Chapter 5: A Date at the Theatre

"I'm sorry, sir. I can't give you free cake." Molly squirmed, wiping her hands on her apron and trying to shuffle away from the large man. His bearded face turned a sickly purple color. Molly fidgeted under his glare. "Really, sir. I'm sorry. But you finished your food, and I really don't have any reason to discount the cake."

"I want to talk to your manager." He ground out the words between teeth, a vein pulsing on his head. "I can't believe this shit. Everywhere gives free birthday cake. Everywhere. Bring your manager over."

Molly jumped when he slammed his hand on his table, and scurried off to find her boss. After searching the kitchen and the freezer, she slid out back to find the old woman slumped on the railing, a cigarette curling smoke into the alleyway. Her perpetual frown and defensive stature stiffened when she saw Molly.

"Whaddya want? You been alone half a minute and you're already bugging me. Don't you all realize I got no time for your complaints?" She crushed her cigarette on the rail and flicked it to the asphalt. Molly waited until she looked in her direction again. "Well, I don't have all day. Whaddya want?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Arnold. A customer is complaining. I tried explaining about our policy against giving free food, but he insists it's his birthday. He claims someone told him we give out free cake for celebrations."

The older woman scoffed, jerking open the door with one wobbling arm. "Yeah, if you're three and snot-nosed. What's a grown man want a birthday cake for?" The woman pushed through, parting the other wait-staff easily. "Which table?"

"Table twelve." Molly glanced warily to the fidgeting man, his large purpled face still scrunched in a scowl. "He's getting pretty loud."

Miss Arnold's eyes softened when she looked back at Molly's frown and nervous scuffling. She placed a hand against Molly's shoulder, beaming a kind smile. "Go on and start wrapping your silverware. I'll handle the Big Baby."

Molly nodded, relieved. Fifteen minutes and one hundred rolled forks later, her last customer was stomping his way out of the diner without cake. Not surprisingly, he'd not left a tip. Molly approached Miss Arnold as the woman headed back to the kitchen. Her cigarette was hanging out of her mouth again, squinty eyes sweeping over the tables in a silent challenge to any other complaints. Molly took a deep breath as she came directly behind her and tapped her on the shoulder.

Miss Arnold jumped, turning back to Molly with annoyance. "Whaddya want now? I just dealt with your customer, now go roll up your silverware and get gone."

"Yes, ma'am. It's just… I wanted to remind you about Friday. I'm not going to be here. Meena's filling in for me instead." Molly looked down at her feet, studying the creases in her worn shoes while she waited for Miss Arnold's response.

"That's right. Mousy Molly's got some kinda date, don' she?" Miss Arnold laughed, clapping her on the back. "Our little gals gonna get herself some man."

Molly cringed, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. She turned away without saying anything, hurrying to the table where she finished her tub of silverware. After cleaning the tables and mopping the floor, she nearly ran from the diner, tugging her apron off behind her.

By the time she'd reached home her mother was fast asleep, feet propped on the arm of their sagging couch, magazines stacked haphazardly under her hand. Molly crept through the darkened living room to slip into the bathroom, quickly stripping off her work clothes. She stood under the hot water until she couldn't smell greasy fries and burgers, running honey-scented body wash over every aching muscle. She finished, wrapping herself into her softest robe and tugging on her fluffiest slippers.

She had only just laid in bed, sinking into the cool covers and soft pillow, when she heard a tap on her window. With a startled shout and a quick survey, she caught sight of the shadowy figure outside. For a brief moment, she imagined it was Sherlock, come to convince her to leave again. Or to warn her to be careful.

Instead, when her eyes adjusted, she found Mary grinning at her beyond the frosted glass. She sighed, flopping back on her bed for a moment before sitting up again to let her long-time friend in.

"Don't you realize you can't just pop up like that? You have to warn me!" Molly hissed at Mary as the woman stumbled in.

"I tried to text you! You never answered me. Besides, you should've known I'd have to come over here. I heard you finally hitched yourself up with Sherlock!" Mary bundled up under Molly's warm covers. "How'd you do it?"

Molly rolled her eyes, wrapping her arms over her legs to rest her head on her knees. "I did not 'hitch myself up' with anyone. And definitely not Sherlock." Molly frowned, digging the toe of her slipper into her mattress. "Why does everyone keep saying that?"

"Isn't it obvious?" At Molly's oblivious stare, Mary's grin faded. "You're serious? You two can be so dense."

"Dense? Excuse me?" Molly scowled.

Mary waved away her irritation with a mittened hand, picking at the strings on her cover. "So, if it's not Sherlock, then who is it then? John just said he had to babysit for your Friday cause you had a date. He seemed agitated about the whole thing."

"Since when is John not agitated?" Molly shrugged. "Besides, he's the one that introduced me to him. Remember Jim Moriarty from high school?"

"You mean that asshat that ran off with Sherlock and John for a whole weekend and scared everyone half to death? Didn't he disappear after that to some foreign school or something?"

"I guess not. He and Sherlock are apparently good friends now. Anyway, he took quite an interest in me. We talked about ... Well, mostly Sherlock, actually." Molly frowned, her face scrunching as she recounted the conversation leading up to his request.

"That's a bit odd, isn't it?" Mary tilted her head, tugging off her mittens.

Molly blushed, remembering the way he'd appraised her. "He was very complimentary though. He kissed my hand and everything. It was a rather nice bit of attention, to be honest."

"I don't know, love. He gave me the creeps." Mary's shoulders shook, as if just the thought of Jim sent a shiver down her spine. "He always seemed a bit off. He was just everywhere."

"How would you know? You barely knew him. Besides, it's the first date I've been on in years." Her shoulders fell as she began to fiddle with her bracelet, the worn silver knots soft under her fingertips. She hadn't expected her best friend to be so negative about the prospect of her love life.

"I don't mean to discourage you." Mary nibbled on her lip, eyes flickering up as she searched for the right words. "I used to see him around at parties. He was very observant. When he was loud, he was really loud, but when he was quiet…" Mary paused, looking at Molly with open concern. "I don't know how to explain it, love. He used to stare at people like a cat who's spotted a mouse in its cream. I just worry about you."

Mary's hand over Molly's was not comforting. She wanted to bury her head into her pillow and push away the warning and her boss's voice calling out Mousy Molly. She wanted to push away the memory of Jim's hand tilting her chin, his eyes looking her over with something colder than admiration. She'd more than once wondered why someone so charming would be interested in her, but it was exciting that he was. It was exciting that he was openly infatuated with her.

"It's just one date, Mary. Nothing's going to happen. Besides, if he does anything weird, I'll not go on another one. It's a theatre, it's not like he's taking me out to the hills or anything." Molly fidgeted, rolling her bracelet in her fingers again. "Besides, it's the first date I've been on since…" She didn't want to finish that thought, and Mary didn't force her to.

"I know. It's fine. I'm probably just worrying too much." Mary put her hand over Molly's again and squeezed. "You've just been through so much. I'd hate to see you put through more. You have fun on your date now, love."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll have a blast." Molly forced a smile. "So, how was that sushi place?"

"Horrid. I felt bad, since I picked it out and all, but it was just awful." Mary crinkled her nose, and Molly giggled.

"Well, at least John took you. I know you've wanted to make him try sushi for a while now."

"Yes, well, to be fair, the owner was probably not too concerned with his bad sushi." Something in Mary's eyes twinkled as she pulled out a short gold chain, a red, glinting ruby dangling at the end of it.

Molly gaped, reaching out to tap the glimmering stone. It swung wide, spraying scarlet light across the bedspread as it caught the lamplight. "You stole this?"

"Sherlock stole it. We were just the distraction. No worries though, the man was bad enough that Sherlock was pretty certain he wouldn't report the necklace stolen. I think the implication is that the man stole the necklace first. I didn't ask for details." Mary slid the necklace back into her pocket.

"Why do you still have it? I thought Sherlock usually completed requests as soon as possible?"

"Well, turns out his client had plans and can't meet up until tomorrow morning. So he's been in a snit all day about getting paid. Don't know what he's so desperate for the money for anyway. The man barely spends money as far as I can tell." Mary tapped her chin. "He's been more annoying than usual, lately. Stomping about, snapping at people, growling about money."

Molly laughed. "What are you talking about? That's Sherlock on a good day."

"This was different though." Mary shot Molly another worried look. "He's been like this since yesterday. Did something happen here Tuesday night?"

Molly's face flushed as she remembered his warning to be careful. She hadn't talked to him since then, but that wasn't unusual. They could often go days without seeing or speaking to each other. He had been intense that night. "No, nothing. He was just demanding and brooding. Sherlock as usual." Her head shook too emphatically.

Mary narrowed her eyes but didn't pry. "Well, I'm worried about the two of you." She grinned suddenly, leaning forward on the bed to snatch the towel off Molly's head. "So, are you excited?"

"Of course!" Molly took a breath of relief. The knot in her chest that appeared whenever Sherlock was mentioned slowly loosened as they spent the next few hours talking about school and work and home, their laughter dying away as dawn approached and Mary slid back out the window.

Molly lay awake until the room was gray with the first rays of sun fighting past the blinds. She stared into the silence and willed the uneasy feeling in her stomach away. Eventually she fell asleep to birds chirping outside her window, and dreamed of spiders up her arms and a whisper through her ears to be careful.

She woke in the afternoon to Poison blaring through the walls, her mother's singing screeching twice as loud. She groaned and rolled onto her stomach, willing the dream's terrors away. Her hair was in one big tangle. Her muscles were knotted and painful from her tossing and turning. She'd just sat up in bed when Momma banged at her door.

"Come on, Molly baby. Get up and help your Momma clean. I'm 'specting comp'ny and don't need no mess around the house."

Molly pulled on her sweater and bottoms, running her fingers through her hair in a futile attempt to calm the mess. "Don't forget, Momma. John will be here later, so don't think you can go wild while I'm out tonight."

She was met with silence on the other side of the door. The music stopped and her mother's loud humming ceased. Molly closed her eyes, thumping her head against her wall as Momma's footsteps stomped down the hallway.

"What do you mean you're going out?" The question was sharp, missing the softened, slurred edges that Momma's voice normally took. "You ain't going out tonight, it's Friday."

"Yes, Momma. It's Friday. That is precisely why I'm leaving tonight." Molly glanced at the long mirror on her door, wrinkling her nose at the mop of frizz that was her hair. "I've got a date tonight, remember?"

"You can't go. Now, I don't tolerate that kind of hormonal shit under my roof. You got studies to do, remember that?" Something desperate had threaded into her mother's anger, raising the protests to a shrill volume. "You can't be going nowhere with no boy 'til you get done with your schooling. I ain't raised no quitter."

Molly rolled her eyes and quickly locked her door. "I thought I was too stupid for school anyway, Momma?"

"Now, you know I ain't said nothing like that. Don't put words in your Momma's mouth, now. I ain't said nothing like that at all."

Molly groaned, flipping through the clothes in her closet. She tried to ignore the furious knocking at her door. She was looking over a scraggly looking pale yellow dress with blue paint spots on the edges when the door burst open, Momma holding a screwdriver in triumph.

"You ain't going on no date."

"I am, Momma. I haven't been on one in years. I don't even have school today. It'll be fine." She kept her voice calm and steady, offering her mother an expression of aloofness. "Nothing's going to happen with him anyway. He's just one of John's friends. Just trying to be polite."

"I don't want to see him around this house. We got serious business to deal with here. Can't have you distracted and running off with no boys. Bills don't pay themselves you know." Her mother wagged a finger at her face, hip cocked and fist perched on its thin edge of bone.

Molly snorted, searching her dresser top for a brush. "Speaking of bills, Momma. How'd your job interview go?"

Her mother's nose flew up in a snobbish way, her back straightening until her knobby shoulders looked almost twice as wide. "They didn't deserve me anyhow. It's all that Sam Weston's fault, I tell you. He ain't ever liked me since I walked out on our date."

"Hm. Of course. So, where will you try next?" Molly twisted her disheveled hair back into a tie, nibbling on her lip as she pushed past her mother. "Going to go back and try some of the old places yet?"

"No reason for all that. I'll get a job from Scott."

Molly crinkled her brow, trying to remember. "Who's Scott again, Momma?"

Her mother's voice followed her into the living room. "He's the officer. He said he'd come by tonight. He had to call out yesterday. Some big emergency came up at work. Some idiot got robbed."

The red gem flashed through Molly's thoughts, but she kept her interest mild. "Who got robbed, did he say?"

"He was in a hurry. Didn't talk much." Momma shifted on her feet and walked on. "Anyhow, I'm getting ready. Don't bring any boys home."

Molly wandered into the kitchen and picked up an apple. She took a large bite as she collapsed down into a chair, stretching out her legs. Her mother tinkered around for another hour, her music returning to full volume until she emerged looking five years younger and a hundred times happier than when she'd been mouthing at Molly. She leaned over to kiss Molly on the head, cackling when Molly instinctively pulled away.

"What do you want?" Molly asked, eyeing her mother suspiciously.

"What? Your Momma can't give you a kiss goodbye now?" Momma grinned, pink lips parting for bright white teeth. "What if something happens while I'm away?"

"Last time you wanted money." Molly said flatly.

"Well, a little wouldn't hurt, dear. Thank you." Momma held out her hand expectantly. Even as Molly rolled her eyes, she reached into her dingy work apron hanging on the chair and handed Momma a few crumpled bills.

"You're the best, dear. Love you!" And with that, Momma disappeared down the hallway, still humming "Fallen Angel."

Molly didn't comment, just grabbed her brush off the table and tugged her hair down. She rolled and pinned and sprayed until tangled knots turned to cascading curls. Her dark hair fell on her shoulders and lay heavily on her head, clashing comically with her sleep swollen eyes and pajamas. She looked woefully over her limited vials of make-up. She'd not had much reason to use any, and almost everything she owned now was at least a year old. She glanced over the dull, pale colors.

Her eyes caught on the gleam of red lipstick, and she was struck with a mocking memory.

Red? Clearly you're trying to compensate for the smallish point of your lips. Really, I don't know why you bother.

She shuddered and reached instead for a tinted gloss. It had to have been one of her high school purchases. It felt sticky and thick, like slime over her lips. Even still, when she looked in the mirror her face looked brighter for it. Or maybe she was imagining things. She glanced back down at the browns and grays of her eye shadow, frowning at her selection. Mousy Molly, always too afraid to go for noticeable, she thought. Content to just fade away into the crowd.

She sighed and picked up one of her lighter browns, finishing up her make-up as quickly as possible. She glanced at her clock, surprised to find it was only six. She leaned back, ticking her nails on the table before she hopped up to check her phone. Jim hadn't texted her, or called her, or contacted her at all since asking her out. A small part of her wondered if he'd backed out.

Pushing away the doubt, she headed to her room and pulled the blinds closed. The last thing she needed was one of her friends trying to climb the fire escape to see her in her undies. Boring as the cotton panties may be, she still preferred to keep them private.

Her closet was bare of any fancy dresses or pretty date outfits. She had only one good dress tucked away into the back, dark and daring and lovely. She ran a hand over the soft fabric, thinking back to the one and only time she'd worn it.

Trying to emphasize your breasts in an attempt to attract the male gaze to your inadequate chest and hip size. Seems Molly's on the prowl.

She flushed as Sherlock's voice growled at her from the past, and bit her gloss-covered lip. For a moment she recalled the wild and angry look he'd gotten when she'd walked in that Christmas. She closed her eyes, remembering the upturn of his lip when he'd spotted the present with its innocuous card tucked into the ribbon.

So that's why you chose such bright lipstick. It had to have taken ages to find a perfect match. Looking to send a message, Molly?

She slid the straps off the hanger and unzipped the back, stepping into the silky sheath. It still fit like a glove, hugging her body and accentuated what little curves she had. Even now, she thought it was flattering.

She pulled on her hose, stretching the tanned nylon over her calf. She was careful not to run it, wiggling it on. She slipped into her only heels, biting her lip at the nicks and scratches in the dull black.

She stood and looked into her bedroom mirror, turning to check all her angles. She looked exactly as she had at last year's Christmas party.

Someone's got love on the mind tonight. Who is he, Molly Hooper?

She shivered, turning away from her reflection.

I wonder who this present is for. Someone important. Must be our mystery man.

She checked her phone again. No word from Jim. No word from John. Not even Mary had said anything. She paced the room quickly, her nerves shaking. She paused at the mirror again, caught by the same frightened look she'd worn that winter night.

Blue eyes widening as he scanned the card, tracing over the looping cursive spelling Billy.

Cupid bow lips hanging open in surprise before his gaze lifted to meet hers.

A soft apology before he ran, present tossed on the table.

The humiliating note at the bottom, declaring. Love Molly xxx.

Molly eyed her phone. Jim's number waited in her contacts, an easy and detached method for cancelling her date. A single text and she wouldn't have to worry about her dress or her make up or her shoes, and she could sit at home and…

Spend another Friday alone. Turn into a lonely, bitter woman hung up on a man who was conflicted about her at best.

No.

She got up and moved across the house, checking the time and cleaning up paint spills and paper bits. She swept up dust and crumbs in the kitchen, straightened the cushions, and paced the hallway until six. She watched the door and checked her phone and hoped against hope that John would show up soon. She didn't want to be alone if Momma came through the door early, determined to make her stay.

After she'd had enough fidgeting and nervous cleaning, she sat on her couch and popped in a Disney movie. She slid off her shoes and tucked her feet under her legs as Beauty and the Beast started, smiling at the familiar story and letting the fairy tale carry her thoughts away from bright blue eyes and charming, cold smiles. She was so wrapped up in the music's crescendo, the snarling wolves, the flashing storm, that when a knock sounded at the door, she jumped.

Quickly stepping into her shoes, she smoothed down her dress and peeked through the peephole. Three blurred shapes stood awkwardly at the doorway. Molly stood aside hastily, opening the door to allow John, Mary, and Jim into the room.

"Look who I met in the hallway!" Jim spoke up immediately, grinning as he placed a hand on Mary's shoulder. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you'd only just shown up, John."

"Got a bit delayed. No big deal. Anyway, I'm here. Where's Momma?" John shifted away from Jim's outstretched hand, shuffling over to the couch.

"She's gone out. She'll be back soon, I'm sure. Until then you and Mary have some time to yourselves." Molly laughed, giving Mary a big hug. "Keep it PG though. I mean it, she really will be back soon. She and her new boyfriend were supposed to be having a night in, I think."

"Yeah, yeah." John stood stiffly, staring at Jim with furrowed brows. "I guess you two best get on with it then. Don't you have some movie or something to catch?"

"Well, theatre. And yes, we best get going if we want to get a good table." Jim held his arm out to her, eyes dragging over her dress and heels slowly until her cheeks burned pink. "You look completely ravishing." His gaze lingered on the tight fit of her bodice before he flicked his eyes up to hers. He laughed when her blush deepened. "Always blushing, Molly. How innocent."

"And she'll remain that way if you know what's good for you, mate." John scowled at them. Mary's hand on his arm seemed a tenuous hold on his temper. "And stop looking at her like that. Go on and get to your date."

"So bossy, Little Hooper." Jim led Molly to the door, stepping aside to allow her through it. "Let's allow the lovely lady her night in peace. After all, it's the least she deserves, isn't it?" Before John could respond Jim had popped to the other side and slammed the door, tearing down the hallway with her towed behind him. He ran all the way to his car.

She didn't know much about cars, but sleek and midnight blue and shiny as polished silver told her that it was expensive. She let herself in, surprised by the sickening sweet smell pouring thickly from the vents. Jim hopped in beside her, his soft leather seats barely dented by the passengers. Their drive was silent, despite several questions sliding in and out of Molly's thoughts. She rubbed her nose as the copious air freshener pounded through her sinuses. By the time they reached the tiny theatre she practically jumped out of the vehicle, gulping in air to rid herself of the stale air.

"Well, we're here. What do you think?" He laid his arm out as if he were showing her a great treasure, pride swelling in his chest.

She looked over the peeling paint on the sign and the cramped ticket booth at the face of the building. She wondered how long it had been since the small space had been renovated. Cioccolato curved around the front in large, dusty red letters. Several were broken, but she looked back at Jim's expectant face and smiled tightly. "Looks vintage. Lovely."

"I assure you, you'll like the inside better. Once the performers hit the stage, you'll just die." He rushed forward to the ticket booth, chattering in quick whispers to the attendant. After a few brief words he waved her forward and marched the two of them through the swinging doors. "Do you like Robin Hood?"

"I never really read it."

"No worries, we're not watching Robin Hood." He sat them at a table near the front. "You know, Molly, you've not asked one time what we've come to see. Do you usually just go where people tell you?"

"What?" She pulled her hand away, but he remained oblivious to her upset.

"I think you'll like this story. I think it'll have a lot of real life application." He didn't pause in his ramblings, but he was no longer looking at her. Despite the empty stage, he did not tear his eyes away from the curtain. "It's always the most fun right before the show begins. The anticipation. The wait. The countdown."

"Have you seen this before?"

He ignored her, growing silent as the theatre filled. Just as the lights dimmed, Molly felt his hand clutch hers, his eyes still glued to the stage.

"My favorite part. The moment right before, as everyone gets calm. No one knows what to expect. Just a story, and it may be good, may be bad." He smiled a slow smile and looked back at her. "Anything could happen."

She furrowed her brows and shifted her gaze to the stage. An actor had begun to wander around a living room set, mouthing about something an unintroduced character had said. The set was creaky and old, faded curtains hanging on a painted window, a rickety bed barely held together in the corner. The character rambled on about his woes and dreams for what seemed like an eternity, moving from one scene to the next with his lamentations of how he would accomplish all of his dreams if only he had the right opportunity.

"Sounds a bit like those far-fetched fairy tales, doesn't it? Some poor girl whining about her crummy life and expecting some valiant prince to save her." He shot her a look as if this was some joke they'd shared before.

She only offered a thin smile and attempted to watch the show. The protagonist eventually found his true love, a wealthy and powerful princess meant to accept him as he was, with all of his special skills and devilishly handsome charms.

"Only the unattainable will do, of course." Jim scoffed, giving her another conspiratorial look. "A peasant has about as much chance with a princess as a beggar does with a tycoon."

Molly sunk into her chair, looking over her worn dress and scuffed shoes. She would nearly swear she saw him look over them too, though he said nothing. He only smiled at her warmly and turned back, apparently enjoying the show even with all of its obviousness.

By the time the show was over she had endured a myriad of strange and pointed comments. The confusion voiced itself before she could stop it, bubbling forward with indignity. "What were those comments about? Do you think someone as poor as me doesn't deserve love with someone rich and successful?" She raised her eyebrows, looking purposefully at his suit and gleaming shoes.

"Of course not. No, no. I was just pointing out the clear use of clichés and lazy writing. I meant no parallels." He assured her with another clutch at her hand, holding her fingers close to his heart.

"Um. Thanks, then." She gently tugged her hand away, resting it instead on the curve of her purse. She looked across the street to Jim's car, only to pause in her skimming on a man in a blue hoodie, cords drawn tight. He leaned against the building across from them, blue eyes staring right through her. She turned to point him out to Jim, but by the time she'd caught his attention and pointed to the alleyway, he was gone.

"I'm sure you were just imagining things. All kinds of junkies stumble around this street. Best get in the car now, dear. Hate for you to get a loose stalker on your tail." He ushered her into the vehicle with a forceful hand at the small of her back.

He dropped her off at her apartment without following her up to her room. He'd merely kissed her hand again, and stared up at her with those glittering dark eyes, and wished her a good night. The words had rolled off his tongue like velvet, his mouth hovering over Molly's hand as he'd pinned her in place with his gaze.

She'd made her way up the stairs to a silent apartment. No television played and no radio blared, so that the night was still and stifling. She hurried through her door, past Mary and John on the sofa, beyond her mother's snores in her bedroom. She dashed to her room and slid down the door, kicking off her shoes to lean her head back and take a deep breath.

Her phone buzzed beside her, lighting up the inside of her bag. She dug through, surprised to find not one, but two messages.

Jim:

Tonight was a lot of fun. We'll have to do it again sometime. How about we get together next weekend? Another Friday would be wonderful.

Molly groaned, burying her head in her hand as she mulled it over.

The date hadn't been great. Or even really all that fun. She'd seen plays before, but this one, with Jim's commentary, had proved poorly written and a bit insulting. On the other hand, Jim was nice, and his insults appeared genuinely unintentional. He must not find her to be too poor, if he wanted another date with her.

The idea wasn't so horrible. Another Friday not spent at work or sitting around the house keeping an eye out for her mother.

It was the second message that had her insides twisting.

Sherlock:

I'm heading over. You've managed to keep my roommate hostage for the night. I've required him.

She'd only just read the message before there was a knock at her window. The tap was light, hesitant. Unlike any time he'd come to visit before. She realized her blinds were still down, and hurried to pull them up.

He looked horrid. His face was pale and his hair disheveled. His clothes were covered in dirt and wet with rain. He stumbled through her window and fell onto her bed, shivering in the chill of her room.

"Good God, Sherlock. What happened?" She reached down and pushed his hair away from his face. His lips were nearly white, his eyes the brightest blue she'd ever seen them. "Are you alright? What's going on?"

He moaned as he pushed away from her, sitting up on her bed. He cradled his arm to his chest and tilted his head towards her.

"You're alone." The words were mumbled and slurred, barely coherent.

Her mouth fell open and she took a step back. "Excuse me? Of course I'm alone. Did you think I'd invite him in for coffee?"

He shook his head fiercely, body still shaking. Molly reached over and grabbed her blanket, wrapping it around his shoulders tightly. He looked at her with his electric eyes and frowned. "Why not? He's charming and rich and obviously interested." He said the words slowly, as if forming them several times before they'd left his mouth.

"Yet here you are." She said it too quietly for him to hear, but he had already moved on to scrutinizing her bedroom again. "He's asked me out again. Next Friday." She watched him, his head jerking towards hers, eyes wide, mouth set in a grimace.

"No," was all he said, a simple demand.

"You can't tell me no, Sherlock. We don't work like that." She sighed and leaned away from him. She twirled her bracelet between her fingers, trying and failing to make sense of his behavior. "Besides, I still don't understand why you care."

He groaned again, leaning forward. "Don't ask me, Molly. Not right now. I'm afraid I'm a bit not good."

"Yeah, I see that. What on earth is going on with you?" His head thunked onto her headboard, rolling on his neck until he stared at the flecks on her ceiling. She reached out and placed a careful hand against his skin, surprised to find no fever. Instead, his skin was cool and clammy. She pushed his hair away from his face, forcing him to look at her. "Sherlock, I'm worried about you. You've been acting strange these last few days."

He leaned towards her, eyes focused on hers, as she felt his hand slip carefully behind her back. He glided over the bruises at her side and buried his fingers in the still stiff curls. His eyes flitted over her face, taking in the droop in her lids, the part of her mouth, the dilation of her pupils, the sharp inhale of breath as he pulled her forward to cradle her cheek in his other hand.

"Molly Hooper, you contrary creature." His lips brushed against her neck, soft breaths running over her skin. "You look so much like you, but smell so much like him."

Molly stiffened in his grip, untangling herself from him quickly. "What?"

"Do you like your new boyfriend?" He leaned back, the same dreamy quality to his speech as before, but now he'd looked at her expectantly, as if he actually awaited an answer.

"Boyfriend? Since when do you care if I have a boyfriend? Since when do you do all this?" She gestured to his hands, one resting on her leg. She was close to tears, but for once Sherlock's observational skills didn't pick up on the fact. He appeared genuinely surprised by the placement of his hands, and yanked them back as if scalded.

"Be careful around him, Molly. He's not good."

She scowled at him, jumping up from her bed and pointing to her door. "I think you should go. Get John and go home, and if you're lucky, I'll pretend none of this happened."

For a moment she saw fear cross his face, before he schooled it back into his apathy.

"Goodnight, Molly."

He strode out of her bedroom easily, thumping John on the head to wake him and rousing Mary quietly. Molly closed her door as the sleepy trio wandered out.

She curled in her bed, squeezing her eyes shut against the memory of his hand on her face and his fingers in her hair, and his lips leaving fire on her skin. When she opened her eyes again, her phone was lit with another message. She picked it up and read quickly.

Jim:

Hope I didn't offend earlier. Give me another chance?

She lay considering for a long while, willing her heart to slow and her mind to quiet and her blood to cool from Sherlock. Finally, when she had considered all of the facts, she texted him back.

Molly:

Ok. Friday it is then. See you soon. : )

But when she closed her eyes, she did not imagine glittering dark eyes or sweet smells. She saw sky blue and smelled cigarette smoke and felt the burn of skin on her skin, broken by a wonder-filled observation.

Molly, you contrary girl.