Broken Thoughts

A/N: So here we go, there is a tiny description of a crime scene in this one, FYI.

As always... I own nothing...

Molly was off for the next two days which was very fortunate because she had one hell of a mess to clean up. As she got up from her sofa and drug herself into her kitchen wishing that the coffee would magically make itself, she started to remember the night before. Broken door... glass everywhere... sooo many vodka shots... sexy underthings... Sherlock. That weird moment when he was touching her knees, what the hell was that?

That man is... wait... I flirted with him... I think? What did I say? Something about his eyes or shoes? What about his shoes? Are his shoes sexy? I really am a terrible flirt and the embarrassment continues. Did I throw myself at Sherlock Holmes while only wearing my knickers... my sexiest knickers? Oh good Lord, and I had gained so much ground. He hasn't insulted me in months. Oh but he will start that up again for sure, but wait... he didn't, even after I... no... that's when he touched me... he seemed... Noooo! Molly shook her head trying to make some sense out of the rapid fire replay of last nights events.

Meanwhile on Baker Street...

Sherlock was pacing... pacing and smoking. Oh yes the patches weren't helping one bit. He'd been pacing for hours, the smoking had started about thirty-five minutes ago after he had vomited because he was wearing five patches at once (he knew it was a bad idea, but he had to try something.) All kinds of strange things were going through his well honed mind and his body, it was behaving like a fifteen year old.

Okay so Molly, in sexy black knickers may have thrown a bit of wrench in the whole celibacy thing... I'll retrain myself just like I did after Uni... how'd I do that again? Mind Palace don't fail me now. He started searching for his file on 'not needing sex' although he was positive that's not what he had named it, but nevertheless it had to be stored somewhere... now to just find it. He never really had a chance because he was pulled out by the sound of the T.A.R.D.I.S. landing in his kitchen (well not literally, but Molly had changed her text alert on Sherlock's phone just to be funny.) He probably would have ignored anyone else but he knew it was Molly so he grabbed his phone and read it.

If you don't get a case can you come by today-Mxx

Great! She probably wants to talk about last night, I'd really rather just forget it. Of course right now I can't, but I will be able to as soon as I find that damn file! Where the hell is it? He put his phone down and pinched the bridge of his nose. Once again the T.A.R.D.I.S. landed and he picked up his phone.

I borrowed my neighbors wet/dry vacuum but I can't lift this door by myself, if you're busy I can call John or Greg-Mxx

Who the hell's Greg? He thought.

Greg Lestrade you git-Mxx

She really has to stop doing that, it's creepy. Oh, now I know how everyone else feels... I don't like it.

On my way-S

Molly had decided it was best to just pull the plaster off all at once... get it over with, not wait days or weeks for her and Sherlock to be embarrassed about the whole nearly naked thing, besides she had to clean up the glass and there was no way she was going to be able to get the door up with out hurting herself.

The more she studied the previous nights events the more she was convinced that her drunken mind had conjured Sherlock's 'knee fondling' and that it simply hadn't happen. This whole thing was quite simple really, he'd come over they'd laugh about how drunk she was, laugh about how naked she was, then fix her closet door... done and done. Everything back to normal.

Sherlock on the other hand was having a very hard time convincing himself that this was at all a good idea. He had decided not to set eyes on Dr. Molly Hooper until he had located the 'abstinence' file (no that's not the name either.) Of course it didn't matter now, because she called and he had come running. The woman has domesticated me, how did that happen? When did that happen? Good God, I'm John Watson!

He was standing outside the door to Molly's flat, mentally preparing himself to see his pathologist, when it suddenly opened before he had knocked on it.

"Why are you just standing there?" Molly said as she came out with a bag of trash in her hand. "I'll be right back, have to toss this down the chute." She skipped by him wearing sleep shorts and a tank top, her regular 'cleaning day outfit,' Sherlock had seen it many times before but suddenly it looked sexy? Yes, Molly Hooper looked sexy wearing ratty sleep shorts and a tank top with lavender paint stains on it.

Turn around and leave now, go home and find that file before this gets out of hand. GO! He told himself. But he was frozen to the spot. Since when do I not have control over the movement of my own legs? He dove back into his Mind Palace at this point to find anything that might help him overcome his sudden paralysis. He managed to find the image of a particularly disgusting crime scene, picturing the man's intestines used as the rope for his own hanging (don't worry, he wasn't a very nice man, a member of a rival gang had killed him because he had done something similar to said gang... this happens back and forth all the time.) The image did the trick and Sherlock had finally regained the use of his lower extremities. That's when Molly got back.

"My underthings aren't going to jump on you if you walk into my flat you know." She said as she rounded on the detective.

"What?" Oh dear God she can read my mind.

"Well that's why you haven't gone in yet, you're freaked out about last night? Look, I know that must have been awkward for you, I'm sure it would have been for me if I hadn't cleaned the bar out of all of it's modestly priced vodka. Come on, lets get this over with." She said motioning him into the sitting room.

If it were only that simple, he thought.

Thanks or reading.