AT LAST

16 June 2015

A/N: Full prompt: It's two AM, Sherlock's finally attempting to get some sleep, and Baker Street is blissfully silent...until he hears a crash in the sitting room. He grabs the first thing he can think of to use for defense (that doesn't look like it will help) and goes out there, only to find a rather drunken giggling Molly picked his lock and didn't QUITE make it to the sofa. He's impressed, and so he lets her have the bed.

I changed some aspects of this prompt. Hope y'all still like it!

I own nothing. Everything belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, BBC, Steven Moffat, and Mark Gatiss. If I owned Sherlock and Molly Hooper, then there would be a lot more Sherlolly in the show. All mistakes are mine. Reviews and constructive criticism are welcome.

Sherlock grabbed his mobile from the bedside table and woke it from sleep mode. "Quarter past two," he muttered to himself. Sighing, he replaced his phone on the table and flopped back on the bed.

He had come home an hour ago from helping DI Dimmock apprehend a burglar and attempted murderer. After scoffing down some Chinese takeaway and taking a quick shower to wash off the last four days, he had changed into an old T-shirt and his favourite grey pyjama bottoms before going to bed. He had been so exhausted from chasing the suspect that he had expected to sleep immediately. But, half an hour later, he was still awake.

He shut his eyes and revelled in the complete silence, hoping that it would help him sleep. A couple of minutes later, sleepiness began to creep up on him.

A crash, followed by a loud thud and a series of softer thuds, rent the air.

Sitting up, he analysed the sounds he just heard and listened for more. That can't be Mrs Hudson, he thought. He knew––well, he read on the note she left him––that she was on a cruise with her latest beau. He left the bed, deftly avoiding the creaky floorboards as he walked towards the door. Not John or Mary either. He racked his brain for a reason either Watson would come to his flat in the middle of the night and found none. A burglar? He softly scoffed. His homeless network would have alerted him if any criminal tried to break into his home. He paused as his intruder began giggling. At least it doesn't sound like Anderson. Thank God.

He carefully opened the door, muttering a curse as it creaked and betrayed his presence.

"Datchu, Sherrock?"

He heaved a sigh of relief when he recognised the kind voice despite its owner's drunkenness. He walked towards the sitting room. "Molly, what the hell are you doing here? And how did you––" He stared at the supine figure lying between the sofa and the coffee table (as well as the mess around her). "My God! Are you all right?" Filled with concern, he helped her up and sat her on the sofa.

"Hiiiiii, Sherrooooock," said the pathologist, who giggled and ruffled his hair, distracting him as he nudged the coffee table back into its usual spot and replaced the apples in the stainless steel fruit bowl.

Resisting the urge to moan when her fingers began combing through his luxuriant curls, he removed her hand from his hair and turned to look her over. Glitter on her hair as well as on her surprisingly well-fitted emerald green dress. Thin pink strip of paper is stuck to a stiletto heel. Went to a pub with her friends then. Hen night, probably. Knitting his brows, he gently cupped her cheeks. "I presume by your giggles that you're not hurt and just utterly smashed?"

"Yep!" replied Molly, popping the 'p' like he did. "I aimed fo' da shofa, but I fell on da floor!"

He rolled his eyes, even though she was too drunk to see it. "Right. Well, what the hell are you doing here? The pubs closed a few hours ago," he pointed out as he checked for any injuries caused by her fall. Satisfied that there was none, he sat down next to her and sighed.

"Siobhan's hen night! At da pub!" she explained, referring to a neurosurgeon at Barts. "Den went t'er flat coupla blocks away. Da stripper was very, verrrry fit!" She giggled before winking suggestively at him.

He felt a tinge of jealousy, but he chose to shake it off and to focus instead on questioning her before she fell asleep. "So you just walked two blocks while you're sloshed and wearing stilettos? You're lucky no one accosted you or ran you over. Hell, you're lucky you didn't trip on the way here."

"Shomeone almos' did. Ran me ovah, I mean. Just flipped 'im off!" she replied, raising her middle fingers. Seemingly tired after that simple gesture, she laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

He reached for her hand and peered at something that had caught his eye. Chuckling, he plucked the bobby pin from her grasp. "You're picking locks now, Dr Hooper?"

She opened her eyes and nodded. "Learnt it from ya, remembah? B'sidesh, ya alwaysh pick my locksh. Thought I'd'a return da favour." She settled against him and, within seconds, she began snoring.

He shook his head and stared affectionately at her, impressed that she could pick his locks despite her inebriated state. Sighing, he picked her up from the sofa. "Good girl," he muttered when she automatically wrapped her arms round his neck. He shifted her in his arms until he was comfortable.

After carefully navigating the sitting room and the kitchen, he kicked his bedroom door open. He deposited her on the armchair near his wardrobe and threw off the covers. He removed her shoes and set them on the floor before carrying her to the bed. He kissed her on the forehead as he covered her with the blanket. "Bonne nuit, mon amour," he whispered to the slumbering woman.

He straightened up and placed his hands on his hips. Shall I sleep next to her or on the sofa? He shrugged and joined her in bed.

To his surprise, she turned and laid her arm across his middle, her fingers curling round his side. Sniffling, she laid her head on his shoulder. "Shmell nice," she muttered before going back to sleep.

Softly chuckling, he slid his arm under her and pulled her closer. He shut his eyes and listened to her soft snores until sleep took him at last.

I don't even know if that's the correct French translation for "Good night, my love". My apologies, if it isn't. I just plugged the sentence into Google Translate and pasted what I got. Hehehehe...

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