anonymous asked: For the drabble thing- 1, 28 & 38?

A/N: The prompts are the first three sentences in the fic. Enjoy, and thanks as ever for following, favoriting and reviewing!

EXTRA A/N: Additional bit added to the end for mistykins06 - Rated T.

"The skirt is supposed to be this short."

"You're still mad?"

"You leave whenever you feel like it."

John gaped at the bickering couple in front of him, head going back and forth as if he was watching a tennis match instead of eating dinner with his daughter's godparents on a secluded patio overlooking the Bay of Naples. It's a good thing we decided to have room service delivered instead of going out for dinner, he reflected as he took in the rapidly escalating disagreement in front of him.

Sherlock (no surprise there) had started it, mainly by acting all offended when it was clear that Molly was still mad at him. So instead of just telling her he was sorry or shoving his face full of food, he'd decided to attack, sniping about her floral minidress, which was perfectly lovely and suitable for the warm summer night. It was their last day in Italy; they were wrapping up a case while Mary, not quite recovered enough from being shot by Vivian Norbury to go globetrotting after a jewel thief, stayed home with Rosie.

"Seriously, Molly, I can almost see your knickers," Sherlock continued with his sniping. "You'd think you were on the pull."

"Maybe I am," she said smartly. If one were keeping score, John thought bemusdely, one would suspect that she was well ahead of Sherlock. Who knew that verbal sparring was her sport?

Yup, she'd definitely scored on that one, judging by the size of the pout now pursing Sherlock's lips. "I can't believe you're still that mad about what I said before."

"What, that I'm not exactly femme-fatale material? Or when you told the suspect that it was no good flirting with me because I was terrible at it?"

"You are!" Sherlock half-shouted, raking his fingers through his hair. "You only seem to attract idiots or dangerous men, and that…that…GIT…was both!"

"I don't care," Molly said mulishly. She pushed her chair back from the table, deliberately crossing her legs. John heard Sherlock swallow, and wished he'd had the foresight to put his mobile on so he could record this for his wife. She'd love it, every second of it. "Like I said, you can leave. Anytime." She jerked her head toward the door. "So why not now? Case is over, you've once again made it clear that I'm undatable and have horrible taste in men…"

"What? Who said you're undatable? I never said that!" Sherlock responded in outrage. "You're not undatable, that's not the problem!" He hardly seemed to notice that he'd jumped to his feet in his agitation; John scooted his chair back just a bit and began fishing in his back pocket for his mobile as unobtrusively as he could manage.

"Then what IS the problem?" Molly demanded through gritted teeth. Without taking her gaze from Sherlock (having stood up so they were closer to being eye-to-eye), she pointed at John. "You take one single snap John Watson and I swear I'll tell your wife you were flirting with that woman on the bus the other day."

"I never was," he sputtered out in protest - but he did, reluctantly, take his hand away from his pocket. Mary would just have to make do with a verbal recreation of whatever was this…thing…was between Sherlock and Molly.

"The problem is that you have horrible taste in men yet you won't give me the time of day even though you and Tom have been broken up for over a year and even though you said you understood about Janine and even though I haven't gone near a needle since Magnussen!"

Molly gaped at him, turned to stare at John (who merely shrugged), then returned her befuddled stare to Sherlock. "Wait…what? Are you saying you want to…"

"Date you, be with you, do more than just share a bed a few times a week, marry you, put my babies in your belly? Yes to all of that," Sherlock practically snarled as he shoved his chair aside and edged around the table until he and Molly were only inches apart. He reached out, his movements far more tentative than his impassioned words, and brushed a tendril of hair away from her cheek. "Or have you completely gotten over me, for real this time?"

Molly's eyes narrowed, and John groaned silently. Couldn't that idiot have just stopped? Why did he have to spoil the moment with that little dig about Tom?

"You throw that in my face ever again - and I do mean EVER again - William Sherlock Scott Holmes," she growled (oh yeah, definitely a growl, he'd have to be sure to use that specific word when he talked to Mary), "and we. Are. THROUGH. Got it?"

"Can't be through if we never star…uh, yes, got it," Sherlock said, smartly correcting himself mid-course and proving that he could be taught.

He was nodding and Molly was still giving him a stony-faced glare when her hands shot out, grabbed the lapels of his jacket, and yanked him down so they were face to face. "Good," she breathed, then proceeded to snog him breathless.

John stood up, carefully pushed his chair in, opened the patio doors, stepped into the hotel room he was sharing with Sherlock, flipped open his mobile, and grinned as he began throwing his clothes into hi valise. "Hey, Mary? You're never gonna believe what just happened…"

LATER...

Sherlock brushed his hands over the tops of Molly's thighs, just skimming the filmy hem of her sundress. "May I amend a previous statement?" he murmured, his breath warm against her ear.

"Which one?" she murmured back, brushing her fingers against the curls on the nape of his neck.

He gave a little shudder. "The one about this dress being too short. That's not the actual problem with it."

"And what is the actual problem?" Molly asked, pulling her head back to look him in the eyes.

"It's not too short, it's just too much on you. It needs to come off. Now," he added decisively, fingers moving with more purpose now, both hands grasping the hem tightly.

Molly raised her arms and smiled, eyes dark. "Well then, in that case...be my guest."

And oh, he very much was.