That evening, Molly came down the stairs, and tossed a "Hi Sherlock, bye Sherlock" carelessly in his direction. He was sprawled out in his chair, legs hanging over one arm of the seat. He looked over his shoulder at her, doing a double take at her flirty dress and ballet flats. Checking the clock, he saw that it was half past seven.
He pursed his lips and directed his annoyed glare at his computer screen. "Another date?" He didn't remember her mentioning one and he didn't smell any perfume when she entered the room as he usually would if she was going out with Daniel.
She shook her head while shrugging on her coat and tying her scarf. "No, not tonight."
"What then? You are dressed for a pub." He interrogated, turning to face her, one eyebrow raised questioningly.
"Well, yes, John and Greg and I are going to one just down the street. We used to go together all the time but it's been a while."
Sherlock frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion and hurt. "And I'm not invited?"
She paused, a glove halfway on and gave him a dubious glance.
"We didn't think you'd want to go. And anyway, John said you vowed to never drink again after his stag night." She cast him a wry smile, telling him that she knew exactly how that night had turned out.
Unable to resist a challenge and not exactly liking the idea of a drunken Molly with the detective inspector, he narrowed his eyes and stood, abandoning his laptop.
"I think I will go. Can't have you stumbling home by yourself late at night." He crossed over to her and began pulling on his own coat.
"I wouldn't be alone!" she protested. "Greg would bring me home… Or John." She added hastily at the positively violent expression on Sherlock's face when she mentioned Lestrade.
He shook his head and she sighed, resigned, throwing her hands up in the air.
"Fine, whatever. But if you ruin our night, I'm going to kill you. And it won't be fake this time."
He make a face at her no nonsense tone, but nodded his acceptance of her terms, then cocked his head to the side, his eyes focusing on her with a calculating look.
"Wait, I'll be right back." He took his coat back off and went to his room, speedily changing his clothes to something he knew she approved of.
He returned a few ticks later and was rewarded with a slight color in her cheeks before she turned away. He slipped his coat on and trailed behind her.
They walked to the pub, as it was only a few blocks from Baker Street.
Upon entering, they found the other two participants already there and elbows deep in a pint. Both men grinned at them, John winking at Sherlock. Greg nodded at him but looked a bit disappointed he was there.
Not making a move on my pathologist tonight, detective inspector.
Molly beamed at the two men and they pushed a beer towards her as she slipped into the booth in the seat across from them. Sherlock was left to get his own beer.
"Sorry mate." John clapped him on the shoulder when he got back from the bar. "Would've gotten you a pint if we knew you were coming."
Lestrade nodded his agreement. "What's got you out tonight, Sherlock? Not your usual haunt."
Sherlock shrugged nonchalantly, his eyes darting to Molly. "Even I need fresh air sometimes."
Molly threw him a cynical glance but proceeded to basically ignore him, (annoying Sherlock to the extreme,) and chat animatedly with the other two men. Sherlock sipped his beer, not paying attention to the conversation.
How did I miss that this was going on? Because you never had a doubt that Molly was yours, idiot. Now that she has all sorts of men interested in her, it has become important. Just like that Christmas party. John and Greg appreciated her outfit and you just HAD to get jealous and make her feel bad. He really regretted that night.
He subtly watched the pathologist out of the corner of his eye. The dress she wore was one of her newer purchases and flattered her body shape. It was a chiffon number; the cut emphasizing her small chest with a seam below the bust and flaring down to just above her knee. The color, a deep jade green, suited her as well, bringing out the subtle reddish hues in her hair. Sherlock made a mental note to thank Mary again for her influence of Molly's wardrobe.
He came out of his thoughts as Lestrade asked her about Daniel and she blushed, saying that it was going well, but glancing at Sherlock out of the corner of her eye as she said it.
Greg mirrored Sherlock's expression of part disappointment and part annoyance.
Molly began to elaborate, as she was wont to do, causing Sherlock to slyly move his hand to brush against her thigh. She jumped, startled, and he smiled, knowingly.
"You ok, Molly?" John asked, furrowing his brow distrustfully at Sherlock who regarded him with an innocent expression.
Molly smiled a sweet smile and assured him that she was fine, while artfully stomping on Sherlock's foot. He grimaced in pain but quickly smoothed his face before the other men could see. Noticing that they were all getting to the bottom of their glasses, he got to his feet and headed to the bar. John joined him, and he turned to watch Molly and Greg while they waited for service.
"So, why are you really here, Sherlock?" Sherlock gave him his patented 'don't be stupid' stare and John chuckled. "Uh huh, I knew it. You didn't want Molly alone with Greg."
Sherlock's jaw clenched. "You know as well as I do that he wants her."
John shook his head, still laughing. "That isn't a crime, you know. You do too. And you don't have any more claim over her than anyone else." He grinned. "Geez, her pheromones must be working overtime."
Sherlock gave him a look with his brow raised, and John laughed outright.
"Ok, whatever but you need to loosen up. We're getting shots too."
Sherlock made to protest but suddenly a light bulb lit up in his brain.
"John, you gave me shots the night of your stag do!" He pointed an accusing finger in his best friend's face.
John smiled so wide, it practically split his face in half. "Sure did!"
Sherlock sighed dramatically (and mostly for show) and grabbed up the pints, John following close behind with four shots. He plunked the beers down on the table and took the offered shot, handing one to Molly who protested halfheartedly.
"Ugh, you guys do this every time!"
Greg smirked. "Yeah and you drink it every time, too!"
Sherlock scowled at Lestrade who studiously ignored him, bestowing a cheesy grin on the pathologist.
She laughed and lifted her shot glass into the air, the others following suit and they all threw them back, making faces as the liquor burned their throats.
"Oh, I'm getting too old for this," John coughed, the liquor making his voice thick and scratchy.
Molly nodded her assent, coughing slightly as well, as Greg eyed his empty glass with distaste.
"Why do we do this every time? It's always awful," he groaned.
Molly giggled. "It's only terrible because John always orders cheap liquor!" She stuck her tongue out at the doctor playfully.
"Oi, that's true, mate!" Greg joined in on her teasing.
"Hey, hey, no ganging up on me!" John lifted his hands up in surrender. "Greg, you're supposed to be on my side!"
Sherlock watched the exchange quietly, sipping on his beer. He resented the familiarity the three had with each other and that he had never been included in these nights. They only knew each through him, yet they were fine with purposefully leaving him out. It hurt a bit.
You're getting sentimental in your old age. Sherlock mentally swatted away the image of Mycroft. Get stuffed, Myc.
Finally having had enough of Lestrade's attempts at flirting with a tipsy Molly, Sherlock piped up with a "Maybe if you had brought your wife with you instead of leaving her at home, your marriage wouldn't have dissolved," aimed at the detective inspector.
The trio turned to glare at him and John groaned, putting his head in his hands. "You see, Sherlock? This is why we never invited you. Don't get me wrong, you're my best friend, but you really are a buzz kill sometimes, mate."
The other two nodded their agreement and Sherlock narrowed his eyes at Molly, silently reproachful for her concurrence and for not putting Greg in his place. She averted her gaze, glancing around the pub at the other patrons.
Sherlock picked up his glass, still almost half full, and drained it, kicking John under the table while he was at it.
"Alright, no buzz kill then."
The two men stared at him and he rolled his eyes.
"I promised I wouldn't ruin the night." He shrugged and darted his gaze to Molly who flushed bright red. Sherlock noted Lestrade's frown and quick gulp of beer with amusement.
Ha, take that.
A half hour passed, the quartet getting more intoxicated by the minute.
Sherlock was definitely feeling the effects of the alcohol and the logical portion of his brain knew he should stop drinking but he ignored it.
Molly began to giggle at everything the men said, funny or not. Sherlock grinned to himself. Of course, she would be a happy drunk. She's always cheerful.
Sherlock was subtly scooting closer to her a bit at a time, until their arms were brushing with every movement. Greg and John got up to get another round and Sherlock leaned close, tucking her hair behind her ear, before whispering, "You look beautiful tonight, Molly." She blushed and bit her lip, gazing up at him through her lashes. He was struck with the overwhelming urge to kiss her but held onto his self-control. Not here, not now.
Sherlock's hand dropped to her thigh as the other men returned and he stroked the skin there. This time, Molly merely crossed her legs, confining his movements to the outside of her leg, restricting access to her inner thighs. He continued to run his fingers over her, loving the soft intakes of air from her when he hit a particularly sensitive spot.
The alcohol made him feel pleasantly numb and all he could think about was going home with Molly. He glared at his glass and decided it was time to stop drinking if he wanted to be able to think at all. Molly's close proximity was already clouding his thoughts enough.
He watched her, no longer hiding it as he was earlier in the evening, gauging her reactions as he touched her side and thigh occasionally. She blushed and bit her lip, trying not to give away to the men across from them what was happening under the table.
He glowered inwardly. He wanted them to know. He wanted everyone to know that she belonged to him. That he was the only one who could touch her, kiss her… make love to her. He wrenched his thoughts out of dangerous territory. He couldn't think about that yet. Not while he was still chasing her and definitely not while he was in public.