A/N :: For some reason, this chapter was the most stressful to write so I hope that your eyeballs find it pleasing. Also, I worked a little Sherlock and John interaction into the mix. With that being said, strap on your seatbelts and enjoy the ride.

Sherlock carried two graduated cylinders, each containing 443.7 ml of beer, over to the table at which John Watson had settled.

"Really, Sherlock we can't just drink a pint out of a mug like normal people?" asked John.

"Boring," replied Sherlock handing him his cylinder.

"What the hell," John said preparing to take a swig. "Wait please tell me these are not the same glasses as the ones you use for your experiments."

"I washed them they're fine. See?" he said, taking a gulp, "It's perfectly safe."

John eyed the cylinder wearily before taking a cautious swig. "So, when are the other guys getting here?"

"What other guys?"

"Well Sherlock, typically a stag night consists of the soon-to-be groom going out with all of his male friends and having one final hoorah before getting married."

"John you don't have any friends."

"That is not true. There's Mike Stanford…" John paused struggling to think of another name, "…oh and Greg. Tell me you at least invited Greg."

"Greg?"

"Detective Inspector Lestrade."

"Oh really now John, you can hardly call Graham a friend when you constantly call him by the wrong name."

"Sherlock, Greg is his name you're the one always getting it wrong."

"Hm, I must keep deleting it from my mind palace. I have to get rid of the useless information to make room for the useful stuff."

John shook his head in exasperation, "It's just as well I believe Greg is busy working on a case."

"A murder case?" Sherlock asked excitedly.

"No, something involving bank robbers."

"Boring."

A few hours, 6 drinks and 2 unapproved shots later, Sherlock started to feel the full effects of the alcohol and was completely pissed. This out of character drunkenness is what led him to believe it would be a brilliant idea to drunkenly text his pathologist.

I think I've been drugged. Come quickly, if convenient. -SH

What! Where are you? –Molly H

I'm at the pub with John. –SH

What's wrong? –Molly H

I feel dizzy, my fingers are a little numb and I can't seem to work the zipper on my penis –SH

I mean pants. Stupid autocorrect. -SH

Haha! Oh Sherlock you haven't been drugged you're just drunk. –Molly H

Oh, that's what that feels like? I don't think I like it. –SH

If you think you're feeling bad now just wait until morning. –Molly H

How's John doing? –Molly H

Currently, he's doing karaoke –SH

Really? What's he singing? –Molly H

We Found Love by someone called Rihanna. –SH

Okay, it's definitely time for you guys to switch to water –Molly J

I think you're right. -SH

I'm surprised you texted back I expected your fingers would be much too busy making you cum for you to respond. –SH

Do you think about me every night? -SH

What makes you believe I think about you at all? –Molly H

Because I've seen you; I've seen the way you skillfully finger yourself while rubbing on your clit at the same time. I've seen the way your body clenches up when you cum. And I've heard the way you moan and say my name over and over when the pleasure overwhelms you. –SH

The sound of my name on your lips left me completely mesmerized and more than a little aroused. I haven't been able to stop thinking about it, to stop thinking about you Molly Hopper. –SH

It takes all my self-control not to grab you and kiss you every time I see you just to see if your lips taste as delicious as I imagine. I believe that the reality of your perfect lips pressed on mine would be much better than any of my fantasies. –SH

Sherlock, I'm engaged. –Molly H

Right, Tim. You may be engaged to him Molly, but you can't deny the feelings you have for me. -SH

Sherlock woke up the next morning sprawled, on the floor next to his bed in last night's clothes with no memory of how he got there.

Hm. There's an alarming number of blank spots in my memory of last night. I'm sure things will start to come bac––

Sherlock's train of thought was interrupted by this sudden need to throw up and a piercing headache.

After he finished brushing his teeth, he stripped and jumped into the shower, hoping the warm water would help clear some of the fog in his mind. While he was soaping, the events of the night slowly came back to him in pieces.

John. We went out drinking for his stag party. I was monitoring our alcohol consumption and output but something went wrong. I think John snuck in a few unsanctioned beverages into the beer. It's the only logical explanation for this splitting headache and why all the contents of my stomach are now in the toilet. I remember John screeching on stage like a banshee because he thought karaoke would be a good idea. Sherlock winced as he vividly recalled the sound of John singing. Turned out to be a terrible idea but overall a rather uneventful night except…I feel like I'm forgetting something.

Sherlock hopped out of the shower and began to get dressed when he saw it lying on the floor next to his discarded pants: his phone. Seeing the phone quickly brought back the memories of his late night conversation with Molly. He grabbed it off the floor, quickly opened up his conversation with her and began scrolling through their messages from the beginning of the previous night.

Oh. I can't believe I said all of those things. I didn't think it was possible for me to slip up as badly as I did at the morgue yesterday, when I told her I thought about her having sex but this is definitely much worse. I thought I only lost my ability to think rationally in Molly's presence but it would seem that alcohol is also harmful for reasonable thinking. I don't understand why anyone would get addicted to such a brain numbing substance. At least cocaine didn't make me irrationally start sharing my feelings.

As he was re-reading the last text he sent to her, Sherlock realized that Molly wasn't the only one who couldn't deny her feelings. The more time that went by, the more difficult it became for Sherlock to pretend that he didn't have feelings for Molly Hooper.

I believe the only way to ensure that I maintain full use of my mental capacities is to avoid any future interactions with Molly…and of course alcohol.

It was the night of John and Mary's wedding and Sherlock watched the happy couple as they danced to the music in wedded bliss. He scanned the room looking for a familiar face and saw Janine dancing cheerfully with the "comics and sci-fi geek" he'd pointed out to her during his best man speech. Sherlock risked a glance at Molly only to see her smiling happily at Meat Dagger. He watched her longingly for a moment before an indescribable pain in his chest forced him to look away.

Having successfully fulfilled all of his best man duties for the day, Sherlock decided that it would be best for him to leave before his emotions got the best of him. He exited the banquet hall, slipped on his Belstaff and walked off into the night believing that his absence would go unnoticed.

You've been here before so you already know the drill. Many thanks to the lovely human beings following the story, both new and old. And also thank you for the words of encouragement and appreciation. See you in chapter 5.