A/N: I couldn't decide on the title, hence it got two ;-)

Susi begged me to do this when I told her about the idea. I hope you'll like it, because what was originally planned to be a short One Shot, transformed into this monster and cost me a whole weekend – my own Frankenstein's creature so to say. And NO Susi, I will NOT write it a female!

English is not my first language, so please bear with me.

Disclaimer: Roses are red, violets are blue, I don't own them so please don't sue.

The Offer

It was not that he was a bad kisser. He was not fantastic either. It was … nice. Nice was boring. She groaned inwardly. She would not let her mind wander down that road again! She would enjoy it and focus on the task at hand (no pun intended), which was being kissed by this guy she had taken home with her. This guy was called Andrew and she had met him in a pub tonight, when she had been out with Carol. He had been fun to talk to, and he had obviously been interested in her. So with some encouragement from Carol's side she had taken him home with her. Yes, she Molly Hooper was going to have a one-night stand. And to be honest, she felt a bit nervous about it, because she had never done that before. Of course she had done it, but she had never had a one-night stand before. But she had decided to give it a try, and so far it had been nice. Oh no, there was it again this horrible word!

"Is everything okay?" Andrew stopped kissing her neck and looked at her. Obviously her inner monologue had not been as discrete as she had hoped.
She knew she was a terrible liar, but she had become better – having to lie to the people you care about for 2 years had that effect. "Yes, I'm fine."
Andrew nodded and leaned in to kiss her again, when the doorbell rang. His head snapped up, and he looked at her again, confusion written all over his face. "Do you expect someone?"
Molly could understand his irritation, because it was past midnight. She cleared her throat and scooted back on the bed they had been sitting on to put some distance between them.
"No, but…" She did not really know how to end the sentence. Saying something like, "No, but I have one unexpected visitor coming over on a more or less regular basis," would probably not be wise.
Andrew's bewilderment was almost comical. The bell rang again. Molly sighed deeply for she feared if she was not going to answer it, the ringing might not stop. Or even worse: He would let himself in.
"Just give me a sec." He nodded, still not sure what was going on here, when Molly got up and walked out of her bedroom. She stopped in front of the mirror in the hall. Her hair was tousled, her lips swollen and her clothes out of place. She buttoned up her blouse and tried her best to arrange her hair. She knew it was useless, since the man on the other side of the door would know the instant she would open the door what was going on. But she had to at least try!

The ringing became more persistent – if that was even possible. Or maybe it was just her imagination, because she could feel herself getting nervous. She was in no mood to face him tonight. Not with a man sitting in her bedroom, not looking the way she did right now. She wondered for a brief moment where Toby could be and decided that he was probably curled up in the bathroom in the laundry basket – his favourite new resting place.
She drew a deep breath, unchained the deadbolt and then unlocked the door. It opened and there in the corridor stood the man she had expected: Sherlock bloody Holmes. And he even had the impudence to look annoyed.
"Took you quite some time to open the door," he said and strode past her into the flat. She stumbled backwards surprised and breathed, "You can't come in."
He turned around and started taking off his coat and scarf and hanging them next to her coat.
"Why not? You're at home, no Tom anymore…"
Molly did not close the door, because she would try everything to send him away again. She gripped the doorknob so fiercely that her knuckles turned white.
"Is this an emergency?" She asked and hoped that he would not detect the slight tremor in her voice.
"The press is crowding Baker Street," he said as if that was number one on the emergency-list.
Molly crossed her arms in front of her chest. "You should have thought about that before getting yourself a fake girlfriend and letting her 'wear the hat'!"
Sherlock's eyes became small slits and Molly had a dreadful feeling. He cocked his head to one side when he stated, "You've said I could come anytime."
"Now is not anytime." She was determined to stand her ground, but had to admit that her voice did not hold the conviction she had wanted to convey.
Suddenly a knowing look appeared on Sherlock's face and the pathologist knew all too well that it was never good to be on the receiving end of this stare. "You're planning on having a one-night stand." It was not a question.
Molly felt her cheeks flush and cast her eyes down onto the floor. Her fingers fumbled nervously with the hem of her blouse.
"No, I... I'm..." she began to stammer, but was interrupted by a voice coming from the far end of the room. Well, if "far end" was a term one could use to describe the distance; her flat was not that big.
"You're Sherlock Holmes!"
Sherlock turned around to see Andrew approaching them. He looked excited while the consulting detective only looked bored. "You're making progress Molly, he seems more intelligent than Tom," the sarcasm was blatant in his words.
Molly wanted to punch him in the face then and there, but she felt paralyzed and could only watch in horror the events unfold. Andrew looked confused about Sherlock's statement, but when he came to stand in front of him, he stretched out his hand. "I'm Andrew Mayer, nice to meet you."
Sherlock ignored the gesture completely, walked past the flummoxed man and stated in his usual lofty manner, "I need the bedroom, but feel free to have sexual intercourse in any other room of the flat, since I won't come out of the bedroom for a few hours. Still I'd ask you to refrain from making loud noises. Additionally I don't recommend sleeping on the couch. Al least not if you're over 5 feet."
He walked into the bedroom, his suit jacket came flown out and the door was shut with a dramatic pang.
Molly stood there frozen in place watching Andrew who was staring at the bedroom door in utter disbelieve.
"Did I just get kicked out by Sherlock Holmes?" he breathed.
That brought the pathologist out of her stupor. She cleared her throat. "We're lucky he rang the bell, normally he just walks in."
Andrew turned towards her and drew up an eyebrow. "He has a key?"
Molly shook her head. "Sherlock Holmes doesn't need a key to enter a flat."
"I see."
An awkward silence enfolded them. Molly shuffled with her feet and realized that the front door was still open. She was desperately searching her mind for the right thing to say. But she could not find a box labelled Appropriate things to say to your supposed-to-be one-night stand when your consulting detective has walked in. She should get herself a mind palace and create a room with phrases one could use to excuse the behaviour of her high-functioning sociopath-friend.
Finally Andrew was the one to break the silence. "Well, I guess we should call it a night then?"
"Yeah, I guess so. I' sorry," she said apologetically.
"No worries." He waved it off, but Molly could see that his casual attitude was fake.
She nodded and turned around to get his coat from the hanger. She handed it to him and opened the front door wider.
"Thanks for the nice evening." She scolded herself for using the word again.
"You're welcome."
For another embarrassing moment they stood there in the doorway, not knowing how to proceed. Again it was him, who spoke up first, "So, I'll call ya."
"Okay," was all she could manage to reply. Andrew leaned down, placed a chaste kiss on her cheek, and then he was gone.

Molly closed the door, closed her eyes, sighed deeply and leaned heavily against the door.
A well known deep voice made her jump.
"He won't call you." Her eyes snapped open. There he was: Sherlock Holmes leaning casually onto her bedroom door frame looking at her with his usual empty expression.
She felt herself getting chagrined when she stomped towards the couch. "I thought you've wanted to stay in the bedroom for some time?" she asked in a clipped tone.
Sherlock pushed himself off the doorframe and walked towards her. "Why are you angry? You won't call him either."
"That's not the point!" She threw her hands up in exasperation. Sometime his audacity was unbelievable!
The consulting detective looked genuinely confused, but she did not plan on explaining it to him. He would either get it, or not. She just wanted him to leave her alone. The pathologist popped herself down on the sofa and drew a hand over her face in a gesture of frustration. Through her fingers she saw Sherlock sitting himself down on the chair scanning her with his bright eyes. She hoped if she did not react he would probably just go away, but since this was Sherlock Holmes she would hardly be this lucky. Instead he asked another question, "Why do you choose a stupid man for a one-night stand?"
She let her hands fall to her side and answered defeated, "The level of IQ has nothing to do with how good the sex is."
Sherlock shrugged. "Well, you have way more experience than I do."
Molly sounded scandalized, "Are you implying I'm easy to…"
"No. No!" Sherlock realized his mistake in his choice of words and hastened to add, "In relation to your age your number of sexual partners is rather small."
Molly did not think that this sounded any more flattering. "And now you've managed to make me look like an old spinster."
Sherlock's lips became a thin line. "You're twisting my words."
"If you say so," she said her tone clearly lined with frustration. Molly was tired, and a bit embarrassed. Sherlock had more or less seen her with the guy she had planned to have sex with. Why did the phrase "plan to have sex with someone" not sound right in her head? Granted, it was not really romantic, but that was not what was bothering her. Maybe it was because ... But her musing was interrupted by the man sitting next to her in the chair. "You haven't answered my question. I'm pretty sure you could find yourself an intelligent man."
Molly could feel herself getting defensive again. "Define intelligent. In your opinion everyone who is not you is more or less stupid."
"True." At least he did not attempt to try to disguise his narcissistic attitude...
When the woman on the sofa still refused to say anything more on that matter he tried again, "So, why not find yourself an intelligent man?"
"The intelligent ones are not available," she answered in an unadulterated way. She did not see any need to lie to him, because she was sure he would not follow up upon the fact that she was talking about him. Sherlock Holmes may have been a genius, but he was quite thick when it came to matters of the heart. There was always something that he missed.

When she made eye contact with him, she realized that he was leaning forwards to her and looking at her with a piercing gaze, as if he was trying to make sense of what she had said. It was the look that made her think he was seeing her through. Like he knew all the thoughts and secrets she treasured. He seldom looked at her like that, but when he did she was not sure if she loved or despised it. She desperately wanted to look away, out of fear he could actually figure out she had been talking about him, but she found herself transfixed by his stare. To her relieve he suddenly sat up straight again and said peremptorily, "You are going to accompany me to the ball at the Austrian Embassy tomorrow."
"What?" She had to shake her head, because she was not sure if she had heard him correctly. The deep sigh that was coming from him was enough to let her know how slow he thought she was being. So he explained deliberately slowly, "I have to attend the ball at the Austrian embassy tomorrow. One of Mycroft's invitations he was so kind to pass onto me, because he is busy starting a war somewhere." He made a dismissive gesture with his right hand and from the way he said it, one could have thought the words poisoned him while speaking them.
Molly still did not get it. "So why do you need me?"
„I'm definitely not attending this horrible thing alone. I would die from boredom!"
"Meaning you would probably shoot or at least insult the Austrian ambassador."
The consulting detective nodded grimly.
Molly sat up a little straighter. "Why don't you ask John?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "People already talk enough and that makes John uncomfortable. He seems to have a little issue with people thinking he might be gay. He is not as comfortable with his sexuality as I am."
Molly chocked at her words and blinked a few times. Did he mean that? But she thought he... WHAT?!
Sherlock obviously did not understand why her mouth opened and closed a few times, so his brow knitted in confusion.
"Molly?"
She shook her head to clear her thoughts. "Yeah, sorry. I... ahm..."
Sherlock sighed. "I need to ask you not to stammer at the ball tomorrow. It would be embarrassing for the both of us."
"Sure, I... I mean..." He gave her a measured look and that finally made her close her mouth and draw a deep breath. She closed her eyes momentarily, and she was glad that Sherlock gave her the time to get a grip of herself again. When she opened her eyes again, he was still looking at her.
She tried to sum up what she thought he had asked of her, "So, you want me to accompany you to this ball?"
"Yes," he said, and Molly was surprised that she did not detect any boredom in his voice as she had expected.
She went on, "You want me to accompany you. Like a…?" She drew up her eyebrows to put some emphasis on the big question mark, when Sherlock hastened to set it straight, "Strictly business. It's just business. I have to go for business, so…"
"Yeah sure, I know." Molly prayed desperately that he did not detect any hint of disappointment in her voice or face.
"I could pay you?" he suddenly suggested and sounded like he had found the solution to a problem.
"What?!" Molly was not sure if she had heard him correctly.
"It seems only fair. People should get paid when having to attend such dreadful, boring events."
"So you're paying me to accompany you to a ball?"
"Yes. But maybe don't say that at the ball. People might get the wrong impression."
She could not help a sarcastic comment, "You think so?"
Sherlock chose to ignore the statement altogether and mused out loud without premeditation, "Although hostesses tend to comply with the conventional ideal of beauty. So you needn't worry that one might mistake you for one."
Molly's mouth hung open. At first he more or less made her look like a high class call girl and then he said she was not pretty enough to be one? She did not know by which statement she should feel more offended. But before she could verbalize any of her thoughts he got up from the chair and ended the conversation in his arrogant way, "The ball starts at 8 p.m. I'll text you the details and further instructions. We can talk about the payment tomorrow. Goodnight." And with that he disappeared into her bedroom, leaving an irritated Molly Hooper behind, who was not able to process any of what had happened tonight.