Hey guys! Third Chapter finally! Woohoo! Arg I need to to better than updating every other week. Oh well. Quality, not quantity right? So tell me how you like this one. Alright enjoy!
Thursday. One more day until three hours of living hell. As in the party.
Molly sighed. Drank her coffee. Made a face. She had somehow ordered it black. What had been on her mind?
Black, two sugars. Damn. It was one of those days. She had had enough of them to know that there was no escape from the thoughts of the handsome consulting detective until the next morning. She'd have to wait it out in single-life misery. Maybe if she worked hard enough she'd forget...?
No, cataloguing the cold, lifeless bodies only reminded her of Sherlock Holmes even more. It was silly really, for her to still feel this way about him, and she continually scolded herself for letting her feelings make themselves conscious. But she really couldn't help herself. It would take awhile to forget about him, especially with that face-and it didn't help much that he always came back and was sweet and flirtatious and lead her on until he got what he wanted. She knew it was just an act, but to receive that much attention from the detective felt too good to ignore.
"What you need," said Susan-not too busy today-in the lunch room, "Is a good one-night-stand. Just go to a club, find someone attractive, have a quick shag, and send him on his way. Easy. No time to think about he-who-must-not-be-named"-Susan and her Harry Potter references-"when you're getting down with some bloke."
"I'm not kidding," she kept saying. "It always helped me."
"You are such a-"
"If you say whore, I will punch you."
Molly didn't stop laughing the whole lunch hour. And this was why she put up with Susan and her incompatible work schedule.
Oh God. This was probably not what Susan was talking about at lunch.
"Here maybe if I-" She shifted her weight a bit.
"OW!"
"I-sorry..."
"Well at least you finally made it to my crotch. Though your knee isn't exactly-er-pleasurable. First time you've ever done this?"
She scowled into the dark.
"The one-night-stand part," she replied haughtily. "-not the sex part."
He laughed. It was a bit obnoxious.
"You could have fooled me," he said.
Ugh!
"I-I don't think this is going to work out." She practically leaped off of her 'one-night-stand-that-never-would-be'. "I'm going home."
"Oh-erm-alright."
She was out of that hotel room like a cat stuck in a closet. Er-meaning the way they run out once finally released. Her brain was all frazzled from the embarrassment and excitement that had collided in that room.
She was a bit far from home. "Too far to walk, anyway..." she thought as she stepped out into the street, the road slick and shiny from the rain.
"Molly?"
She whirled around to face whoever had just called her name.
"Molly Hooper!"
"Oh!" She hadn't recognized him. What was he doing dressed up like a beggar in front of a ritzy hotel?
"Waiting for a suspect," Sherlock said, answering her unasked her luck too. Why did he have to show up at all the worst times? It was like his purpose in life was to make her miserable.
"You'll freeze to death out here in the rain," she commented, despite her vindictive thoughts.
He shook his head and-surprisingly enough-smiled at her. "I've got my woolly hat," he said tapping the knitted mess on his head. She leaned forward, examining his face, proving her theory- dilated pupils and flushed complexion.
"You're high."
He seemed mildly surprised that she had noticed.
"Yes," he replied warily.
She hesitated.
"You're always different when you're high."
Sherlock's expression darkened.
"How would you know-"
"I can always tell when you're high. You used to do it a lot before John. I just never said anything."
He nodded, still in defense-mode, looking down his nose at her as if she were some dangerous animal that could attack any second. She looked back at him contemplatively.
"Sherlock..."
He averted his eyes, guessing what she was about to ask.
"Sherlock, where's John?"
He was looking at his feet now, but she didn't miss his wince at the sound of his flatmate's name.
"It makes me feel good, Molly. The cocaine. Everything is so clear and I can really think. I don't feel human anymore. It's so much better. I don't feel hungry or..." He trailed off.
"Where's John?"
"Not with me at the moment. Molly, I feel ecstatic."
"I should call him to come get you. I don't trust you in a cab."
"Molly, I don't want to go back. John will be upset." He moved closer suddenly. "Can't I just stay with you? Please? Please, Molly? Just for the night."
Her heartbeat quickened. "Stop it, Sherlock, you're scaring me. This isn't you."
He touched her face gently, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
"What are you doing all the way out here, Molly Hooper?" he murmured in that deep voice that made her knees weak. He was trying to distract her. Make it harder for her to think straight. She wouldn't let him do it this time. Molly was done with being manipulated. But the question...she felt herself blushing with embarrassment.
"C-Can't you guess?" Damn, she let her voice shake. His smirk pulled her out of his trance enough to let her take a deep breath and pull away from the cold hand on her cheek.
"You're at a hotel, a nice hotel, but not too expensive. You probably weren't planning on staying the whole night-especially since you're only carrying your purse. You could have left your over-night bag in the room, but that's not it because your hair is a mess and you look quite disheveled. If you were simply going out, you'd make yourself up. No, so why are you here? You wouldn't waste money on a hotel for no good reason because you live here in London, and you're practical. So most likely you were with someone. But who? A friend? No, a friend wouldn't get you looking that ruffled up. A lover? Sure, but you'd be in a much better mood that you were today if it was long-term, looking forward to the meeting, and that expression when you left the hotel-you attempted you have a one-night-stand with a tourist and failed. You left in disappointment." He paused to take a breath. When he didn't continue, Molly nodded awkwardly. His face lit up. Even awkward approval is approval. Intellect relishes approval.
"So the question is, what event has caused this sudden change in behavior? Molly Hooper would never agree to sex with no strings attached. You're too much of a prude."
She frowned. He ignored her.
"So you must have been prompted. You aren't drunk, you aren't especially hormonal. But stressed? Yes. You certainly are. Perhaps you were looking for some quick stress relief. But Molly Hooper, can't you think of a safer, less complicated way of doing that?"
"My friend suggested it to me."
"Ah, yes. Susan, isn't it?"
She nodded. He paused, searching her face for any clues he might have missed. Doubtful.
"You're not just stressed, you're depressed. Lonely." Her eyes widened just enough for him to be satisfied with his impeccable deduction skills. "Good, good," he said. "That makes two of us." He chuckled looked back at her, waiting. Pleading. She realized that his earlier request was still standing. He wanted to stay over. Anything to avoid going back to his flat. They must have had a fight. Or maybe Sherlock just didn't want John to see him when he's high.
She shook her head. "You arse." He smiled triumphantly, already knowing what she was going to say next. "Alright then, come on."
Just one night.
