A/N: Thank you for reviews, favourites and follows. It is a real help and inspiration for me to read and see. This chapter would be longer, but it did not feel at all right. I hope you enjoy it, I did, but then again - that's me.
The wine was soon gone, that was certain. She felt like she was subconsciously reaching out for the bottle of red, every single time Peter opened his mouth, but he never did really close his mouth either. She looked at him now in a completely different light - at lunch he'd been somewhat pitying, but now he was bordering on stupid.
He seemed to be under the impression, that her having accepted his invitation for dinner meant something, and now she wondered if dinner did mean dinner. Simultaneously, as she was irritated with his stupid arrogance, so was she with Sherlock's.
Sherlock who managed to see through her coy attempt on trying to fool him - she knew of course it wouldn't last, but it was amusing to observe his startled face nonetheless. He looked completely caught off guard there, until he seemed to realise her intentions and the roles of hunter and deer were inevitably swapped without a second thought. Despite this, she knew she still had the upper hand, for if everything she had heard was correct – he had one weakness. Molly was certainly going to use it to her best advantage, despite having to put up with Peter who in the end was caught aware of her vacant expression.
"Molly – are you listening to me?" he asked her, looking slightly affronted, before putting on a kinder expression.
She frowned at him, "Yes - yes – just a bit tired, you know."
"Yes - I know – you stepped out with Sherlock in that taxi last night. You're bound to be exhausted."
"I didn't step out with Sherlock – he – he was just there, and as I said it was just – strictly - work-related."
"Right," spat Peter much more derisively than he'd intended. He did have some dark in him, but it made him more of a smarmy git – than at all interesting. "So, what do you think, then?"
Molly blinked a bit stupidly at this; trying to remember what he'd been saying, "Think about what?"
Peter grabbed for her hands, shoving some cutlery aside – they'd yet to receive their dinner. Molly stared at his hands in surprise, as he looked up at her with a grin, "You know – us – back together – I know it's a bit fast, and you're probably still a tiny bit mad at me."
"Quite right there-," mumbled Molly.
"But I think we can work through your issues."
"Sorry?" she said pulling her hands away from his.
"Your issues – of course – with Sherlock Holmes."
"Err – Peter – you're the one who cheated – I don't see how Sherlock has got anything to do with this."
"Well, you were obviously already cheating too – weren't you? – I was just retaliating to your dishonesty."
"Dishonesty?" said Molly in sheer disbelief. "I'm sorry Peter – but this is just-," she added feeling absolutely ready to go, when her phone went off.
Peter who'd opened his mouth stopped all of a sudden, as Molly gingerly picked up her phone mouthing "Sorry" at him when she caught sight of the source. She knew she couldn't run off now, despite him being a complete tosser.
You are not honestly considering having dinner with this man? – SH
Just as he'd been at lunch, Sherlock was again – there, but was he there to intervene or just perceive from a distance? She looked around for a moment, not spotting his fine head amongst the other dinner guests.
"You're doing it again?" said Peter rather angrily now, as Molly just tilted her head bemused.
"Really? Peter, I'm doing it – err – I -," the phone went off again.
I'd keep it short. I think full-size words might be a loss to him – SH
She chuckled unintentionally causing Peter to glare at her phone.
"Who's texting you?" he demanded. "Is it that Ben-character you mentioned?"
You're still hungry, I hope? - SH
Molly's smile dropped immediately, "It's none of your concern Peter. I can text with whomever I choose."
"Is it him then? Are you texting with Sherlock Holmes?" he spat looking around in the restaurant. "I should have known, the idiot is following us, isn't he? I don't know what kind of sick game he and you are playing Molly, but I am not putting up with it."
"You aren't?" said Molly mock-seriously, "Good, then Peter – I suggest you leave."
Peter looked at her properly aghast, "I'm not - I wasn't – where is the git?" he muttered angrily, before his eyes widened. "He's actually here," he said astonished, soon standing up from his seat and storming off following a dark haired man with a familiar coat, who was lingering by the maître d'.
Molly took to swallow some wine hurriedly, as various guests saw Peter take to run after Sherlock who also gave a run for it - rather inelegantly. He ran out of the restaurant, eagerly followed by Peter who sprinted after him. She saw the whole spectacle through the windows, as well as the rest of the guests – all who's amused faces looked to her.
Molly hid her face with a hand, a furious blush appearing on her cheeks, not knowing whether she should try to stop them, but at this point both men could fend well on their own. She emptied her glass, setting it down prepared to leave, when Peter's seat was once again occupied. Expecting it to be Peter who'd regained his senses – she opened her mouth to deliver a scathing remark, but found herself gaping when a pair of familiar blue eyes were staring at her instead.
"Sherlock?" she said baffled, turning her head to the Maître d' for a moment in alarm. "I'm – who -wait – was that -,"
"James is much more well versed in his non-speaking roles, don't you agree?" said Sherlock with a smile, taking to straighten the cutlery that Peter had previously carelessly pushed aside.
Molly stared at him, slightly nerved, "Where's – Sherlock," she said with a crease in her brows, trying to not let herself smile at the man. "What – what are you doing here?" she finally asked, as he was now gestured for the waiter, who soon appeared by his side.
Sherlock silently pointed out his order on the menu, his eyes fixated on her, causing her to take a great deal of interest in her water, which she hurriedly drank to let the rush off wine to her head vanish, but she knew it was mainly not the drink that made her feel light-headed.
The waiter inclined his head, rushing off, but looking albeit a bit confused by the change of suitor. Molly waited expectantly, meeting soon the blue gaze that beheld her without pulling back.
"I am here for dinner, aren't I? I've been considering your arrangement – I'd like to know the terms," he said leaning back in his chair confidently.
"The terms?" said Molly, her mouth suddenly going dry, as she soon clutched after her wine, but Sherlock steadied her hand.
"You might want to be careful with that now. I don't want to force you into a contract you might not like in the morning," he said smirking, his hands entangled coolly on hers.
He just gave a tiny smile, as she pulled back her hand.
"Morning?" she asked.
"Yes – morning – I suspect that the arrangement would indeed take place this evening, or have I arrived at a bad moment? I had hoped my timing was impeccable."
Molly flushed, "Sherlock – I'm – I'm having dinner with Peter."
Sherlock looked around in the restaurant, "You seem to have misplaced him, I think."
He didn't say anything now, waiting for her to speak, as he took to grab for her wineglass taking a sip. She leaned back a bit in her chair, sighing, as she said, "You - lied to me."
"Is that unfamiliar?" he said putting the glass back on the table.
"Sherlock."
"Yes, well – I don't find it unusual to our relationship really. It's not as if you've been horribly truthful either, have you Molly?"
"Don't even try, Sherlock – you pretended to be Ben, letting me spill all of my secrets to you, and then you end it all with a bloody fanfare informing me that I'm a nuisance."
"People keep having a great interest in that word. I wouldn't find it so unfamiliar really."
"And now you're here - asking me to have dinner with you?"
"You wanted an arrangement."
"That was – because – Sherlock – you've not actually been – well – oh – god," she blurted out rather flustered.
"There's nothing to be embarrassed about Molly. Quite the contrary – I would think that you'd be more embarrassed of the item I seem to have misplaced – if you recall?"
Molly's eyes widened, "Are you referring to-?"
"My riding crop in your drawer - quite a peculiar place to be really."
"You broke into my flat? Oh – oh – what is wrong with you?" said Molly more to herself than to him.
"Good question, I would like to ask you the same thing – pilfering riding crops from other men's flat's – a bit unhygienic at best Molly - perhaps?"
She coloured exceedingly more than even possible, shifting a lot in her seat, knowing that neither wine nor water could save her from the predicament, "Fine – I'll give you the terms, then - shall I?"
He smirked at this.
"I'd like for you to leave," she bit back, and she saw in him a genuine look of surprise. She wasn't throwing herself at him? He'd of course expected that, but she was certainly not going to give it to him - dinner or no dinner.
"Leave?"
"Yes – leave – we'll talk in a few weeks time, maybe, and maybe then I'll not think of you as an arse, because considering what you've done – I don't really have any choice do I?"
He quieted down that moment, "But you do have a choice, Molly. A very good choice to make, I don't see why we should dance around the subject at hand really. It'll be frightfully dull, I have very little patience for waiting – I suggest skipping to the good part, as John would say."
"You can't just expect me-," she started, but someone was clearing his throat – it was Peter looking rather dishevelled there he stood his nostrils flaring.
Sherlock just raised a brow in return, "Peter – you look a bit tired, won't you have a sit down, then? I suggest you grab a chair," said Sherlock with one of his all too wide smiles.
"What the hell are you doing here?" he said rather breathily.
"You should really sit down."
"You - are – in – my - seat."
Molly looked at the exchange fretfully, bordering on being absolutely thrilled despite her better judgement.
"You seem to have enough strength to grab another chair, don't you Peter? Being a physician, I'd suppose you'd manage that feat."
"Peter – just – just - take a seat - please," said Molly uneasily, as Peter forcefully grabbed after a vacant chair, placing himself between them scowling at Sherlock who returned his glare with a pleasant smile.
"That is better, isn't it?" said Sherlock with the sort of condescending air she ever only heard him reserve for Anderson. "We wouldn't want you to injure yourself standing, would we? Now – Peter – you will be the judge of this."
Whatever Peter was going to pass judgement over was forgotten, as the food appeared. It seemed that the waiter had cancelled Peter's order – leaving Sherlock's meal in front of him, which he gave only a slight shrug over, "Unfortunately, it seems that only Molly and I will be having dinner," he said pointedly at Peter spearing a broccoli on his plate.
The waiter eyed the scene nervously, quickly addressing Peter, "I'll bring your order, sir."
"Thank you," replied Peter rather strained glaring at Sherlock and looking at Molly curiously. "You won't get rid of me easily Mr Holmes – I'm not going anywhere."
"Oh God," mumbled Molly, as Sherlock gave Peter a proper once-over.
"Your actor-friend got one on the nose, and I am not against shoving my fist in your face, mate – so if you'll just leave quietly I'll let you go in one piece."
Sherlock looked very doubtful at this, giving a proper smile, as he opened his mouth to give what Molly assumed would lead to a beating, so she said in haste, "I think it would be best if you were to leave – Peter."
"You're actually going to sit with this man?" he snapped.
"Peter – it's not going to happen. I can't trust you."
"And you can trust him?" said Peter pointing at Sherlock demonstratively.
"Yes," said Molly without missing a beat.
Peter was fuming, taking to swallow quite hard, as he spoke his next words directly to Molly, "Are you really going to choose him, then? He's the one you want – this massive – prick?"
Molly returned the look fully, not flushing, or looking away, "Yes, Peter – I'll be having dinner with Sherlock, and that's the end of that – don't call me. So please, if you did love me – just go."
"Right – right -," said Peter standing from his seat clearly disgruntled, before walking off, as Sherlock ate his food silently. "Good – good - bye - Molly."
She stared after Peter's back relieved, though a bit confused, and soon glanced at Sherlock's face that was beyond doubt overconfidence itself.
"Don't be smug," said Molly, when Sherlock hadn't said anything. "I know that might be hard to ask of you really, but – at least try to be a bit-,"
He gave her a look; she shook her head for a moment, "Sherlock – why did you pretend to be another man? – It's just – it is a bit-," but as she was trying to find her words Peter returned hovering by their table. They both turned their heads facing him, and soon enough Peter's fist smashed into Sherlock's face.