Sooo, this happened because I listened to Killing Me Softly one too many times (much to my family's dismay). Anyhoo, here we go.

MizJoely, the great and wonderful, betaed this for me, though I made a change or two after I got it back. You find a mistake... that's all me. MrsMCrieff, my cross-Alantic, platonic life-mate, helped me the Brit business, as per usual.

I own nothing, but as I proved while I was writing this... I still got the moves (even if my family doesn't appreciate them). Enjoy!

Molly sat in the back of a cab wringing her hands and dreading yet another social function at 221B Baker Street. She had spent the better part of the day picking out her clothing. After several disappointing outfits, she had settled on a pair of skinny jeans (brand new, as she hadn't had the opportunity to wear them yet), her favorite Doctor Who tee-shirt and almost daring black boots. She had hoped that the frivolity of the shirt would deter any thoughts that she had fussed over her decision. She put her hair up in a pony tail, to emphasize her nonchalance, and grabbed her lightest jacket then dashed out the door.

The early spring air still had a bite to it as she exited the cab and walked up to the shiny black door. She took a moment to calm her nerves. This time will be different, she told herself. It's been years. So much has changed. They'd been through the Fall, his return and now they were all celebrating his victory over Moriarty number two. Evidently Jim's brother wasn't as clever as his older sibling. It took Sherlock less than four months to track down and dispatch the slightly more deranged member of the Moriarty clan. But as much as she tried, Molly couldn't shake her nerves. Her mind just kept returning to that Christmas and those words. Sure, she had been to Sherlock's flat since, but the last time she was on the arm of her, then- fiancé. She actually felt protected with Tom by her side, she felt safe. Her day of crime solving almost didn't count. It had just been the two of them, and well, the clients - it didn't feel much different than working in the lab. She had been nervous that day too, but eventually relaxed, a bit. This felt entirely too much like that Christmas.

Finally, Molly took a deep breath and knocked.

Mary Watson answered the door and welcomed her in with a hug and a wink. They chatted as Molly hung up her coat. Mary was pleasant as usual, even a bit giddy, as they started up the stairs.

"I haven't seen nearly enough of you Molly," Mary commented as they reached the landing.

"Oh, well you know, Sherlock kept me busy in the lab these last few months. And, of course, you've been busy with Anna. She's here I assume? I can't wait to see her little face," Molly said as they reached the door to the flat. She was quite happy for the distraction of talking with Mary as she realised how nervous she had become. All these months since he'd come home and this was what made her treacherous stomach flip. She sighed internally, feeling suddenly very disappointed in herself.

o0o0o0o0o

Sherlock stood in his bedroom not completely understanding what he was feeling. He had it on good authority that Molly Hooper would be in attendance today, as she should since she had played such a huge part in his success. He... was... well, he was nervous. They had worked together beautifully since his return from the brief exile, but he suddenly felt... like an idiot, he thought. It's just Molly. She's your pathologist, your friend. Calm down, you saw her four days ago...

But he couldn't calm down. The last time they'd both been in this flat Molly had been accompanied by that buffoon Tom. With nothing else to focus his attention on at the moment, the memory of that awful encounter came rushing back. Molly's bright smiling face, dimples you could swim in, her long hair cascading over her shoulders... and him. Sherlock shook himself. Tom was no longer in the picture, not that he cared. Well, perhaps he cared... a little.

It had been different in the lab these last few months; they worked like a well-oiled machine as they concentrated on the case. He had only spent a few moments dwelling on the odd feeling he seemed to get when Molly was standing close or when she leant over his shoulder to see what he was pointing out (even if half the time, it wasn't entirely necessary). Now, of course, without the distraction of the case, he wondered how she'd react to him. Was she still cross about the drugs... the bridesmaid... the murder? He sighed and straightened his jacket, attempting to stall a bit longer. Then he heard the knock on his door.

"Ya know, it's hard to have a party for you if you're not actually in attendance," John said from the other side.

"Yet not impossible," Sherlock barked back just before opening the door and stepping into the hallway. "I didn't want to do this. It was your idea." He took a deep breath and pushed past his friend. "Let's get this over with."

When he reached the sitting room he saw the assembly, and sighed yet again. Who invited Anderson, he wondered, but kept his mouth shut... with some difficulty. John followed close behind him as Sherlock made his way toward his violin in an attempt to forgo conversation.

"Well, I got him out of his room. That's something," he heard John say as turned to face away from the small crowd.

Sherlock started playing, trying to focus on the instrument rather than this hellish gathering or the fact that Molly Hooper was sat upon his sofa, looking dazzlingly beautiful. He categorized her appearance, closing his eyes so he could once again picture her without having to actually turn around. No makeup today except for light pink lip gloss. Her hair was pulled up off of her graceful neck, emphasizing its length. Casually dressed in a tee-shirt rather than one of her frumpy jumpers. And the boots... damn the boots. He suddenly and without forethought changed songs as he pondered what she'd look like if she stood up. Are the jeans tight, they looked tighter than her normal work trousers...

o0o0o0o0o

Oh, my, he looks devastatingly handsome today, Molly thought as she smiled and nodded at something Mrs. Hudson had said. She loved to hear Sherlock play the violin, he seemed so at peace when he was lost in his music. Everyone around her continued to talk and laugh as Molly concentrated on the man in front of the fire place.

Then he changed songs, abruptly, it seemed.

Molly suddenly felt flushed and a bit feverish. As the notes filled the flat she rubbed her hands over her thighs absentmindedly. Mary asked if she'd like a refill of her wine, Molly just nodded, only vaguely aware of what the other woman had asked.

She'd never really been a huge fan of classical music, not that she didn't appreciate it, just hadn't spent a great deal of time listening to it. But whatever Sherlock was playing seemed to reach into Molly's heart and push and pull in equal measure. It was also, well... somehow sensual? Yes, sensual was the only word she could come up with. She felt somewhat embarrassed by her reaction and looked around at the other party goers. They seemed oblivious to the music or her situation. Mary returned and handed her the glass of wine and once again winked at her. Molly accepted it gratefully and took a rather large drink.

o0o0o0o0o

Sherlock concentrated on the arrangement and pushed out all thoughts of the other people in the room. As he continued to play his composition, the song that came to mind every time he thought of Molly Hooper, he lost himself in memories. He had written it during the first few weeks he was back from the mission. The arrangement had come rushing to him the night of the bonfire. At first he thought it was John who had inspired it, but no... it was someone else. It was big brown teary eyes, and long honey-brown hair. It was a ridiculous scarf and a small diamond ring. It was an indescribable look on a sweet face in the hallway of train guy's building. It was longing, it was lust, it was love. But not the love of a friend; no not about John Watson at all then. His mind should have been on his friend and why someone had drugged him and shoved him into an unlit bonfire, but without permission his mind kept wandering to the day... his day with Molly. This song was everything that could have been, if he'd been a different man. It was a hello and a goodbye. It was a kiss on a cheek. It was teary eyes and warm wishes. False wishes, but warm ones.

Suddenly Sherlock remembered that he wasn't alone, no, he was in the middle of a party. People chattering all around him and worse, the subject of the song sat a few feet away drinking moderately priced wine.

He stopped playing and he heard a slight gasp come from his settee. He turned so he could glace at her. A quick look wouldn't hurt... would it?

Molly was staring at him, once again, with tears in her eyes. Her cheeks were a lovely pink, the same shade she would get if he got too close or they accidentally touched. She was biting her bottom lip.

Damn...

He quickly sat down his instrument and walked back into his bedroom.

o0o0o0o0o

"Well, that actually lasted longer that I thought it would," John said as he started to get up. He was stopped by a hand on his arm.

Mary smiled knowingly at her husband. She hadn't missed the exchange that seemed to have gone unnoticed by the rest of the crowd. She walked back over to the pathologist on the sofa. "Molly, Sherlock seems to be in a strop all of a sudden. Could you maybe go talk to him, see what's got him all... bothered?"

Panic rushed through Molly. "I-I d-don't know Mary. Don't you think John would be a better choice?"

Mary took the wine glass out of Molly's hand and tugged her by the arm, gently persuading her to stand. "It would be best if you did it. I might need John to help with Anna."

"Oh, all right," Molly said as she stepped around the coffee table then slowly made her way down the hall. She took a deep breath before knocking on Sherlock's bedroom door.

"Not now John. I need a moment for God's sake," Sherlock snapped.

"Um, well it's Molly, actually. Ah but if you..." Then the door opened.

"Why is it you?" he asked sounding out of breath and looking a bit flushed.

"Well, um, Mary sent me. She said John needed to help with the baby. But it's fine, I understand needing a break and all..."

Damn you Mary Watson, he thought as Molly rambled. That woman is far too observant. "No, it's – well, just come in then," he said, taking a step back and allowing her entrance.

"I, um, in there?" Molly asked, pointing into the room.

"Of course," he said flatly.

Molly slowly walked into Sherlock's bedroom. He stepped behind her and closed the door, then walked to the window on the other side of the room and shoved his hands into his pockets.

The tension was so thick you could practically see it ghosting through the air in the room.

Sherlock felt like he was on fire. Molly. Molly was in his room. Why on earth had he invited her in? It was a split second decision that he regretted immediately. He had to be calm and collected or he'd do something ridiculous like throw her onto the bed and...

Molly had, of course, never been in Sherlock's bedroom before and found herself a bit in awe. It was completely organized and clutter free – as opposed to the utter chaos of the rest of the apartment. She noticed his bed was neatly made and his house shoes were on the floor sticking out slightly from underneath. His nightstand had a lamp, a clock and an unadorned book, she wondered for a might be a journal. She was still taking everything in when Sherlock finally spoke up.

"How is the wine?" he asked. My God those are tight jeans.

"Oh good, quite good," she replied.

"That's good." Say something to kill this tension, he thought. And stop looking at her legs. Molly beat him to it... and of course, well... it just made things worse.

"That song you were playing was lovely, Sherlock. What was it?" she asked.

Sherlock cocked his head, took a shallow breath and then forgot how to lie. "It's the song I play when I'm thinking of you." What the bloody hell...?

Molly's eyes grew large and her already pink cheeks flushed even brighter. "Wh-what? Me? Why on earth...?"

"Ah, I- I mean, I..." Sherlock stammered. "Right, ready to go back to the party? I know I am." He started to move toward the door, but Molly put herself right in front of it and halted his progress.

"No, I think I'd like you to explain."

"What's to explain, Molly? I- ah, well it's an original composition. I wrote it."

"Does it have a name?" she asked as she folded her arms across her chest.

"I don't usually name my compositions. Silly sentimentality."

"Did you... this time?" she asked, her big brown eyes pleading and slightly wet looking.

He had had the hardest time looking Molly in the eyes these last few months. Today was excruciating. Don't tell her... do not tell her. Don't say the words out loud. Stop. I mean it. For the love of God... "I call it 'Pathetic Fool'." Idiot! Molly's sharp intake of breath told Sherlock everything he needed to know about how his admission had been received. He lunged forward. "No, no not you. I'm- I'm the fool, I..."

"Why?"

He backed up and ran his hands through his hair. "Well... because of Meat Dagger. I-I figured it out too late. You moved on. Your words, not mine." I've been drugged, it's the only explanation, he thought.

She shook her head. "But I- I broke up with Tom." What the hell did he figure out?

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Well, not when I wrote the piece. You two were very much still involved when those notes put themselves together." It's her jeans. They're controlling me. Making me just... say... words.

Molly looked all around the room, then she shook her head. "Are... are you saying that... you were a fool because you felt something for me?" Did I really just ask him that?

"No," he answered abruptly. Then he watched as Molly's expression changed from confused to hurt in a millisecond and his insides twisted into knots. "No. I'm still a fool. Because I feel... something for you. Not... felt."

Her expression changed yet again.

Oh, she thought. Not like Christmas at all then. "As I pointed out before, Sherlock, I'm not with Tom anymore. So, what's..." She paused. Do I want to know the answer to this, she wondered. Then decided it was better than not understanding. "What's stopping you now?"

He cleared his throat and stepped a little closer. "You still moved on, Molly. Your feelings changed. Then everything else... happened. I didn't stand a chance."

Well, a little like Christmas, she thought. "You know I can only remember you making a wrong deduction on one other occasion. It seems that every time I come to your flat for a party, you lose the ability to properly deduce me." She closed the distance and stood right in front of him. "My feelings never changed, Sherlock." She had no idea where all her confidence was coming from, but she wasn't looking a gift horse in the mouth. "What is it that you want?"

He stared down into her eyes, eyes with a challenging glint to them, he noticed. He hoped whatever was causing him to finally be honest with Molly didn't fail him now. "You," he simply said.

Molly wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down for a blistering kiss.

o0o0o0o0o

"I think I should go check on them, yeah?" John said to his wife.

Mary put a firm hand on his knee. "Um, don't," she said. "They're fine."

"He could be in there ripping her to pieces Mary."

"Or he could be snogging the breath out of her. Calm down and stop fussing."

"And I could grow wings and fly away, but it's not going to happen," he quipped.

Mary reached up and cupped her husband's face. "Listen to me love... Molly and Sherlock most likely don't want to be disturbed right now. Leave it go and trust me." She kissed his lips sweetly.

John sat stunned for a moment. "What have you done, Mary Watson?"

"I observed dear. Nothing more, nothing at all," she said with a grin.

Just then the pair came rushing down the hall into the sitting room hand in hand. John stood up.

"Sherlock, you have guests..." he started.

"Ah, yes," Sherlock said as he dropped Molly's hand. "Thank you all for coming. But I have to... ah..."

"It's a case. A b-body... at St. Barts," Molly interrupted as Sherlock smiled brightly at her quick thinking (his mind wasn't working at 100% at the moment.)

Mike Stamford spoke up as he looked at his phone. "Why didn't they call me?"

"That's a great question, Mike. You should look into it on Monday. But Sherlock and I have to hurry. Very, very important... body to look at," she said in a rush as she retook Sherlock's hand and pushed through the crowd.

"Laters!" Sherlock called as they dashed out the door.

John looked at his wife. "What the hell?"

"You are killing me John, how do you not know what's going on?"

He looked dumbstruck for just a moment and then... "You mean... Oh! Well, I'll be damned." A smile blooming on his face. "'Bout time!" he exclaimed.

"Yes, I'd say it is," Mary said shaking her head.

"How did you...?" John started.

"Well, I wasn't sure until today. I mean, I had feeling, but I didn't know if he'd ever actually acknowledge it. That song though..."

"Yeah? Well he better not just be using her as an excuse to get out of this party," he said before taking a drink of his wine.

Mary chuckled. "I think he actually learned his lesson there, John. Besides, you can give him your big bad, don't hurt Molly speech tomorrow, after they've shagged each other's brains out."

Thanks for reading. Reviews make me smile, you want to make me smile, don't you? Come visit me on tumblr, same name. ~Lil~