John Watson was off on another adventure with Sherlock Holmes. They had brought along their friend, Molly Hooper. After a long day, the companions had stopped in an unfamiliar town, and spent the evening at a bar. There was nothing to do with the case, so they decided to wait until morning. It was raining, and Sherlock was a little more than a little tipsy. As the night went on, Sherlock began to get grumpy (as he often does with alcohol), so they decided to find a hotel to stay at for the night.
Checking in at the front desk proved to be more difficult than originally planned. "How much for two rooms?" asked John, who seemed to be the most sober of the group.
"240 pounds," the lady behind the counter stated, with a hint of boredom behind her voice. "Two..? Two hundred and forty?" That was more than John had in his pockets at the moment… he turned around, "Sherlock?"
"Oh, no, I don't have any money – people just give me what I want. I'm the brilliant Sherlock Holmes!" Sherlock gestured around exuberantly.
"Sherlock…" John tried to hide his frustration. Molly whispered in his ear, "I think I have enough for one room… will that do?"
John looked up at the lady behind the counter. "Here, we have enough money for one room, we'll make do." Behind him, Sherlock was pacing in agitation.
The lady behind the desk nodded to Sherlock, "Your friend there has been enjoying himself tonight?" Molly shook her head in irritation, "So it would seem…" and she took the key from the desk and began to help Sherlock up the stairs to their room. John sighed, and followed a few paces behind.
John found Molly attempting to get Sherlock's slightly damp coat off. Sherlock wasn't helping by yelling and struggling to get away. "Molly, I can do it myself! Now get OFF me!"
"I'm just trying to help," she protested. She finally gave up, and huffed over to the other side of the room. John heard her mutter, "Why is he always so bloody infuriating?"
John moved over to Sherlock's side. He was dripping water from his hair onto the bed now, and his damp coat was hanging lopsided over his shoulders. John sighed "Sherlock, you're getting water everywhere." He put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock shrugged it off, but when John began to take the wet coat off his shoulders, Sherlock didn't resist. Molly watched from the corner. Sherlock stumbled into the bathroom to take a cold shower and get out of his wet clothes.
Molly sat down on the bed next to John, "How are you so good with him?"
"Hm?" John looked quizzically at Molly.
"Like, you know exactly what to do to calm him down."
John shook his head, "I mean, we just 'get' each other, I suppose."
Molly stared wistfully at the door, behind which Sherlock was showering, "I just wish I knew how to 'get' Sherlock Holmes."
When Sherlock came out of the shower, he settled onto the bed nearest the door. John was already asleep of the other bed, and Sherlock didn't feel like disturbing him. Molly was nowhere to be seen, so he decided to just lay his clothes out to dry, and crawled under the blankets in his birthday suit. He muttered under his breath, "Damn it, I forgot the light switch."
"I've got it, Sherlock," John rolled out of bed and turned the light out for Sherlock. He stood in the dark for a moment, just letting his eyes adjust.
Sherlock muttered again, "Well don't just stand there, John. Go to sleep or something."
John chuckled, "Whatever you say, Sherlock," and climbed back into bed.
Later, when Molly came back, she slowly opened the door to the hotel room, and upon noticing the darkness, entered quietly. She couldn't tell who it was in the bed in front of her. Curse the darkness, she thought, but she secretly hoped it was Sherlock. She took off her white coat, and began to undo the braids in her hair. Her shoes and stockings were soaked through, and she tried to be as quiet as possible while removing them. The bed nearest her was definitely occupied by someone. As he rolled over, Molly noticed the dark curls of Sherlock's hair peak out over the top of the covers.
She slipped out of her dress, and pulled the covers down on Sherlock's bed. She boldly moved in closer to him so that their bodies were nearly touching. As she ran a hand over his back, she noticed he wasn't wearing anything at all. She blushed and recoiled. Sherlock rolled over to face her, and seemed unaware of her presence in his bed. Her unbound hair fell over her face, and she hoped it would hide her enough.
Sherlock moved closer to Molly, still quite definitely asleep. She made a tiny noise under her breath, and moved her hand inches toward his face. She dared to touch his lips, and heard him moan a little in his sleep. She lingered as long as she could stand, and he murmured, "John, is that you?" Molly pulled back, disappointed. Maybe sleep was best after all.
In the morning, Molly awoke slowly. She realized she was alone in the bed, but Sherlock's side was still warm. She felt a warm hand on her back, "Sherlock!" she exclaimed. But it was John. "Oh, blimey," he stammered, "thought you were Sherlock…"
"I did too," Molly replied. John looked around bewildered, "Why? Why does he always DO that? Just take off without a word?"