The Broken Door...and Mirror (and Slightly Broken Pathologist)

I forgot my disclaimers for the last chapter, oops...

So I own nothing except errors, those would belong to me! Enjoy!

At 3:21 am Molly woke up desperate for the loo, unfortunately she was still in a bit of a state. She stumbled around her room and smiled triumphantly when she found what she was looking for. However she was mistaken... what she found was her closet. In what could only be described as some kind of alcohol induced fit of super human strength she managed to knock the sliding door off it's track and it came down and Molly Hooper came with it.

The mirror on the front of the door fell off first and crashed into thousands of pieces followed by the door, fortunately for Molly she was on the inside of the closet when the door fell causing minimal damage to her person if not scaring the life out of the flat's other occupant.

Sherlock came running from the sitting room to find Molly still mostly naked on the back of her sliding closet door trying to get up, if she had managed it she would surely have been cut to shreds from the glass bits that had managed to escape during the fall.

"STOP!" Sherlock screamed holding up both hands. "Don't move Molly, stay right where you are."

The incident must have sobered her a bit because she (on her hands and knees) looked up at Sherlock wide eyed and completely shocked.

"Please Molly don't try to get up, let me get my shoes and I will come and get you. Just promise me you won't move."

"Okkkay, I'll w...wait."

A minute later Sherlock returned with his shoes on and he walked over to Molly. "Okay, stand up." He said.

"I broke my door... How did I break my door Sherlock?"

"I don't know Molly, I was in the sitting room but I have my theories. I'm going to pick you up now, do you understand?"

Molly nodded her head. Still seemingly oblivious to her state of undress. Sherlock put and arm under her knees and one under her back and picked her up bridal style and carried her to her sofa.

"I'll be right back." He returned with her dressing gown which he had found on the back of her bathroom door. "You'll want to put this on." He said with an apologetic smile.

She looked down at her body and finally noticed what she was wearing. "Oh my Lord! Sherlock I'm so sorry. I can't believe this, why am I naked? Oh... I'm so... Oh..." She trailed off as she stood up on shaky legs to wrap herself in the garment. Then sat back down.

"It quite alright Molly, you haven't been quite yourself this evening. Can I look... at you knees?" As he sat down on her coffee table in front of her.

"My what?"

"Your knees, when you fell you might have injured yourself during the closet incident, I'd just like to make sure you okay."

Molly carefully moved the dressing gown out of the way so Sherlock could see her stocking clad knees. They weren't bleeding (and they were still quite lovely, he thought) but he couldn't tell if they were bruised through the black stockings. "Molly, you may have to remove the stockings, I can't tell if they are bruised." He was brushing his fingers gently over both of her knees. He looked up into he eyes, "Does it hurt? Your knees, are you in pain?" His voice was a bit too breathy and he was wishing he could manage better control of himself right now.

Molly was still a bit inebriated and not totally convinced she wasn't imagining this whole thing, because if she didn't know better she'd think Sherlock was, well, turned on. But that was ridiculous, Sherlock didn't get turned on, and certainly if he did he didn't get turned on by her (even if he had just seen her in her best lingerie,) it was just the alcohol making everything seem odd. Snap out of it Molly, and stop imagining things! She told herself. You are way beyond this.

She stood up quickly breaking the spell and Sherlock's contact with her knees. "I'll go takes these off and use the loo, that's what I was trying to do anyway... I think." She said with a confused look on her face. Then she stumbled off to her bathroom.

Sherlock saw this as a perfect opportunity to get a hold of his bloody self. What the hell? Was I just caressing Molly Hooper's knees? A bit not good... very much not good. He was pacing and waving his hands around in the air like a mad man. Okay need to focus on something innocuous... the periodic table, tobacco ash, Mycroft's many failed diet plans... not working! She'll be back and she'll bring her knees with her... fifteen years and you lose control because of a small pathologist, this is worse than the heroin...NO! Don't compare Molly Hooper's knees to drugs, don't think it and certainly don't say it!

He was still pacing when Molly came back in, "Sherlock are you okay?" She asked because he looked like he was working on an nearly unsolvable case and was out of nicotine patches.

Sherlock took a deep breath and turned around and swore under his breath because the things he'd been feeling all night hadn't dissipated one bit. She stood there looking all... Molly, even more so than before though, she had washed off her make up and brushed her hair and of course removed those damned stockings.

"Just working something out Molly, that's all. You know how my mind works, got board for a few minutes and decided to solve a problem while I waited. Can I check you for injuries now?"

"Um about that, I looked at my knees Sherlock, they're fine... I'm fine. Sure I'll have one hell of a hang over tomorrow but other than that and some slight mortification... I'm no worse for the wear." Molly said wringing her hands and trying to force a laugh.

Sherlock noticed, "What about your hands?" He said as he reached and took her hands in his.

"See they're fine." She said pulling them back. "Thank you for helping me tonight, again sorry for flashing my date night undies at you, that must have been embarrassing. Although knowing you, you probably didn't even notice." She said with a nervous giggle.

"Right, of course, ya... so, what are we going to about your closet?"

"Oh, I don't know not sure I should be making major decisions right now. I'll call someone tomorrow. Oh, where's Toby?" She said suddenly.

Sherlock pointed to her cat hair covered, thrift store, arm chair where a sleeping Toby lay completely unaffected by the events of the night.

"Ah yes my narcoleptic cat could have slept through the Blitz, should have known."

"Either that or he get's his soothers from Mrs. Hudson's dealer."

They both laughed.

"Okay Molly, I'll leave you to it then. Your sure your okay?"

"Yes Sherlock, thanks again."

"What are friends for? Take the paracetamol, it should at least help with the hangover."

There was this painfully awkward moment when neither of them knew what they should do, Sherlock moved to kiss her cheek and Molly moved too pat his shoulder they ended up bumping their foreheads with a collective "Ow."

Sherlock decided that was enough uncomfortable social interaction for one night (or a lifetime) so he grabbed his coat and dashed out the door. Molly breathed a sigh of relief.

"My poor flat." She said to no one really.

I wanted to take this moment to thank some of my of you wonderful reviewers... AJP910(Joan),InMollysWildestDreams,Bucky5,Rocking the Redhead, SammyKatz,Sherlockian87... Thanks for all the words of encouragement. I love reading them, your feedback is priceless!