Getting to Know You

He stepped into the pub, a little dive just blocks from Baker's Street and his flat. He would have ran the distance but given the seriousness of the situation he took a cab. John wasn't home and besides he couldn't be bothered with the ridiculous, sentimental tripe that he would have written on the blog had he known what Sherlock was going to do. It was like he could see the terrible blog title now.

Holmes is where the Heart is.

Sherlock cringed so hard that it must have been visible to the waitress he passed on the way inside. He had never been in this particular pub and he scanned the room, bathroom at the far side, two exits other than the door he had just come in. There were four bartenders, the place was pretty crowded and it looked as if they'd had a fair bit of trouble or expected it. The 'replica' gun hanging about the main bar was real—not a fake as one was meant to assume.

As Sherlock passed a table he glanced over to see a number of glasses, far too many, with the same shade of lipstick on them. Opposite of them was a single glass, half full—peculiar that the other person hadn't bothered to drink but one. He examined the glasses with the lipstick, picking one of them up. Molly's shade, he remembered all of the times in the lab when she had put it on, remembered her at the Christmas party that night. It was a definite match. And by the looks of it she had been refreshing it periodically.

Across the room someone caught Sherlock's eye, a man watching the table very curiously. A deep gash on one side of his face, he nursed at the wound with a napkin full of ice. Sherlock narrowed his eyes and the man stepped out of the bar. He was talking to someone on his mobile, using blue tooth by the look of it.

Sherlock pulled out a small lab flask and emptied some of the most recent glass into it. He could tell it apart by the amount of ice and the darkness of the drink. He pushed the stopper firmly into the flash and slipped it into his coat. He proceeded into the women's room without hesitation and nearly bumped into a lavish looking redhead who seemed disgusted at the fact that he was there. "Keep moving," he said as she strutted past him and out the door. "Thank—you."

"Sherlock, is that you?" Molly was in the middle stall and somehow he knew she would be, there were only three choices, the outer one would seem too unsafe to her, the far side was handicapped and she would be worried about depriving someone who needed it. Middle was her all the way. He heard the latch on the door slip back and pushed his way inside. In the dimly lit bathroom with her pressed nearly up against him he had to admit it did stir something. For John to think that Sherlock didn't understand attraction was foolhardy, he just had no idea how to react to it.

"You've been crying?" he asked. "Are you alright?"

Though she had managed to speak to him seconds ago she didn't seem completely up to the challenge now. Her head was resting on the wall of the stall and she was moving much. Her eyes were wet and glazed over. When he knelt down to look into her eyes they were dilated and followed his. A smile crept over Molly's face. "Hi Sherlock," she said, her fingers running along the inside of his coat, she took the time to feel each bump of the fabric and caressed very stitch she passed over. "Has anyone ever told you this coat is really nice, nice fucking coat," Molly said.

"We're getting you to Baker's Street, John will need to take a urine sample and possibly a hair one before it's too late and…"

"Ew why would John want my pee?" Molly asked with a giggle. "This wall is cold, but not a bad cold, it's like a good kind of cold."

Sherlock pulled her to her feet and wrapped his arm around her waist. He walked her out into the pub and ordered a bottle of water from one of the bartenders. Sherlock got a second to go and made sure that she drank them. All the while Molly was gabbing away like he had never seen before.

"Saul was being a bitch again, he makes fun of my breasts all of the time and I don't honestly know why. Some men like small breasts, and at least my nipples are normal sized. Serena's got tiny little baby-man nipples. It's horrifying," she said all in one breath.

"I'm sure it is," Sherlock said.

"They're firm, not even saggy, feel one," Molly said with a giggle.

Sherlock ignored her, thought he was shocked that she ever talked this much. Molly touched the scarf around his neck. And he stopped turning to face her. "Are you cold? Here," he undid the scarf and draped it over her shoulders carefully. Molly gasped the ends of the scarf lovingly and she smiled. He sighed. "What is it?"

"Didn't you notice? I'm sure that you did but if you didn't that would be funny. I'm sure you did it intentionally," she said. "This is the scarf I got you for Christmas. You've been wearing it?" Molly began to jump and down in excitement.

It was cold and there hadn't been a cab yet. Sherlock spurred her along. "Come on, its cold out and you need to walk this off, Mrs. Hudson simply won't want this amount of noise in her rental properties…"

Molly stayed close to him and even took his arm. Sherlock didn't shrug her off or even mind. She provided him with some much needed extra warmth. The night air was brutal. The two of them turned up a side road and Sherlock noticed some men standing on the opposite side of the road. One of them turned to watch them and he thought to keep to the main road, but he was sure that he could just make it out and back to Baker's Street in time.

Four of them, Sherlock guessed and while he didn't mind his chances he didn't like that he had Molly here. They should have just waited for the cab where it was safe. A slight flick sound-one of them had a blade.

All of them were at his back, he pulled his arm from Molly's grasp and pushed her behind him. "Go down the alley," he said. "Run…"

Molly didn't seem to understand at first and Sherlock was taking his coat off, goading her away. She nodded, fear flashing in her eyes and then took off running. Molly was fast for someone who was in the throes of the effect of a sedative like GHB, but he heard her fall in the snow further out. The first of the men didn't give him time to look at her as he charged in with the knife.

His suit was too tight, too pristinely cut. But lucky this wasn't the normal coat, this one was thick enough. With the coat bundled about one arm, Sherlock blocked the knife and palm thrust the first attack in the nose. The knife fell into the snow somewhere and he quickly worked the man's chest until the second reached him. Loafers weren't the shoes for slippery surfaces but Sherlock was confident and kicked the second man staggering only to catch him and slam his head into the brick wall of the alley.

Three and four were smarter, they came at him in unison. Still he was between all of their attacks, blocking anything that they threw at him. Wing Chun, Krav Maga… Sherlock had to admit that sometimes over training paid off, he dispatched of the two in seconds, slamming one face first onto the ground and choking the other one until the blood flow to his brain made his body go limp. The other two were out cold where he had left them.

Sherlock ran back to Molly, swinging the coat off his arm and throwing it over her as he helped her up. "Are you okay?"

"I might have messed up your scarf," she held it out from her neck. Molly's knee was scuffed up and she was slow to move. Sherlock carried her the rest of the way to the flat and she seemed even less lucid than before, even bothering to throw her arms up and scream in excitement every few minutes.

He didn't bother to try and find Mrs. Hudson and when he passed John's room he noticed that he was gone. Sherlock laid Molly on the couch and went to call John, there was no answer to that or texts. Probably was out with one of his many female 'friends'.

Molly had worked her way out of the scarf and coat and was laying on the couch poking at the wound on her knee. Sherlock rushed back into the room. "Its going to get infected, act like a Doctor, Molly," he walked her to the bathroom and sat on the toilet while she sat on the tub's edge and he washed the knee off, careful to mind the skirt (they hiked it up to keep it out of the way, it was only logical). Then he applied some alcohol and cream to the knee.

The sting caused Molly to latch onto him and tense up, when it had passed he left her to go put some tea on. He would have asked Mrs. Hudson, but she was just his landlady after all. As he stood in the kitchen messing with the pot (tea was John's thing, not his) he heard the radio come on in the other room. At first it was classical and then the station changed to something poppy and top 40. He looked up from the stove. "John, turn that rubbish off…"

"Not John," came Molly's voice. She stepped into the entryway to the kitchen completely calm and completely nude. "I remember how you knew that Adler woman from just her body and I had a thought, maybe you could get to know me the same way," that glazed look was still in her eyes.

At least it appeared her knee was better.