Hello there, this is my first fanfic and I am ridiculously scared. I am trying to build up courage to start writing longer multi-chapter fics, untill then I thought I would start out with a cute, fluffy one-shot, which I really hope you enjoy. I am really sorry but I have awfull spelling and grammer...

Italics are Molly's inner thoughts.

Disclaimer- I don't own Sherlock... Unfortunatly...

Today was officially not Molly Hooper's day.

Her phone deciding it now hated her, ran flat during the night with no warning, meaning her alarm never actually went off. Waking up 25 minutes late was not part of her original plan, however a quick shower and skipping breakfast meant that she was on track once again. At least it would have if it wasn't for the demon cat. She just had to adopt.

Toby, the usually well mannered, patient, and kind pet, choose that today it needed to be fed and it wasn't waiting for its owner and decided to take the task into its own hands, or paws if you will. Toby somehow managed to find the tinned cat food amongst the highest shelves and managed to locate all of the cutlery and dishes smashing everything, seemingly within a one mile radius of these particular objects.

Running to her kitchen to what both sounded and looked like a bomb explosion, and after taking a few deep calming breaths Molly decided she wasn't angry, just surprised. She could clean this up later , buy some plastic utensils on her way home and everything would be fine. After her bizarre morning her bad luck for the day had surely run out.

She was wrong.

On her way to work the heel of her shoe snapped off, and as life isn't a cute 'rom-com' there was no introduction to some lovable, and awkward soul mate because of it. She merely just fell on the floor surrounded by fat greasy men and uptight women, in posh suits with wireless Bluetooth stuck in their ears. Yet still, molly was not angry, just a little agitated.

Regaining little dignity she had left from her trip she soldiered on to work, slightly 'shuffle-hoping' the whole way there. Once in the safety of her second home, Molly breathed a sigh of relief that she made actually made it in one piece. Changing to rid herself of the dirt that still remained on her clothes, Molly found herself laughing at the earlier events of the day. Molly agreed to take a positive spin on the whole crazy fiasco that was this morning, this was until she walked into the mortuary.

Mike Stanford had left out his equipment.

This was not a new habit , in actual fact this was a common occurrence and happened at least three, possibly four times a week. Usually Molly would just sigh at the small grievance and clean them away herself, however today, today this small grievance was the thing to push her over the edge. She didn't know if she should run to his house and stab him with his surgical knife (a bit extreme), or to phone him and scream at him (that might shock him into oblivion and he should really rest with that heart of his), or ruin his equipment (that would be putting the hospital out of money, and it's really not there fault). One thing she knew for sure though, was that Molly Hooper was now officially angry.

And so when Sherlock waltzed in being his typical arrogant self Molly had already had enough.

And there he is, the love of my life and very bane of my existence.

Molly was sitting quietly filling out long overdue paperwork when Sherlock waltzed in the morgue in his typical commanding style. However instead of his usual charming (albeit fake) smile plastered across his face, he was scowling like a child who hasn't got his way.

"Molly, I need a fresh liver, no older than 48 hours. Preferably female, non-smoker, between the ages of 25 and 40. And any fresh fingers if you have them."

It's so not fair, he shouldn't be able to get both the face and the voice and yet be a complete arse. It's just not fair. Wait you haven't spoken yet ... You are effectively just staring at his face, in silence. TALK , say something, anything god damn it.

"U-umm s-sure."

Damn it now I'm stuttering again and I bet that my face has taken on the appearance of a tomato. Brilliant.

Sherlock sat opposite the young pathologist by the microscope and made himself comfortable whilst Molly began frantically searching for his request.

"Umm , I don't have a usable liver on demand but give me a day and I'm sure someone will have an untimely death, and I can give you that one. I do have some fingers though, only two thumbs, one ring finger and a pointer, if that's okay?"

Pointer, really? POINTER. I have a doctorate for goodness sake. I could have used digitus secundus, index finger, hell even forefinger sounds better than pointer. On a plus note, no stutters in that sentence, so a win for me. God I hate today.

"That will suffice." Came the flat baritone reply.

He's so ungrateful, I honestly don't know why I even bother sometimes. Who am I kidding ?I'm, always going to help him, all he needs to do is give me a (fake) smile or a (backhanded) compliment and I'm all his, Reinbach proved that.

Hours passed in a comfortable silence before Sherlock asked (demanded) for a cup of coffee (black, two sugars.)

Completely focused on his newly acquired fingers underneath the microscope, Sherlock misjudged where Molly's hand would be holding the cup causing them to slightly brush fingers.

I never noticed how long his fingers are and his skin is surprisingly soft. Cold, but surprisingly soft. Its been so long since I felt skin that wasn't on a dead person. God that sounds weird. I really need to get out more. Maybe even just a hug once and a while.

Sitting herself back down, Molly continued filling out her forms.

She was half a page down from detailing her report on (a 55 year old woman who died from a sudden brain aneurysm) when she heard the first one.

A very soft 'humph'. Putting the noise down to her lack of sleep driven imagination, she continued on with her work. 17 minutes later she heard it again. A still quiet, but unmistakable sigh. Stilling her work momentarily she quickly glanced at the fully grown man-child currently residing in her morgue. Deciding to ignore him she once again got back to her third and final time she heard him was a further 2 minutes later. This time Sherlock made it perfectly clear he was sighing and even adding a minor curse word under his breath for the full affect.

Oh, that's it. Now normally I would gently approach what is clearly bugging him, but today I honestly cannot be bothered and to be frank I don't really care. It's probably just the stupidity of the human race and how dull we all are, again.

Dropping her pen, Molly crossed her arms and turned her full attention to the person in question.

"Why are you sulking like a five year old?"

Visibly taken back by the usually timid pathologist's sudden attitude, Sherlock moved to face her before ultimately deciding that ranting to someone who was clearly in a bad mood was still better that going over and over this in his head. As though he was a dog let off his leash, Sherlock began retelling his long and traumatic day (his own words) at such a rapid pace Molly almost couldn't keep up.

"... He has no right, I pay for 77% of the rent. He thinks it's split equally. Ha, like he could afford a spacious two bedroom apartment with a personal maid, in central London. Ridiculous. Couldn't come on a case with me because of his latest female 'friend' Mary."

Sherlock said Mary's name with such disgust Molly couldn't help but smile.

He's jealous. Mr.'I don't need friends, I hate the company of others' is so jealous because his friend wants to spend time with other people and not him. He is a genius with the mentality of a five year old.

"This case was at least an 8 and I had to go alone. And now, now he's gone and kicked me out for some 'alone' time with his 'girlfriend', urghh. Honestly, what on earth could he be doing with his girlfriend that is better than an 8 ?"

Sex. Mind blowing sex. I don't need a hug, I need to get laid.

"I don't know Sherlock. Look, I really need to get on with these forms because Toby ruined my kitchen and its going to rain and my toes will get wet."

Wow, when I say it like that it makes no sense.

"Just umm, why don't you just finish off your experiment then go home when I finish in an hour or so and hopefully they'll be done... With whatever they're doing."

Seemingly happy with this suggestion Sherlock continued plaing with his experiment.

Well... That was surprisingly easy.

"I solved the case of , it was his supposedly dead brother. I knew it was the brother almost instantly, just needed proof to shut up Anderson. God, what an imbecile, there are fish with higher intelligence than that oaf. Him and his stupid rat face, do you know who he thought killed Mr. Beasley ? His budgie. He thought it was his budgie ..."

And now begins the tirade about the idiocy that is Anderson. I can't do this, not today. I need to shut him up. Maybe I could punch him ? No, I would probably just cut my hand on his razor sharp cheekbones. Stupid, beautiful cheek bones. Maybe I could spray him with water ,that always works with Toby ? No, I don't have a spay bottle on me, and he'd probably just growl then continue talking. Why don't I just go up to him and tell him to shut up ? Good idea brain.

Molly slowly made her way around the table until she faced the infamous consulting detective himself. Standing here infront of him during his rant, she new yelling at him to be quiet wasn't going to work so she did the first thing that came to mind.

Yes, he stopped talking. Finally. I didn't have to shout or anything. How did you shut him up, you may ask. Well it's quite simply really ,it's because he can't talk whilst I'm kissing him. Genius.

Wait... I'm kissing him. Why am I kissing him ? Oh god, he's not even responding. Just to clarify , I walked up to him, stuck my face to his face and he is just sitting here doing nothing. I'm going to die of embarrassment. Everyone will laugh at my funeral, my tombstone will read 'kissed an asexual sociopath before dropping dead'. I'm going to self-combust of humiliation. Is that even possible ? I should know this, I'm a pathologist.

I need to stop doing this. i should just remove my face, take a step back and run away. I could move to France and never see him again. I should stop overreacting and just step away.

Molly virtually jumped back from the unplanned position she found herself in. She stared at his emotionless face, wide eyed whilst a deep shade of red burst upon her face uncontrollably.

"I-I U-uhh sh-should go." She practically squeaked.

France here I come.

Quickly turning to where she sat moments ago, she hoped that is she was fast enough she could escape without Sherlock saying a word. However she was stopped from taking even a complete single step. She felt a cool hand grasp at her wrist and turn her, before changing directions and landing directly in the centre of her back. This was promptly joined by a second hand which began to curve it's way inside her lab coat, landing directly upon the curve of her hip. Before she could even register the multitude of reactions she was having, Sherlock manoeuvred himself off of his chair until he stood a good head above her. She knew what was going to happen, and yet she still felt unprepared when he gently pressed his lips to hers.

What felt like an eternity of sheer bliss for her, was ended as they separated apart reluctantly, to regain their lost senses. Remaining close together the pair beagan their observations of each other. Molly noted how deliciously plump his lips looked, and how his eyes were almost entirely black from the dilation of his pupils, and she couldn't help the 'Cheshire cat' style smile which was taking charge of her expression. Whilst Sherlock noted the glow he felt surrounding them and couldn't help but break the stunned silence.

"Interesting."

All Molly could do was nod.

If you were to ask Molly Hooper what she thought about that particular kiss, she would say how there was more passion in that solitary, innocent encounter than she had ever known in her 28 years of life up to that point. She would say how it was filled with fireworks, romantic music and all the other silly things she used to dream of when she was a young girl.

If you were to ask Molly Hooper what she thought of that particular kiss whilst in the company of Sherlock Holmes, as not to inflate his ego she would say that as kisses go, it was mediocre. She would say that he did okay the second time they kissed, but that he got a lot better with practise.

Let me know what you think or if you have any ideas for other one-shots.

Any reviews will be loved and cherished.