Several weeks ago, I proposed this story on Tumblr and everyone seemed to be really supportive of the idea. It will be a multi-chapter fic, but I honestly have no idea how long. Most likely, it will be longer than my previous multi-chapter, John's Girl. Since I am heading into winter break, I hope to be able to update quickly, but updates may slow once school starts again. I urge you all to be patient and please follow this story! I'm pretty proud of this chapter and what I have planned for the rest of the story!

Note: I imagine this taking place a few months after Sherlock's return and about a month after John and Mary's wedding. Rated T for sexual references and language.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. :(

Sometimes, Molly Hooper wondered what horrors she had committed in a past life to warrant her current unhappiness with her life. Sure, she had a job she loved at one of the best hospitals in London. She lived in a modest apartment, comfortably within in her means, with a cat who adored her. And she had quite a few close friends, who she saw on a fairly regular basis. Okay, so maybe she should amend her previous statement.

What horrors had she committed to warrant her current unhappiness with her romantic life? Or lack thereof. She just had to meet Sherlock Holmes on that fateful day seven years ago.

He had stalked into the morgue, demanding to see the body on which she had just completed her first solo autopsy. He had quickly made several deductions about the man's life and death (most of which could also be read in her report, thank you very much) and turned to the dazed detective inspector beside him with a smug grin on his beautiful face.

When he had spun abruptly and focused his full gaze on her, Molly was immediately captivated. Completely and utterly. When he waltzed out of the morgue a few minutes later (his only words to her a hurried, "Pleasure working with you, Dr. Hooper. Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective"), he had taken her heart with him. Molly realized that he had never had the decency to return it.

The man in question was currently pounding impatiently on her door, seemingly oblivious to the fact that it was three o'clock in the bloody morning. Molly rubbed her eyes as she scrambled out of bed, silently cursing the man. She unchained the lock and put on the fiercest scowl she could manage in her drowsy state of mind before pulling the door open.

Sherlock took no notice of her obvious irritation, breezing past her and into the cheerily-furnished sitting room. He made no move to remove his coat, and, for that, Molly was grateful. Won't be staying long, then. She hunched her shoulders, re-closed the door, and followed the man with whom she had so stupidly fallen in love.

Sherlock was pacing the floor in the center of the room. He stopped and turned to her when she sat down on her little sofa, pulling an extra blanket around herself for warmth. He looked her up and down. Examining me like I'm one of his experiments, she thought bitterly. Finally, he seemed to register her highly irate expression.

"Sorry to barge in like this, Molly, but –"

"But what, Sherlock?! 'Molly probably has nothing better to do so I think I'll just pop over to her flat for a chat IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT?!'" He winced at her outburst, eyes widened in shock, and Molly mentally high-fived herself.

She breathed heavily for a moment, glaring at him as she attempted to calm herself. "I was sleeping, Sherlock," she said when her heart finally stopped racing.

"I know, and I apologize. But I require your assistance on a new case," he uttered sheepishly, obviously fearful that she would explode on him again.

"And it can't wait until the morning?"

"Unfortunately, no, it cannot. Our flight leaves in an hour. You will want to pack for at least three days, just in case."

Molly jumped up from her reclining position at that, dropping the blanket on the floor and stepping slowly forward. When she stood right in front of him, she crossed her arms and scrunched her eyes at him. "What do you mean, 'our flight'?" Her voice was misleadingly soft, but her tone betrayed her impending anger. Sherlock shrunk back in panic and quickly tried to explain the situation.

"A former acquaintance contacted me earlier this evening. She has been living in the States under a pseudonym, and a particularly intriguing mystery has caught her interest. Or so she says. She was very secretive about the details. Anyway, she wants me to help her solve it, after which she has promised never to contact me again. I need an assistant, and, as John is currently preoccupied with his wife, you are the next best option."

"Well, gee, thanks," she muttered. She ignored his confused look and squared her shoulders. She should have known the moment she heard him knocking that she would agree to anything he asked of her. She had never been able to resist him or his blasted, perfect cheekbones.

"Fine. Where are we going?"

He rewarded her with a blinding smile, one that, while still rare, was making more appearances since his return from the dead. It still took her breath away.

"Las Vegas."

XXXXX

Molly was woken by a hand roughly shaking her. When they had first boarded the airplane, she had attempted to listen while Sherlock filled her in on what he knew about the case. It wasn't much.

Instead, she drifted off while he droned on about saving the life of a dominatrix in Karachi. She tried to block out his voice as he told her how he had helped the woman fake her death, much like Molly had helped him. She bit down her resentment at the knowledge that Sherlock had done the same thing for this woman that she had done for him.

The last thought that ran through Molly's mind before she fell asleep was that Sherlock clearly cared for this woman, more than he could ever care about a bumbling pathologist with terrible fashion sense. Images of Sherlock and a beautiful, faceless woman, bodies entangled while he professed his love, haunted her dreams.

"Wake up, Molly! We have arrived!" The deep baritone that starred so profoundly in her nightmares caught her attention, and Molly slowly opened her eyes, groaning as the sunlight hit them.

She was surprised to find Sherlock's face a hairs-breadth from hers, his hands still gripping her shoulders. She stared up into brilliant blue orbs and lost herself in his beauty. She thought she heard his breath hitch as they gazed at each other, but shook her head to clear it. Of course, she was imagining things. Probably due to having to sleep uncomfortably on an airplane. Still, their eyes remained locked on each other's, neither of them moving for several moments.

Suddenly, she remembered that she was supposed to be annoyed with him and pulled away, moving around him to stand up. Their bodies brushed for an uncomfortable instant before Sherlock stepped into the aisle and grabbed her wrist tightly.

Sherlock had already removed her bag from the overhead bin and was dragging her towards the exit. Molly hurried to keep up with him but could not stop the excitement from bubbling up within her. She had never been outside of Europe before today, and now here she was, jetting off on an adventure in the United States with Sherlock! She giggled giddily to herself until a look from the detective wiped the grin right off of her face. Molly gulped and followed along, head hanging in shame.

A car was waiting for them in front of the airport, a man (presumably the driver) standing outside. Sherlock quickly placed their luggage onto the back seat while Molly slid into the passenger seat. She smiled again at the oddity of sitting on the right side of the car instead of the left. She watched curiously as Sherlock handed the driver a note and climbed into the seat beside her. She felt apprehension well up in her; could Sherlock even drive?

Apparently he could because he started the ignition and pulled into the heavy line of traffic leaving the airport.

Molly found herself wholly fascinated by the sights of Las Vegas as Sherlock expertly maneuvered the car through the city. She briefly wondered if he had been here before, but bit down the urge to ask him. So far, she had refused to ask him any questions about his time away from London. The troubled gleam in his eyes when he returned told her more than words ever could. She turned her attention back to the wonderful scenes around her instead.

Molly gasped in delight when they reached the most stunning hotel she had ever seen. Sherlock had mentioned they had accommodations at The Venetian Las Vegas, but she was completely unprepared for the image before them. It looked as though they had driven straight into Italy. Molly squealed as she saw the water-filled channels and the gondolas carting around excited tourists. She glanced over to see Sherlock smirking at her obvious pleasure.

He pulled the car into the valet parking area and stepped out of the car. Molly pushed her door open and got out as well. Sherlock had already retrieved their bags and handed the car key to the valet. The detective tipped the young man and gestured to Molly to lead the way into the main lobby.

She stood with the luggage and examined everything around her while Sherlock went to check in at the desk. The male receptionist blushed as Sherlock leaned towards him, and Molly grinned. Sherlock really had no idea of the effect he had on other people. He retrieved the room keys and walked back over to her, looking at her in confusion when he saw her expression. "What?"

"Oh, nothing," she answered, hiding her smirk behind her hand. Sherlock stared at her for another minute before shrugging and turning towards the lifts.

"We are on the tenth floor. We will drop our bags in the suite, and then we are meeting my acquaintance at Bouchon for supper." She nodded her head in acknowledgment, and they spent the rest of the trip upstairs in silence. Anticipation filled Molly as she thought about all of the sights she wanted to see. Sherlock invited you along to help him with a case, she reminded herself. You are here for business, not pleasure.

Sherlock did not give her much time to gaze around the suite before he pushed a bundle of dark blue fabric into her hands and told her to change. He had already started unbuttoning his shirt, and Molly had to force herself not to stare as she trudged into the en suite bathroom, gasping once again at the luxurious tub.

XXXXX

Half an hour later, Molly was dressed and ready to go downstairs, but she was stalling, staring at herself in the mirror anxiously. Molly was pleased to discover that Sherlock had selected a gorgeous dress. The sleeveless, ocean-blue design hugged her curves until her waist, where it expanded out in waves, stopping just below her knees. She had paired it with a matching pearl earring and necklace set, left to her by her mother. Her hair fell over her shoulders in waves. She had decided to apply only a minimal amount of makeup, but she could admit that she looked pretty.

She could not help but wonder, however, what Sherlock's mysterious lady-friend would prefer to wear. She also doubted if Sherlock would even notice her presence as the woman clearly fascinated him.

She heard Sherlock calling her name and hesitantly opened the door, stepping out so that he could assess her appearance. His gaze raked up and down, his cupid bow mouth hanging open as he examined her. He made a small noise as though about to speak but thought better of it and remained silent. He strode forward, and soon he was looming over her. His hand reached out and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, lingering for a moment on her neck.

She gulped and scrutinized his appearance. He was wearing a suit (of course) that seemed tailored perfectly for him. She was surprised to note that his tie was almost the exact shade of her dress. Anyone who observed them would assume they were together.

He cleared his throat, drawing her attention back to his face. "You look… adequate, Molly. This should be fine." Disappointment filled the pathologist, and she tried not to show her hurt as she grabbed her purse.

"Let's go, then," she told him, refusing to meet his eyes.

The trip downstairs was also spent in silence, but it was filled with much more tension than previously.

XXXXX

When they entered the restaurant, Sherlock bypassed the hostess stand and marched over to a table where a woman was sitting alone, perusing the menu. Molly's jaw dropped at the woman's appearance.

She was inarguably the most beautiful woman Molly had ever seen. No wonder Sherlock likes her so much. Her blood red dress clung to her figure, coming to mid-thigh, and matched the shade of her nails. Molly had thought she looked pretty before in the room, but now she felt wholly inadequate. She did not deserve to sit at the same table as this woman.

The woman glanced up at the sound of their approaching feet, and a devilish smirk bloomed on her flawless red lips as she noticed Sherlock striding over. She held one perfectly-manicured hand out to the detective to grab, but he ignored it and sat down across from her. The woman tsked in displeasure but dropped her hand.

Molly shuffled up to the table uncertainly, and the mystery woman turned her attention to the pathologist instead. If possible, her grin widened even more as she drank in the sight of Molly. Molly was reminded of a predator surveying its prey. She stroked the seat next to her, and Molly took it nervously, now seated between the woman and Sherlock.

"You can call me Yvonne, love. And you are?"

"M-molly Hooper. I performed her post mortem, didn't I?" This last question was directed to Sherlock, who merely nodded. Yvonne clapped her hands together at this news, red nails clacking against each other and eyes crinkling in delight.

"Ooh, I do love intelligence in a woman! Or a man. I am exceptionally flexible, dear. But of course you would be clever! I should have expected nothing less from a pet of Sherlock's." Molly huffed and was about to correct her assumption, but Sherlock spoke first.

"Why did you call me here, Woman? I thought you had a case for me."

"All in good time, Sherlock, dear. First, I want to know more about your little pathologist. She looks simply ravishing." Molly shuddered at her tone but was spared from answering by the arrival of their waiter.

Molly looked down at the menu, and her eyes widened at the selections. She did not know too much about American currency, but the prices seemed excessive. She glanced at Sherlock, who squeezed her hand beneath the table. Molly took that to mean to order whatever she wanted and he would cover the bill.

Sherlock and Yvonne both selected items that Molly could barely pronounce, and the waiter turned to her, smiling gently at her worried expression. "I'll have the… ummm… the Poulet Rôti." She stumbled over the words, but the waiter understood her meaning. 'Yvonne' selected a bottle of `wine and winked at the waiter, sliding a finger down his arm. He smiled and walked away to place their order. Sherlock merely rolled his eyes at the exchange.

"So, Miss Hooper –" Yvonne began.

"Doctor Hooper," interrupted Sherlock, glaring at Yvonne. She seemed particularly intrigued by his reaction, her immaculately sculpted eyebrows shooting up in interest. "Now, tell me why we are here. What is this case?"

Yvonne threw back her head and laughed. She did not stop until the waiter returned with their wine. He offered to let them taste it first, but she waved him away, pouring liquid into the three glasses herself. She lifted hers to take a sip, but Sherlock stopped her, removing the glass from her grip and setting it back on the table. "Oh very well. I was hoping to eat first." She sighed loudly.

"The funny thing, Mr. Holmes, is that there is no case. I wanted to invite you to have dinner with me. I've been so lonely, Mr. Holmes, and I knew you wouldn't accept if I simply asked you. So, I enticed you with a mystery to compel you to come visit.

But alas, it would seem you desire a different…cuisine, than what I can offer. My invitation still stands, however, if you don't mind sharing. I do love dessert." Her eyes gleamed and her wicked grin returned at the furious look on Sherlock's face. He grabbed Molly's hand under the table again, gripping it hard enough to hurt.

Molly was perplexed. "We're already having dinner…" she stuttered out, concerned about the energy flowing between her companions. She had never felt more like a third wheel than at this moment, imagining herself an antelope caught between battling lions.

"Although I am sure Dr. Hooper is flattered by your interest, we decline your offer."

Yvonne turned to Molly, amusement evident on her face. "Well, Dr. Hooper, it seems you are far more fascinating than my original assessment of you indicated. I applaud you." She tipped her head to the pathologist, who was still trying to figure out what was going on.

"Th-thank you, Yvonne. I think…." Yvonne reached over the table and grabbed Molly's face, planting a wet kiss to her mouth. Molly barely had time to understand what had happened before Yvonne was standing up, grabbing her bag.

"Well, since my… services are no longer wanted, I think I will leave you two lovebirds to yourselves." Molly started to interrupt but Yvonne began talking again before she was able.

"It was a pleasure as always to see you, Mr. Holmes. I will keep my earlier promise to you. You will never hear from me again. Dr. Hooper, it is a shame we cannot get to know each other more… intimately. Goodbye." She leaned over and delicately placed a kiss to Sherlock's cheek. He made no indication that it affected him, but Molly felt his grasp on her stiffen minutely. "Oh! Do enjoy the wine! It really is superb!"

With that final statement, the beautiful woman turned and sauntered out of the restaurant, her hips swaying seductively. Molly admired her ability to walk with such confidence in her stilettos. Molly had elected to wear flats specifically so she did not trip and embarrass herself in front of Sherlock.

At that moment, their food was delivered. Sherlock explained to the baffled man that the other woman had needed to leave, and the waiter swiftly took Yvonne's food away. Sherlock stared down at his plate, and, not for the first time, Molly wondered what he was thinking about. Was he regretting letting the woman go?

Molly picked up her wine glass and chugged the red liquid. She caught Sherlock's eye, and he gazed at her in a way he never had before. Her stomach churned, but more in anticipation than fear.

"Since we don't have to work a case anymore, do you think we could go look around the city a bit? I've always wanted to visit Las Vegas!" Instead of answering, he released her hand and grabbed the bottle of wine. She smiled shyly at him as he refilled her glass.

"Well, you heard the Woman. Let's have a drink while we are eating."

"Then we can go sight-seeing?!" Her enthusiasm brought about his own smile as he looked at her across the table.

"Yes, Molly. Then we can go sight-seeing."

"Thank you, Sherlock!" She kissed his cheek, painfully reminded of the woman who had done the same thing only moments ago. She waved aside her insecurities and clinked her class with his.

XXXXX

The first thing Molly registered when she awoke the next morning was that she was exceptionally warm. She snuggled closer into the pillow, squeezing the blankets closer to her and letting out a soft sigh of contentment.

When the blanket around her middle squeezed back, however, her eyes flew open in shock. The blue dress she had worn to dinner the previous evening was lying forgotten on the armchair beside the bed. Molly tried to remember what had happened last night, but everything after dinner was a blur.

She reached up to brush a stray hair off of her cheek, wincing when a tough object scraped against her skin. She looked down to see the sunlight glittering off of a gold band on the second finger of her left hand. She gasped quietly and slowly turned towards her mysterious bed mate.

Her eyes scanned a very fit, very masculine chest, before they rose to meet the icy blue gaze of one Sherlock Holmes, who was fiddling with the matching gold ring on his own left hand. Realization dawned on the pathologist, and one word flew to the front of her mind.

Fuck.

I also wanted to say that I do not think Irene is prettier than Molly. Both are beautiful actresses in their own rights. That being said, I do think Molly would compare herself to Irene, and this story is going to be largely from her perspective. Please leave a review and let me know what you thought! If you see any errors, please let me know so I can fix them! I love every single person who reads my stories!