A/N I've been wanting to write a Lestrade/Molly Ficlet for an very long time, SO NOW IM GOING TO DO IT! If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say it at all. However, flattery and constructive critiscism is suggested! This song is based on the adorable song by JRA, (By Chance) You and I. But, it is not a song fic. No offence intended, but I'm not a fan of song fics. That song's cute situations and pickup line just inspired me :)

Pairing; Molly Hooper/Greg Lestrade. AKA Lestrolly.
Rating; K+ cause I'm paranoid. Might change if this becomes more than a oneshot.
Warnings; Fluff and cuteness. Vomiting may occur. Possible Season 2 spoilers. Also, for convenience to myself, Greg and his wife are currently in the process of divorce, so don't complain about it. Look at the heading, it says "Warnings". I warned you!

Molly threw her dress onto the floor and burst into tears. She had entered the sweet safety of her flat, just a few blocks from the party she had just been at. She scrambled to remove her jewelry, and pulled the pins out of her hair, leaving it completely down, voluminous and curly at her shoulders. She was standing in the middle of her bedroom, left only in her heels and the lovely- and expensive- lingerie she saved up for a month to buy. What had she been thinking? Molly knew that Sherlock would see right through her. And there, in front of all their friends, he decimated her! Took her down to the barest strip of dignity, and then attempted to balm the wound with sympathy. The pity thrown haphazardly at her was almost as painful as the embarrassment. She kicked off the heels, and sighed in relief, as they had been practically stabbing her feet. Not even bothering with clothing, she easily slid on her fluffy pink robe and tied the belt into a cute-sy little bow. Half a moment later, there was a soft but audible knock at her door. Even with the events of the night considered, Molly hoped it was Sherlock- though she quickly dispelled that theory. His knock was harsh and loud. This one had come from a kinder hand. After slipping on her slippers, she padded off to the door, and took a deep breath to compose herself. Behind it, she found Detective Lestrade starting to walk away.

"Greg?" She said his name quietly, but fortunately he was able to hear her. He turned around a little too quickly, and lost his balance.

"Molly!" He grinned for a moment, but wiped it off his face, remembering why he came. She held the door wider, and nodded at him, signaling entrance.

"Molly- I came here to. Well I... I came to check on you."

"I'm fine. Absolutely fine." As she said it, a tear escaped her eye. She was normally so strong, but the concern from her friend brought her to the edge. Greg stepped forward and wrapped her in a kind embrace. Neither spoke, but their somewhat unknown bond was acknowledged by both parties. He smoothed down her hair, and patted her back, and hummed soothingly her favorite song. They moved to her couch, and she curled into his side.

Molly and Greg were in a completely platonic relationship. The very best of friends, but never anything more. They met through their jobs, even before Sherlock Holmes came into their scene. The Detective Inspector had occasionally needed to come in for paper work on murder cases, and Molly always seemed to be working when he needed something. After a year of friendly greetings, they met for a beer with other co-workers and mutual friends, they kept a close correspondence outside the office. After several years, they had become almost family.

"Hush now love, it's alright. Holmes is a complete, arse, eh?" This made Molly giggle, and a smile appeared for only a moment.

"Yes, I'm afraid he is. What did I see? He's always so terribly cruel. I- why would I go for a man like that?"

"Haven't the foggiest." Lestrade muttered. Molly pretended not to hear.

After a bit, Molly made tea for two, and they watched a movie on the telly. About 40 minutes in, he fell very much asleep. Now that Greg and his wife were split, the longevity of his visit wasn't an issue, so Molly didn't bother waking him. Instead, she pulled his shoes off, and tucked him in with a blanket and pillow, then headed into her own small room. As she slept, romantic dreams of a grey haired detective in lieu of a raven hair one pranced around in her head.