A/N : Hello all, and thank you for reading this fanfiction! I had a lot of fun writing it, and you can stay tuned for more very soon. Be sure to review with any thoughts, questions, or critiques that come to mind and I will get back to you as soon as possible :) Enjoy...

Detective Inspector Lestrade's day started out as it did far too often; with an empty bed, a cloudy head and beeping cell phone. It had become almost muscle memory to raise his head, rub his eyes, and whisper a soft "bullocks" before swiping a begrudging thumb across the screen.

"Yeah, what is it?" He didn't bother hiding the hangover and sleep from his voice as he made his way to his closet to shrug a shirt over his naked chest.

"Detective Inspector?" The voice on the other end was all to familiar- the drawling tone of some twenty year old intern, probably covered in tattoos and piercings, at the back end of a bitingly boring night shift. "We've got a few first offense inebriates in the cell this morning, one of the men said you might want to come check it out."

Lestrade felt his eyes plummet into the back of his head. "And what the bloody hell," he growled into the phone wedged between his shoulder and his ear as he continued to fumble with his belt buckle, "made you think I would give a donkey's rear end about two dumb blokes sleeping it off?!"

"Just drive over here sir, and I can get off my shift." Greg could just picture the kid sticking his cheap combat boots up onto his desk. "The offenders are John Hamish Watson and William Sherlock Scott Holmes, if that makes a difference."

Lestrade let that sit there for a moment. "I'll be right there," he said finally, smiling slightly at the ceiling despite himself.

After tucking his phone in his pocket it was only a moment before his coat as on and he was out the door. One good thing about the wife being gone, there was rarely any hassle getting in and out of the flat. In another moment he had a cup of coffee in hand and was hailing a taxi. As a car drove up and the cabbie had the addhress Lestrade sat back into the seat and chuckled softly to himself.

"William Scott Holmes. Honestly."

Molly Hooper awoke to a cat on her face. And two more mewling at her from her bedside table and the floor. She smiled quickly and instantly began excavating herself from under her numerous quilts, covers and pillows.

"Yes, Mr. Golgi," she said quietly, patting the little black kitten's head. "I'll get you fed in one moment."

Draped in saggy pajama bottoms and a pink fluffy robe, the scientist padded lightly to the kitchen. She was followed closely by the members of her wake up call, a procession which gained a fourth body somewhere on the way to the kitchen. One more cat later, Molly Hooper was opening five cans of tuna over her sink and setting enough water for one mug of tea to boil, and contemplating how poetically lonesome she must look.

"Okay, 'Tella, wait your turn," she sighed, watching four tongues lap at the water running from the faucet and one white kitten bouncing eagerly around the rim of the sink.

She brushed her teeth, washed her face, made her tea, neatened up the cats' breakfast, and settled herself on the couch. She still had another three hours before picking up Mrs. Hudson to get their nails done, and Friends reruns never failed to make her smile.

"Wakey, wakey!" Greg's voice echoed in the cell as the door flung open to reveal a harrowed looking Mr. Watson slouched against a wall and Sherlock laid face up like a vampire across the cot. Sodder had probably flounced in ahead of John and left the poor bugger on the floor all night.

John cussed quietly from the floor, rubbing his face as his eyes slid in and out of focus. "Greg. Is that Greg?"

The detective couldn't keep keep the grin from spreading across his face. "Get up, I'm going to put you too in a taxi," he said briskly, gazing pointedly down at John's blundering form. Sherlock was still dead to the world. "Managed to square things with the desk sergeant."

He laughed briefly in earnest as he watched the poor man make his way upright. "What a couple of lightweights, you couldn't even make it to closing time."

"Could you whisper?" the ungrateful bastard waddled past him towards the door.

"Not Really!" yelled the inspector into his ear, causing Sherlock to shoot up from his early death and gaze bemusedly around the cell. As John recovered, Lestrade beckoned the shambolic detective with a finger. "Come on."

After apologizing once more to the man who had replaced the intern behind the desk, lending Sherlock some money for the cab, and giving his regards to the proud groom, Lestrade checked his watch once more. Four hours until he picked up Anderson to drive to the venue. He thought he fancied a drink.

"What do you think, dear? I simply adore this yellow, but it's a little young for me, and that navy would just match my dress."

Mrs. Hudson stood with her head cocked to the side and three fingers perched delicately on her lips as she considered the long row of nail varnish colors in front of her. Molly Hooper stood beside her, considering the utter charm of the moment and determinedly etching it into memory.

"I think you should go with the yellow, Mrs. Hudson." Molly said with a smile, handing the woman the container, "And I'll get purple and together we'll have Mary's wedding colors."

"Oh, that's lovely," she simpered as they sat across from two smiling salon workers, "Mary is such a wonderful girl, don't you think? She gets on so nicely with the boys."Molly smiled to herself as she did at every mention of Mrs. Hudson's 'boys'. The matronly woman continued. "I do worry about Sherlock, though. You know how fond he is about John, I just can't help but wonder if he'll be getting jealous." She whispered the last word as if it was a hugely scandalous secret.

"You don't think Sherlock fancies John?" asked Molly lightly, watching her fingers being lifted one by one so that her attendant could file her nails.

"Oh, I don't know," she answered, shaking her head and looking down at her own hands, "You never can tell with Sherlock." Molly smiled again. She adored the way Mrs. Hudson said Sherlock's name; each syllable adoring and emphasized in the same caring fashion no matter what the context. You never heard anyone say "Molly Hooper" like that.

"What about you and Tom, dear?" Mrs. Hudson asked suddenly, turning to face Molly once more with a matronly smile plastered across her face, "how are you two?"

"We're fine, I suppose." Molly answered mildly. "I haven't gotten around to planning the wedding quite as much as I would like, but we're not in that much of a hurry anyways."

"Well that's lovely," Mrs. Hudson said, warmth glowing in her eyes. "I remember my wedding. I was quite younger then you, in Florida..."

The remainder of the visit at the salon was rather swept away by the woman's reminiscing. Molly nodded and smiled, contentedly amused by the landlady's stories of broken marriages, erotic dancing, and, of course, herbal soothers. It wasn't until they were standing together outside in wait of respective taxis that conversation turned once again, briefly, to Molly. Mrs. Hudson turned to her suddenly and poked her shoulder with sudden decisiveness.

"I have one last thing to say before tonight, dear," the woman whispered with laughter in her voice. "Weddings, especially friend's weddings, have a funny way of revealing hidden qualities in relationships. I lovely young girl like yourself..." the woman trailed off slightly as a car pulled up to the curb. "You should just try to keep an open mind."

Molly blushed and giggled slightly, laying a hand quickly on Mrs. Hudson's shoulder in farewell. "See you later, then." The mortician watched the old woman climb into the cab with unabashed fondness. It wasn't until the car was already rolling away that Molly called suddenly after it, "I will!"

Mrs. Hudson flashed the girl a quick thumbs up before the car turned the corner.