Oneshots

Tell me how you feel (sherlolly)

^^ Artwork above is mine. Sorry for all the Destiel! I just had so many scenarios in my head that I had to write them down. PERSONIFICATION IS AWESOME!

It was a late night at St. Barts, 10:30 to be exact. Sherlock was just finishing up with inspecting a body in the morgue, when Molly walked in.

"Sherlock, there's a cab outside for you."

"Ah. Thank you Molly." He said with a smile and started to roll the body back into the closet. Molly shuffled closer and clutched her notepad to her chest. "So... Any luck with the case?" She tried to start up a conversation.

"Yes, in fact. It turns out that the murderer is someone we didn't expect." He replied, half-interested in removing his gloves.

"I see. So, not her husband's sister then?"

"No. It was the husband."

"Oh. Well, I really should go. I'm going on a date tonight."

Sherlock looked up, his face showing a hint of surprise, before it disappeared behind his mask. "With Anthony, I presume?"

"No. It's Michael, actually."

"Michael? The one with the golf cap?" His nose seemed to wrinkle up when he said the name.

"Yes."

"I see." He said while putting on his coat. He leaned forward and left a soft, lingering kiss on her lips. It happened so suddenly that Molly almost thought nothing of it until only after it happened.

"Goodnight Molly." Said the detective with a turn up of his collar and started walking away swiftly. Molly stood stunned and touched her lips with her finger.

"Did- did he-" She started muttering, when she ran after Sherlock. "Did you- did you just kiss me?" She called after him, but he was already out of the door, and Molly was left alone with her thoughts.

She was supposed to go on a date tonight, but of course Sherlock just had to fly in and sweep her off her feet. Again. It frustrated her, how this man thought he could wrap her around his little finger and make her dance whenever he felt bored.

Molly Hooper decided to do something about it. Sherlock had no right to kiss her and leave with no explanation whatsoever. For goodness's sake, he had no bloody right to kiss her without her consent in the first place!

She grabbed her coat and ran outside, locking the door behind her. The cab was already gone, and she couldn't do anything but start walking. It was December, and it was freezing outside. London's streets were decorated with a fresh coat of snow.

Molly shivered and wrapped her arms around her middle to keep herself warm. She couldn't afford a cab because her money was in her locker in the morgue, so she was confined to walk.

She called Michael and cancelled her date with him. He seemed alright with it, being out of breath with a woman's voice in the background and all.

As her boots crunched through the snow, she tried to remember the kiss. The lingering taste of coffee on Sherlock's lips, the tingling of his warm breath on her face, and the almost instinctive forward push of her own lips when his lips met hers.

By the time she stopped in front of the well-known flat, Molly was shaking like a scared chihuahua from the cold. She looked up to see the silhouette of Sherlock poised against his violin through the window.

Sweet, gentle and pure music filled the air as he played the beautiful instrument, and Molly couldn't help but close her eyes to listen for a moment, taking in the passionate and romantic sound of a violin. His violin.