If she could have, Molly would have shot lasers out of her eyes and shorn John Watson clear in two. "You could say PLEASE," she snapped.

John stared at her in disbelief. "Okay, fine. I'm sorry. Will you PLEASE run this sample? It's a matter of time. A school bus full of children has been hijacked and we need to know what traces you can find. Sherlock's running God knows where and this was my task." He stared at Molly expectantly. "Well?"

"Well, all I wanted was you to ask instead of demanding!" Molly grabbed the cigarette butt from John's hand. "I'll run it. Fine. Okay. I have your number and I'll let you know what I find."

John nodded. "Okay, sure." He backed out of the lab before turning and heading back down the hallway.

"ARGH!" Molly stamped her feet on the ground. Not only was she having horrid menstrual cramps which were making her impressively irritable, but her best childhood friend Robyn had gotten engaged last night. Everyone was engaged and poor Molly Hooper couldn't even last more than three dates before finding out her suitor was a serial killer or a psychopath or who knows what. She was cursed. "I. HATE. BEING. A. GIRL." Molly slammed microscope parts onto the counter angrily. She glared at the cigarette butt. It wasn't like she had enough to do, already.

Thirty minutes later, she had jotted a list of information she'd pulled from the cigarette and was heading to find John. She probably owed him an apology, anyway. "Here's your list, I'd take special note of the first three bullets, if Sherlock hasn't found your suspect yet," Molly announced as she entered the lounge John usually frequented. "It's especially interesting that-" she trailed off.

"Thanks much, but I've already taken care of it by myself." Sherlock was lying along the back of the couch, smashing the cushions beneath him. His hands were pressed together and resting on his lips. John was tapping away on his laptop in the adjacent armchair.

"Of course you have," Molly snapped. She crumpled the list and threw it into a garbage can. "All of that work for nothing. I'll see you round, then. I've got to get back to my own work, for a change." She spun toward the door and stomped toward it.

"Molly, the table," Sherlock called after her.

"Hmm?" Molly looked back.

"The table. A French hot chocolate. Extra whipped cream and those chocolate sprinkles." Sherlock swung his legs around and sat up with his feet on the cushions. He beamed and nodded toward the table. "For you."

The paper rustled as John lowered it in interest.

"What, why?" Molly asked, dumbfounded.

"You were excessively grumpy yesterday, your breasts are swollen ever so slightly and I noticed a few blemishes along your jawline. You're clearly menstruating and this is your favorite drink from the shop around the corner. Sugar can do wonders for women when-"

"For the love of God," John mumbled. "Sherlock. Okay."

Molly chewed at her bottom lip for a second before crossing the room and snatching the drink from the table. "Well, um, thanks for noticing." She quickly took a drink. "This IS delicious. Thank you." She scurried from the room before her face turned any redder.

"Sherlock, really?" John folded the paper and tossed it onto the coffee table. "The poor girl is mortified. Her BREASTS? Pointing out blemishes?"

"That was good, I know. You're so adament about me showing my feelings for Molly, you should be proud, John!" Sherlock sighed in contentment. "It DOES feel good to make someone else's day. Perhaps there's something to this."

John chuckled. "Right."