"Oh my feet! I am going to get that special massage you recommended tomorrow if I am alive by then." Molly muttered while staring at her empty glass…where did all that vodka go?
All the assistants were gathered in a corner, now that the Oscars were finally announced and the respective stars, producers, directors they worked for were finally letting their hair down at the Vanity Fair party.
"Oh you won't have time tomorrow love. With that Best Picture gong, the Holmes boys will be itching to start afresh, so just throw away your pedicure and massage plans now, 'much kinder' as young Sherly likes to say." Andrea slurred kindly. She'd know, having worked for Mycroft Holmes since forever.
Molly snorted, sobering a little. "At least it'll be ok to reach a little late and avoid having to see his highness in all his naked glory. I swear if I see that man in the buff one more time, I am going to throw that Ming vase at him and quit. There's only so much of fresh hickies and scratch marks one can see and only so many upset women one can escort to the waiting taxi…though, surprisingly that hasn't occurred the last few days at all. He's behaving weird…this morning he was almost…polite!" The women collectively gasped at Molly's revelation. "I know I know…maybe I should book that appointment with Deepak Chopra. Next you know, he would be smiling and saying thank you. I doubt my insurance covers heart and brain surgery 'coz I would seriously need both."
They all burst out laughing again till they had tears running down their faces.
"Oh dear," Mary sympathised while she wiped her eyes, "Lily love, you're new so get this straight. Get done with the falling-in-love-with-Greg part soon and move to the next stage. As an assistant you will get to see and hear and god forbid, even do things that would make your mama want to run to the hills screaming."
"You're the one to speak, Mary. It's none of us who's shagging their man. John's looking so besotted, I am convinced you will make an announcement soon," Anthea quipped.
Mary gave her a cheeky wink, but knew that her gaggle of women was genuinely happy for her. John Watson had been in a downward spiral and everyone paid credit to Mary to get him back on the right path, eventually getting nominated but losing the Best Actor gong that night.
"But you've seen Sherlock naked?" Lily whispered to Molly, giggling at the same time.
"Oh, of course I have," Molly snorted. "Or in those indecently short sports shorts when he works out. My eyes are deadened to all that, I think I go red when he's all covered."
"Oh he does look dishy all suited up. Good he got Mummy Holmes as his date tonight, I doubt he would've been able to get away unharmed otherwise." Anthea noted.
"But I thought…what you girls were talking earlier…you sounded like you're in love with him." Lilly persisted.
"Of course I am, it's the sloppiest secret in Hollywood. His last girlfriend even sympathised with me, it was horrible. It's been so long that I don't even know the difference, not that it matters. We are the invisible army Lily, as Mary rightly suggested, herself being the exception. But do get over the falling in love part ok? It's much easier…who the bloody hell is stealing my vodka? It's a war zone at the bar tonight." Molly grumbled as she tottered away to get a refill.
"Ah Molly, poor thing," Mary observed. " Aaand, with that new drink she's crossed the line from 'throwing up and mild hangover tomorrow' to the 'kill me please, can't take this' stage."
Which was true. The next day Molly only remembered drinking more, laughing, dancing with someone, elbowing him when pawed her and then laughing and drinking yet some more. As she groaned and tried to get up, the world seemed to spin around and she promptly collapsed back. It was two more attempts before she was able to open her eyes and see the world steady. The darkened room helped, as she tried to find water to soothe her parched throat. She'd swallowed the aspirin she found next to the glass by her bed and had started to observe her surroundings when the door to the room opened, and someone walked in with a booming, "Hello, you're finally up."
Molly felt the voice squish her brains. "Shhhh. Be quiet Sherlock," she whispered.
"Why am I at your house? God, I'll have to travel home and back in the freaking traffic." She was sitting at his kitchen counter, hot coffee in hand and sunglasses firmly on. "What's so bloody funny?"
"You are," Sherlock chortled. "Those sunglasses really don't suit you."
"Fuck you very much. God I wish I was dead," she moaned. "And please tell me I didn't make out with Daniel. Though shouldn't have mentioned him, now I really wanna throw up. Don't drink too much, children or you might just make out with the slimiest thing in Hollywood."
"Yeah, you looked zonked out of your brains, so I might've shortened your romance when I pulled you away and brought you here."
"I would've needed serious therapy if I had slept with that man." Molly shuddered. "He was kissing Tessa earlier, looked like he was vacuuming her face…Thanks Sherlock, love you for that."
"Speaking of which…I might have overheard your conversation last night."
"Hmm," she replied, taking tentative sips of the strong brew, the caffeine making her feel human again.
"It matters, you know."
"Hmm? What matters? God I love this coffee, can I steal the whole jar?" she said, inhaling the aroma deeply, ignoring her fogged glasses and missing the fond smile on Sherlock's face.
"What you think, what you feel. It matters."
"Why do I feel like you are pitching the next 'Inception'?"
He outright laughed at that, ignoring her wince, accepting that she was in no condition to listen to him.
"Man, I shouldn't drink like I've a personal vendetta against vodka…vodka always 'hits' back," she giggled at her own pun.
She'd made to get to her own flat across town after that, but he would have none of it. He made her eat something light and dispatched her to bed again.
She was in no condition to listen to him at the moment but he couldn't send her away now. The look he'd sent Daniel's way last night as he led Molly away would've been a clue enough to the observant wolves, who were thankfully too drunk themselves. There was a reason he wasn't dating anyone else, or was as considerate as he was this morning. He'd been slow to come around and appreciate what a lovely woman she was. And he'd been more than interested in showing her his appreciation on the personal front.
He'd wait till she was sober enough to tell her how he felt. And if it meant a vendetta against wine this time, so be it. He was all for it.