A/N: For the November 20th prompt - "Write about a booth in the corner." Rated T. Sequel to The Antidote.

As soon as they were in his chambers, Sherlock left her in his sitting room while he went to his bedroom to change. He knew exactly what he wanted to wear – an aubergine dress shirt, bespoke charcoal trousers, and his best black robes, left open of course, just like the first two buttons of his shirt. When he walked back into the sitting room, he found Molly seated in one of the armchairs by the roaring fire.

He smirked. "Comfortable?"

She grinned up at him. "I could use a firewhiskey, but other than that, yes."

Sherlock chuckled as he walked over to the small bar and poured them each a firewhiskey. When he handed her the glass, her fingers brushed his and he felt a jolt. It took all of his superior willpower not to pull her close and snog her like those ridiculous people in the muggle shows Mary liked so much. She didn't seem affected, though, which made resisting much easier.

He sat down across from her, noting that she was still dressed for teaching – a sensible skirt and blouse under her dark blue robes. "When Mary suggested that her muggle-born friend fill in for me, I was envisioning someone a bit more…" He trailed off, grinning.

Molly took the bait, just as he knew she would. "A bit more what?" she asked, smiling.

"Outrageous, mischievous … colorful."

She laughed softly. "That's because I thought a teacher had to be a bit more subdued. Normally, I wear colors and patterns my friends call eye-searing. Since no one from the outside is there to see me at my normal job researching new potions, I can wear whatever I choose."

A sudden image of her sitting on a table in some potions lab wearing nothing at all came to mind and he had a difficult time dragging his mind away from it. "So … did you find the Anderson boy as idiotic as I do?"

As the fall turned to winter, Sherlock found himself wanting to see Molly again more and more. Their respective work kept them too busy to meet again but they wrote each other frequently. More than once, he contemplated drinking one of his students' botched potions just so she could fill in for him again.

It was the Hogsmeade weekend after the first snowfall and he had been pressed into service as a chaperone. He had just broken up a snowball fight between fifth and sixth-years when he heard a familiar laugh. Sherlock turned to see Molly coming over to him, a black peacoat over her muggle clothes, a pink knit hat on her head and a matching scarf around her neck. He thought she looked utterly adorable.

"Can't you let them have a little fun?" she asked, grinning.

"Knowing that lot, it won't be long until they start putting rocks in the snowballs," he muttered, then he grinned at her. "Hello, Molly. I didn't know you were this far North."

"Hi, Sherlock. Mary asked me to come up to help her with wedding plans." She slipped her gloved hand into his bare one. "I hear you're Best Man."

Sherlock looked down at their joined hands, surprised, then back up at her, smiling a bit. "I am, much to my chagrin. I suspect John chose me because he can't wait to see me make an ass of myself giving the Best Man's speech."

"So, it has nothing to do with you being his best friend?"

"That … may have something to do with it."

"Uh huh."

They went to The Three Broomsticks for drinks, Sherlock insisting on a table in the corner so he could keep one eye on the students.

After they had exhausted all the usual small talk topics, he finally said what was on his mind. "You haven't said in your letters – are you seeing anyone?"

Molly smirked. "Do you really think I'd be having drinks with the sexiest professor at Hogwarts if I were?"

A nearby student choked on his butterbeer, causing Sherlock to dock ten points from Gryffindor for eavesdropping, then he turned to Molly, his cheeks pink. "I … er … suppose not."

She reached over to take his hand again and he quite liked the feeling of her bare hand in his. "But I am now."