I bring you a brand new story!

This one is going to be quite different from my other ones ... basically this is quite cracky.

It's nutty and silly and I just have a really strange brain ok?

Just take it all with a bit of salt ... and don't take it too seriously ... this is for pure enjoyment!

It will be smutty ... let me tell you, it's gonna be smmmuuutttyyy ... so if that's not your thing ... uhm, leave now?

I have quite a lot of this written already so I'll try and update it twice a week ...

I just keeping coming up with new things to add and change, otherwise I would have started posting this a lot sooner!

Anyway ... hope you all enjoy this wild, silly ride ;)

(also, the smut doesn't exactly start until chapter three!)

Chapter One - It all Started with a Facial

Molly let out a loud shriek when suddenly the sound of her flat door slamming shut reverberated around her. She stomped out of the bathroom coming face to face with a tall, dark figure in a Belstaff.

"What the hell Sherlock? Save your dramatic entrances for the morgue! I don't need any complaints from my neighbors. What are you doing here anyway? I haven't heard from you in days."

The entire time she spoke he had stood there staring down at her, his mouth slightly opened.

"Why is your face all …" He gestured wildly. "Green?"

"Green? Oh." She brought her hands up to her cheeks but didn't touch them. "It's a face mask."

"Face mask?" he repeated slowly.

"Yeah, a face mask. It's avocado oatmeal, hence the colour."

The crinkle between his eyebrows, directly above his nose, appeared. "Bit early for Halloween don't you think?"

She gave him a weary look. "Not that kind of mask you dolt. It's for my skin. It helps clean out my pores."

"Ahh." He shrugged off his coat and unwound his scarf, moving to hang up both nearby the very door he had slammed.

"Staying the night then?" She had one hand resting on the wall, watching as he took off his suit jacket and draped it over the back of a nearby chair, before he proceeded to slip off his shoes and remove his socks.

"Mmm … if you don't mind."

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "No. Not at all," she said, but continued in her head, "There goes my nice, quiet night in!"

Suddenly he spun about and faced her. "Is this something you do often?" He gestured to her green skin.

"Uhhh no, not exactly. Meena told me about it. This is only my third time doing it."

"Hmmm." He walked towards her, his hands clasped behind his back. "You've noticed positive results from using it?" He stopped when he was directly before her, his hands falling back down to his sides.

"Yes, I have."

"Face mask," he muttered.

"Shocked you never heard of it, Mr. Ego the size of Baker Street." The look in her eyes was teasing, but also daring him to dispute her statement.

"I am not a narcissist." His tone fell a bit flat.

A smile twitched at the corner of her lips. "Didn't say you were." She strode around him. "You are a bit vain though," she muttered this, but he caught it anyway, his own mouth twitching. She stepped back into her bathroom, disappearing from his view; then stepped back out again, a jar in her hand. "Want to give it a try?" She waved the jar back and forth slightly.

"What?"

"The face mask, do you want to try it? It's really rather lovely. Makes your skin feel great, refreshed." Her eyes dropped to his feet then slowly moved upwards, taking him in completely. "You look as if you could use a bit of refreshing. Been on a case, have you?"

He clasped his hands behind his back once more, his posture now ramrod straight. "Yes. It was a nine, but I solved it."

"Course you did." She flourished the jar again. "Well?"

Thirty seconds of silence passed before he said, "All right, fine." His posture relaxed slightly. She returned to the bathroom and he followed.

"Sit." She pointed to the toilet. The lid was down. He did as she requested. She placed the jar down on the sink counter and was now stood facing him, with her hands on her hips. "Do you object to me putting pins in your hair?" she asked.

His eyes widened. "What? YES!"

She rolled her eyes. "Knew it."

"Why would you need to do that?" he spat out the question, rather appalled by the thought.

She rolled her eyes again. "Because if I don't the cream will end up all in your curls!"

He leaned back slightly. "Oh." Five seconds of thought later, he said, "Fine. Do it." He waved his hand about in a dismissive way, but grimaced slightly when she smiled, barely containing a giggle.

After grabbing a small handful of pins from her cabinet drawer, she set to working on his curls. Her mouth slowly screwed up tighter and tighter. He was surprised that she wasn't shaking from all of her contained laughter.

"Just let it out Molly, I know I must look ridiculous."

A snort erupted from her, followed by another one. "Just be grateful that Lestrade isn't here with his phone."

Sherlock only let out a sigh in response to this.

"There!" she announced taking a step back from him. "That's quite a look you've got going on." She snorted once more before bursting out into uncontrolled laughter. "I'm sorry Sherlock! I just can't take you seriously with you looking like this! And it's only going to get worse! Oh my God!" She doubled over, clutching at her side.

He glared at her, crossed his arms over his chest, and proceeded to pout. He refused to stand up and look at himself in the mirror. "Aren't you going to get on with it?" he nearly shouted, wondering how he had managed to allow himself to get into such a predicament.

She straightened, wiping away a few tears of mirth. "Right. Sorry. I'll be good now." She twisted the lid off of the jar and scooped out some of the cream with her fingers. "All right, tilt your head back slightly and look at me."

He did so, his eyes locking on hers. She may have kept her gaze attached to his if she didn't need to pay attention to what she was doing. It was strange to have her tower over him like this. It would seem that their roles had somehow been reversed. He flinched slightly as the coolness of the cream met his skin. She spread it lightly, deftly across his forehead. As time progressed, he found that he couldn't tear his eyes away from hers. Now and again her gaze would flit back to his before returning to her task at hand. If he took her wrist and felt her pulse, he was certain it would be elevated. When she spread the last bit of cream on his face and stepped back he instantly missed the feel of her fingers. Neither of them spoke a word. She cleaned her hands off at the sink before closing the jar. He cleared his throat and suppressed the urge to scratch his nose.

He had to break the quiet; it had become unbearable. "Aren't you going to take yours off?"

"Oh no. Mine's not fully dry yet. You don't remove it until it's dry. Uhm … come on, let's go watch crap telly." She padded out of the bathroom.

Gone was the laughter, the giggling, the mirth. She seemed on edge now. Had his staring put her off? He couldn't have exactly helped it; there was no where else for him to look, unless he wanted to give himself eye strain, which he didn't. Realizing that he hadn't followed her out he quickly did so, blatantly ignoring the mirror as he switched off the light.

She was already sat on the sofa, curled up, the remote in her hand. He sat down next to her, Toby instantly jumping up and making himself at home on his lap. She was changing the channels at abnormal speed, not exactly giving herself time to even notice what was on. Suddenly Sherlock took the remote from her, switching off the telly.

She stared at him. "What was that for?"

He tossed the remote on the coffee table before replying, "You weren't paying attention."

Huffing slightly she leaned her head back and glared at the ceiling.

"Did my staring bother you that much?" he asked her.

She kept her eyes fixed on the ceiling. "It's not so much the staring as to how you were staring."

He narrowed his eyes, his brows coming together. "I was staring in a particular way?"

She at last turned her head and their gaze locked. "You were looking at me as if you had never seen me before. It was rather … unsettling." She grabbed a pillow, hugging it to her chest as she looked away from him.

"Ahh," he said this slowly while Toby purred away on his lap. "Well the truth is I have never seen you before looking quite so … green." He gestured with his hand towards her face.

"That's a terrible excuse."

"It's the only one I've got."

"Don't give me excuses. Give me reasons, a reason."

They stared at each other silently for a few beats. Her expression was defiant, daring.

"Usually when you do look at me," she said, "it's to deduce something about me. But you said not a word."

His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. "I thought that my speaking would hinder you."

"You're fibbing. I can see it in your eyes. You are fibbing." She poked him in the arm, at last tearing her angry gaze from him.

"I …" He cleared his throat. "I didn't speak because I didn't know what to say. You know how I am Molly; you know that I don't express myself well when it comes to things like … this." He motioned to her, then back to himself.

The entire scene could have been considered ridiculous and utterly hilarious, him with his green face, and her with her green face, if it were not for the fact that he was completely confusing her.

"This? What do you mean by this?" She mimicked his gesture. "What is this? What are we?"

His gaze fell to the cat still in his lap. He stayed silent.

"Sherlock. I want you as a friend; first and foremost, you are my friend. But one second you're asking me for help, the next you're telling me my mouth is too small. You repeatedly show up at my flat at all hours of the night, I've stitched you up, I've fed you, and now you go and stare at me as if I am the most fascinating and thrilling case you've ever had to solve. You can't keep doing that to me! I can't shut off like you, and delete things.

"Tell me what you need Sherlock, what you really, truly want. And if you don't, if you can't, then I have to leave, because I don't think I can take it anymore. I love you. I love who you are. I don't want you to change. But I need some form of clarity, or I think I'll go mad. Do you love me or not? Do you want me as a friend or something more? You once told me that I was the one that mattered most. Is that still true?"

During her entire speech Sherlock hadn't once raised his eyes from the tabby cat still sleeping curled up in his lap. Several more minutes passed in silence.

With a slow, sad sigh Molly stood up. "I forgot, you believe that sentiment is a chemical defect. That caring is a disadvantage." She started to move away from the sofa.

"Where are you going?"

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