Thanks to the guest who told me about upload problems!
Molly Hooper sat on her couch with a pint of ice cream when she heard a rather confident knock.
She froze, her hand holding the remote to her telly hovering in the air.
Her dodgy flat in Camden didn't get many visitors, save for the routine 1 o'clock completely pissed men knocking drunkenly on her door, and her 89 year-old neighbor who was a dear but always forgets her keys.
Molly pushed aside her blanket but retained her hold on the remote, posed into the air to launch at her potential attacker. Perhaps she was being a little paranoid, but Molly's nerves had taken a bit of a hit that day.
Not two hours from her scheduled bachelorette party, Molly had called her fiance in tears, telling him she didn't think she could go through with their wedding. Tom had taken it rather poorly, calling her some vulgar words before hanging up abruptly. Now, wallowing in her grief, Molly had turned to ice cream and Doctor Who.
That is, until she was interrupted.
The knock came again.
Molly nearly shrieked, and she fumbled with her phone until she could clumsily type out her friend's number.
"Meena?" she whispered.
"Oh god, Molls? You okay?" Molly could hear her friend juggling her phone frantically. "Listen, don't - don't worry about a thing, alright? - I told everyone the party was cancelled - not that, shite, you'd want a reminder - he was a tosser though, really, never liked him - anyway the point is you just relax, I think you made the right decision, honest - "
"Meena, there's someone at my door," she breathed. "They're not leaving, they just keeping knocking - Meena?"
"Shite." Meena was silent for a moment. "Well...shite."
Molly's eyes narrowed a bit as she waited for her friend to say something.
"Look, Molls - ," she began. "I know you said you absolutely did not want one, but I just thought you needed to loosen up a bit, especially at your hen, looking back on it it might have been a bit of bad idea - but to be honest I was a little drunk when I made the call - but I did my research! - he's apparently top-notch, real fit too, high quality - "
"Meena Adney," Molly began dangerously. "Did you get me a prostitute?"
"He's real high-end, Molls! Bloody fit too, his name...his name - shite, I've got it somewhere - ," she heard Meena fumbling around with her phone. "Sher - she...Sherlock? Sherlock Holmes - Christ, what sort of name is that - anyway, he's no joke, 'real good' the reviews said - or more like 'un-fucking-believable' - "
A knock, more impatient this time.
"I'll just go tell him he's not longer needed, shall I?" Molly whispered into the phone.
Meena groaned. "Fine, but I did pay a good bit for him, the least you could do is try and enjoy yourself a bit - "
Molly hung up.
She placed the remote gingerly on her cheap thrift-store table before self consciously tugging on her striped sweater, attempting to smooth out some of the stubborn wrinkles. She felt a little silly as she attempted to comb a little through her hair, before giving up and wrapping it into a messy bun.
Hesitating slightly, she reached out and wrenched open her door.
And maybe her jaw dropped a little.
A man stood with his hand outstretched to knock, a half-smirk forming on his face as he took in her appearance. She winces a little, wishing she had remembered about her red eyes and probably miserable looking makeup. His own appearance was, of course, impeccable. He had dark curls against perfect pale skin - unbelievable cheekbones casting shadows across his face.
'Bloody fit' indeed, Molly thought.
The man seemed made of contrasts, a dark suit against a plain white crisp dress shirt. He looked so impossibly out of place in her shabby hallway that she nearly laughed. He was, without a doubt, the most un-fucking-believably gorgeous man she had ever seen.
She stood there for a moment, lips parted a little, taking in the sight of this greek god standing before her.
He arched a dark eyebrow. "The bride-to-be, I presume?"
"Ex," she said quickly, then flushed. "He's not my fiancé anymore."
He didn't miss a beat. "A shame." For a moment his eyes raked over her, and she could feel him storing and cataloguing and analyzing informations about her. She shifted uncomfortably. "Or perhaps not."
They stood there for a silent second, before he broke the silence.
"I suppose the hen night has been cancelled then?" His voice was cool, detached - but his eyes were a little gentler this time. "And so are my...services?" His eyes glinted wickedly as he flicked out his tongue to run over his teeth - Molly's knees went weak.
"I...yes, I guess so," she stuttered a little.
He turned to leave.
"Wait!" she almost desperately cried. He turned lightly on his heels, facing her with an amused expression. "That is...unless you…" she swallowed nervously. "I don't suppose you'd...like to come in? For a night in?"
"A night in?" he mused softly. He regarded her for a moment, eyes narrowed slightly with soft curiosity. "I suppose it couldn't hurt."