Part 3: Tomorrow Night, Sixish

Sherlock Holmes was no stranger to being on the pull. So why were his palms sweaty this time? Why was his heart pounding in his chest the closer he got to his destination? Why did every woman with a petite frame and long brown (chestnut) hair catch his attention?

"Feelings," he scoffed, earning a sidelong glance from the couple strolling past him. He ignored them and focused on getting himself under control. This was ridiculous, to be so nervous about a simple coffee date.

Ah, that was the reason; coffee date. He didn't date, he found a girl he liked and hooked up with her, when his body's needs became too distracting to ignore. He and his one friend, Victor Trevor, often made a competition out of it, both of them being of the like mind that, although sex was amazing, relationships weren't worth the (potential) guarantee of getting it on the regular.

Well, they had been of like mind. Now, however, Sherlock wasn't so sure, and what was worse, he still had no idea why Molly Hooper was different to any other girl – woman – he found himself sexually attracted to. Yes, she was pretty and smart and all the usual specs; yes, they'd met each other under emotionally charged circumstances and were neighbors which meant there would be repercussions if he fucked this up, but that shouldn't make any difference to him.

The problem was, it did, absolutely, make a difference to him.

He was still pondering the why of it all as he arrived at his destination. He rubbed his hands on the sides of his jeans, scowling at the fact that he had to dry his palms in the first place, then shoved the door open.

Sixish, she'd said. It was six o'clock on the dot; a quick scan showed her sitting at table near the back, cradling a large paper cup between her hands. She'd looked up as soon as the door open, and her tentative smile told him all he needed to know. That she was just as nervous as he was. The fact that she'd already ordered also told him that she hadn't been sure that he'd actually show.

There hadn't been any communication between them; no more middle-of-the-night conversations through the walls, no passing in the hallways, no texts (they hadn't exchanged numbers, why hadn't he thought to ask for her number?), no spotting one another on campus (they shared no classes), nothing. He'd simply assumed that she would let him know if she'd changed her mind – and that she understood that he would do the same.

But no, the relieved expression on her face as he walked toward the table (quickly hidden under a falsely bright smile that was trying too hard) told him she'd understood no such thing. He'd have to be sure to spell things out better in future.

If, of course, non-sleep deprived conversation with him didn't send her screaming into the night as it did so many others.

"Hi!" she said as he took the chair opposite hers at the small table. "Nice to see you when you're wide awake!" She blushed as soon as the words left her lips, and he smirked at the confirmation that she was not only just as nervous as he was, but was apparently just as bad at small talk.

"Same," he replied, then fell silent, not quite sure what to say next.

"Oh, coffee!" Molly blurted out, just as he started to excuse himself to grab his own cup. They both half-rose, then both started to sit back down, then just stared at one another before each sharing a nervous laugh.

"I must seem like a complete nutter," Molly said when their laughter finally died down. "You'd think I'd never been on a date before."

"I haven't," Sherlock admitted. She stared at him in surprise, and he shrugged, a bit self-consciously. "Not a real date, with some I actually want to spend time with. Just those sort of 'let me buy you a drink and convince you to let me shag you' dates, if you can call them that."

He couldn't read her expression. Damn, I've already done it, alienated her when she probably thought I was some kind of knight in shining armor for letting her talk to me about her dad the other night. "Right," he sighed, pushing himself up from the table. "Sorry, I'll just…"

"Get your coffee and then come back," Molly interrupted him firmly. All her nervousness seemed to have vanished. "Because this is going to be a proper date, Sherlock Holmes, no matter how much you seem determined to sabotage it."

"Not determined to," he mumbled as he finishing standing. "Just…not sure how not to."

"Then we'll figure it out together," Molly said. Her smile was warm and he found himself returning it almost bashfully as she reached out and laid her hand over his.

An hour later he was holding that same hand in his as they strolled slowly down the street in the direction of home. It was dark out but in this commercial area there was plenty of light and still a smattering of foot traffic, just enough to remind them that they weren't alone in the world.

As far as Sherlock was concerned, they might as well be. He marveled at how well the two of them seemed to fit together, how similar their interests were – and how unwilling Molly was to back down on the few things they disagreed about. Drug use, for one; he saw no harm in recreational use, she was adamant that the perils of addiction weren't worth the joys of a short-term high.

They continued to argue amiably about the pros and cons of using illegal substances until they reached the front steps of the small building that housed their flats. Both coffees had long since been consumed, their paper containers discarded, and the evening was still young. "Tea?" Sherlock offered, a half-smile on his lips as Molly pulled out her keys to open the front door.

She paused, then turned back to him with an answering smile. "Tea," she agreed. "My place this time."

He bounded up the four steps as she pushed the door open; as soon as it closed behind them, he impulsively cradled her head in his hands and kissed her.

She could have reacted any number of ways; she could have pushed him away, stormed off, slapped him, told him to go to hell…instead, she kissed him right back, fumbling her keys into her back pocket before throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him close to her body.

He knew he'd been right about their mutual attraction to one another even before their (amazingly successful) first date, but if any doubt had lingered in the back of his mind, Molly seemed determined to banish it.

They made it up the seventeen steps to the first floor in record time, and from there to Molly's flat where they recommenced the frantic snogging session they'd started in the building's dimly-lit foyer. Things progressed from there in an even more satisfactory manner, until, in the early hours of the morning, Sherlock found himself being awakened by Molly for the second time. Only now, there were no walls between them, and the only cries to be heard were those of two new lovers reaching their mutual completion.

A/N: There it is, folks, hope you enjoyed this prompt fic! Thanks for all your lovely reviews, they're always appreciated, trust me.