Tumblr Prompt: Sherlock and Molly being in the school orchestra together, Molly being 1st flute and Sherlock 1st violin so they are always opposite each other. In the middle of the piece they have a special duet...

A/N: So, I tweaked it slightly and combined it with another anonymous prompt that was along similar lines. Molly is actually an oboist (it's unique and quirky, like her… and, as an oboist, I'm biased). And they're professionals in the Symphony.

'You're flat.'

'Am not.'

'Are so!'

'No, you're sharp!'

'Am not!'

'Are so!'

Sherlock haughtily plucked the strings on his violin as he stared down at his duet partner. He'd never admit it aloud, but Molly was as adorable as a spitting kitten when she was angry. Nevertheless, she was wrong.

'My strings are perfectly tuned and my fingerings are impeccable. You have to rely on wood and your embouchure, which is frankly atrocious given your thin lips.'

He immediately regretted his careless tongue when tears of hurt and anger filled the girl's eyes. 'Y-you… you… Oh, you think you're so perfect!' She stomped her foot and tightened her grip on her oboe.

'Not perfect, merely better.'

'There is no way to determine who is better, we play completely different instruments!' she argued.

'Molly,' he sighed. 'We have less than a week until the concert. It will be to our benefit if you will simply admit your mistake and correct it, instead of arguing with me.'

Narrowing her eyes at him, she huffed angrily and turned back to her stand, her ponytail whipping across his arm as she did so. 'Prat,' she muttered as she readjusted her reed, shooting him a sideways glare as she did so. He bit back a smile at the angry blush on her cheeks and the sparkle in her eye as she bantered with him.

'If you'd taken my advice and abandoned that…atrocity for a proper instrument, like the violin or even the cello, we wouldn't be having this conversation.'

'I happen to like the oboe,' she spat. 'Just because you're some hoity-toity, violin virtuoso, doesn't negate the uniqueness of the oboe nor my talent.'

'No, but it's still annoying.'

Whipping her head angrily, she pointed at his violin. 'Not as annoying as the screeches you pull out of that poor thing!'

'I don't pull screeches.' He wrinkled his nose in distaste.

'Yes, you do.' She lifted her chin haughtily and turned back to her stand.

'I do not!'

She merely quirked an eyebrow at his petulance.

Despite knowing that she was quickly turning the conversation against him, he grew more disgruntled.

'Molly Hooper, I do not screech. You take that back!'

'Mmm, nope.' She popped the 'p' as he often did, further raising his hackles.

'Molly!'

Her lips thinned as she tried not to smile and pretended to be busy readjusting her reed and softening the wood with her thumb. Now thoroughly displeased, Sherlock ripped the oboe from her grasp and held it away.

'Oi!' She cried out and turned to him, hands on her hips. 'Give it back.'

'No, not until you take the screeching remark back.'

'I refuse.' She crossed her arms over her chest.

He narrowed his eyes at her and stepped closer until he towered over her and her eyes were wide as she looked up at him.

'Take. It. Back.' He growled.

'No.'

'Molly,' he warned. She swallowed at the deep timbre of his voice, her pulse beating rapidly in her throat.

Suddenly, with a determined gleam in her eye, sweet, shy Molly Hooper reached up and cupped his cheeks, pulling his face down until her lips met his. He grunted in surprise, his eyes widening in shock as his arms flailed, barely remembering to hold onto their instruments. As her warm, thin (how did he ever say a bad word about them) lips molded against his, he relaxed and slowly closed his eyes.

Just as suddenly as she started it, Molly pulled away, triumph in her eyes.

Dazed and flushed, Sherlock stared dumbly at her as she stepped back. It took several seconds for him to register the oboe in her grasp. He glanced down at his empty hand, trying to remember when she took it back. Apparently, sometime during the kiss.

He felt his heart clench in hurt as he realized she'd kissed him as a diversion.

'I win,' she declared, slightly breathless.

He narrowed his eyes at her, taking in the flush of her cheeks, the dilated pupils, and the redness of her faintly fuller lips as she breathed rapidly, her heartbeat racing fast and strong in her throat. She was as affected as he.

Without taking his eyes from hers, he set his violin down and sauntered over to where she stood with a victorious smile on her face, which faded as he drew closer. Swallowing loudly, she held her oboe across her chest defensively.

'Sh-Sherlock?'

He grinned wolfishly and took the oboe from her loose grip, setting it on the chair beside her. She wrung her hands and flicked her gaze about nervously.

'I-I didn't… I'm sorry, I wasn't…' She stammered, her usual timidity coming on full force as he focused his smolder on her, wrapping his arm around her waist.

She gasped as he tugged her close, causing her to stumble and steady herself against his chest. With a final smirk of triumph, he cupped the back of her neck and kissed her firmly. She squeaked in surprise, then abruptly relaxed as he coaxed her lips open against his, eliciting a moan deep in her chest that rumbled against him. Her hands slid up into his hair and she tugged on his curls, threading the strands through her nimble musician fingers.

Pulling away to breathe, Sherlock placed small, affectionate kisses along her jawline. 'Take it back,' he murmured.

She shivered at the brush of his lips by her ear. 'No. And kissing me won't change my mind.'

'Why?' He brushed his nose against hers. 'I think this is the perfect way to get you to see my side and end an argument. Isn't that what couples do?'

Her eyebrows flew to her hairline. 'Is that what we are?'

'I certainly hope you don't go around kissing just anyone who steals your oboe.'

A slow smile grew on her face, her eyes twinkling in happiness, as she raised herself up on her tiptoes. 'Nope, just you,' she smiled and rewarded him with a deep kiss, his knees threatening to give out when she grew bolder and took control, her hands scratching his scalp and her tongue winning whatever battle they were fighting.

When she finally broke away for air, Sherlock tried to follow, his mind wiped blank and all he wanted was her lips on his again.

'Do I have to take it back?' She pouted up at him prettily, biting her lip. He stared at the plump, red feature and wondered how he had ever said a negative word about it.

'Take what back?' He asked distractedly.

Giggling, Molly ran her hands across his chest and under his arms, pulling herself closer and snuggling against him. 'One week until the concert. Think we can get along until then?'

He sighed dramatically. 'I shall endeavor to be less of a pompous prat.'

'Your efforts would be appreciated,' she quipped.

'But there is one thing we need to clarify,' he said.

'Oh? And what's that?'

'Violins are better than oboes.'

'Sherlock!'