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Your Information Was Wrong

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"Wanna tell me about this one?"

Molly shook her head and turned toward the window. She'd tried to call Meena first, as usual, but also as usual her friend was too far away to come to her rescue, and so she'd called Sherlock instead. Not that he minded - she'd rescued him from a couple of dates gone wrong, both men and women - and not that she minded his company. No, far from it. In fact, she wouldn't mind being one of the people he considered dating material, but they both had a strict 'don't shit in your own flat' rule.

After tonight's disaster, however, she was strongly reconsidering that stance. Or would be if Sherlock had ever shown any signs of being interested in her or her less-than-statuesque self. No, the women he'd tried to date were all tall, leggy bosomy supermodel types. The men had been a bit more varied - short blonds who turned out to have anger issues, reedy red-heads who turned out to be childhood friends he'd not seen in decades and would rather be friends since it was 'icky' that their parents still hung out together…

Molly blew out a sigh. She knew why she was occupying her mind with Sherlock's disastrous dates rather than her own.

"He just wanted to talk about you," she finally blurted out, keeping her face firmly toward the window. "What classes you were taking, how you liked chemistry, what your hobbies were. Yeah, he asked how we met, but I think it was only because he wanted to try and arrange a 'meet-cute' with you. He's smart, but not very subtle," Molly added gloomily. "Want his number?" She waved the crumpled piece of paper Jim had given her after she'd politely told him it wasn't working out. She'd come thisclose to just throwing it back in his face, but seeing someone else as desperately interested in getting closer to Sherlock had aroused her sympathy once her ire had finally dialed itself back down.

Sherlock's hand suddenly appeared in front of her face; she reared back then repressed a bitter sigh as he plucked the note out of her hand - and then rolled down his window and tossed it out without giving it a single glance.

Molly stared at him for the first time since entering the little second-hand Peugeot the three flatmates shared. "He used you to try to get to me," Sherlock snarled. "Little bastard can go jump off a building as far as I'm concerned. Why is it," he continued on without a breath, "that you only seem to attract pricks who don't appreciate you for who you are? You're smart, you're pretty, you're bubbly and fun - well, yes, your jokes are pretty awful, but you don't mind helping with crazy experiments or dropping everything to pick me up when my own dates fizzle out - entirely your fault, since they aren't YOU, and…"

He fell abruptly silent, as if realizing exactly what his rant had revealed, while Molly grappled with the idea that Sherlock was maybe, possibly, perhaps just as interested in HER as SHE was in HIM. "I thought I didn't matter, that you only liked me as a friend," she finally managed to say.

"Your information was wrong," Sherlock said flatly. "I only went on dates to try to make you jealous, and what do you do? You encourage me to keep trying. 'One of them will be the right person, Sherlock, I promise'!" he said in a falsetto that was clearly meant to mimic her voice. "And meanwhile you keep on finding complete wankers who only want to get into your pants without getting to know just how wonderful you are-"

"Stop the car," Molly ordered.

"What? Why?"

"Just stop it!" she insisted. Giving her a doubtful look, Sherlock pulled up to the curb and set the car in park. "Now come here, you!" she ordered, undoing her seatbelt and turning toward him.

He followed suit, his wary, puzzled expression turning to one of appreciation as she put her arms around him - awkwardly, under the physical constraints of the cramped vehicle - and brought her lips to his in a passionate kiss.

When the kiss ended, they were both a bit starry-eyed and flustered. "What about the no shitting where you live rule?" Sherlock asked after a moment.

Molly shrugged. "The flat has two bathrooms. I think we'll figure it out."

Sherlock's delighted laughter filled the car. "That's another reason I like you, Molly Hooper - always ready with the most ridiculously inappropriate come-backs!" He pulled her into another kiss. "Now let's get home and make sure Meena has lots of reasons to complain to us about how much noise we're making, shall we?"

What could a girl say to an invitation like that except, "Yes please!"