Whoo, this seems to be a chapter-a-day thing - I have about 195 songs in my playlist, but I doubt I'll go through all of them O.o There were some songs I've skipped so far because it was hard to do its story in a Sherlolly context; maybe when I finally wrap up this little chaptered story I'll put down a list of the songs I did not get to write a ficlet (drabble?) of.

Oh, also - I think I'll add in the genre 'Drama' as well for this story, and just to be safe (because there are references to substance use in this chapter) I'll up the rating to T; hmm, maybe I'll start to add in some naughty context as well while I'm at it ;) Speaking of naughty, there's a bonus ficlet this time because I didn't realise I had five already while I was doing it, but the song was too fun for me to just stop writing, so there are six here :D

Sorry, enough of my rambling - thank you to ashlanielle, darthsydious, Rocking the Redhead again, Empress of Verace and Truly Sherlockian again for taking the time to send in a little review! If you're following this story, thank you so much for giving this randomised-ficlet-music-story-thing a go, and I hope you all enjoy reading this! :DDD

Carry on my wayward son - Kansas

Sherlock Holmes was a man who did everything he put his mind to and was rarely ashamed of what he did - whether they be inappropriate behaviour at a crime scene or interrupting his best friend's never-ending date nights.

Being a consulting detective - the only one who held the title because it was a job he himself invented - he made the rules, and followed them at his own discretion; one of them meant putting his life in the line of target, and he was not worried about it.

It gave him the adrenaline he craved - the thrill of the chase, with the blood pumping through his veins, was one of the best feelings he could ever experience and ever asked for.

He led a dangerous life, a wild thrilling one - he lived for the action, never one to be tied down to the monotony that was 'ordinary' life, with its average jobs and average issues and average problems.

But at the end of the day, there was only ever a few people to keep him right, to make sure that he did not stray too much in his exciting life to the point of no return, and though he loathed to admit it verbally, he acknowledged their presence and roles in his life and appreciated the fact that they had stuck as long as they had with him: John Watson - best friend, Mrs Hudson - long-suffering landlady, DI George Lestrade - vessel of boredom elimination, Mycroft Holmes - ever irritating but useful older brother, and Molly Hooper - the woman who could see him.

More than Words - Extreme

Hearing the bedroom door creak open, Molly Holmes glanced up from the book she was reading before going back to it, all the while addressing the newcomer with a smile on her face, "Welcome home, darling."

There was the sound of barely audible rustling before the other side of the bed where she was not resting her back against the headboard on dipped underneath a heavy but familiar weight; feeling an arm wrap itself around her waist and a rather sharp chin resting against her shoulder, she smiled and turned her head to press a chaste kiss on the forehead of her husband.

He hummed appreciatively in response to her greeting and hugged her tighter to his large frame; Molly put away the book she was reading and turned down the lights in the room before adjusting her place in Sherlock's arms, finally coming to a position in which both of them laid down on the comfortable bed facing each other with her cocooned in his arms.

They talked a little about the case he had just wrapped up, with him complaining about Anderson again (she detected a little tone of fondness for that man in his voice as he spoke, though, so that made her smile a little bigger), before they bid each other goodnight, Sherlock whispering into her ear that since she had the day off from work the next day, he had devious plans for the both of them that did not include leaving their bed; she snuggled into him after giving a kiss to his full lips and saying 'I love you'.

He did not say it back - having only said it once during their wedding night, then never again - but instead pressed her closer to him, enveloping her in his warmth and the scent she had grown accustomed to and was absolutely fond of; she had asked him, months before in a heated discussion with him, on why he never said 'I love you' back, to which he had grabbed at her arms and pulled her flush to him and whispered out his reply that to him, words were just words and actions always spoke louder than them - ever since then, Molly never minded him never saying those three words because Sherlock's actions clearly proved how much he felt for her, spoke of how much he truly loved her.

Stone Cold - Rainbow

Their argument was beginning to increase in volume and pitch; Molly felt hot tears running down her cheeks as the man before her stared back at her with hardened eyes.

"You know what, that's it!" she finally screamed; grabbing her purse on the coffee table with a hand, she roughly wiped at her tears with the back of another while she let out a ragged breath of disappointment and hurt and whispered, "I thought I knew you so well; I thought you promised me not to take anymore of this, but you did, and you're now high, and I can't believe I'm still in love with you after all this..."

Sherlock Holmes continued to stare back at her, his glassy eyes evident underneath the lighting of 221B.

"Leave, Molly."

At the cold tone he had used, Molly widened her eyes in shock and utter dismay; turning around, she pulled open the door and slammed it shut, making the other person flinch at the loud noise, head bowed down in shame over what he had done yet again to bring sorrow to everyone he had ever cared for.

Sister Christian - Night Ranger

Molly steeled herself and quickly took a glance upwards before looking back down; Sherlock was seated opposite her and damn if he was not looking really fine peering through the microscope with those long fingers of his operating its knobs.

She let out an inaudible sigh as she stared blankly at the paperwork before her; she had told him she was going to be doing her work here instead of being in the office ('just in case you wanted anything' she had added, to which she now cringed at the hopeful tone she had used when saying it) and now she wished she was back inside just so she could continue with her work and not get distracted by the perfection that was the man before her.

Oh, she knew he was not exactly 'perfect' material, what with callous tongue and sometimes oblivious behaviour a stark contrast to his his handsome looks and rich-boy poise, but Molly knew he was more than that.

His intellect and the fact that he was helping the police with their cases brought her in; despite all the deductions he made about people - all which were merely observations to him - and the quite rude way he dealt with the public, she knew Sherlock was more than that - more than the smart celebrity icon with a rude disposition a lot of people read about in the papers.

She knew, because the interactions she saw between him and his friend John, his landlady Mrs Hudson, and to the kids he told her once were part of what he called the Homeless Network made her constantly re-think that there was definitely more to the man everyone claimed there was no heart in him.

When Love and Hate Collide - Def Leppard (continuation of Stone Cold)

Sherlock had never, in his 38 years, imagined himself to be in this situation - him standing outside a woman's front door, about to beg for forgiveness; if anything, Sherlock Holmes never begged for anything - never had with The Woman, so why now with this woman?

Because he knew, deep inside, that she was worth begging for, worth begging to come back to him; he had missed her so much, that he was willing to admit to the world, to her.

Breathing deeply through his nose, he exhaled it slowly and raised a knuckle to Molly's front door, and was about to knock when he stopped; clenching the hand instead, he brought it down to his side as he leaned forward to rest his forehead heavily against the door frame.

It was draining his emotions - emotions he never thought he would ever have; arguing with her, calling her only to have the phone slammed down on him, her avoiding him whenever he sought her out in Bart's - it was draining him of his energy, so why was he even trying so hard?

Because he knew Molly was worth fighting for, and he had blown up everything they had painstakingly built between them - the trust, the connection, the love - by taking those damned drugs under the pretense of boredom; he was at the wrong, and for one of the very rare few times, he was trying to make things better, but would it change her mind?

Bonus:

Pour some sugar on me - Def Leppard

After a hard's day at work, Molly was greatly looking forward to going back home and flopping down on her warm comfy bed; Toby would require his night feeding, though, she belatedly remembered, so that meant feeding him before sleeping.

Reaching the door of her apartment, she unlocked it and pushed it open, turning back to lock it before flipping the light switch on.

She turned around, about to break into a yawn, when the sight before her made her want to choke on said yawn.

There, lounging with no shame towards his state of dress (or undress) on her couch with just a small piece of napkin covering his...ah, naughty bits, was Sherlock Holmes, lips smeared delectably with dark-coloured chocolate from a slice of chocolate cake noticeable on the coffee table, as he looked up at her from his position through the curls falling over his darkened eyes; his lips curled into a smirk at his girlfriend's wide-eyed stare as he rumbled out seductively, "You want to pour some sugar on me?"

"Sherlock, that chocolate cake I made is meant for Meena's cake-exchange party tomorrow evening!"