This is quite a long one. And I believe I broke a record for myself on how much I could drag out a period of about five minutes lol! You'll see. This is a change from what's been happening so far and I hope it's well received. I have a feeling that this chapter will make some of you quite happy, and others maybe not so much. Will depend on what appeals to you about this story thus far. Anyway, you can't please everyone! So here you go! Read, review, and hopefully enjoy! ;)

-Oxford University 2003-

"Molly? Molly?" Sherlock repeated as they stood at the lab table. "Oh for God's sake! I'll get it myself!" He reached across her to grab the beaker he had been trying for.

"Oh what? Sorry, Sherlock, I was just trying to answer this text." She shoved her phone hack into her pocket, turning red.

"What's his name?" he asked flatly.

"Sorry? Who's name?" she said, face turning redder now.

Sherlock sighed as he ran fingers through his hair on the back of his head. "The man you're texting obviously. You wouldn't be turning so red if you were texting a member of your family or a female friend. You're going out with him tonight aren't you?"

Molly chewed her lip. She usually tried not to discuss dating with Sherlock. She was terribly torn these day. The truth was that she wanted to spend time with Sherlock. She wanted to be with Sherlock. She'd probably run off and marry the man tomorrow if he asked. But there was also the reality that he didn't seem to be interested in anything that wasn't platonic. She figured she couldn't sit around staring at Sherlock forever as he traveled through his mind palace. That was pitiful. And her friends were assuring her that she was missing out on plenty of opportunities to meet genuinely great guys if she insisted on spending every free moment with Sherlock.

So Molly went on dates from time to time. Pretty much for only those reasons. Pressure from friends, and her own shame at her pitiful crush. Most of the dates didn't go anywhere serious. She'd only had the one boyfriend that lasted a couple of weeks earlier in the year. And a couple of guys had merited a second date. But she was time and again seeming to prove to herself that she wasn't in actuality missing much. Every time a date ended she'd yell a little louder in her own head, maybe you should have stayed home and recorded experimental findings in the basement with Sherlock! And then the other half of her brain was screaming, stupid Sherlock! He's totally got you blinded to all the perfectly normal men out there. He may have eyes, hair, body, brain, and a voice to melt for, but...but... and that's usually where the internal argument would end.

"His name, Molly?" he asked in an irritated tone now, from behind the microscope.

"Um, sorry, but why do you wont to know his name?"

He looked up at her as if she were a child. "Well, Molly, thankfully the last time a man drugged you and intended to harm you, you got away and were still with it enough to give me a name. What if we're not so lucky next time?" he raised his eyebrows in an I know better than you sort of way, and looked back into the microscope. "Probably best that I know who you're with."

She sighed. She wanted to scream that he couldn't be halfway. If he wanted to keep her safe, then tell her to stay with him! But she also wasn't in the mood to continue with an argument. "It's Lewis Dorsey. He's a first year medical student too."

"Haven't heard of him. That's usually good...call me if needed though."

She would have felt warmed inside by such a statement, but it wasn't spoken in a loving or caring way. He used the same tone he would to ask her to please carry that tray of growing fungus carefully.

"I'm very sure I'll be fine, Sherlock. I've been more careful lately. No drugging will be happening tonight. It would be awfully difficult since we'll be in a restaurant."

"Mmm, you're not decided as to where you'll end up afterward though." He looked at her briefly, raising a suggestive and knowing eyebrow.

Molly gave a small gasp and gaped at him. "Sherlock! You can't say- what makes you think..." She put a hand over her eyes, wishing that it was still as acceptable a way to hide as it was when she was three years old.

"You made a couple of nervous and embarrassed mannerisms after you said you'd be at a restaurant. You were omitting the possibility that you could end up somewhere else with him afterward."

"It's a first date, Sherlock! I would never- Oh never mind, I'm not having this discussion with you. I can do, or not do, whatever I like. You have no say whatsoever. Beating up one man who did something stupid doesn't mean you get to dictate my dating choices from here to eternity." She crossed her arms and prayed for the blood to stop pooling in her cheeks so she could look at him normally again.

As of right now, she was very much leaning more toward the stupid Sherlock part of her brain. Which made her all the more determined to enjoy this date.

Molly trudged into her building and slowly shut the door making sure it closed all the way and locked. She looked at her watch as she began to head upstairs, and she rolled her eyes and groaned. It was only 8:30. Yet another failed date, and all she could say was that the restaurant had some good red wine. Lewis had a huge interest in politics, which did not fascinate Molly. But he was happy to talk about his views for a lot of the date. Apparently that's what Jane had meant when she'd assured Molly that he was really intellectual.

She unlocked her door, went in, and threw her bag and shoes down. Then she threw herself down onto her bed with a dramatic sigh. She tried to think objectively. Was she really just blind to any good qualities this man had because she was distracted by her already established attraction to Sherlock? No. There was nothing worthwhile about that man, she concluded after some thought. Some of the other men she'd dated had actually been better than this guy. A lot of the others, she was ashamed to admit, were simply boring. She cringed. Boring...she was beginning to sound like Sherlock.

She sat up with a start and groaned at herself. She pulled her sweater off, battling it the way she'd like to battle her own emotions, and left only her more comfortable tank top on. She tossed the sweater aside and tossed her skirt aside as well. She grabbed the sweat pants that had been waiting patiently for her return and slipped them on. She sighed contentedly. At least she could find comfort in pajamas, if nothing else.

Her eyes fell on the pile of clothes that were accumulating at the foot of her bed. May as well get some laundry done with a few hours of free time on this Friday night. She begrudgingly shoved clothing into her mesh laundry bag and set out for the basement. The lights to the rest of the basement were on and as she descended the stairs, she thought, oh no. She figured she may be able to slip into the laundry room and get the load started and then rush back up the stairs without being noticed. Because who else would be down in the basement on a Friday night?

Molly peered around the corner at the bottom of the stairs and she saw his back. Sherlock was kneeling and examining something, and she figured she could just duck into the laundry room unnoticed if she tried since it was directly across from the bottom of the stairs. She counted to three and then practically leaped the few feet from the stairs into the laundry room. She stopped once in there and listened. She could still hear him out there doing something. She happily started loading the washer and putting her coins in. She just had to start it running and then she could sprint back up the stairs unnoticed and avoid the unwanted deductions about her evening. But just as she turned the dial...

"Back early, Molly," the smooth voice announced in the doorway.

She grimaced to herself, then turned around and smiled quickly. "Yes well, the restaurant was close by. So...just getting some things done now." She hit the button with the palm of her hand and then grabbed her empty laundry bag prepared to slip past him and up the stairs.

"Bad evening, was it?" he said, and she could have sworn she heard an underlying smug satisfaction in that statement.

She stopped, partly at the statement, and partly because his tall form was blocking the doorway now. And why oh why, she wondered, did he have to look so good? She was pretty sure there wasn't anything she'd seen him look bad in. Dress shirt and trousers, fencing gear, flannel pants and a white tee shirt (which was the attire for this evening) all worked. Just fabulously. It only served to annoy her that this man who was so attractive to her and so incredibly unavailable was the one to announce happily that she'd had a bad date.

"I wouldn't say bad, Sherlock. It was just short that's all. No need for you to pass judgment." She rolled her eyes.

His eyes widened. "Oh! I see. You dislike the fact that it's so clear to me that you've had a lousy date with Luke. Did you think it would be some sort of mystery to me?" He chuckled happily.

"Lewis! And no, Sherlock! I was well aware that it would be screamingly clear to you. Why do you think I was making an effort to sneak down to do some laundry before you noticed me?" Her expression became one of dejection.

"Oh relax, Molly, I'm not insulting your dating abilities."

"Yes I know...I'm not mad at you really." She rubbed her hands over her face a little and then through her hair. "I'm just discouraged, that's all."

"Hmm," he hummed, looking serious for a moment. Then his eyes shot up in cheerful expectancy. "Want to help me carry some things upstairs?"

She stared at him while pressing her lips together, laughing inwardly. You'd think by his tone that he'd just offered her ice cream. Molly lifted her arms as white flags of surrender as she answered.

"Yeah sure, why not?"

She followed him and took a couple containers that he pointed out, and he took a couple more. They made their way back up to Sherlock's room and she stopped at the door. She looked hesitant, though he seemed to expect she'd come in.

"Do you just want to...take these?" she offered.

His eyes narrowed. "You are allowed to come in if you'd like. Unless you're busy...though I'm saying that as a formality. Clearly you're not busy."

Molly shook her head as she came in and shut the door behind her. "Sort of defeats the purpose of a formality if you explain it away right after."

"Ok. Next time I'll leave it out then. I'll say, you can come in, because clearly you're not busy."

And Molly couldn't help a laugh pushing its way past her lips. She continued to giggle for some reason as she then sat on his bed and let herself collapse backward. Then somehow the giggles morphed into groans.

"Are you ok over there?" Sherlock asked peering over at the strange sight. He was still setting the experiments carefully where they needed to be.

"Oh yes, just fine! I'm just getting really tired of dating. I'm a medical student. Women always talk about finding a doctor. Doctors are supposed to be smart and handsome with a great personality. And here I am in medical school with lots of men who will be this generation's doctors, and they're just horrid!"

"Horrid?"

"Oh yes. I lied earlier. The date was horrid. He talked about politics almost the whole time, and then he...well-"

"What?" Sherlock's voice suddenly became more forceful and his eyes shot up at her hesitation.

"No, no! Nothing like that, relax. It's just...oh you don't want to hear this," she said with a wave of her hand.

"Probably not. But you do actually seem to want to tell me. So, out with it."

Molly considered this. She supposed she was used to discussing the details of her dates with someone after the fact. Granted it was usually a close girlfriend. But she saw no reason why she shouldn't be able to discuss something like this with Sherlock. Seeing as he was so bent on keeping things platonic.

"Ok, um, well he kissed me when he dropped me off. And it was just very...unpleasant." She glanced nervously in Sherlock's direction.

Sherlock's eyes shifted, considering this. After a moment, he nodded. "Well then, he's an idiot." He bent to the table again to write something.

Molly was a little taken aback by this response. Maybe this was just as helpful as if she were talking to a girlfriend. If Sherlock was planning on calling this man an idiot, it may actually end up improving her mood. She should complain to him about bad dates more often.

"Um, yes. Exactly. I just, I don't understand what's so difficult. And it's not as if that's the only bad kiss I've had this year either. I wish men weren't allowed to get past the age of eighteen without passing some sort of test. They should all be given a class or something. To avoid being...sloppy." She made a face of disgust.

Sherlock chuckled to himself.

"What?"

"Oh nothing," he said. "I just find it amusing that the vast majority of men are really that hopeless at observing."

"Observing?"

"Of course. And before you ask the obvious question, no. That does not mean you have to be looking at the person the whole time. There are other ways to observe. If you know what you're doing, that is."

Molly hoped she wouldn't regret what she was about to say. "So, you're insinuating that you know what you're doing?" she asked cautiously.

He looked up at her and frowned. "Of course."

Molly considered this. "Well, forgive my surprise, but you're not exactly an...experienced man."

Sherlock froze and put his pen down slowly. He looked at her and tilted head. "First of all Molly, it would be silly to assume that a person who doesn't do something presently hasn't ever done it. And second, I don't need loads of experience to know what I'm doing. It's a science," he stated confidently.

Molly laughed aloud. Sherlock's face fell in a frown.

"What is so funny?" he demanded, walking over closer from where he'd been standing.

"Oh sorry!" She tried to slow the giggles. "I just can't see it like that. So what? Are there graphs and charts and numbered findings in the room in your head on the subject of kissing?" She dissolved into laughter again.

Sherlock rolled his eyes in irritation. "Of course there's science to it! People just have to make the effort to use their brain just a tiny fraction!" He paused a moment, thinking. "I'll prove it to you."

Molly's laughter stopped almost immediately. She looked up at him and frowned. "Prove it to me? What are you talking about?"

"I mean I'll show you."

Molly felt like she was suddenly outside her own body watching this scene as if it were in a film. She felt like she should move, but was frozen in place. She was afraid to move in case he wasn't serious. And afraid to move in case he was.

"A-and by show me, you mean..."

"Yes! What else would I mean, Molly?" He gave her a look of exasperation.

"Oh, well, I don't know. I'm not sure that's such a good idea."

"Don't be silly, think of all the knowledge you could then pass on to the inept morons who you insist on continuing to dating." He grinned.

Molly looked at him again, the picture of a gorgeous man, to her at least. She considered why this was indeed a very bad idea. She couldn't really articulate to Sherlock the reasons of course. She was in deep enough with these feelings for him, and all he'd ever done was peck her on the cheek. It was over before she'd even realized he was going to do it. What would happen to her poor heart if he kissed her, really kissed her. The vital organ could very well explode. And what if he was as good as he claimed?

Then again, Molly thought about the fact that this was very possibly a once in a lifetime opportunity. She was being offered what she thought was completely out of the question. She was sure it wouldn't change anything. But she could certainly imagine waking up tomorrow furious with herself if she left this room tonight having refused this chance. She was also reminded of the fact that it was already May. She knew Sherlock would be done soon and gone completely. She'd consciously avoided thinking about this. It was really awful to think about. She had so much more time left, and he would be gone for the rest of it. She would miss him terribly. Maybe she owed herself this.

"Well, sure. I suppose. In the same of science," she lied.

Sherlock smiled. "Good. Now, come here." He gestured for her to get up from the bed. "You stand right here."

Sherlock directed her to stand against the wall over by the door.

"Kisses aren't staged, Sherlock! You can't direct a woman in real life like she's an actress. I think you just lost a few points." She made mock notes on her hand, reducing his score.

"This is a controlled study, so I get to make adjustments. Besides, I was making an effort to be slightly more appropriate by not kissing you on my bed."

Molly felt her cheeks flush immediately. "Ah. Well, that's valid...so what else do I need to do?" she asked now feeling even more nervous.

"Nothing. You don't have to do anything else. Just stand there." He stood still maybe six paces away from her, now not moving. They looked at each other for a moment before Molly's nerves got the better of her again.

"Um, what's happening? Aren't you going to-"

"Relax, it's not a race. That's a mistake in itself. The moments before the kiss can be vital for observation. Because you have full use of your eyes, whereas later you'll be relying on other senses."

Sherlock took a couple more steps toward her, and instinctively Molly's hands reached behind her to find the wall. She was watching his eyes as they watched her, and it was overwhelming as well as beautiful. He was at arm's length now, and stopped short again.

"Pupils dilated," he murmured. "That's important to see as you move in closer. Sign of attraction."

Molly felt her face flush all over again. This could be really bad. He was reading her like a book, and she wasn't sure he'd like all the chapters.

"Pupils can dilate out of fear though," she offered.

"That's right. But you're not afraid of me. And if you were, there's a door right next to you. You're far from boxed in."

Molly noted that there was a much more comforting tone to his voice than usual. Then he moved closer again, so that he was only about a foot away, standing almost toe to toe with her. She now had the chance to look at him more closely as well.

"Y-your pupils are also di-" she began slowly.

"Shh. You aren't supposed to be proving anything, Molly. Leave the observing to me," he said quickly.

She saw him draw a slow breath and as he let it out he brought his hand up and very lightly brushed the pads of his fingers down the length of her bare arm, starting at the shoulder and descending slowly. His eyes moved away from hers and followed the course of his hand. Molly felt a shiver run through her and tried to stay still.

"Reaction to touch is vital," he whispered. "If you were to move away or appear upset, it would be wise to retreat." She felt his cool fingers close gently around her wrist. "Your pulse is fast. Also a good sign."

That, she didn't need him to tell her. She could feel her heart pounding at a frightening speed and was already hoping that it wouldn't burst out of her chest. Half of her wanted to scream at him to just do it already and stop with the embarrassing observations. But the other half was more than enjoying every second of this.

He brought that same hand back up and brushed his thumb down her cheek, stopping to rest his hand there on the side of her face with fingers reaching back against her neck. Molly's eyes fluttered closed briefly.

"You leaned into my hand, and when I touched your face your lips parted slightly," his voice had gotten even softer and lower too.

Molly thanked God that this seemed to be the final piece in his puzzle, and his face began to descend toward her own. His eyes continued to examine hers and as he did. His thumb moved softly along her jaw line. And finally, he touched his lips to hers, very lightly. He did that once, twice, and then a third time. Giving a feathery kiss, pulling back a bit, and then tilting his head in the opposite direction to move back in. He was still observing. This alone was enough to make her want to grab him and pull him in, leaving no remaining distance between them. But she knew he was supposed to be the one doing the work here, so she held back.

He came back in once more, this time locking his lips more firmly with hers, and she heard him inhale sharply through his nose as he did this. He let go one more time, but at that point Molly's mouth instinctively reached for his again before he could get far. They connected again and the pressure increased immediately. Molly heard herself sigh, but couldn't care enough to stop. Embarrassment had gone out the window and there was nothing troubling her anymore as their mouths began moving together.

Sherlock's fingers had slipped more tightly around the back of her neck, holding her in place. And till this point Molly had been stilling her own hands against the wall behind her. But that wasn't satisfactory anymore. Molly reached her one hand up to wrap behind his neck, and she felt him deepen the kiss further when she slid her hand into the soft curly hair at the back of his head and then curled her fingers in a fist. She also realized that his opposite arm was remaining passively at his side. She took her other hand and grasped his forearm, hoping to encourage it forward. She felt the muscles in his arm flex as if he'd just made a fist, resisting it seemed. He moved his arm up then, but only to press his palm against the wall beside her head. He was trying not to touch her further. But seeing as the kiss was blissfully continuing, she persistently reached up and grabbed his hand off the wall and pulled it down to connect with her waist. Molly felt his fingers pressing around her side instantly and she smiled when he made a soft muffled noise against her lips.

She'd finally gotten her wish, and there was no more space between them. Once she had placed Sherlock's hand around her waist, he had automatically pulled himself in closer and then both Molly's arms had locked more tightly around his neck. Everything was perfect. More than perfect. He had stopped detailing his observations verbally long ago, but Molly could still tell he was kissing her in exactly the way that she wanted him to, because he could see what she wanted.

And then just as she was starting to believe that this wasn't going to end, and that this was the start of something much more, it did indeed begin to end. It was in the very same breath that she felt him pull her in even tighter, that he suddenly separated their lips and then she felt his fingers on her waist pushing back instead of pulling. Her brain erupted in protest, and she reacted by grasping his face in her palms, stopping him.

"Wait, don't!" she breathed out, moving her thumbs against the skin on his face in the same way he had done with her.

His eyes, for all their appearance of the ocean, were absolutely on fire. He was drawing shaky breaths, and looked unlike she'd ever seen him before. He looked almost...afraid.

"Sherlock..." she whispered.

Molly pulled a little trying to reach again for his lips. And for a split second, she saw his eyes close again and he moved forward. Their lips barely touched, and then his eyes flew open again. This time, he effectively pulled away and separated them completely. He turned and took a few steps, standing then with his back to her. He placed his hands on his hips and she could see his shoulders rising and falling heavily. Molly felt suddenly cold, standing there alone, seeing him further than arm's length.

"I'd say I've adequately proved my point," he said through heavy breaths. "I'd ask you if that was satisfactory, but I believe you've already answered that question pretty clearly."

Molly couldn't speak yet. She was trying to steady her own breathing and heart rate. She was also trying to process the fact that this had just happened, and that it was over, and that it may never happen again. All of those things combined made her feel like she could cry. She had been a fool, and this was probably a mistake. She could barely think of what was appropriate to say at a moment like this, so she said the first thing that came to her mind.

"God, what a waste," she breathed out.

"Sorry?" he asked turning his head a bit, but still facing away from her.

"You're right. You do know what you're doing. And it's a waste. Someone should be benefiting from that!" She couldn't help letting out a small shaky laugh.

"Well, I suppose I'll take that as a compliment," he said in a small voice.

There was a minute of silence as they both stood there in place. Molly began to feel strange, standing there staring at Sherlock's back. She worried that perhaps Sherlock now wanted her to leave. Maybe that wasn't as pleasant for him as it seemed to be. Maybe he was sorry he did it.

"Um, should I just...go?" she asked hesitantly.

At that question he whirled around, looking like he'd just been brought back to reality. He blinked a few times, and licked his lips quickly.

"Sorry, erm, I was just...thinking...no, Molly, you don't have to go. Did you perhaps want some tea? I had wanted to make some before I went downstairs to the basement." He went briskly over without getting an answer and put the kettle on.

"Um, ok sure." Molly found, to her relief, that her legs did actually still work when she tried to move them. She hadn't been sure up to that point. She walked over and took a seat again on the edge of his bed.

A few minutes later, tea was poured as they stood in the little kitchen in the corner of his room. Molly sipped her tea as she leaned on the counter, and Sherlock simply held his for a while as he stared down into it. She was feeling a bit awkward. But finally he looked up and gave her an out of the ordinary, brief, but warm smile.

"I was planning to record some findings of mine. I also have to try to work out who keeps breaking into the shed. The groundskeeper is less than pleased with the missing supplies...it's fine if you'd like to stay though."

Molly was hesitating as she started to answer, and then Sherlock spoke up again.

"I'd like you to stay."

Her eyes lit up as they met his. She was pretty sure she'd never heard him phrase it like that. Well, in that case...

"Ok then. Thanks," she said softly.

And somehow they comfortably spent another two hours together, doing the things that Sherlock had planned on. As well as a brief intermission to tend to Molly's laundry. Molly kept looking at Sherlock and wondering how he could so effortlessly move on from what had easily been one of the best snogs she'd ever had. He didn't seem awkward or uncomfortable. He seemed perfectly as ease and unfazed.

When Molly finally needed to head to her own room, he said goodnight pleasantly and that he'd talk to her tomorrow. If anything, Molly was the awkward one. She left, with thoughts that were mostly internally focused. Trying to imagine how she'd avoid giving away her growing feelings and the larger than life memory of their kiss. How would she be able to match his cool manner?

What she didn't know, was that the moment Sherlock shut his door and heard her walk away, he fell heavily back on his bed and ran his hands over his face and let out a frustrated groan. Sherlock turned his head and happened to look at the skull on the nightstand. He shook his head slightly.

"What am I doing?" he asked quietly.

Then he shut the light off, lay there on his bed for the next three hours, and tried desperately to properly organize everything in his mind palace...but he didn't even come close.

So there it is! I'm a die hard shipper of Sherlolly at the core. So I don't think I'm capable of writing a strictly friendship based fiction. I want him to be at the very least conflicted about his feelings for Molly. So there had to be something like this...That having been said, this is a HISTORY of Sherlock and Molly. And it's meant to fit with the series, not be an alternate universe. There's also only going to be a couple more chapters. So you can probably guess what's not going to happen. That's all I'll say, just wanted to assure nobody is totally floored by the type of ending I choose. ;)