Notes:

For 221bbakerstreetandbeyond on Instagram.

Instagram Prompt: "Just breathe. Breathe with me." / Person A taking care of Person B, who is drunk.

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Molly huffs as she hauls Sherlock in the door and quickly into the loo. He immediately falls to his knees, puking repeatedly into the toilet.

Once he sits back on his knees for air, she really begins to feel bad for him, if only a bit. He did do this to himself, however. "Just breathe. Breathe with me, Sherlock. There we go, that's it. Great job."

Sherlock groans again before he heaves once again into Molly's toilet as she grimaces and rubs his back as comfortingly as possible. He had tried his hardest not to go back to Wiggins and purchase what he really wanted so instead he went down to Angelo's and had knocked back more than a few pints by himself. Angelo had eventually forced the bartender to cut him off and had found her phone number under his speed dial, calling her up to pick him up as he was beginning to be rowdy with the other patrons.

He hurls one more time before hauling himself back onto the cold tile of the wall and floor of her mauve-colored bathroom. "Ughhh, Mollyyy."

"Yeah, I know. Sherlock, it's not exactly intelligent to go to a pub by yourself and get this drunk. Not to mention that it's not like you. Why in the bloody hell would you even do that?"

"Because I wanted to have something stronger, but I decided against that", he slurs.

"You don't think sometimes I wish I had something to help me vent? I just broke off my engagement a month ago for God's sake. And yet... Look, you could have called someone instead and told us what was going on. Next time, just give me a call or a text even, alright?"

He nods weakly and sweat trickles down his face. Molly grabs a damp facecloth and pats his face down. "Why don't you grab a warm shower, and you can sleep in my bed tonight, I know you prefer it over the guest bed."

"Mhh...sounds nice. You've a cozy bed", he mumbles as Molly helps him stand up.

"I have some old sweats and a t-shirt that were my dad's. I know it sounds morbid, but you're welcome to them. I don't think dressing back into your sweaty, vomity clothes sounds too great to sleep in."

Sherlock looks at her and agrees. "There is something poetic about sleeping in a corpse's clothing. Not to be insensitive", he tries to say. It comes out fairly brokenly and slushed together, but she can still make it out.

Molly snorts a bit. "It goes with your personality. Now shower, you stink", she replies, scrunching her nose adorably. "Now be quick before you fall or slip or...do something that involves me having to drag your naked ass out of the shower", she cringes.

Sherlock slurs again and chuckles, blubberingly. "You want this naked asssss."

Molly turns red and lightly shoves him towards the shower. "Uhh no, not like this, ever. So go! Now!"

Rolling her eyes, she leaves the room and takes a deep breath, grabbing pajamas for him like she promised. As she is changing the sheets on her bed, he stumbles into her room, his towel loosely hanging from his hip, one thigh and a butt cheek exposed.

"Oh my God, Sherlock!", Molly flushes pink, looking away. "Get dressed!"

He shrugs and grabs the clothing. "Iz notta big deal, evrryone iz born nuuude anywayzzz", he stutters over his sentence.

"Well it is when you're grown and there's a such thing called modesty", she grumbles, finishing replacing the sheets, still not looking towards him.

"You never did tell me why my number was at the top of your speed dial though, instead of John's..."

"I text now, soooo I guezz it was still there from yearssss ago."

"Ah. That makes sense, I suppose. I just find it odd because you are usually meticulous about keeping your records straight, even if your flat looks like a tornado blew through it."

Sherlock stumbles as he pulls the sweats up but catches himself on the wall, before slipping the t-shirt over his head. "Dressed now. Bed time", he mutters pointedly, flopping down on her bed immediately before she had even but the duvet back on.

"Sherlock", she whines. "I swear...you are the worst drunk. Well, maybe not the worst. The worst would be creepy and...feely and...y'know. But you're a pretty close second. Belligerent."

Molly puts her pale pink duvet on the bed, over his body, and tucks it in nearly. "Goodnight, Sherlock. You'll have one hell of a headache tomorrow morning." She moves to leave the room after shutting the light off.

"Molly?", he murmurs tiredly.

"Yes, Sherlock?", she answers, sweeping hair from her face, exhaustion dawning on her features.

"Stay", he barely whispers.

"Hm?"

"Stay. Cuddle", he holds an arm out making a gripping motion with his hand over and over. When there is silence for a moment he adds, "Please?"

She sighs and goes over, tucking his arm under the blanket. "I don't think that's a clever idea. You're still inebriated, and you might freak out in the morning if we-...if we /cuddle/."

"Maybe, but it'll be worth it, I promise, I'm warm and I just felt that you're cold. I want to hold you...I'll thank you with warmth", he grumbles into the pillow, ranting quickly.

She can't help but chuckle at his desperate plea. "Ugh, fine, scoot over. I should have recorded this though for proof. You'll never believe me in the morning."

Molly slips into her bed and Sherlock immediately grabs her and tucks her into his arms, curling up around her smaller frame easily. If the lights were on, she knows that her face would be a shade of crimson, but she can't help but realize that he was right. Feeling his body heat, she can't help but let out a shudder as the coldness leaves her own body, replaced with his warmth.

Sherlock hums as if agreeing with himself and his idea. "G'night, Mollz."

"Sleep well, Sherlock", she replies, allowing herself to relax into his arms as long as she can without awkwardness, only comfort. She wishes he were always this relaxed around her.

Noticing his damp curls hanging over his eyes and clinging to his forehead, she strokes them away tenderly.

Sherlock places his larger hand over hers when she sets it back down and strokes her (once again) bare fingers as he yawns into his pillow, his eyes closing. "Next ring is mine", he mumbles as he falls asleep.

Molly's eyes widen and it takes all the willpower she has to hold herself back from shaking him and asking him what the hell that means, but instead, she silently tucks it away within her heart, carrying it in the large space reserved only for him and their privately precious moments.