Molly was early. She took a seat at a table not far from the bar. Looking up at the stage Molly remembered the last time that she had been here. It was Sherlock's birthday and John had suggested that they all go out to celebrate. Sherlock was nonplused saying that he was not in the habit of celebrating the anniversary of an event which he had no part in deciding.
"Nonsense," John had said, "everyone knows that the baby decides when to be born not the mother, besides it's traditional."
"This is getting needlessly biological," Sherlock said, "and since when are you such a stickler for tradition?"
"Ever since my flatmate tells me that he's never had a proper birthday party," John said smiling. Sherlock had frowned, but she could tell that he was pleased.
There was cake and Sherlock loved her present, a dissection kit, but after a few too many drinks, someone had suggested karaoke. What had possessed Molly to think that she could sing "I don't know how to love him"? Just the memory of it made her stomach queasy.
Molly looked at the clock. It was fifteen til seven, there was still time. She left the plastic bag on the table, and shouldering her purse went down the hall, but she never made it to the bathroom.