So Hey guys, another one shot, thank you very much Tumblr for this prompt. It's happy, cheerful and light hearted. I think I might be ill ;)

Of course, I own nothing, except the writing. Even that is thanks to my parents technically.

Molly stood in the kitchen, surveying the filthy counters and over flowing sink with distaste.

"Sherlock, your flat is absolutely disgusting. I know you're busy solving cases and conducting experiments most of the time, but just every now and again, would it hurt you to throw your clothes in a washing machine? Or put your dirty mugs in the dishwasher? You're going to contaminate your samples if you carry on this way." Molly's exasperated voice cut through the blissful haze four nicotine patches had created in his mind palace, jolting Sherlock back into full consciousness.

Scowling, he glanced irritably up at her as she stood, bubble covered hands on hips, hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun, a half smile on her face.

"What's the problem? You or Mrs Hudson will do it. It's not like you have much else to do." He sighed and retreated into his mind palace, eyes closed, ears deaf to the world.

Until a large bowl of warm soapy water was thrown over him.

"What!? Molly, why did you do that?" He pouted, picking at his sodden dressing gown and shaking suds from his dripping curls. He met her eyes, which shone with mischief as she tried to contain her giggles.

"Help me with the washing up. Come on, it won't hurt you! I can guarantee your case will still be there, and you will still have all of your wonderful brain cells at the end of it."

She seized his hand, pulling him off the sofa as he continued to pout.

"I don't wash up, I'm rubbish at it. Don't make me do it!"

He tried to make a break for his room but she intercepted him, handing him a towel and pushing ineffectually at him to go into the small kitchen. He turned around to face her, lowering his eyes to hers in a bid to intimidate or seduce her enough to get out of there.

"Nuh uh. In. The. Kitchen. Now."

Sighing dramatically, Sherlock trudged through the flat, drying his hair on the towel. It smelled like her, of jasmine, rose and a slight hint of musk. He wasn't sure he disliked it.

Molly threw the washing up bowl into the sink, then turned to close the (rarely closed) door that separated the kitchen to the rest of the flat, locking it and holding the key firmly in her hands. Sherlock eyed it objectively, working out the best way to get it out of her hands, until she did the unexpected.

She dropped it down her bra.

Damn.

She smirked at his downcast expression, gesturing to the sink and stacked mugs before him.

"Go on. I'll dry up."

She smiled at him, nudging him gently as she turned the hot tap on fully.

They worked in almost companionable silence for about fifteen minutes, the seemingly never ending stream of dirty mugs finally dwindling to the final few when he smirked suddenly.

He finished off the washing up, emptying the sink and going so far as to wash the soap bubbles away to avoid soap scum.

She glanced at him warily, distrustful of the sudden change of demeanour, though glad it took some of the strain off.

Placing the last few mugs in a surprisingly full cupboard, she turned around, fully expecting him to have picked the lock or blown the door off, when she was enveloped by his warm arms.

She froze, confused, until she felt the water she had drenched him in start to deep through her jumper.

"OH MY GOD! Sherlock! No! Argh!" She screeched loudly as he rubbed his hair across her neck, making sure to get her as wet as possible, chuckling as she wriggled and laughed.

"You're an arse, Sherlock Holmes. Really, you are!" He stepped away, grinning lightheartedly at her disheveled appearance. She met his smile, giggling at his flushed cheeks and rumpled dressing gown, reaching to get the key to the room an unlocking the door.

Once opened, she fully expected him to run off and dry, and return to his mind palace. They stood in the entrance to the kitchen, looking at each other.

"Molly, do you want dinner?" He looked at the floor, blushing slightly. "i don't know about you, but I just worked up a bit of an appetite."

"Oh. Oh! Of course I would like dinner with you! We might have to change out of these clothes though.."She threw her arms around him, uncaring of their wet clothes.

"I've missed something, haven't I?" John stood in the doorway, a bemused expression on his face as he watched them interact.

"Uh, it's not what you think…"

Molly tried to pull away from Sherlock, who tightened his grip on his pathologist.

"Molly and I are going to dinner. Please don't join us, John, though I am sure Mary would love to get our of the house. She's due soon, isn't she?"
He turned his face into Molly's neck, breathing deeply. Definitely sure he didn't hate her smell.

"Sherlock… Come on, we need to dry off."

She pulled away again, breathless and smiling as he turned her head to his gently.

He hesitated millimetres from her lips, unsure, until she tilted her head up to meet him.

"I uh. Yeah, I'm going to… Go…" John backed out quickly, smiling slightly as he went down the stairs. He'd known making Molly stay with Sherlock would be the way to make them - him - realise their feelings.

They didn't even notice his departure.

So, what did you guys think? Was Sherlock too OOC?