A/N: For the March 19th prompt - "You're in the backseat of a taxi." This was also inspired by a Tumblr prompt by not-aph-england. Rated T. Stand-alone.

The case was solved. It had amounted to no more than a five and he should have been on his way back to Baker Street to look for another but something made Sherlock pretend to be a cabbie for just a little longer.

The rain had been coming down in sheets for the past hour and most of the streets were empty. Sherlock turned a corner of a residential street and could see a woman on the sidewalk halfway down. She was surrounded on three sides by suitcases, like three squat guards between her and the rest of the world. The woman didn't have an umbrella and he could see she was completely soaked.

She didn't lift her arm but he knew she needed him just the same. He pulled up to the curb in front of her then jumped out and circled the cab, unmindful of the rain pelting him. "You need a taxi," he said firmly then grabbed the first suitcase before she had a chance to argue. "Get in."

Sherlock had never seen anyone look so dumbfounded but something made her snap out of it and she got into the back of the cab. He quickly put the suitcase in the boot then did the same with the other two. As soon as he was back in the driver's seat, he looked at her in the rearview mirror. "Where to, Miss?"

"I just want to go home," she said quietly. Her large brown eyes were on the verge of tears.

He felt his protective urge rising with each moment that passed. "Sure thing, what's the address?"

"I … I don't know." The woman swallowed hard. "I just broke up with my fiancé. We were going to get married next week. I gave up my flat last month, so I don't even have that to go back to." A tear ran down her cheek.

There has to be someone who can take care of her. "What about family?"

"No … no family, no friends who would take me in either."

Damn… He had half a mind to take her back to Baker Street but he didn't think that would go over well. Then I'll take her to the next best place.

Sherlock couldn't help delighting in the surprise on her face when he pulled up to the curb in front of the Corinthia Hotel. She opened her mouth to say something but he turned and grinned at her. "The Corinthia, Miss. Best hotel in London, if you ask me."

"I can't afford this," she said quickly, panic rising. "I spent almost all of my savings on the wedding…"

"I'll take care of it, don't you worry."

She scowled in confusion. "How can a cab driver afford this place?"

He smirked. "You'd be surprised."

"You don't even know my name…"

"Alright, what is it?"

"Molly. Um, Dr. Molly Hooper."

"So, Dr. Molly Hooper, will you let me do this for you?"

"Um, I guess so. What's your name?"

"Excellent. And the name is Sherlock Holmes."

After he had arranged for her to stay in one of the nicest suites for as long as she needed it, Sherlock returned the impounded cab to NSY then let Greg drop him off at Baker Street. There he found an email from a potential client and was too busy to give the unfortunate Dr. Hooper another thought for over a fortnight.

As soon as the case was over, however, she was in his thoughts again. He called the hotel and spoke to the front desk manager, who told him Molly had checked out the day before with no forwarding address. Looking at the receipt the manager had emailed him, Sherlock saw that her room service had included a lot of chocolate and wine.

She was nursing her broken heart. A quick internet search told him she worked at St. Bartholomew's as a pathologist. After calling in a favor to the British Government, he had her new address. A nagging thought, which sounded uncomfortably like Mummy, told him not to show up empty-handed.

A quick trip downstairs earned him a cutting from Mrs. Hudson's spider plant and a hanging pot. A promise to tell her the whole story later earned him a ride in her car, and this time not in the boot. He waited until she pulled away before pressing the button for Molly's flat.

"Who is it?" came her voice from the speaker.

Sherlock smiled a bit. "Did you enjoy your stay, Miss?"

"Oh my God, it's you!" she said excitedly then buzzed him in.

By the time Sherlock was at her front door, he realized he was nervous. His knuckles barely hit the door before it was opened and Molly stood there, beaming at him.

"I can't believe you're here!" She stepped aside to let him in.

Sherlock barely glanced at the flat before turning back to her, grinning. "I found out about your new flat and wanted to give you a house-warming gift." He held out the pot. "I know it's a little scrawny now, but spider plants are hardy."

She took it, smiling. "Thank you! And not just for this – the hotel was just what I needed. I tried to find you after that first night but the cab company had no idea who you were."

"That's because I was only pretending to be a cabbie."

She stared at him. "What?"

He grinned. "I'm a consulting detective. I went undercover as a cabbie that night."

"Oh… The front desk manager wouldn't tell me anything, he said you preferred discretion."

"He would be right. I didn't want you to feel obligated."

"I'm not, I'm just really, really grateful. I'm back on my feet now – I have this place, I got a promotion to head pathologist, and I'm making new friends."

His grin widened. "Am I among them?"

She grinned back. "Actually, I was hoping you'd be firmly in the 'more than friends' category."

"I think we can arrange that."