xoxo

Dear god, what had he been thinking?

Well, he hadn't been, obviously.

All common sense had abandoned him as he was hit by a tide of jealously seeing the way DI Lestrade had been drooling all over HIS pathologist.

He had been overcome with the feeling, and, as he always maintained was the case, the emotions had wreaked havoc with his ability to reason clearly. He had let his feelings propel him to do something he never would have done under normal circumstances.

Sherlock had always prided himself on being able to keep the door firmly closed between his mind and his emotions; he had locked it up years ago and nothing had been able to penetrate it. Until John Waston came along and somehow managed to slip through the cracks before Sherlock realised this it was too late.

Then that Woman showed up and wriggled her way in, however slightly, it had been enough to weaken Sherlock's barrier enough allowing Molly Hooper to come along and bust it off its hinges.

Molly Hooper.

Who would have ever thought that plain, ordinary Molly Hooper would be the one to wear down the steely resolve of Sherlock Holmes?

Certainly not the great consulting detective himself. He'd never seen this coming.

But, then again, he always did miss something, didn't he.

Now, in hindsight, of course he could see all these little things that had led him to take the action he had last night.

If he had ever bothered to analyse himself properly, he would have recognised that he had always – in his way – liked Molly. He respected her. Trusted her. And she annoyed him far less than most people did – despite her awful jokes and deplorable attempts to make conversation. She was the only pathologist who ever worked at Bart's whose presence in the lab didn't grate him so intensely that he had to find someway to get them sacked.

In fact, he actually, almost, enjoyed her company – at least when she was helping him and kept silent, that is.

And then there was the incident at the Christmas party.

He winced recalling the memory of the look on her face after he had insulted her and the way her voice had cracked when she put him in his place. He had reacted to her display of emotions. He'd felt something himself in return; a pang in his chest and sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He didn't like having hurt her.

Not that causing people pain was something that usually caused him joy. No, usually hurting the feelings of others didn't effect him at all – because he didn't have feelings of his own.

Or, at least, he wasn't supposed to.

But he had felt genuine remorse for hurting the feelings of Molly Hooper. He had apologised, and for perhaps the first time in his life, he had meant it. And then when he bent down and brushed her cheek with his lips, he felt an odd tingle. He hadn't had time to properly reflect on the sensation when The Woman's rude text alert sounded.

He should have paid more attention.

Then there was Boxing day, when Sherlock had gone to Molly's flat with a token of apology(a sterling silver bracelet with a pink heart pendent.)

The joy on Molly's face when she opened the gift made his chest feel with warmth; it felt good to make her happy.

This was not something that Sherlock was comfortable with; he should not care either way about Molly Hooper's feelings. And he certainly shouldn't be wanting to make an effort to sway them(unless of course he needed to make her feel good for his own gain) But he shouldn't want to do things just for the sake of making her smile.

This was unacceptable!

He'd have to do something about it. Nip it in the bud, as they say.

No doubt Molly had some kind of ideas about what happened last night changing the course of their relationship and will be disappointed when she learns that nothing can be different.

Oh well, if she's disappointed it's not my problem, Sherlock thought icily, but he frowned at the thought of seeing her big brown eyes fill with hurt again. His frown deepened when he was unable to shake his concern.

He shouldn't be concerned!

He was momentarily shaken from his reverie by the sound of his flatmate groaning loudly from his bedroom.

The corners of his mouth quirked considering what a sorry state the other man must be in.

Good, Sherlock thought. It's his own fault for drinking so excessively. He should suffer. Sherlock thought that what transpired last night was, in no small part – in fact almost entirely– John's fault.

It was his foolish idea to have the party in the first place, despite what a disaster the one for Christmas had been. He was the one who invited Molly Hooper. And he was the one who got so drunk he went around snogging everybody, including Molly Hooper, the sight of which had been the impetus for Sherlock resorting to such drastic measures.

If it wasn't for John he wouldn't be in the predicament he was in now. So Sherlock cannot be to blamed if Molly is hurt when she realises that she and Sherlock will go on the same as always– John is.

This perfectly sound reasoning made Sherlock smile – that as well as listening to the heaving sounds coming from the bathroom.

Sherlock plucked up his violin and started playing a purposely off-key melody.

A moment later John came staggering out of his bedroom.

"Oi!" the doctor cried over Sherlock's playing. "Keep it down will you!"

Sherlock ceased the bow and whipped round. "Good morning John!" he boomed. John winced. "Sorry I didn't hear you," Sherlock went on, his voice still several decimals louder than it needed to be. "What did you say?"

"I said," John said, clutching the side of his throbbing head. "Keep it down a bit if you don't mind. My head is killing."

"Well that's a wonder," Sherlock drily remarked, bending to place his violin and bow on the sofa. "Can't imagine why."

"Please, Sherlock, I'm in no condition for your sarcasm right now," John grumbled. "So yeah, maybe I went a bit overboard last night. But it was New Year; getting pissed is what you're supposed to do."

Sherlock huffed. "Are you also supposed to go around mauling people with your mouth?"

"Well, er, yeah, actually," John replied. "Kissing at midnight is tradition." He rubbed the back of his neck looking sheepish. "Though I guess I took that a bit too far too. Er... sorry."

Sherlock arched his brow. "Why whatever for?" he asked gliding suggestively toward his flatmate "You rocked my world Dr. Watson," he practically purred. "Last night you gave me the thing I've been longing for ever since you moved in. It's made me so happy knowing you feel the same way about me as I do you."

It shouldn't have been possible, but John's already pasty hung-over complexion, went even paler as he goggled at his flatmates words. He gulped.

"What?" he squeaked. "Er... mate, listen, I'm sorry if you got the wrong idea," he grappled. "But, I don't – I mean you know that I'm not–" John's clumsy rambling cut off when he caught the barely controlled twitch of Sherlock's lips and the unmistakable glint of mischief in his eyes.

John sighed at himself for being so gullible.

"Oh, bugger off!"

Sherlock's brow arched. "Careful what you say John?" He warned. "Wouldn't want to give me the wrong idea again, would you?"

John rolled his eyes, then winced as the action split his head. He flopped down in his usual chair.

Sherlock chuckled. "Well your kiss may not have effected me, but I'd say you sure gave Mrs. Hudson the thrill of a lifetime – not to mention Lestrade."

John winced again. "It's not all my fault I got so drunk last night you know," he said. "You're to blame as well."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Really? How so?"

"Well," John began, "if you hadn't been so stubborn and dead-set against letting loose and having a good time, I wouldn't have had to drink your share of the champaign."

Sherlock gave his flatmate a look. "Really John, even you must see the flaw in your reasoning. Wouldn't the most logical thing to have done been to disperse equally the surplus alcohol instead of imbibing it all on your own?"

John's brow knitted. He scratched the back of his head. "Er... well, yeah. I suppose."

Sherlock nodded tersely. "Precisely. You can't go around blaming others for your actions, John," Sherlock lectured. "You must take responsibility for yourself." With a flourish of his dressing gown, Sherlock folded himself onto the couch.

John shook his head and snickered. "Yeah, I really must have been out of it last night," he remarked. "Cos, I could have sworn that I saw you snogging the face off of Molly yourself."

Sherlock stiffened. He didn't say a word.

"Shite!" John muttered in disbelief. "I didn't imagine that, did I? You really did kiss Molly!"

Sherlock turned his head away. "Well, you said yourself 'it's tradition'," he said stiffly.

"Oh and since when were you ever one to follow tradition?" John countered.

Sherlock sprung to his feet and crossed over to the window(right in the same spot where the incident had occurred last night)

"It didn't mean anything," he contended. "I was simply saving Molly from being accosted again like she was by you; Lestrade was going to try something. I was just being a friend."

"Well how do you know Molly didn't want Lestrade to try something?" asked John. "They seemed to be enjoying each other's company most of the party."

Sherlock snapped around and narrowed his eyes at John. "Honestly, John! You can't really think that Molly would be interested in him." He scoffed. "It's ridiculous."

John smiled, a knowing sort of smile, at Sherlock.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed even further wondering what it was exactly John thought he knew that Sherlock didn't. "What?" he demanded.

"Nothing," John loftily replied. "Nothing at all." He heaved himself up from the chair and started off to the kitchen to for a cuppa, chuckling all the way while Sherlock glared daggers at his back.

xoxo

Molly Hooper was often in good spirits; she was just an optimistic person that liked to believe in the best. But even her co-workers at St. Bartholomew's hospital, who were used to the upbeat Dr. Hooper, were intrigued by her behaviour this morning. On three separate occasions when interns had brung down bodies to the morgue they had walked in on the pathologist singing. One had even witnessed her holding a scalpel to her mouth and belting out And then he kissed me whilst in the middle of an autopsy.

Some wondered if perhaps she hadn't indulged a bit too much the night before and was maybe a still a little inebriated.

Molly was well aware of the strange looks she was receiving and the murmurings of her colleagues about how she was acting, but she simply didn't care. She was far too happy and she just couldn't contain herself.

She had finally experienced the one thing she'd been wanting for three years ever since the man with the most intense blue eyes she'd ever seen had walked into her morgue.

She had fantasised, what must have been a million times, about kissing Sherlock Holmes. But, as was always the case, the reality didn't compare to the fantasy. No, reality had been far better.

She had absolutely no words to describe what his lips had felt like against hers. But she knew that she had felt the kiss in every fibre of her being; the sensation had exploded all the way out of her toes. It was simply amazing.

She had spent most of the day trying to relive the moment in her mind, but found she just couldn't do it justice – but, she was still enjoying trying.

She giggled as she opened the drawer to her desk in her office to find a pen to fill in some paper work. She froze when a long forgotten tube of lipstick rolled into view from the back of the drawer where she had shoved it over a year ago.

With tentative hands she reached into the desk and picked up the lipstick. She popped off the cap and rolled it up.

What happened to the lipstick? His voice echoed in her mind.

...now your mouth's too small.

She had been crushed at his words then. It hadn't been the first time and it wouldn't be the last.

...to make up for the size of your mouth and breast.

She twisted the lipstick down, put the cap back on, dropped it and slammed the drawer shut.

Her hands were trembling as she realised how naive she was being about this whole thing. She was assuming that just because Sherlock kissed her that that changed something somehow.

But, nothing was really different. It was just as it always was. The man was just dangling a carrot in front of her to lure her in so he could whack her over the head with the stick.

He was using her, manipulating her. He had to be. It was Sherlock Bloody Holmes; he didn't do anything without an ulterior motive.

And if he wasn't sweetening her up for some favour he needed, then he was probably conducting some sort of experiment.

Yes, that was probably it, an experiment.

What had she really thought that Sherlock really fancied her or something?

She snorted derisively at herself. If the man had any sort of romantic feelings for her, then why would it have taken him three years to make a move. It's not as if Sherlock Holmes was the shy sort.

And besides, she wasn't even the only one he had kissed last night; he snogged John too. So had she for that matter. (Well technically John had kissed them, but still...)

The way Molly had been going on all morning, one would think that just because Sherlock kissed her they were betrothed. So using that reasoning she was also engaged to John and he to Sherlock.

Maybe the three of them were going to enter a ménage B trois.

Molly giggled out right at that thought; she could just imagine telling her mum, who was constantly on her case about not finding a boyfriend. Well, mum, no I have two and we all shag like rabbits together. I'm getting it from both ends now it's a wonder I can walk.

She laughed even harder – the sound was becoming a bit hysterical.

When she stopped laughing she whimpered at her own foolishness, folding her arms on her desk and laying her head on them.

She wanted to scream.

Why do I always do this? She asked herself. I always act like a besotted schoolgirl when it comes to that man. I get my hopes up over the smallest little things. Why don't I know better by now?

And she really should have, now that she thought about it, when she considered Sherlock's behaviour after the greatest kiss of her life had occurred...

One moment he had been practically seducing her with the words 'Happy New Year, Molly Hooper,' His eyes were like rings of blue flames round widened black pupils. They had burned into her, igniting all the way down to her core.

And then, in the next second, the spell had snapped.

Sherlock blinked and the fire was extinguished. His irises resorted back to icicles and the sexy smirk he'd been wearing dissolved into his usual mask of impassivity. His arms let go of her so abruptly, Molly nearly crumpled to the floor. She had to put out her hand to steady herself on the back of the chair by the window.

Sherlock cleared his throat brusquely and said, in a smooth emotionless tone, "Well, it's getting rather late. I think I'll retire for the night." He gave her a sharp nod. "Goodnight, Dr. Hooper." With that he had twirled on his heel and strode to his bedroom, slamming the door soundly behind him.

Leaving Molly to gape in his wake as her head spun from the whirlwind he had just swept her up in, only to drop her at the peak.

She had lingered at Baker's Street for over an hour afterwards hoping that Sherlock would come out of his room. Finally realising he wasn't going to, she gathered up her bag and went home.

"Oh, god," she groaned aloud. She propped her arms up on their elbows and buried her face in her hands. She shook her head at herself.

She had let herself get so wrapped up in the memory of what it was like to kiss Sherlock, that she had completely dismissed everything that happened after.

In short, she'd been a fool. She done the exact thing she had promised herself she wasn't going to do anymore. She was supposed to be giving up this hopeless fixation with the consulting detective and getting on with her life.

Like every other New Year's resolution she ever made, she broke. But she usually at least managed to last a few weeks; this one she'd broken before the year had even officially began.

She dropped her head again and banged it lightly on the top of her desk.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," she berated herself.

She heard muffled voices coming from the hall and froze in her self abuse. She brought her head up and listened more intently.

She could make out that it was a set of two voices, male, one very distinct.

The colour drained from her face. Oh god no, she thought. Not now.

She had somehow failed to remember that part of the night after waking up this morning. She only remembered the kiss and the look in his eyes right already felt bad enough, she didn't need HIM coming here to add to her humiliation.

She looked towards the metal lockers that held the bodies and wished she could trade places with one of them right now. Or perhaps she could at least crawl into an empty drawer.

She closed her eyes, sighing as she resigned herself to her fate.

Oh no you don't, Molly Hooper, a voice in her head told her; it was strong Molly. The one that spoke up whenever Molly felt at her weakest and wanted to give up. You do not have to let that man make you feel like this anymore. So, what, you looked a bit silly in front of a few of your colleagues; you've suffered worse. But HE still hasn't seen the effect he had on you and he doesn't need to. You can still stick to your resolution. Forget Sherlock Holmes. He's probably forgotten all about what happened last night anyway – 'deleted the data' or whatnot. Like he does with all meaningless information. Which is exactly what you've always been to him, meaningless. So why let him have so much control over you?

Molly coughed, clearing her throat of the tears that had clogged it and sat up straighter, lifting her chin.

Her stronger self was right. She still had a chance to save face. She wasn't going to lose it. No more letting Sherlock Holmes get to her.

She pressed her lips together in a determinate line and nodded to herself. "I can do this," she bolstered herself as she took a breath and pushed back from her desk.

You can do this, Strong Molly agreed and Molly smiled squaring her shoulders, she stepped out of her office and went to greet the men that just entered the morgue.

TBC...

Thanks for reading!

Please drop me a review and let me know what you think of this so far, and if you are interested in seeing how it's all resolved.

Laters lovies!