"Mollyyyyyyyyy..." Sherlock whined, face pressed to the peep hole. Behind the door there was the sound of shuffling footsteps. "Molly Hoooooooooper!" Clumsily, he banged on the door with the flat of his palms. Greg and John snickered, leaning on each other for support (Molly's landlord really ought to see to the hallways tipping back and forth like this).

The door was yanked open, Molly tying a robe about herself. Greg and John each released a guffaw, choking back laughter.

"Sherlock! What on earth-"

"S'alright Molly," John slurred. "He's drunk. Not drugged."

"It's true," Sherlock pulled himself to his full height, swaying. "I have had six beers, two shots and three glasses of an excellently made absinthe. I am pissed." John and Greg both cheered.

"We'll leave you two," Greg waved his hand at Sherlock and Molly. "To do that voodoo that you do-" John burst out laughing as Greg tried to hold him upright. I'm gonna take John home, cab's waiting." Before Molly could even ask why they'd brought Sherlock, they had hobbled out of the hallway and out to the sidewalk. She turned back to Sherlock, still blinking slowly, beaming proudly at her. With a heavy sigh, she guided him inside, shutting the door after him. Locking the door, she turned to see Sherlock discarding his coat, scarf and shoes in piles along the floor.

"Sherlock, stop- stop that- just lie down-" she nudged him and he fell over onto the sofa. Through bleary eyes he watched her stoop and pick up his dropped articles.

"Molly- Molly-" he rolled off the couch, sitting on his knees. "You're always picking up after me, I'm sorry. I'm not good at saying nice things to you," he swayed again. "But I do love you Molly and that's the nicest thing I think I could say to you."

"Well..." Molly didn't know what else to say then, but Sherlock apparently did. He pulled his coat and shoes out of her hands, kissing her fingers.

"Love you Molly Hooper. And not just because you've got a nice bum. You're awfully clever. Even Mycroft likes you."

"I like him too," Molly laughed, ears turning red at Sherlock's comment on her bottom. Sherlock scowled at this.

"But he only likes you. I love you. Oh!" He did a double take, apparently happening upon some ingenious thought. "Molly! We should get married! Will you?" A pause. He blinked, swaying, trying very hard to look sober and serious. "Molly Hooper. Will you marry me?"

Molly blinked. To Sherlock's surprise, Molly did not begin to cry and happily answer him. Her face looked terrible and sad all at once. She slapped him hard. Hard enough he felt himself fall back against the sofa.

"Molly!"

"You're high!" She accused.

"I am not!" He insisted, rubbing his cheek, somewhat sobered up from the sheer sting of it. "I'm just very drunk! Alcohol lowers inhibitions, but it makes it easier for me to talk to you!" He swayed again, blinking. "Maybe I should be sober when I propose marriage."

"Maybe you should suggest dating first," Molly pushed him down onto the couch again. "Lie down. If you remember in the morning, we'll talk, seriously, about tonight." Sherlock stared up at her, hopeful.

"Promise?" She sighed, ruffled his hair and kissed his forehead.

"Promise."

The next morning, Molly awoke to Sherlock climbing into bed beside her.

"It's morning, I'm sober, though the hangover I'm sorting through tells me I was plenty drunk. I remember what I said and while I agree it's a bit soon for marriage, how would you feel about dinner with mummy and father?"

Molly could only smile, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"Much better," she kissed his forehead once more. "For now, let's have a lie-in."

"Absolutely," he buried his head in the crook of her shoulder, arms wrapped around her waist. "I wasn't lying either," he said after a moment. "I do love you."

"And not just for my bum," she laughed. He scowled.

"I believe the correct response is 'I love you too'."

"Aren't you a genius," she smiled. "And yes, I love you too."