Besotted

It's that odd feeling that reaches the toes. It spreads a flush over the cheeks and sends the heart into a worrying flutter.

It's the one that turns an evening of 'working overtime' into a serendipitous treat

and makes inappropriately-timed texts seem like joyful surprises.

Happy sighs, wistful looks, mushy glances,

It appears Molly Hooper has become a little....

Brazen

One rum and coke, four glasses of red wine [hers] and three pints [his] later.

He's got a silver of droll over his lips as his words run into each other.

She's nodding mindlessly. He's spitting his argument. But the drunken rambles come to a halt as soon as he feels his lapels pulled viciously forward.

Glazed eyes meet brazen ones.

And somehow his theory on cellular respiration becomes lost behind muffled tongues and loud smakcing.

Much to the disgust of their friends across the bar.

Blessed

"How would you describe it then?"

John's attempt at worming some form of declaration out of him is feeble at best.

"Come on, think about it. About her."

His silence kicks up a sigh of frustration from his friend.

"Look, Sherlock.I'm not writing your vows for you. Just, for god sake, just write how she makes you feel,"

"Blessed." He speaks quick and soft, with unexpected sincerity, "I feel blessed."