A/N 1: This is for the lovely MorbidByDefault, who gave me this prompt. I'm sorry dear, I'm pretty sure someone else would have done a better job than me.

Just fluff here, guys. That being said, if fluff, crack humor and Sherlolly be not your thing, what are you doing here anyway?

Vacations are fun, Molly Hooper mused, but only up to the time when you get on the plane home. Then vacations mess up your schedule, your body clock and turn your normally dust free house into a dust museum. She could have sworn she saw dust particles rise when she dropped her luggage on the carpet. Ignoring the state of her house for the time being, she dragged herself to her bed. Right now, she needed a long nap, and then preferably have breakfast at Mary's when she went to pick up the cat in the morning.

She had just gotten underneath her duvet when her phone buzzed. Literally too tired to move, she ignored it. Whoever was texting her would just have to wait till the morning.

The phone buzzed. Again. And again. And again.

And then the door bell rang. Biting her cheek to keep from screaming, she dragged herself out of the bed when the front door banged open.

Oh great.

"Molly," a familiar baritone rang out, "Molly, why aren't you answering my texts?"

"One of these days, someone will have you arrested for breaking and entering, Sherlock," Molly snapped as she tugged her robe over her pajamas, ignoring the eye-roll the Consulting Detective gave her.

"I did ring the doorbell first. What sort of burglar would ring the doorbell first?" Sherlock snorted derisively. "Now come on then, put on something less offensive. I need you at Bart's."

"I'm off duty," Molly said, suddenly very self conscious in the aged ducky pajamas she wore. "Maybe Doctor Bamford-,"

"Bamford won't work with me," Sherlock said as he stomped towards her bedroom, behaving as if he owned the place. He dug into her closet (Molly discreetly closed her suitcase, but she was half certain Sherlock had already had a view of her dirty underwear). He thrust her cherry jumper and her best jeans at her. "Get dressed, quickly."

"I'm tired, Sherlock," Molly said, already reclining on her bed and pulling the duvet over her legs. "Go bother Bamford, he's not the one who got off a plane half an hour ago."

"I'm sorry, and yes I'm apologizing on behalf of my five-year-old," John said as a severely pissed off Molly climbed into the taxi ten minutes later. "I tried to tell him that you would be tired from your trip, but when does he ever listen?"

He glanced reproachfully at his flat-mate, who got in after Molly. "Mary was not best pleased when he barged in."

Molly rested her head on the Army Doctor's shoulder and closed her eyes. "John, if you and your five-year-old could keep quiet for the next fifteen minutes, I'll buy Mary two locks for her door."

John snorted and Sherlock looked scandalized. He nudged Molly in retribution.

"Sorry, love," she murmured sleepily, and switched sides so that she rested on the Consulting Detective's shoulder instead. The look on Sherlock's face was reminiscent of a cat who had figured out how to use the tin opener.

Molly had fallen asleep at the lab counter when a sudden smash jolted her out of her waking dreams.

"Uh…Okay, Molly, I…er, I'm sure Mycroft would-," she heard John Watson say as she stared at the broken Petri dishes that lay sadly on the floor, the culmination of three months work oozing onto the tiles.

"They were contaminating my work," Sherlock intoned as he stared into her microscope. "Besides, they were not important. You could be using your time doing actual significant research this time."

"No-not important?" Molly shrieked and Sherlock looked at her, eyebrows raised. "You- you think three months of my research was 'not bloody important'?"

"Well, Molly, I think you are more capable of-,"

"Out. Get out. Get out of my lab. NOW."

"Molly, you are taking things too-,"

"You know what," John said, grabbing Sherlock's arm and dragging him up to standing. "We'll just go. You'll feel better in the morning, Molly, after we've all calmed down a bit."

"Not bloody likely!"

Two weeks later

"She still won't talk to you?" John asked his best friend. Sherlock had taken to spending all day on the sofa, wearing every single one of his rattiest t-shirts and at regular intervals, shooting more smiley faces on the wall.

"Have you tried apologizing?" he asked again when he didn't answer.

"Of course I have," Sherlock snapped, rolling onto his stomach and hiding his face like a petulant child. "What sort of idiot do you take me for?"

"Um, what about flowers? Girlfriends appreciate it when you send them flowers at work."

"I sent her daisies, but she's allergic and now refuses to receive any of the other flowers I send her."

"Okay, er, how about a romantic dinner-,"

"Are you done reciting this month's edition of Cosmo, John?"

"Fine. You don't want my help. I get it. But you gotta get out sometime, Sherlock. She can't stay mad at you forever. Get her a present, something she'll like-,"

"I've been thinking of getting her a heart."

"Are you joking?"

"Are you joking?" Molly said as she saw Sherlock enter the lab, holding out a gift wrapped box. "Really, Sherlock?"

"I may have been at fault when I said that your research was not important. It was important to you, and I'm sorry for breaking them."

"That was the most backhanded apology I ever received," Molly said, rolling her eyes, "but apology accepted. Though that's three months of my life I'll never get back."

She leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, but moved away as soon as he started to deepen it. "Now what's this?"

"A present. Now, they wouldn't let me take the heart, so I had to get the-,"

"The brain. You got me a bloody brain." She stared at it, the grey mass floating in the liquid, and then she stared at her mad, mad boyfriend.

"Yes. Don't you like it? I knew you would have liked the heart better, it's more symbolic-mmppfff!"

She kissed him, hard, and his hands immediately fell to her hips, drawing her in closer, their kisses getting rougher and more intense.

It occurred to Sherlock that they hadn't touched each other in two week. This situation needed to be remedied. Immediately.

He had had her ensconced in a supply closet and their coats where gone by the time he asked, "Did you like it?"

"Yes, Sherlock, I loved the thought behind it," she giggled as she peppered kisses along his jaw, "but after we are done here, let's return it to the poor morgue you stole it from, okay?"

A/n2: Leave a review? Also, the first chapter of my Beauty and the Beast AU will be up soon, so stay tuned!

Love,

Adi xoxo