't mind. Three…"

He interrupted her with the wave of his hand. "I know how you take your tea. I'll be back shortly," he said on his way out the door.

What the hell is going on? He never got distracted like this during a case. Admittedly this case was pathetically easy. He hadn't even needed or wanted, come to think of it, John's help this time. Upon receiving Lestrade's text he had it half figured out, then rushed out the door eager to see Molly and confirm his deduction.

Or eager to solve the case? Eager to see Molly? Now he wasn't quite sure. He continued to contemplate the situation as he made his way to the canteen.

Ten minutes later he was walking into Molly's office, tea in hand. "Here we are," he said as he put the cup on her desk.

"Thanks," she said without looking away from the computer screen. "Why are you being so nice to me, by the way?"

He paused just before taking a sip of his coffee. Am I? he thought. Oh, the tea, my excuse to leave. "I'm not. I wanted coffee and I needed you to finish that report."

"Hmm." She glanced up at him then continued typing furiously.

He began tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair. Molly put up with it for about sixty seconds.

"I'm almost finished. You can stop that at any time," she said, eyes still glued to her computer.

He stood up and tried to pace in the tiny room.

"Seriously Sherlock, I'm shocked that you even took this case. It's almost pathetically easy."

He allowed himself a small smirk since she was still focused on her computer. She's right, of course, he mused. He'd thought the same thing. We think alike… ador… "Bloody hell!"

"All right! Calm down, don't get you knickers in a twist," Molly said getting up to stand by the printer. When it finally spit out the third piece of paper she pulled them out, looked them over and handed them to Sherlock. "So I'll see you on Saturday?"

He was looking at the papers and trying to ignore her. "I suppose. Unless a case comes…"

"No! No cases, Sherlock. Your goddaughter's christening is important."

He gave her his most patronising smile. "If you'd let me finish, I was going to say: unless a case come up between now and then."

"Oh, right. Of course." She looked slightly abashed, her cheeks pinking as she bit her lip.

It was… NO!

He started for the door, then paused. "Thank you for your assistance, Molly."

No cases drew Sherlock to St. Barts, but boredom quickly set in and two days later he found himself walking down the hall in search of his pathologist. He'd been through every conceivable experiment at his flat and was now left bereft of entertainment. Knowing he had cultures he could study in Molly's lab, he decided that was better than earning John's wrath once again for 'pestering' him at the clinic.

As he neared the door to the lab he heard raised voices. Well, one raised voice. He knew that voice. He'd been on the receiving end of that voice. Thankfully, the blinds that covered the window weren't lowered.

Looking in he watched Dr. Molly Hooper (all slightly more than five feet of her) tearing apart some… man. An intern? No. A fellow doctor! Oh, she poked his chest. Sherlock laughed silently as the man backed up and Molly continued to unleash her fury on him. The man then actually put his hands up in defeat, almost protectively, in front of his face. But Molly wasn't finished, she continued to give him hell.

Sherlock had only seen Molly this mad on two other occasions. The first was when she found out that her cousin was skimming money off their elderly gran (she'd discovered it herself, but asked Sherlock for advice in dealing with the swindler). And of course, um… when she'd run his drug test. Though instead of shouting (much) she'd slapped him. OH!

He opened the door and rushed into the lab as Molly spit, "... unprofessional buffoon! I have half a mind to…"

"Molly!" Sherlock said, placing himself between her and the terrified man. "I need your assistance!"

Good God! She was absolutely adorable when she was angry. Nostrils flaring, cheeks not pink but red, she was breathing heavily and her hair had half fallen out of the neat bun atop of her head. He shook himself out of his appraisal of the woman and half turned to the man behind him to say, "Just go, she's distracted!" out of the side of his mouth.

It didn't take the 'unprofessional buffoon' long; he all but sprinted out the door.

Molly, still enraged, let her narrowed eyes follow the man as he left. "What a moron!" She paced away from Sherlock, her hands on her hips.

"What on earth did he do to deserve that?" he asked.

She whipped around. "That was Dr. McNair, our resident gossip!"

Gossip? This could be bad. He had heard more than one rumor involving himself and the woman in front of him. All unfounded, of course, but people just loved to speculate as to the nature of their relationship.

"And what exactly was he gossiping about?"

"What to people around here usually gossip about?" she asked, her arms flailing wildly.

"Ah…" He wondered what it was this time. Perhaps that they'd been secretly married for years. For some reason it was one of his favorites.

"Exactly! Why is my sex life anyone's business but mine?!" She stopped flailing and started pacing.

"Well…"

"I had one lunch with the new endocrinologist and, evidently, we're planning our wedding!"

"What- who?"

"He hasn't even asked me out again. And frankly I doubt he will at this point. He just transferred here, why would he want to be the focus of hospital gossip?!"

"When did…"

"I'm going to get some tea," she said looking up and seemingly coming down from her rage. "You want coffee?"

He nodded a bit dumbstruck as she stormed out of the lab. How did I not know she'd had a date? Molly had so many tells it was almost sad. Even if he'd not been at the hospital the day of the actual date he would have noticed her nervous excitement the days leading up. He always noticed. Hmmm, it must have been when I was in Brussels working for Mycroft. When things go wrong it's generally Mycroft's fault! Wait! I always notice...why do I always notice?

He was still trying to figure this out when Molly returned with two hot beverages. "Here's your coffee." She stood there for a minute looking at Sherlock then said, "Thanks."

"What for?"

"For keeping me from murdering that gossiping radiologist." She nibbled at her lip. "I didn't mean to lose it so completely…"

"I understand and there's no need to thank me."

"Nevertheless…" she started.

"You'd think he'd know better than to piss off a pathologist," Sherlock said, not looking at her.

"Why? You've never seemed to learn" she replied with a cheeky grin which was, of course, adorable.

It was the christening that finally revealed to Sherlock the source of the 'adorableness', or rather the luncheon directly after. That word had, once again, popped into his mind as he watched Molly hold little Madeline Louise Watson while he tuned out most of the ceremony. He found himself completely distracted from the tedium of the event by Molly's sweet smiles and gentle shushing noises she'd made at Maddie to keep her occupied. Thankfully it was over fairly quickly.

As he watched a room full of people fuss over his goddaughter and heard several 'she's so adorables' from the admirers, it clicked! He'd never given the damn word any thought until the day Maddie was born. It was all her fault. Obviously hearing it over and over the last several months had warped his brain and, for some reason, he had attached the word to his pathologist.

He was still staring at the child and her horde of well wishers when he felt some nudge his arm. "Here, you look like you need this."

As he turned he found a smiling Molly Hooper holding a glass of wine in his direction. He had to force that word from his mind and he, not for the first time, wished he'd simply deleted the damn thing.

"I tried to get you a glass of scotch but John has the good stuff locked up until the crowd thins, or his sister leaves. One or the other, I'm not sure which," she said with a giggle.

Finally taking the glass from her hand he said, "Thank you, Molly."

She picked up her own glass and took a drink as she looked across the room. Sherlock followed her line of sight and saw that she was watching some elderly woman - maybe an aunt of John's, he couldn't be bothered to remember - holding their godchild.

"She really is just perfect, isn't she?" Molly said wistfully.

Once again his gaze fell on her face and he replied, "Yes, utterly." Though he wasn't sure exactly who he was talking about at that moment.

Molly was wearing a form-fitting deep purple dress. The neckline was much lower than he was used to seeing on her as she generally dressed rather conservatively. Well... his brain immediately interjected, except that time she got all dressed up for you in a skimpy black number and you made fun of her lips and tits. Sherlock shook his head and wondered when his mind had become so crass. Moving on… Her hair was down today, though she clearly had cut it recently, nearly to her shoulders (something he'd noticed in the church). She still wore it up out of her face at Barts, so he hadn't realised how drastically the new style changed her appearance. Or had he noticed and not registered exactly what he'd seen? Could a haircut suddenly make a woman this much more attractive? he wondered. No, Molly has always been attractive, just persona non grata as far as 'women' are concerned. That sounded harsh, even in his own head.

Suddenly he was pulled from his musings by a gentle elbow to his ribs. "Look, your brother's holding her." She laughed. "God, I think he's gonna be sick."

He wanted to enjoy the uncomfortable look on Mycroft's face, perhaps even join in teasing the over-blown arse, but he was still distracted by his train of thought. And he was once again focused on Molly as she laughed at his ridiculous brother. Her cheeks lit up and she practically shook from head to toe, Molly was a full-body laugher. He focused on a dimple that seemed to completely captivate him for more than twenty seconds.

"Oh my God, Sherlock! Has he ever held a baby before?"

Her mouth isn't small. No. She's small. All of her! Tiny little thing. Delicate yet somehow… not. No, and that mouth is perfect. Perfect for kissing and...

"Sherlock!" Mary Watson called out, killing his inner monologue and keeping it from going somewhere decidedly not safe for a christening.

"What Mary?" he asked as he finished his wine and put all thoughts of Molly and her distracting mouth out of his mind.

Camera in hand Mary said, "I want a photo of Maddie's godparents! You two look…"

"Mind your next words, Mrs. Watson!" he bit out.

"I was going to say nice standing by the mantel, you big grump!"

"I allowed multiple pictures to be taken with my goddaughter. Haven't I done enough?"

"Just stand there and try to not to look unpleasant!" Mary said as she fiddled with the camera. "Okay, you two need to be closer. I can't back up or I'll be standing on the settee."

He stepped closer to Molly and heard her mumble, "Take the damn picture, Mary."

"I'm gonna need the flash. It's too dark in here," Mary said, almost to herself as she looked at her camera.

Molly huffed and said, "Oh for God's sake!" causing Sherlock to chuckle and someone to say, "Quick, Mary! He's smiling!"

"All right, all right! I've got it!" she said and flashes started firing toward the pair.

"It's like they've never seen you smile before," Molly said as she leaned closer and turned her face, looking up at him.

Then everything seemed to move in slow motion. Mary's flashes continued, but he barely noticed them. Voices in the background became muffled. Everything around him seemed…almost... illusionary. Like Molly was suddenly the only real thing in the room.

He must have projected this, which was very unlike him, because she gave him a very concerned look and said, "Sherlock..?"

"My God, Molly, you look so..." He didn't even realised he was lowering his head. He heard Molly gasp, but didn't register why… exactly. Then his lips were on hers and nearly all the sound in the room stopped. The chatter came to halt, but he hardly noticed. The flashes, however, did not!

Sherlock took hold of Molly's face and tilted her, just right, deepening the kiss and completely forgetting where they were or that they had an audience. Well, that is until someone (later he'd find out that that someone was, surprisingly, Mike Stamford) catcalled… loudly.

They broke apart and stared at each other for four point five seconds. Then reality came crashing down on the detective like a proverbial ton of bricks. "Bugger," he whispered before sprinting out of the room.

Thankfully he'd anticipated his own needs and come equipped with a full pack of cigarettes. Unfortunately the Watsons didn't have a lavish garden, just a small patch of grass, two shrubs and a mature-ish tree.

Nowhere to hide, as it were. The idea of leaving the gathering altogether was far too cowardly, even if it had been his first instinct.

He was sitting with his back against the tree having just lit his second fag when Molly walked up.

"Mind?" she asked gesturing to the spot next to him.

Of course I mind! He shook his head, though. Might as well get this over with.

"Are you having a nervous breakdown?" she asked. "My Aunt Margie had one of those. Course, I was seven at the time, so I might not be an expert…"

"No. I'm not. At least I don't think I am."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No!"

Molly started to get up, but Sherlock stopped her with a hand on her arm. "I didn't say I wanted you to leave. If you go then John will come out here and start asking questions. I'd… prefer you."

Several minutes passed in silence. When Sherlock finished his cigarette and pulled out a piece of gum. He looked over at Molly. "Are you aware that you're adorable?" he asked in an exasperated tone as he held the pack out to her.

"I'm sorry?" she asked and waved off his offer of gum.

"I doubt it's you fault. You don't have to apologise."

"What?" her voice squeaked adorably.

Sherlock realised he owed her an explanation. "Right. Recently I realised that you are… that I am…" He ran his hands through his hair then looked her in the eyes. "I seem to be attracted to you, Molly," he said in a defeated voice.

Her expression didn't change, she just tilted her head to the side ever so slightly. "Hmmm…"

"I can't really explain it. Suddenly I'm noticing everything about you. And… I… like what I see." He cringed internally. I sound like an idiot.

"Is it my hair? I just got it cut."

He rolled his eyes. "I don't know!" He paused, looking at her hair. "Though I do like it… apparently."

Molly giggled. "Okay, so you… Hmmm…"

He looked away when she giggled, not wanting to be mocked.

"Don't. I'm not laughing at you, Sherlock."

"How'd this happen? I'm so careful!"

"Careful? What are you talking about?" She adjusted her skirt and got up on her knees to face him.

"I- I don't do these things, Molly. I don't... You're not supposed to be attractive! But you are, of course. I just wasn't supposed to notice! I'm certainly not supposed to…"

"Snog me in front a room full of people? Yeah, Sherlock, I get that," she said with a grin. "It's okay. It was a mistake. You've done stranger things, if just barely. And that's not the first time you've embarrassed me at a party. Though this time was somewhat more pleasant." She looked off in the distance for a moment. "It always involves a kiss at some point, doesn't it?"

Turning back to him she smiled and damnit if she didn't look… stunning.

"Wanna go back in? Or do you want me to make some excuse so you can leave?"

The realisation washed over him and he felt like he missed the biggest, most obvious clue of all time. "No, I don't."

"You don't what?" she asked.

"I don't want to go… anywhere. I want to be here, with you." He turned his head and spit his gum across the yard.

"Gross!" Molly said, making a face. "Why'd you do that?"

"You said you didn't want any."

"Didn't want any..."

He didn't let her finish her sentence. Surging forward he closed his lips around her once again. But this time he didn't let go. He snaked his arms around Molly's back and pulled her until she was straddling his legs. Almost instantly she gave in and became pliant in his arms. He kissed her until he needed to catch his breath, then he moved his lips to her neck.

"Sherlock! What are you… ohh, that's nice! Sherlock!"

Suddenly it wasn't enough. With great reluctance he pulled his lips from Molly's neck, causing her to whine. He then picked her up off his lap and stood. "I changed my mind."

Molly was dusting off her legs and skirt. "You are more frustrating than usual today, you know that? Make up your bloody mind!"

Taking her hand, he started walking toward the alley.

"What? Where are we going?"

"Baker Street, obviously," he answered, not turning around.

"I have so many questions," Molly mumbled under her breath.

Sherlock stopped and turned to her. "Okay. I've just realised that I'm not only attracted but most likely in love with you… yes, I said love. We're going to Baker Street because I don't want to take you under my best friend's tree during afternoon tea. We're leaving through the back because I'm not answering questions or listening to people whistling at us. Who the hell was that?"

"Mike."

"Re-really?"

Molly nodded.

"Any other questions?"

"My bag," Molly said.

"Your what?"

"My handbag is still in there."

Sherlock turned and resumed his former walking pace (slightly adjusted for Molly's shorter legs) and said, "I'll have Mary bring it by tomorrow. I assume there's nothing in there you can't live without for one evening?"

"I suppose not."

"Good!"

The next morning when Sherlock got up to make himself and Molly some coffee he found her handbag on his kitchen table along with a set of photos… of the new couple's first kiss.

And damnit if they weren't bloody adorable!

Well there you go! Hope you liked it. Please let me know! Thanks so much for reading. ~Lil~