Molly found herself blushing at the most inappropriate moments that day, even though she was buttoned up right and her clothes went together well, for once. The worst was when she was texting John, who was kind enough to be worried about her sanity, and almost told him what happened that morning. Thank goodness it's a text and not Skype, she thought, he'd be even more worried.

"Don't worry about me," she typed back, "enjoy your honeymoon!"

"Hard knowing my ex-flatmate is rooming with a very nice girl who should know better," he typed back. "Isn't there someplace else you could go?"

"No," she replied simply, because, after finishing her first autopsy, that was the first thing she did, look for an available, cheap flat that would allow pets. Most places did allow birds and fish and such, but not four-legged mammals, and those that did were prohibitively expensive, especially if she planned to stay close to St. Bart's. Drat. "Sorry," she added belatedly.

"Well, I've told you everything you should look out for, but be careful," John texted back. "Take care, Molly."

"Thanks, I will," she typed back, and added a smiley face. "Give Mary a hug for me!"

"Will do," he wrote, and that was that.

She sighed, and buried her face in her hands. He certainly wasn't the first boy she's lived with, there was Billy, after all. And not the first one who'd gotten in her space, because there was college, after all. But Sherlock, well, he was quite fit, and more so that she could almost still feel when she closed her eyes. The blush came back in full force, and she sighed gustily. "He's my flatmate, can't be thinking like that," she reminded herself, "remember the slime. Remember the slime!"

"Slime?" Meena frowned as she walked in. "What slime?"

"Oh God," Molly groaned, and proceeded to relate last night's events, minus the part that his barging in was when she was in the bath, and minus the fact that he was parading around in a bedsheet this morning. "I thought I knew what I was getting into rooming with Sherlock Holmes, but this is ridiculous!"

"I wish I could let you move in," Meena commiserated, "but Tom's allergic to cats."

Molly smiled. Tom and Meena were an item, had been since meeting up at John and Mary's wedding. She wished she had that kind of luck, but apparently, hers ran to sharing a flat with a self-described "high-functioning sociopath". A little less rude, but no less mad than the first time he met John, and she really, really should have known that John barely smoothed the edges off. "Don't worry," she said brightly, more to cheer herself than her friend, "I have practically a whole floor to myself, and now that the plumbing's fixed, I have a lovely bathtub I can sink into daily."

Her coworker, who unfairly looked like an Egyptian goddess, smirked at her. "You can't be hiding in the tub all the time," she said, "he looks like he's not a bad bloke to wake up to in the morning."

"Well, um," and to her horror, Molly blushed, remembering the morning's events all over again.

That only made things worse. Meena leaned in. "Oh, do tell," she grinned.

Fortunately for Molly, but unfortunately for Mr. Shane DeWitt, there was a body to be processed. Mr. DeWitt was the butler in Lestrade's (and by default, Sherlock's) case, so Molly found herself focused on the job, rather than whatever scenarios Meena had running through her mind, or whatever horribly embarrassing memories Molly had running through hers. By the time she had clocked out, and thankfully missed Sherlock and Lestrade during her lunch break, she had all but convinced herself that the morning's, well, whatever that was, was a one-time thing. No more embarrassing moments for Molly Hooper, no sirree. Nothing that would make a mostly-sane pathologist run for the hills, her cat in her arms, nothing amiss from this time forth.

It was all working out fine, her little pep talks, splendid really, until she got kidnapped after work.