A/N: Thank you head-babe AussieMaelstrom for being beta. Sorry for sudden disappearance on my part.

I got lost in scary movies. Not literally.

Greg

The sound of metal clashed against the headboard while she rode him, leaning down to capture his lips that she then moaned against. She could hear him struggling against the binds, his hips thrusting up to meet her, and the ability to hold back was impossible.

'Zorro', the only history she had with that figure was her watching the film with Antonio Banderas years ago - marvelling over how fit he was. But apparently her lover had dressed up like him. Considering she couldn't for the life of her remember what Greg was wearing, the evidence pointed to him...sort of. He didn't fit the mark at all – he wasn't 'married' – he was divorced now. Though technically Tom didn't sound like someone who'd call himself married either, so, this could just turn into a wild goose chase.

She hoped for the latter, clinging to the belief that all of these men had just felt an unexpected urge to text her. Since Tom had explained that 'you owe me that' was a way to make her show up – "If you'd been paying proper attention last night - I wouldn't have needed to shout after all - and wouldn't have-," he said laughing pointing at his face, though his amused expression soon dropped. "No…that was really my fault."

Molly had already felt tremendously brave just texting Greg, though unlike Tom he wasn't having a day off, nor could he nip out of the Scotland Yard's offices without some repercussions. This all meant she'd have to turn up there, her head still not firmly on her shoulders, but her appearance at least decent. No one was really looking at her when she entered the offices; all of them too busy on phones, or chattering to colleagues and brewing coffee. She was just another face, though some gave her a nod or two, but that was because she had security clearance. They knew her from the field after all, but Molly couldn't shove down the rising paranoia. Her thoughts jumping from the ordinary – oh that's Peter – to – why did he just wink at me?

It's not Tom? That's wonderful! – Meena

No, it's not.

She did like Greg, though his reputation preceded him before she'd ever laid eyes on the man, unlike Sherlock who hadn't become a regular at Bart's until he'd realized there was someone who was willing to put up with him. "You're qualified enough to understand my needs." At the time she thought there was some hidden subtext there, but she realized shortly that there wasn't. Greg, however, oh Greg. He was the silver fox, or so the nurses liked to say, as he flashed them a pearly white smile, throwing out flirty words every now and then.

She never quite fancied him, not that she didn't see why others did, but when she'd first met him he'd been happily married. But Molly knew it really had something to do with the fact that he'd thought she was a man (wrapped in blue, wearing goggles probably didn't help). Despite her better judgement, she did have an ego. And throughout the years Greg continued flirting with her, always when either of them was unavailable. When she'd been engaged he'd had the decency to ask if she and Tom were serious, and then they'd been meeting regularly enough for him to remember that she had a boyfriend. She started to see why he needed help from Sherlock after all, that or he had selective memory.

Knocking tentatively on the door as she clutched her purse, readying the handcuffs in her bag. "Come in-," said Greg from the inside, and she pushed the door open catching sight of Sally Donovan standing behind the desk and Greg in his chair. The pair of them looked a bit worse for wear, though mostly tired, as Sally gave her a faint smile. "Oh, Molly! Do you have our handcuffs, then?" said Greg who looked up, lifting a cup to his lips with the large words 'Boss' on them.

Her attempt at a smile dropped, as she blanched at the words 'our'.

What did he mean our?

"Yeah, we'll be needing those back now," said Sally with a hand on her hip, her small smile turning into a large grin. Both of them had a really good rapport, especially since Sally could stomach more than most of the others in her field, but nothing like – this.

Molly stared at the pair of them wide-eyed for a few seconds, and they seemed to return the look briefly. "Umm – I – I only have one," she said fishing out the cuffs from her purse, her hands trembling slightly. There was no way; no way she'd been involved in an orgy – was there?

Well, her flat did look like hell.

"I'll take the one you've got," said Sally with a slight laugh walking out from behind the desk, soon holding out her palm. Molly coloured slightly before she dropped the offending item in Sally's hand (she'd cleaned it beforehand of course). "He – can get his own," she said thrusting her thumb at Greg before she left with a wink at Molly. "Got plenty around here after all."

Molly whirled around slowly to stare at Greg when the door to his office slammed shut after Sally's exit. "You all right?" he said eyebrows in his hair. "Nothing's wrong is it?"

He didn't look like he'd scrambled out of her flat, his white shirt seemed pressed, and his marine blue dress jacket was crisp and fine. There was nothing about him that seemed at all agitated by last night's escapades, but she still had to ask.

"No – I -," she began taking a breath. "Did we – have we-,"

Greg stared, his mouth opening a little. "Wow, you really were pissed last night…" he said chuckling a tiny bit, while her insides stopped doing vigorous flips. "We didn't – wait – your bloke – it was consensual right?" The detective inspector looked genuinely worried, and she was quite touched by that.

She immediately cleared her throat, her cheeks turning slightly pink. "Umm…it was." At least that she recalled with perfect clarity, though Greg proceeded to look at her expectantly, almost a tiny bit smug. Molly had hoped he'd continue the conversation, as he was regularly the one who prodded when it came to the most sensitive topics, almost resembling Sherlock in his scale of sensitivity at times. She suspected it had something to do with the territory.

"But why did I have your handcuffs?" she said clearing her throat again, her eyebrows hunched together in an attempt to look serious. It didn't feel right to ask if he knew whom she'd shagged outright, though she had a suspicion he might not be the man to ask about that.

He gave her a look. "I would think that's obvious."

Greg blinked in surprise over the woman who approached him, murmuring to himself when she caught hold of his arm. Fine - he hadn't been creative dressing up as a copper, but so hadn't anyone else in his team that were invited for that matter.

There was nothing wrong with being unoriginal.

At least he was somewhat in costume, though he was still surprised to see Molly Hooper appear dressed like -"Are you looking for your sheep then?" he said grinning, taking one large swallow of the bottle in his free hand.

"Grreeg," she slurred.

"Ooh – you're pissed!" he said sobering up immediately at the sight.

He was used to Molly being the one lone figure who'd remember every sodding detail every time he chanced upon her in a party, and for once he had the upper hand.

"I need – I need your handcuffs!" she said in a rather child-like voice, her hand sliding across his arm in what he assumed was her attempt at being extra convincing.

"Why?" he said with his eyebrows raised.

"Sally!" Molly said quickly, clearly giving up on him, before she appeared by the sergeant's side – the woman spluttering into her drink in surprise.

Sally had definitely never seen her like 'this', throwing him a look of surprise, before she shrugged and handed Molly a pair of handcuffs without much fuss.

"You can't – you can't just give those to her-," he shouted against the music, internally cringing over Cher's 'I Believe' blasting over the speakers.

"Yeah I can!" mouthed Sally who then pointed at some bloke dressed in black, who appeared by Molly's side. The pair soon disappeared, and it was when they'd left that Greg was aware he was a missing his own pair of handcuffs.

"Oh – oh right-," she said nodding, her cheeks flaming nonetheless. She'd actually gone up to Greg and asked for handcuffs, though clearly Sally was the one who'd figured out why.

It wasn't Greg at least, but that meant…

"Why do you ask?" said Greg who leaned back in his chair, looking the very imagery of serious detective inspector, which was when she liked him best really, though right now she didn't like that serious gaze of his.

"Just curious, it's a bit fuzzy-," she said with the most casual air she could, but she knew the tone sounded like she'd been involved in a crime, especially with the way Greg eyed her.

"I'm not surprised – you were well pissed – not that everyone wasn't – even your ex-fiancé managed to have a fall," he said finally, relieving her of some potentially embarrassing questions, since she'd had enough.

"Yeah, I heard you had a video from the party?" she said having briefly gone through her Facebook earlier, and able to ask since he wasn't the man in black.

Greg grinned fishing out his mobile phone, and Molly rushed forward to have a look. "Caught only some of the action of course-," he said.

It was a blurry shot - dark, loads of people clamouring, the camera jolting about – she could see Tom landing with a bang on top of one of the tables, and she cringed in shock over it – catching only sight of the hem of a dark costume – before the video ended.

She'd seen his shoes, of course she wouldn't see more than that, but at least she knew what he was wearing. Not that she was about to visit every shop in the country to find out what he was wearing exactly – she'd woken up in a part of his costume after all.

He must have worn the rest of it home to his wife.

"Your friend helped him up though - good of him really."

"That's – that's nice-," she said with a sigh.

"I suppose," said Greg giving her look. "You're sure you're alright?"

"Yeah," she said with a nod. "Umm…I've got to go."

She sped out of the office after that, busying through before Sally could catch her for a chat - obviously keen to know what had happened last night - as Molly could only barely remember. There were just flashes of moments, and they weren't fleshed out properly. It had been years since she'd been like this, as she could feel the anxiety within her rise.

She wasn't about to panic.

No, she was not... but she was.

It's not Greg.

Brilliant!

There's only one man left.

Oh shit.

The last man whom texted her – the actual married man – John Watson.