Morning After

An insistent ringing jarred Molly from her dream. Groaning, she reached out and patted the table across her bed, all without opening her heavy eyes. The vibrating mobile phone finally made its way to her hand.

"Hello?" she answered, her voice still raspy from sleep. Silence met her inquiry. Great, she was woken up from a much needed sleep by a freaking prank caller.

"Hello? If this is some kind of a joke, I'm going to track you down and kill you." She bit out in annoyance.

"Uh, Molly?" a familiar male voice permeated her annoyed and sleep dazed mind. It however didn't reduce her irritation at the sudden disturbance.

"Yeah. What is it, John?" she managed to ask.

"Uh-uh," the man couldn't seem to form a sentence and Molly resisted the urge to hang up on him.

"Well?" she bit out. John Watson wasn't really used to such an irritated Molly. He couldn't even remember a time she snapped at him. But, it wasn't his fault he couldn't form a coherent sentence. Clearing his throat slightly he tried again.

"Well, uhm, is Sherlock there?" he asked fearing the answer.

Molly's sleep heavy eyes snapped open at his question. Why would he ask her that?

"Obviously not. Why would you even ask that John?"

"Well you di—" Molly didn't hear him after that as she froze in alarm when an arm suddenly curled around her stomach. Fearing the worst, her eyes trailed down to the pale arm across her stomach. She could vaguely hear John ramble on in the background as her eyes followed the pale arm up to a shoulder. Slowly, Molly turned as her gaze moved up. Her heart stopped as she saw the now angelic face of the detective in slumber. His long eyelashes lay in stark contrast to his pale cheeks. His black curls messed up on his forehead. Damn. Molly Hooper was in bed with Sherlock Holmes. Damn. Damn. Damn.

"Molly? Molly?!"

Turning back around quickly she tried to steady her breath before she pulled the phone back to her ear.

"Uh, yes. Yes." She managed to answer. Her breath was still shaky but she was most definitely not sleepy now. Who would have thought waking up next to Sherlock Holmes would give a wake-up boost like coffee.

"Ah. Figured as much." John said. She could hear his smile through the phone and her brows furrowed in frustration.

"What?"

John couldn't help his grin at the mere thought that something was brewing between his best friend and the ever-reliable pathologist. This was much better than what he thought.

"It's just that you did answer his phone, Molly."

Molly pulled the phone away from her ear and looked at it. It really was Sherlock's phone she had answered.

"Yeah, it seems I did. John I've got to go. Call him again later. Bye." She hung up before he could form a response. The arm curled around her tightened and pulled her back to a warm chest. A very naked warm chest. Damn. A blush crept to her face as Molly froze on the spot. This wasn't happening. She felt him burrow into the back of her neck, his warm breath sending shivers up her spine. But, it was. It was most definitely happening. Closing her eyes, Molly Hooper tried to remember how she got into this particular situation.

"Oh! Is he all right, dear?" Mrs. Hudson asked as Molly regarded the prone figure on the floor.

"He just passed out again. No need to worry, Mrs. Hudson, he didn't seem to have hurt himself." She assured the landlady as she bent down over the detective. This was really turning into a ridiculous night. A very tiring, ridiculous night. After a 16-hour work shift, she really had the urge to just leave the detective on the floor, go home, and sleep. But, as she peered up at Mrs. Hudson who looked worriedly at Sherlock, she knew she didn't have the heart to do that. Even when the stupid idiot deserved it, really. It didn't help that they just had one of the most serious conversations they had while he was drunk. Molly did feel bad for him. He was probably lonely, since John wasn't with him anymore. Reaching out, she patted his cheek again to try to wake him up. He only groaned in response and turned his face away. Molly sighed and tried to give Mrs. Hudson a reassuring smile. She took his arm and moved it over her shoulder, bracing his weight against her. He slightly moaned in protest but moved to stand upright. She really couldn't understand how from one moment he was talking as if he wasn't pissed off drunk to something like a heavy sack of potatoes. Mrs. Hudson moved to help her and Molly smiled at her as the old woman braced Sherlock's other shoulder. Together, they moved him to his bedroom. Molly looked around curiously, seeing for the first time the detective's room. He didn't like it when people went in here, even John wasn't privy to it. Taking in the clean and pristine room, it was a stark contrast from the clutter in their living room. Oh, it was still filled with books and a myriad of other knick knacks but somehow it all made sense. Stacks of books were on the floor, some of them lining up against the blue wall. A small study table on a corner was occupied with a slew of papers, a lamp and opened books. There wasn't a chair, and Molly wondered if it was outside in the living room. Her eyes trailed to a twin-sized bed, a white clean sheet laid on it. Mrs. Hudson had made it up for him and his bed clothes laid on top of it waiting for Sherlock to put it on. Molly didn't believe for one second she could make him change into bed clothes.

Standing before the bed, Molly tried to keep him upright as they worked to remove his coat and scarf. He swayed precariously on the spot but submitted to their gentle ministrations. Efficiently, they disposed of his coat, scarf, shoes and socks. Molly unbuttoned his sweaty shirt, her fingers working clinically and fast, her eyes stayed trained on each button. The blush on her cheeks was the only thing that betrayed her self-consciousness. She didn't see Mrs. Hudson cast her an amused smile as she picked up his discarded clothes and placed it on a chair. They helped him pull his arm out of the sleeves and Molly made quick work of unbuttoning his pants. She never thought in a million years that she was going to undress Sherlock Holmes, even back when they had lived together she hadn't seem more than a glimpse of his chest now and then. This was really becoming an unpredictable night. Sherlock sloppily moved on his feet as they removed his pant, leaving him in a pair of blue boxers. Molly tried to keep her eyes focused on his pale shoulder but the thought that she wouldn't get another opportunity like this made her peek from time to time. She felt herself swallow. He really was too gorgeous, even as knackered as he was. Gently, they guided him to the bed and laid him down, tucking the sheets around him. He moaned in satisfaction as his head hit the soft pillow, a small smile playing on his lips. He was freaking adorable. Molly watched as he burrowed deeper into the pillow, she had the urge to take out her phone and take a picture. Feeling the presence of Mrs. Hudson hovering behind her she resisted. Turning away from the sleeping detective she made her way to the door, Mrs. Hudson following behind her.

"I should probably go." She said as she reached for her bag and scarf she had discarded on the floor.

"Oh, thank you so much for the help, dear. I wouldn't have been able to carry him up myself." Mrs. Hudson replied, a smile of gratitude on her face. Molly returned one of her own as she wrapped her blue scarf around her neck.

"You should leave a glass of water on his bedside. He'll probably need it when he wakes up with a massive hangover." Molly let out a chuckle at the thought. Mrs. Hudson giggled into her hand but worry soon fell on her face.

"Poor boy, really, he was probably sad with John going and getting married you know." The old woman stared pensively at Sherlock's open doorway, her hand resting against her cheek. Molly regarded her for a moment before she turned to look at Sherlock's room. He was sad. The possibility of once again losing John might have drove him to lose himself in a night of alcohol even when he couldn't very well hold it in. Molly could remember his face so well during the wedding. The slight shadow of sadness and doubt that lingered behind the happiness he felt for his best friend. Sherlock Holmes had come back a different man after his staged death. And in his resurrection he was quite aware that things would not be the same, especially with the news of John's marriage and Mary's pregnancy. Maybe, when he came back he had hoped that it wouldn't have changed so much. Molly sighed. John and Mary were coming back from their honeymoon the following week and she hoped to God John would be able to resolve the doubts in Sherlock's mind. Turning back to Mrs. Hudson, she gave her anther smile of reassurance and started to bid her farewell when a flurry of movement startled them both. She vaguely registered porcelain long limbs and a shock of black messy curls making its way across the hall to the bathroom. Molly couldn't help but let out a groan as she removed her scarf and coat, the sounds of retching echoing from the bathroom.

"Oh, dear. Will he be all right?" Mrs. Hudson asked as they made their way to the bathroom.

"Well, he will be once he gets a good night's sleep. Speaking of," Molly turned to the older woman and touched her shoulder," you should go to sleep to Mrs. Hudson. It's really late and you're probably tired."

Mrs. Hudson looked away from the bent over Sherlock as she regarded Molly's brown eyes.

"But, what about you dear? And what will we do about that foolish boy?" Another bout of retching made a point. Trying to not let the landlady see her consternation and tiredness, Molly gave her a reassuring grin, hoping it didn't make her look like a homicidal maniac.

"I'll take care of him, don't you worry. Besides, I have a day-off tomorrow so it's quite alright, Mrs. Hudson." She replied cheerily, her voice not betraying the ache in her bones and the longing to just lie down on a soft bed and sleep. She did have a day-off. A much needed one after a grueling 16-hour work day. But, Molly saw the landlady needed to rest and she couldn't very well let her take care of Sherlock by herself.

"Get a move on, Mrs. Hudson. Don't worry, I'll make sure he doesn't choke on his own vomit." She said as she shifted Mrs. Hudson and gently pushed her out the door. Relief showed in her eyes, and Molly knew it was the right thing to do to send the woman to bed.

"Okay, dear. But, call me if you need anything." She said as she reached the door and patted Molly's hand in affection.

"Okay. Have a good night's rest. I'll see you tomorrow."

Mrs. Hudson nodded and gave her a small smile before she made her way down the stairs. Molly didn't let her smile falter until the landlady rounded the stairs. Rubbing her temple, she turned back and returned to the bathroom. Sherlock lay on a heap on the bathroom floor and Molly sighed as she reached for him. He groaned as she helped him get-up. She was getting too used to heaving him up and guiding him to his bedroom. They shuffled together back to bed and she gently laid him back down, shifting his legs under the covers. After making sure he was properly tucked in, she went back to the bathroom and cleaned out the mess he made. She splashed some water on her face and went to the kitchen, deciding to prepare a cup of much needed tea. As she waited for the kettle to boil she regarded the jars on the table. He had probably put it back after the wedding. The various specimens were quite interesting to her scientific mind but were surely inappropriate in a kitchen. However, it was just typical of Sherlock and she didn't mind so much. Getting back to the stove, she busied herself with making tea and pouring it into one of the clean mugs she found in the cabinet. It was dark blue and looked like it was one of the most used. She smiled as she felt the warmth of the tea on her palms through the porcelain. Knowing Sherlock would most likely need a glass of water. She filled a glass and made her way back to his room.

He was still lying still just as she left him, his chest rising up and down, and his eyelashes fanning shadows across his high cheekbones. She could hear a soft snore from him and she couldn't help but giggle at the simple act. Placing the glass of water on the table, she wrapped her hands around her mug and walked to the stack of books against the wall. Molly crouched down and shifted as she made herself comfortable on the floor. Her eyes scanned the titles. Some books looked brand new; some had folded edges and wrinkled spines as if it was opened a lot. It was all about a variety of subjects from places around the world to the various types of mushroom that could be found in the Amazon. No wonder Sherlock knew so much, it was clear he was an avid reader but it didn't quench his thirst for something more. It did not save him from the boredom that constantly plagued his marvelous mind. One book caught her eye. She picked it up and ran her finger over the black cover and gold embossed title. Stephen Hawking'sA Brief History of Time. Molly almost laughed as she remembered that Sherlock didn't even know the earth revolved around the sun and yet he had read this.

"Molly?"

Startled, Molly quickly got up and almost spilled her tea in her haste. She turned towards the gravelly voice from the bed and regarded a sight to behold. Sherlock regarded her with sleep-dazed eyes or what most would call bedroom eyes. He lay on his stomach, his cheek pressing into the pillow. She didn't hear him move before. One of his arms dangled over the bed, the other one splayed over the pillow. The sheet had made its way down to his lower back, leaving his back bare and one leg out. He looked ruffled and sexy and Molly bit her tongue to reel in her thoughts.

"Do you need something?" she moved towards the bed, her palms around the now cold mug of tea, "are you going to vomit again?"

His silver eyes blinked at her as she moved near, flickering over her briefly. She wondered what he saw. Could he have seen the way her hands slightly shook on the mug? Steeling herself, she crouched down beside the bed near his face and gave him a tentative smile. He gave her a sheepish smile that reminded her of a kid who knew he was in trouble. Yup, he was still a bit knackered.

"Are you feeling all right, Sherlock?" she asked him. He blinked those beautiful silver-green eyes at her again before he nodded.

"Water." He rasped out and Molly straightened and made her way to the table. Leaving her tea, she picked up the glass of water and made her way back to Sherlock. She wondered whether he could drink it by himself or if he still needed help. He made the decision for her, as he sat up slowly in the bed. Molly could still smell the strong scent of alcohol on him but it now mingled with the unmistakable smell of vomit and sweat. Molly Hooper never imagined she would witness the day Sherlock Holmes actually smelled this bad. She kept vigil by his side as he gulped the glass of water as if he had gone without for more than a week. Brown eyes trained on his handsome face, refusing to trail downwards to the visible expanse of white skin. Her eyes flickered ever so slightly, her inner decorum not letting her enjoy what was usually invisible. He extended his arm, the glass of water levelled with her face, successfully breaking the inner turmoil she had going on. The next words he muttered brought her back to reality, "More."

The unmistakable tone in his voice was familiar to her and it made her so annoyed with him right now that she had the urge to throw the glass on his head. Sending him a glare, she wrenched the glass out of his hand and marched back to the kitchen, deciding it would be so much easier and quicker to follow his request. He immediately made quick work of the glass she gave him, completely ignoring her annoyed glare. But, Molly wondered if he even noticed, there was still a definite glaze in his eyes. Was he still drunk? Was that even possible after he had passed out and wretched out whatever contents of his stomach their might have been? But, as Sherlock bloody Holmes turned back to her with a sheepish grin on his handsome face, Molly had her answer. Sherlock Holmes never did anything normally of course. Even getting pissed off drunk like normal people was probably too boring. He had to get so knackered that even after a good puke fest he was still bloody drunk. Thank God he wasn't a damn alcoholic.

"Molly." There was a hint of a slight slur in his voice but she couldn't be sure.

"Go back to sleep, Sherlock." She murmured as she turned away from the adorably goofy grin on his face. Really, of all the nights, he had to pick the one where she was so bloody exhausted to get drunk. Where was John when you needed him? Of course, off to some bloody sunny paradise cavorting with his new bride. Molly scoffed. The exhaustion was probably wearing on her. For the umpteenth time that night she rubbed her aching temples and breathed out a sigh. Really, what did she do to deserve this?

"Molly, will you sleep with me?"

Oh, bloody freaking hell. Molly froze on her spot, not believing her ears. Did he just ask her to sleep with him? Slowly, she faced him and that unbearable boyish grin was still plastered on his face as he regarded her, his eyes clearly expectant. This was getting way out of hand. Really, she never expected this to happen.

"Sherlock, I'm going to ignore you and forget that those words even left your mouth. You're too sodding drunk to be even taken seriously." She calmly replied, keeping her face resolutely serene and completely ignoring the telltale flush on her cheeks.

"but, Molly, I want to sleep with you," he insisted, an evident whine in his voice.

Oh, for the love of-. The flush on her cheeks couldn't have gotten warmer. This was absolutely crazy and Molly really, really wanted to go home and sleep off this encounter with Sherlock Holmes.

"Go to sleep, Sherlock. If you utter one more word," she bit out and raised her hand as he opened his mouth in protest, "One more word. I will ban you from the lab and you bet your arse that I will throw away all your experiments, do I make myself clear?"

Molly felt like a mother scolding a petulant child, which in all sense of the word, he was. His grin turned into a full on pout. And, Molly, God help her, almost backtracked and gave in to his foolish request. They were adults after all, there was no harm in having a good shag. She groaned. Great! Now, she was so pitiful that she would actually consider taking advantage of a drunken Sherlock.

"Molly." He whined, clearly dissatisfied at her rejection. She turned her back on him, her arms crossed in resistance. Molly came to realize that an adorable Sherlock Holmes was bloody irresistible, even when he was so pissed drunk.

"Go. To. Sleep. Sherlock." She bit out through clenched teeth.

"But, I'm scared." He muttered so low she almost didn't catch it.

Her heart stopped at the obvious catch in his voice, the unmistakable loneliness and annoyance in his admission. Slowly, she faced him and felt her heart ache. He looked so forlorn, staring down at his sheets and not meeting her eyes. Right then, he looked so young and vulnerable. So scared.

"What are you scared of Sherlock?" she asked, her voice gentle, fearing he might go back to before and close up.

But, a drunken Sherlock had his inhibition down. His walls gone for the night and her heart ached even more and cried out for him as his now stormy grey eyes locked with hers.

"You'll leave me, too. You'll go like Redbeard," his voice always full of confidence sounded so small. His shoulders sagged as if the weight was unbearable. His hands clenched in the sheets until it turned white. "Like John," he muttered, his eyes meeting hers.

Yet, his gaze never wavered, as if challenging her. Molly knew it was futile then; futile to deny her feelings and resist the pull of Sherlock Holmes. It really was hopeless. She was hopeless.

"John hasn't left you, Sherlock." She said as she inched towards him. He looked away from her gentle eyes.

"Yes, he did." He bit out.

"No. He'll always be there for you. You know that." She knelt before the bed, keeping her eyes focused on his face.

"He already left, Molly. He went and got married to that-to that woman!" he shouted, his fierce gaze meeting hers, his brows furrowed in anger. Molly took his hand near hers and gave it a squeeze.

"But, you like Mary, don't you?" she prodded gently, wanting him to take back the words she knew he regretted. Knowing he was caught, he looked away from her in determination, shaking his head vehemently. He was really acting like a little child. Molly gave him a small smile.

"Sherlock, John may have gone and gotten married but he will always be your best friend. It won't be the same, true," she gave his hand another affectionate squeeze as she saw his mouth draw into a stern line. "but, he'll always be there. He'll be there when you need him. He'll continue to be there as your best friend.

"You know John more than I do, but from what I know of him, he is a good friend, Sherlock. He's not the type to just forget someone, especially his best friend. And, let's be honest," she gave him a grin as he turned his eyes towards her, "no one can forget you, can they? You won't let them forget you, Sherlock. You won't let him forget you." Just like how you won't let me forget you.

Sherlock squeezed her hand back in understanding, a small smile now gracing his lips. His free hand reached out and stroked her cheek gently. She felt the familiar fluttering in her stomach.

"Thank you, Molly." It was all Molly ever needed, anyway.

Slowly, Molly straightened and smoothed the curls on his forehead as she smiled at him, missing his warm palm against her cheek instantly.

"You should go to sleep, Sherlock."

Sherlock reached for her hand and held it in his as he stared earnestly at her.

"Sleep with me?" he asked and his eyes wide in expectation. Molly felt like a ton of stones had hit her then. She didn't know what to do anymore really. Her resolve began to weaken as he continued to look at her with those puppy-dog eyes, and his fingers entwining with hers really wasn't helping. Seeing, the look on her eyes, Sherlock knew he was about to win so he shifted immediately and made room for Molly in his narrow bed, letting go of her warm, soft hand as he plumped his pillow and laid down on his side, his back placed against the wall to give her more space. Raising the blanket he signaled for her to come in, his eyes growing slightly heavier. Then, it dawned on Molly Hooper that she was absolutely wrong. A warm flood of blood rushed to her cheeks in embarrassment. He literally wanted to sleep with her. Literally sleep. Oh, for heaven's sake Molly Hooper! She was such a freaking fool and she almost laughed at the way her thoughts had gotten away.

"Molly?" he broke through her embarrassment, his voice now laced with sleepiness as he considered her then patted the space beside him. Blushing, Molly considered her options. Oh, what the hell? She needed sleep and she could get up before he woke up. He probably wouldn't remember everything that had happened. A sad smile crept unto her face at the thought. Just a little bit, she wanted him to remember. But, if he did, he would probably delete it in pure embarrassment at having let the pathologist know his deepest fears and thoughts. Cautiously, Molly slipped under the sheets, instantly feeling Sherlock's chest against her back. Warmth and a nice woody spice smell enveloped her as Sherlock tucked the blanket around them. It really was such a narrow bed, an obvious affinity of Sherlock for being alone. She didn't mind the smell of alcohol that clung to him now, she most likely got used to it now, but the usual Sherlock smell did help a bit. Molly snuggled into the pillow, feeling her muscles relax and her eyes grow heavy in exhaustion. The tiring day was beginning to catch up with her and her senses begun to slowly dull into slumber. Vaguely, she felt an arm wrap around her midriff, pulling her closer to the warmth of Sherlock Holmes. His breath on her neck, gave her goose bumps but sleep had already overtook her.

Slowly, Molly tried to lift Sherlock's arm from around her. He groaned and only pulled her closer, his breath against her neck as he burrowed his nose deeper into her hair. Her whole body stopped in shock. Sherlock was going to give her a heart attack with his actions. Shifting, she turned in his arms and faced him. Her arms trapped between them as she regarded his peaceful face. This was probably the only time she would ever see him this vulnerable. For a moment she savored the silence of the morning. She savored the feeling of someone lying beside her, his warmth giving her a cozy feeling and made her heart flutter. Her brown eyes, took in his features, engraving this moment in her mind. Molly wanted to remember the feeling of Sherlock Holmes beside her. She knew it was all she could hope for.

A small smile graced her lips. She didn't want to wake him up but she needed to go home. She braced her palm on his shoulder and shook him. He groaned and his eyes fluttered open. His eyes were bloodshot and still bleary. A small smile grazed his lips as he regarded her before trying to snuggle closer. Molly didn't know what to make of it. Was he still foxed? She shifted away from him and his brows puckered in annoyance but his eyes stayed close.

"Sherlock, I need to go." She whispered and she moved farther away, placing her hands on his arm and lifting it from her body. He groaned in protest but let her be as she moved from under him and sat up on the bed. Molly paused as she stood up as Sherlock shifted and turned his back from her, facing the blue wall. The hangover was probably already making everything worse for him. Molly walked to the kitchen and searched for aspirins and refilled a glass of water. She went back to his room and placed the things on his bedside table. Quietly, she moved around the room, gathering her coat and bag. Sherlock's form was still except for the evident movement of his breathing. Molly fixed the sheet over him, trying to make everything as comfortable for him as possible, knowing he was going to wake up with the most horrendous hangover imaginable. She couldn't help but grin. Molly watched him a second longer before making her way out of the flat. She didn't hear the rustle of sheets as she closed the door behind her.

It would be two weeks later before she saw the detective again. A smirking Dr. John Watson was beside him and he was obviously waiting to question her about the phone call. Molly ignored them both after casting an acknowledging glance their way and turning back to her microscope. She could vaguely feel a pair of eyes behind her back and she knew it was the doctor. She would not give him a moment to corner her with questions, picking up the specimens beside her she turned and came face-to-face with a familiar Belstaff coat. Her eyes moved up and met expressionless silver-green eyes. They were now clear, so different from the hazy gaze she had last seen. Her mouth twitched into a smile, waiting for him to say something. He was clearly there to tell her something, probably request another body part. Her eyebrow rose in inquiry as his eyes roamed over her face. Slowly, he lowered his head beside hers, his breath on her ear and effectively making her cheeks flush.

"Thank you, Molly." He muttered before he shifted and gave her a lingering kiss on the cheek. He straightened and gave her an amused smirk as he noted her red cheeks and dazed eyes. His hand tucked a stray strand of brown hair behind her ear, before it shifted to the scarf around his neck. Only then did she notice the familiar scarf. It was her scarf. The scarf she had left at his flat two weeks ago. Her eyes met his in shock. Then, her heart once again fluttered as he gave her a goofy, boyish grin before he swept from the lab. Molly followed him with her gaze then noticed John eyeing her with interest. He grinned and gave her a wink before he ran after his companion. Molly Hooper wondered if Sherlock Holmes remembered.

A/N: Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you to everyone who had liked my previous story 'Drunk Conversations' and I hope you'll also like this. Also, sorry for the late upload, I was busy with school the past months -_- Anyway, a review will be highly appreciated! :))