AN- I am so sorry this took so long to get out. Writer's block really sucks. The next chapter is already in the works, so, hopefully, I can get it done soon.

Molly was angry. No. She was raging. "Can you believe the nerve of that prick? He nearly gets me killed and doesn't even have the decency to be sorry. I swear I could kill him," she fumed as she chopped carrots with excessive force. "If I ever see him again…" she added, waving her knife around menacingly.

Meena leaned back a bit, slightly fearing for her safety. "Don't you still have to see him at least five more times since, you know, he's your soulmate?"

"I'm pretty sure there's an exemption for when your soulmate tries to kill you," Molly answered, bringing her knife down so hard, it stuck into the cutting board.

"What about Bart's? Isn't he always there?"

"I'll have him banned. I'll say that he steals things from the fridge and runs unauthorized and dangerous experiments. There's no way he'll be allowed back."

"So you're going to lie about all that just so you don't have to see him again?"

"Who's lying? He really does that stuff; I just always looked the other way." Before Molly could continue, her phone rang. Seeing that it was a government number, she quickly answered.

"Hello, Miss Hooper. I'm very sorry for your unfortunate meeting with my brother last night," came the voice on the other end.

"Mr. Holmes, I must insist that we terminate the standing arrangement. I have no desire to see Sherlock Holmes ever again," Molly announced.

"And what reasons to you have for such a demand?"

"Your brother nearly got me killed. I don't think I need any other reasons," she answered pointedly.

"I'm afraid that is not a valid reason. A single bad date is hardly enough to warrant an exemption from the required six-month courtship. I'm afraid you will have to continue with your arrangement until the six months are up or a more pressing reason presents itself," Mycroft explained coolly. "However, if you feel the need to perhaps get even with him, you do have the choice of the next date, and I am aware of everything that my brother detests most in this world."

Molly thought about this for a bit. If the law was forcing her to continue this little charade, she may as well have some fun with it. "Fine, Mr. Holmes. I will call you later to discuss the details of the next meeting." With that, she promptly hung up the phone.

"So you're still going to see him?" Meena asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Apparently, attempted murder isn't enough to get out of the six-month forced union. But, if I have to go through with this, I'm going to make the most of it."

"What are you planning?"

"I'm going to have my revenge," Molly replied, a mischievous gleam in her eye.

Sherlock shot a sideways glance at Molly as she absentmindedly looked out the window. They were riding to the location of their date in silence. He was a bit surprised that she had agreed to even come after the disaster a month ago. After a long talk with John, Sherlock had concluded that it was, indeed, not good to put somebody in danger and not warn them about it. Why, then, did Molly Hooper seem so unfazed, maybe even a bit excited to go on this date? Perhaps John was wrong. Perhaps women were more open-minded and forgiving than John believed. Perhaps Molly Hooper was not as bad as he originally thought.

"So glad you could find it in you to forgive me," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he kept his eye facing forward.

"Mmmm? Oh, uh, well, the government wasn't really going to take no for an answer," the brunette replied not bothering to turn to him. "Besides, I think I'll really enjoy tonight," she added, a mischievous smirk creeping onto her face.

At that moment, the car came to a stop, and the driver announced that they had arrived.

Molly opened the door and turned to face Sherlock. "I hope you like Indian food," she said with a megawatt smile. With that, she climbed out of the car.

Sherlock froze. Did she really just say Indian food? Now Sherlock was not a picky eater by any means. He found it necessary to be able to adapt to any situation, and that included being able to eat anything. However, there was something about Indian food that never sat right with him. What were the odds that Molly had chosen the one cuisine that he could not handle. That smile she'd just given him now seemed quite unnerving. Steeling himself for the inevitable storm to come, Sherlock stepped out of the car.

The ride to the date's secondary location was an uncomfortable one for Sherlock. Dinner was definitely not sitting well with him. He had tried ordering the mildest curry they had, but it was impossible to find anything on the menu with anything less than three chili peppers next to it. Even the water had been spicy. Of course Molly had found the place that served the most authentic Indian food.

The car stopped abruptly pitching Sherlock forward.

"We're here," Molly announced with another bright smile.

Sherlock felt his stomach flip for the second time that night when he saw where they were. They had stopped in front of an old theater known for putting on amateur plays, especially musicals.

There were many things in life that Sherlock could not tolerate, and musical theater was very high on that list. He simply abhorred mindless drivel. All of these asinine, unrealistic stories delivered in song. It was repulsive. Did Molly really wish to spend the remainder of the date watching a musical? He quickly scrambled out of the car after Molly.

"What exactly do you have planned for the rest of the evening, Miss Hooper?" he inquired, hoping that this was not actually part of the plan.

"It's 'doctor' actually, and I thought you were some kind of deductive genius. Can you really not figure out what we're about to do here, standing in front of a theater."

"Apologies, Dr. Hooper. I can see that we are in front of theater. I merely thought you, a pragmatic, sensible woman of science, would want to spend time in a more constructive manner."

"I happen to enjoy a good musical, and this one happens to be my favorite," Molly countered.

"And what exactly are we watching tonight?"

"Les Miserables."

The detective blinked, not sure if he had heard correctly. Of course her favorite musical happened to be the musical bane of his existence. This entire night seemed to have gone against him as if Molly had specifically chosen everything to make him miserable. Of course she had. This was her way of punishing him for the disaster that was their first date. This was why Molly had seemed excited for the evening. She was looking forward to torturing him.

Sherlock knew he should be furious at her for her duplicitous scheme, but he could help but feel a bit of admiration for the way she had chosen to exact her revenge. The sound of his name being called pulled Sherlock out of his reverie. He looked to see Molly waving him over to enter the theater. Suddenly, that admiration was gone and was replaced by great contempt. Sherlock prepared himself for his impending agony.

Molly gave a frustrated huff. The evening had gone according to plan; everything they had done had made Sherlock completely miserable. Apparently, Sherlock had decided to ruin Molly's evening as well. He had dedicated his time to shifting restlessly in his seat and commenting loudly about every flaw he found in the musical. She had spent the last two and half hours listening to him gripe of the improbability of the plot.

"He recognizes him from the way he lifts something instead of recognizing his face?"

"What exactly is she dying of?"

"This movie is supposed to be a representation of the June rebellion, but it's common knowledge that it was quashed in two days. The outcome is going to be no surprise."

"How can he say that life without her is meaningless if his whole life up until now has been without her, and he only saw her for a mere second?"

"Why does she continue to do these things for him if she gets nothing from him in return?"

"It was just a piece of bread, why can't he just let it go?"

"Why would they trust this man with such an important task if they barely knew him?"

"How does no one realize that she is female?"

Molly swore that if he said one more word, she would smack him upside the head.

She saw Sherlock shift again in his chair, and she knew he was preparing his next, extremely loud remark. Molly readied herself for the oncoming commentary. Instead, Sherlock bound from his seat and sprinted for the exit leaving Molly confusedly blinking after him. When all the actors had taken their last bows and the curtains finally fell, Molly left the theater and craned her neck to find Sherlock, but he was nowhere to be found. Had he really had enough and abandoned her before the end of the date? She certainly had not expected that extreme of a reaction from him. At least she had succeeded exacting her revenge. Shrugging, she made her way to the black car waiting to take her home.

John let out a hearty guffaw. "So you just ran out?"

Sherlock sighed. Why did he bother telling his best friend anything? "Yes, John. I ran out of the theater without looking back."

"You made it to the toilet at least. Right?"

Sherlock decided not to dignify that question with a response. "Why are you finding so much joy in my predicament? This woman deviously planned an entire evening to make me suffer," Sherlock huffed, his voice very near a whine.

"Well, you did have it coming. Anyway, there's really not much you can do," his friend replied.

"Oh but John, there is something I can do. After all, two can play at this game," Sherlock stated, a wicked smirk forming on his lips.