I really hope you liked the last chapter, because this is basically just a continuation from where it left off. Thanks so much for all the support guys... you really are amazing.

Disclaimer: really?

Chapter 15

Molly was amazed that this was happening, but somehow it seemed so right. Sitting on the floor, leaned up against the couch, listening to him deduce the movie as she solved the puzzles, her mask cracking on her face. They had been eating on and off throughout the night, but in trying to do this right, Sherlock had brought way too much food, and the majority ended up being put in the refrigerator.

They did work their way through the beer, however. Molly decided that they would save the pistol for another time.

Molly left for a minute to wash the clay off her face at the end of the film. It was stubborn, not wanting to leave her skin. As she scrubbed her face raw, she could hear Sherlock had gone back in the movie and was watching the final dance scene again.

She went to her room and changed her regular clothes to a tank top and shorts. In that time, he had watched the scene another time. She smirked to herself. He had been making fun of the movie all night, and now he couldn't stop watching.

Coming back out, she was pleasantly surprised to see Sherlock sitting close to the screen, mesmerized by the dancing in front of him. She took a minute to appreciate the way his curls framed his face, and the beautiful look he got on his face whenever he was fascinated by something.

He spoke without looking away. "Dance with me." Molly sputtered, refusing suddenly and vehemently, and he smiled. "Dance with me, Molly Hooper. It is a form of exercise. The exercise will release endorphins and adrenaline in your body, which will cause your mood to be ella... el...elevated." He frowned, the alcohol causing him to stumble over the word He pressed on, however."Seeing as how that is the entire purpose of this night, I see no reason why you can refuse."

He came up to her and pulled her close despite her protestations, and suddenly they were dancing. They spun and bent, at first trying to copy the moves on the screen, but finally giving up for a slow, simple sway. Back and forth, back and forth- neither of them noticed when the music stopped.

He had pulled her in slowly until she was tight against his body. His breathing was ragged and she could feel it against her skin. His heartbeat was pounding underneath her hands as they rested on his chest, and for that moment all that mattered was the feeling of his arms around her.

But they knew it couldn't last. Eventually they broke apart, and to some degree, Molly was glad. Her mind was spinning in so many different directions, and she didn't know what she felt anymore. The buzz from the alcohol certainly wasn't helping. She tried to collect her thoughts as she looked at Sherlock. It was obvious that the dancing was over.

She needed to focus on something other than the man in front of her. Otherwise tonight was going to turn into a glorious mistake: a mistake that, no matter how much Molly wanted to make it, would still be wrong.

Behind him, Molly could see the fridge. She walked past him and grabbed the box of trinkets with his name on it, and brought it back, handing it to him. He took it, looking confused... and possibly hurt? Molly didn't know what to think anymore.

,She spoke as he opened it and rummaged through the things inside. "Here are all of those things that you left here when you stayed here after the fall. I used to spend a lot of time looking through it, but Thomas said…"

Molly frowned, not sure where that sentence had been going. She tried a different approach. "Take them home with you. I don't want to keep them here anymore." There, that sentence made more sense. She was much more drunk than she realized if she couldn't form a coherent thought. She decided that she should probably go to bed.

Sherlock heard his dismissal. He pulled his coat on and gingerly took the box again in his arms. She hoped that he would be able to find a cab soon. She definitely didn't trust an inebriated Sherlock Holmes on the streets of London. He came up to her and looked her deeply in the eye, and then leaned over and placed a lingering kiss on her forehead. "Goodnight, Molly Hooper." Then he turned and walked out the door, his overcoat blowing in the wind.

PS: I don't drink, nor do I normally hang around people who do drink a lot. So if they don't sound like they have had a few, I am sorry. I don't like to write about things I don't know, but sometimes the story writes itself, and I don't really have a say in where it goes. Review for me please... It really does make my day.