Author's Note: So due to all the kind reviews and requests for me to expand this one shot (and my love of Sherlock), I've decided to go ahead and write more of this story. I'm not going to do a plot-based fic since I'm doing one of those already, and that takes a lot of time to write and plan out. Instead, I've decided to write a series of connected ficlets that give us snapshot glimpses into the important moments of Sherlock and Molly's ever evolving relationship with one another. Basically, it's my take on the important "firsts" in their lives together. The original one shot will serve as the prologue. I'll be keeping the stories in Molly's fist person POV as I did with the opening chapter. I hope you all enjoy it!


For a holiday that is advertised every year as "delightful" and "romantic", I had always found Valentine's Day to be rather depressing. Perhaps it was my perpetually single state. What man wants to date a morgue attendant, after all? Mine was hardly the most glamorous of professions, and it certainly didn't make for entertaining dinner conversation.

I could hardly think of my last date without grimacing. After ten minutes of my babbling on about studying the onset of rigamortis to a fresh corpse, my date promptly imbibed half a bottle of Cristal before muttering some excuse about needing fresh air. The next thing I knew, I was sitting alone in the middle of a crowded restaurant, awaiting a date who never came back. He didn't even have the decency to pay for the expensive champagne he gulped down in his hurry to get away from me. Suffice to say, I hadn't chanced a date since. They always ended the same way. In disappointment.

So instead of a fancy restaurant, I found myself in the lab once again. Hardly a romantic setting, but one that was much less prone to leave me in an embarrassed state at the end of the night. Besides, the only man I wanted to spend the evening with already sat a few feet away, silently studying a jar of kidneys. He hadn't really explained why he needed the jar of kidneys when he joined me in the lab an hour before, but with Sherlock, it was usually best not to ask. After a few moments of arguing with him why I couldn't do as he asked, as the kidneys weren't intended for his bizarre experiments, I gave in like always and left him to his work.

Occasionally, I would peek up at him over the screen of my computer as I worked in silence, but I hadn't caught sight of his eyes glancing in my direction. The attention I longed for was focused entirely on the dead organs before him. After peeking at him once again only to be disappointed, I let a dejected sigh escape my pursed lips, making a soft buzzing sound in the quiet space. He did look up at me then.

Sherlock quirked one of those perfect brows at me in a manner that indicated he did not appreciate the interruption to his work. "Something the matter, Miss Hooper?" From his use of my surname, I could deduce that he was not in a mood to converse.

Reluctant to admit the real reason for my disappointed expression, I quickly blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "Where is Dr. Watson?"

His quirked brows rose even further at the unexpected question. "I wasn't aware you were so interested in Watson's personal life."

Though he had apparently come to the wrong conclusion regarding my inquiry after his friend, my face heated nonetheless at his pointed remark. "I'm not," I hastened to clarify with a downcast gaze.

"Then why do you want to know his whereabouts?" Sherlock returned in a skeptical tone.

I glanced back up then, feeling the heat finally fade from my cheeks. "He's usually with you when you come here" I offered with a little shrug. "I just wondered why you might be alone."

Sherlock seemed to accept that explanation before finally answering the question that had prompted the awkward exchange. "Watson has chosen to follow the mandate of society that a man must choose this particular day to romance the nearest available female. He's out eating an expensive dinner with the chosen woman now, I suppose. Though, it will all mostly likely prove to be a wasted effort on his part."

I had been prepared to let the subject drop after Sherlock replied in order to let him return to the peaceful quiet he craved for his work, but some part of me couldn't let such cynicism towards romance go unchallenged. Never mind the fact that I had been mentally abusing the unwelcome holiday myself mere moments ago, but I felt as if someone should defend the romance of the occasion, even if that person happened to be me.

The words slipped out of my mouth before my lips even knew what they were saying. "I don't think there's anything wrong with celebrating Valentine's Day."

The blue gaze that had returned to glare at the jar of organs instantly snapped back to mine with a determined glint. It wasn't until I saw that look that I realized my mistake. In my haste to defend the romantic principles of the day, I had forgotten one very important thing, Sherlock's tendency to verbally rip to shreds any person who was stupid enough to disagree with him.

Disregarding the unfinished work before him, Sherlock started in my direction with a purposeful stride, never speaking but keeping that intense sapphire gaze pinned to mine. Unconsciously, I began to edge a few steps away in self defense until an inconveniently placed work station halted my progress.

Helpless to escape, I simply stood there like a simpleton, waiting for Sherlock's verbal set down. After what seemed an eternity of endless waiting, he finally stopped a few feet short of where I stood, a speculative gleam tempering the intensity of his gaze.

"If you think the holiday such a welcome celebration of romance, Miss Hooper, might I inquire why you are here instead of having a dinner of your own with some unsuspecting member of the male sex?"

I tried to think of some response to spare myself the embarrassment of confessing my sad, dateless state, but when I opened my mouth to spout an excuse, I was horrified to hear my voice admitting the truth instead. "I don't do very well with dates."

After my confession, I winced a bit in preparation for the imminent verbal blow that was sure to follow. To my surprise, it never came. Instead, Sherlock's look became more patronizing than challenging, and I wasn't too certain that I welcomed the change. Before I could follow up my previous statement, Sherlock deep baritone broke the charged silence.

"Don't take it too hard, Molly" he assured me with a small shrug of acceptance. "Some people aren't meant for love." I imagined I saw him give a slight shudder at the last word, but I couldn't be certain. Before I could dwell too much on the thought, he continued with his advice. "Focus on science instead. It's much more rewarding than relations with the opposite sex, much more reliable. That's what I intend to do."

After bestowing this sage advice, he pivoted on his heel to return to his forgotten kidneys but halted abruptly once more when my brain failed in disciplining my mouth to keep from disagreeing his opinion. "Everybody can love someone."

That dark head of curls slowly turned to reveal a slightly irritated expression. "On what experiences do you base this unfounded opinion?" he asked in a slow, deliberate cadence that indicated his intention to undermine any rebuttal I might offer to strengthen my argument.

"You almost died to save your friends from Moriarty," I offered in a voice that barely surpassed a whisper. I noticed him lean forward slightly to catch my following words. "Some might call that love."

"Hardly a romantic love though," he answered, using that condescending tone I so often heard creep into his voice. "I'm not a man affected by…" he trailed off for a moment as if searching for the best word to describe his thoughts. "Lust," he finally finished with a decided nod of his head. "Sex is a messy business. Something I'm simply not interested in."

I knew I should concede the argument to him at this point. All I needed do was admit my mistake and we would both return to our work and it would be as if nothing happened. But I simply couldn't stop myself from speaking the next two words. "Kiss me."

I wasn't certain whose face sported the more horrified expression at my unexpected challenge, mine or Sherlock's. It was on the tip of my tongue to immediately take back the words, but something caused me to hold back. Perhaps it was the curiosity to see how he would respond to the challenge. If there was one thing Sherlock Holmes could never resist, it was a challenge.

Gradually, the shocked horror on his face faded to mere curiosity before he was able to form a response. "Why?"

"You say you're immune to the more basic human instincts, so I want to make a wager," I replied in an even tone despite the erratic flutter of my heart pounding against my ribs. I never did things like this, but I had issued the challenge. I couldn't back down now. It would be too humiliating. Taking a small breath to help calm my nerves, I continued on. "If you kiss me and feel nothing, you win. If you do feel something, then I win."

His brows lowered as he contemplated my offer. "When you place a bet, Miss Hooper, you are expected to have something to bet with. What could I want from you to make the gamble worth my while?"

"The satisfaction of being right?" I asked doubtfully. His gaze narrowed even further in disagreement, so I racked my brain for something else. "If you're right, then I'll grant you ten favors. You can ask for anything, and I'll help you with it, no arguments."

That answer must have been acceptable enough because he rewarded the suggestion with a quick nod. "What if you win the wager?"

My mind was too preoccupied with the possibility of him kissing me, so I couldn't formulate a suitable reply in the moment. "You'll think of something," I quickly waved off the concern.

"Well as I expect to win, it hardly matters," he answered smugly before taking a few moments longer to consider the wager. It seemed an eternity as I waited for his reply, but in reality, only a few seconds passed before he finally gave his decision.

"Very well," he answered quickly "I'll do it."

Before I knew what was happening, he had abruptly closed the space between us, though he didn't touch me at first. He simply stood there, toe to toe with me, the tip of my nose almost brushing the soft fabric of his cotton shirt. Tilting my head up to gauge his expression, I saw a spark of insecurity lurking there. Feeling instantly contrite at forcing him into a situation he was clearly uncomfortable with, I opened my mouth to call off the bet, no matter how it might pain me to say the words.

"Sherlock," I began, placing my hand on his chest in a comforting gesture. "You don't have to – "

The rest of the thought would forever go unspoken as his head instantly lowered, and I felt a warm pair of lips settle comfortably over mine. My eyes widened in surprise at first from the suddenness of his kiss, but as my mind slowly processed whose mouth was currently pressed to my mine, my lids lowered slowly as I savored the moment. Without even thinking, I moved my hands to the lapels of his jacket to pull him more firmly into the embrace. I felt him stiffen a bit then, but as I tilted my head to deepen the kiss, I imagined I could feel a pair of slender hands hesitantly settle on my waist, pressing our bodies more closely together.

I didn't try to open my mouth to him. I wasn't brazen enough to do that, but it was a soul-stirring kiss all the same. His lips felt like smooth, pressed velvet on mine, and his breath that smelled faintly of cigars wafted gently over me, lulling me even further under the spell of the moment. My head was spinning, and I couldn't have formed a logical thought to save the world. It was the most blissful, perfect moment of my life, and I wished I could have stayed in his arms forever. Alas, forever was not to be.

He was the first to pull away. His hands dropped from my waist, and my hands holding their firm grip on his jacket quickly followed suit. I was almost too afraid to look up at his face to see his reaction to our kiss. It had been the most wonderful moment of my life, and to hear him brush it off as meaningless might crush me. Braving the disappointment, I chanced a look in his direction only to be met by the sight of his retreating back.

Dumbfounded, I could only stare in shock as he hastily gathered his things, shoving his arms into the empty sleeves of his coat before making an even hastier retreat towards the exit of the lab. "A pleasant evening, Miss Hooper." I heard him toss the words over his shoulder at me in a bare acknowledgement of farewell before he was gone.

I felt my face burn with shame and my eyes mist with unshed tears at the curt dismissal. Perhaps I had been wrong to come here tonight. Maybe I would have been safer in the fancy restaurant after all.


The next morning I trudged into the lab with a labored stride, my eyes red and bleary from lack of sleep. After the incident with Sherlock last evening, I'd barely been able to catch a wink of sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I replayed the kiss over and over in my mind. I simply didn't understand how I could have been the only one affected by something so profound and moving. How could he have not felt it too? I had tortured myself with that very question into the latest hours of the night until I finally lost the battle to exhaustion.

It had been with great reluctance that I arose the next morning before dressing to come into work, the possibility that I might run into Sherlock hanging over me like a dark cloud. After last night, I wasn't sure I could face him without wishing the earth to swallow me whole. Thankfully, I had seen no sign of him as I approached the lab. Taking a quick peek through the glass doors, I found the cold, sterile space blessedly empty. Releasing a breath I hadn't realized I had been holding, I pushed the doors open and entered the scene of my crime.

As I approached my work station, I caught sight of a small, black box sitting all alone next to my equipment, seeming sorely out of place in the stark white surroundings. Immediately curious, I reached towards the mysterious package and cautiously opened the lid to see what was inside. As the lid snapped back on its hinges, a folded note fell from the box onto the table revealing a small charm beneath. The little charm was ruby red, in the shape of a small dice. Even more confused than before, I reached for the fallen note in search of some form of explanation. As I unfolded the creased paper, I was surprised to find Sherlock's handwriting staring back at me. Raising the paper closer to my astonished gaze, I slowly took in the words.

A gamble well played

-Sherlock

I had to reread the brief note a few times before the meaning finally sunk in. Once it did, I let out a loud laugh of relief. To any passerby, I probably appeared to be a mad woman, clutching the small note and twirling about in a circle as I laughed like a loon, but I didn't care. It had meant something to him too, our kiss. It truly had been the most perfect moment of my life, and I had never felt so sublimely happy.


Thanks so much for reading! Any comments are much appreciated!