Author's Note: As always, I own nada.

This is a commissioned work for dizzypersephone

They usually did games night at John and Mary's, but this week John had suggested Sherlock's flat. Sherlock had spent too much time brooding at home since they weren't on a case and John worried that he might be feeling neglected (though of course the detective would never admit it.) Sherlock hadn't protested, even though he'd never participated in games night before. He had let them in, told them he wouldn't be playing and had sequestered himself in a corner with his laptop.

"Want to finish this off?" Mary Morstan-Watson says to Molly Hooper as she passes her the bottle of Riesling. Mrs. Hudson has gone back downstairs after finishing the game of Scrabble, and John is packing up the board.

"Oh, no more wine for me. I've got to work early and can't be too hungover. Don't want to misplace someone's liver or something."

There is an awkward silence, which Mary breaks. "Oh, Molly! I've nearly forgotten. I ran into an old friend of my brother's the other day. He's been away doing business in Brazil for ages and seems to be suffering from culture shock. I invited him out for drinks with us tomorrow night but I'd hate for him to be the odd man out. You should join us."

Molly does not miss the look that passes between Mary and John. No one misses the huff of laughter from Sherlock.

Choosing to ignore Sherlock, Molly answers brightly, "Sure! I mean, he's not weird or creepy or anything, is he?"

Another sharp guffaw from Sherlock. John turns to him. "Is our conversation that amusing or are you watching Jeremy Kyle again?"

Sherlock flips the laptop shut and displays a tight lipped smile.

"No, just reading up on the Zodiac Killer. Humorous fellow but I was just amused at how long it took Mary to get around to asking Molly on this blind date when she's probably been planning it for days. So tell us more about this eligible bachelor, Mary. Early forties, still clinging to the vestiges of his looks, involved in a high paying but morally dubious field like oil or mining?"

"Pharmaceuticals," Mary says. "And he's really a stand up bloke. Decent and kind. I wouldn't set my friend up with an arsehole." She smiles at Molly and starts taking the wine glasses to the sink.

"Fantastic! But Molly has plans tomorrow night. She told me she would assist me with an experiment and I can't spare her. "

"Well," says Molly. "Molly can surely help out a certain detective during the day tomorrow and still be free for drinks." She turns to Mary. "Seven o'clock?"

"Perfect," says Mary, looking oddly disappointed.

Molly leaves first, then John and Mary say their goodbyes. Sherlock waits exactly twenty minutes, then texts John to ask him to come back round as he's forgotten to ask him something. John's reply can be summarized as "Sod off I'm already home." Sherlock smiles, dons his coat and scarf and heads up the street-in the opposite direction of John and Mary's- to a little corner gastro-pub.

He lingers at the door to watch her for a moment. She's sitting at the bar, her bag on one stool holding a place for him, reading a book and sipping on a pint. Probably a Carling but maybe Stella. He's not close enough to discern by the color or odor. She'll have already ordered her food and the chips with garlic aioli that he can't get enough of.

He goes over to her and hangs her bag on the under bar hook before settling on his stool and resting one foot on the bottom rung of her stool.

She looks up from her book and laughs when she sees his petulant scowl.

"Why on earth did you say yes to that blind date?" he pouts. "You could have come up with a million and one excuses, and I tried to give you an out."

"Sherlock. Dearest," she says with a shake of her head. "They're suspicious again. It was a test, and you'd have seen that if you hadn't been so engrossed in your laptop. Even I could see that coming to your place tonight was a ruse to throw us together. I had to say yes or they'd start popping round at odd hours again and lurking around the utility closets at Bart's."

"That was rather a close one, wasn't it?" he said, recalling the time John had barged into the closet where Molly and Sherlock were furiously snogging, ostensibly looking for more slides but seeming rather disappointed to find Sherlock in there alone. Sherlock had told him it was the only place he could think properly because Molly would chatter away about nothing. He'd hustled John away before he could get a better look at what was underneath that pile of scrubs on the floor.

Molly giggled at the memory but also experienced a rush of warmth at the memories preceding their interruption. He'd been whispering in her ear the things he'd rather be doing with his fingers if they had been elsewhere.

Sherlock's thoughts have obviously wandered in the same direction as he leans in close to her.

"Besides, I was really hoping that I would have you tomorrow night, provided all the deranged criminals in London manage to control themselves long enough."

Despite the rather morbid addendum to his request, Molly is fraught with desire for this strange and beautiful man.

"Of course you can have me. After. It's just drinks, not a real date. I'll get a raging headache halfway through the second round, okay?" She smiles and kisses him on the cheek, whispering in his ear "And what's there to stop us tonight?"

His eyes widen and he grins. While he is used to be tense and irritable when not on a case, he has found that Molly provides plenty to occupy his mind and body. Though it is somewhat exhausting keeping up the façade of boredom around John.

"Absolutely nothing," he says. "But first, fortifications. I haven't eaten today and I'd rather not embarrass myself too badly." As if on cue, the bartender delivers Sherlock's chips and Molly's hamburger.

"Anything else?" he asks as he sets the plates down.

"I really hate to do this," Molly says sweetly. "But can we get it to go?"