I don't own anything but the mistakes. Hope they are not too distracting! I had fun looking up Girly drinks and found some recipes I want to try. The purple Martini doesn't sound too tasty to me, but I loved how purple it was! I also watched The Kids in the Hall skit called Girl Drink Drunk for preparation. It is on youtube. You should watch it!

Girly Drinks and Peanuts

It was quite normal for her to stop for a glass of wine on her way home from the morgue, especially if it was the last shift of the week. The proximity of The Red Lion made it a popular pub for those employed at St Bart's whether they be doctor or porter. It was an enjoyable routine and Molly would often have a drink with a co-worker but sometimes it would be just her and a nice glass of wine. No matter! As long as she had her little comforts all was right in Molly Hooper's world.

Sometimes she would even see a familiar face from Scotland Yard. A few times she had found Greg Lestrade having a pint at the bar. He usually invited Molly to come sit with him and made her laugh while he whinged on about Sherlock being the biggest berk he had ever encountered (obviously his visits to The Red Lion coincided with visits to St Bart's regarding cases that required working with the consulting detective.) Of course Molly could tell that Lestrade secretly liked the man regardless to what he said. But she kept her mouth shut and let him vent away.

Evenings with Greg usually followed a predictable pattern. First there would be the complaints about Sherlock. If he had a second drink he would start to flirt with Molly, something she did not reciprocate. It's not that Greg was unattractive. On the contrary, he was handsome, and funny and always a gentleman. He was also married. Well, kind of, sort of married. Actually his marital status was in a constant state of flux. That led to the next stage of a night with Greg, and this happened only if they stayed long enough for him to get beyond the three drink mark. The rest of the night would then consist of the DI talking about his wife. It was so apparent that he was still in love with the woman despite her questionable views on fidelity. Molly always encouraged him to keep working on his marriage but secretly she thought the man deserved better.

And that really said everything that she new about love right there. Molly couldn't help noticing how that was so often the case. So many people deserved something more than what they got, but how often does love give that option? She had resigned herself to the idea that most people really don't have any control over whom they love. It's hardly a rational thing!

And speaking of marital messes, who did Molly see as she entered The Red Lion, sitting alone at a table, looking utterly miserable?

John Watson, that's who.

There he was sitting on his chair looking into his glass with his sad puppy dog eyes, exactly as Sherlock had said he would be that Friday evening. Well he didn't say anything about the sad puppy eyes, of course. Molly smiled at the thought.

John Watson was the reason she was here this evening and she started to make her way across the pub. She had a task this night and she felt ill equipped to carry it out, but she gathered her strength to tackle the job at hand. She must give it her best effort.

The Watson's marriage was in danger of ending before it had barely started. She didn't know the details but something had happened that had very nearly destroyed the couples marital bliss. She knew this before Sherlock had approached her because after only one month of marriage, John had moved back to Baker Street.

At first it had seemed that this was only an arrangement to help Sherlock in his long recovery though it did seem just a little odd that he had made the move weeks before Sherlock was released from the hospital. But that was months ago. Summer had passed and now autumn was almost over. Mary's due date was rapidly approaching and John had still not returned to be with his wife. And the last time Molly had seen Mary, eyes red from crying and belly huge with John's child, she had desperately wanted to shake some sense into the man, sad puppy eyes or not.

The warmth of the pub was in great contrast with the chill outside on this cold December evening and Molly shrugged off her coat as she made her way to the bar. She still had her long stripped scarf wrapped around her neck and it looked cheery in the dimly lit room.

She cleared her throat and John looked up at her taking a moment to come out of his reverie to notice who was trying to get his attention.

"Care for company?" Molly asked, smiling shyly. John shrugged and then waved his hand at the empty seat opposite to his by way of an answer. She plopped herself down draping her coat over the seats back..

She ordered a glass of white wine and they chatted for some time about the case that had brought him to St. Bart's earlier that day.

John and Sherlock had arrived at the morgue that morning awaiting Molly's findings on one Mr. Robert Graham. Mr. Graham was the unfortunate decayed corpse that had made it's way to Molly's table after it's discovery the previous night in a skip in an alley. The corpse lay on her table discoloured and bloated with gas. Molly had brought her scalpel to make the first incision.

She had smiled at John and Sherlock through her plastic visor - decayed bodies tended to be juicy ones. "Um, just a warning. The smell will be quite, uh strong?" her statement sounding more like a question.

She had punctured the corpse with her instrument and there was an audible hiss of released gases followed by a most noxious odour.

John, despite being a competent doctor himself and a veteran whom had witnessed many pus filled cysts, gangrenous wounds and bowel resections in his life, found the smell unbearable. He had left the morgue in a bit of a hurry looking more than a bit green.

When Molly had looked up she was surprised to see Sherlock still there. Many of her coworkers were avoiding the morgue that morning due to the smell. Of course Sherlock looked unfazed. He had the ability to separate himself from physical reactions so he could stay present for the task at hand. It was not so different from Molly's own coping techniques. She couldn't remember a time in her life of being the squeamish type or else she never would have chosen this particular career path. She had fond memories of watching her father work in the embalming room of their family run funeral home and so she had become accustomed to being around the dead no matter what their condition may be at quite a young age.

As she worked on Mr Graham, Sherlock had taken the opportunity to ask a favor of Molly.

And that is what brought her here this night trying to initiate a conversation with this heartbroken man.

"In medical school we were taught to breathe through the mouth when dealing with cases like that. Is that what you were taught?" John nodded and Molly continued, "But my way of thinking is, I would rather smell the corpse than taste it, you know?" she snorted at her own joke while John forced a brief chuckle to be polite. It was okay, Molly was used to her jokes falling flat. Bring on awkward moment and the quick scramble to recovery. Just a part of her routine. She forged bravely on.

"Ah, s-so how is Mary doing?" She could see John's discomfort increase. His brow furrowed and his arms crossed in a protective gesture. She really didn't want to blow this, so she quickly added, "I . . . . I don't mean to pry, John. I was just wondering about the pregnancy? How's the baby?"

Asking after the baby was the right thing to do as she could actually see John's mood brighten considerably. His posture straightened and his smile lit up his face. As it turned out, regardless of

the devastation to the Watson's marriage, John stoically attended every prenatal appointment determined to navigate the stormy relationship and find a way to be a proper father.

"Actually we've had some exciting news." His face beamed in happiness. "Mary had a sonogram last week, We're having a little girl. I'm going to have a daughter, can you believe that?" John laughed and drained the rest of his glass.

"Oh my God! John, that's wonderful!" Molly joined in with John's incredulous laughter. "This calls for another round. My treat." John couldn't argue with Molly's logic. "But you have to let me choose the drink, alright?"

John agreed and Molly went to the bar and ordered. John's eyes widened in an expression of surprise as she walked back to the table with their drinks. He actually laughed and asked, "What the hell is that?"

She handed his drink over. "It's a Purple Martini."

John looked at the drink in his hand. It was an alarming shade of purple and the rim of the martini glass was adorned with blue sugar. A few stray blueberries floated in the drink and as if that wasn't enough of a visual fiesta, there was stir stick topped with colourful tinsel.

"I've never seen anything like it." John admitted. "I didn't even know they made drinks like that here."

"Oh, they don't. But I dated the bartender a couple of times and he knows I like these. Keeps the ingredients around just in case."

"Well the man still feels something for you then." John popped a blueberry into his mouth. "You don't make drinks like this for a casual favour. It's a girl's drink!"

"It's not a girl's drink. Taste it."

John took a sip and grimaced. "It's a girl's drink. Molly." But that didn't stop him from continuing to sip the purple nightmare. They clinked glasses in a toast to John's impending fatherhood.

Molly stared into her glass for a moment, dragging her finger through the condensation on it's outer rim. She glanced out of the corner of her eye trying to judge how far she could press the subject of Mary without driving him away. For the moment she thought she could continue as John was staring off into nothing with a slight smile on his lips. Okay.

"How is Mary feeling then? It looks uncomfortable. Being pregnant that is." She looked up from her drink biting her lip nervously. She knew she was getting into dangerous territory but Molly could be surprisingly persistent when she put her mind to something. She waited for his answer.

John avoided her eyes for a moment and took a long drink, finishing half the glass in one gulp. He wiped a purple moustache from his lips with the back of his hand and cleared his throat before meeting her eyes.

"I, um, I haven't actually seen her since the prenatal last week to be honest, Molly. I've . . ." He cleared his throat again and looked down, "I've been staying at Baker Street for the time being . . ." He trailed off.

It was time to start getting to the point. Plucking up her courage Molly said softly, "John, what happened? You were both so happy at the wedding? Nothing could be that bad, could it?"

John let out one harsh bark of laughter and Molly thought she had never heard such a bitter sound. "Oh Molly, you really have no clue as to how bad things can get. Things are pretty much as fucked up as they can possibly get."

Molly touched his hand just for a second before she replied. "Maybe I don't, John. But I think I have a little understanding of fucked up relationships. I mean let's not forget, I'm the woman who seems determined to fall for sociopaths and when I did get a good and decent man, I completely blew it."They looked at each silently for a moment and then they both burst out laughing.

Wiping tears from his eyes John had to concede, "Okay, right. You've convinced me. Your love life is every bit as fucked up as mine." And that set them both off once more, until Molly was fanning herself with the end of her scarf and John was slapping his knee.

They moved on to lighter topics for awhile. Molly knew not to push too much too soon and so they spent the next hour talking about nothing in particular. They laughed over Anderson's surprising change of attitude regarding Sherlock. They giggled over his sycophantic website that he still maintained; Sherlock Lives, even though that was kind of obvious to pretty much anyone who still cared. They wondered over how no one could ever have predicted that he would become Sherlock's biggest fan.

It was nice and friendly just two friends sharing drinks and enjoying a companionable evening. But Molly had two drinks in her and if she was going to truly help, she needed to set her plan in motion.

"You know what we need, John?" She didn't wait for his reply. "We need to get good and properly smashed."

"Hm, I thought that is what we were in the process of doing." John was starting to look slightly glassy eyed, but he had had a head start.

"No, no, no!" Molly waved her hand in the air. "I mean a real girls night in."

John looked at her for a moment like she had sprouted another head. "Okay, but you know, in fact, that I am not a girl, right? Like, I'm pretty sure, last time I looked in the mirror, yeah? I still had all the man parts required."

"Oh you don't get it. Let me explain. We are both in the midst of experiencing relationship hell, right?" John agreed. It was an understatement in his opinion. "Well a proper cure for heartbreak is a girl's night. We get lots of food and lots of wine and we get completely drunk and complain about our significant others or lack thereof. So what do you say? My place or yours?"

"Well actually that sounds like a decent plan." John was quick to add, "But not my place unless we both want a lecture on how sentiment has lead us to this most pointless state. And how we would be much better off if we followed Sherlock's example of how to live the life of a Vulcan and all that."

"Agreed, agreed" Molly snickered.

"Besides," He patted his hair dramatically. "It's been ages since a pretty girl asked me back to her flat." he preened a bit.

Molly threw a handful of peanuts at John from the bowl on their table. "No offense John, but ew!" she wrinkled her nose in mock disgust.

"And now watch the male ego deflate." John quipped, sinking back into his chair in good humour. But he got right back up and helped Molly with her coat. Then they linked arms and marched out into the night. There were supplies to procure before the evening could properly start.

AN – Is this any good? I am fairly new to writing, but I have always had story ideas in my head. I just finally decided to start writing them down. R and R, if possible.