A/N: Thank you all for the kind reviews and criticism :D
Chironsgirl recommended that Toby would cause trouble with the wig.
Well, I found that the best idea ever. Ha! Thanks, chironsgirl!
"Bored. Boring. Bored. Bore bore bore. You are a bore, Molly Hooper."
Molly sighed at the figure on her sofa.
"Ennuyé! Gelangweilt! Stufo! Circumforatus! Entediado! Aburrido!"
Molly looked strangely at him.
"French. German. Italian. Latin. Portuguese. Spanish. All of them mean 'bored'."
"You can speak all of those?"
The pathologist was taken aback.
"Where did you get the time to learn all of it?"
Molly shook her head and smiled. "Quite extraordinary, Sherlock!"
"I wouldn't say that," Sherlock replied, bouncing off the sofa and up the stairs to his room.
"Whatever you do, don't make a mess on that bed sheet. It's the second one I've bought for you." She took a chance. "A – a – and next time you're paying for it yourself!"
Sherlock mumbled something as he trudged upstairs. Molly took it that he was used to being scolded by John for his experiments. She'd only been to their flat twice, and it was horrid.
She settled with a women's magazine and a cola. Today would be wonderful. She had a date tonight with a handsome man named Rick, and a "GNO" tomorrow. Plus, Sherlock was being less obnoxious than usual. I think I deserve some relaxing, she thought.
CRASH, THUD, CRASH!
There was a yell of alarm from Sherlock.
Molly threw her magazine to the floor as she flew up the stairs at top speed. She was out of breath when she reached Sherlock's room. "Are you all –?"
The room was trashed, to say the least. The comforter and duvet were strewn across the room, pillows lain on the floor in odd positions. And there, in the middle of it was Sherlock, frozen to a spot, with a rolled up science magazine gripped in between his hands. Toby seemed to have frozen as well, clinging onto Sherlock's leg in a kill position, his black and white fur sticking up, blending with red…
Was that Sherlock's red wig?
Sherlock kicked the cat away, and it landed with a thud on its four legs. Molly scooped Toby up in her arms, tucking the tail underneath his bottom and cradling him like a baby as he squirmed.
"Sherlock…What have you done to -?"
"Your feline," he spat, "has taken my red wig and decided it is a lovely thing to chew on." He snarled at the animal and the it hissed back.
Molly hung her head.
"Sherlock…You can't keep doing this!" she cried. "You're destroying my house!"
Sherlock opened his mouth to protest, but Molly stopped him.
"No! No, Sherlock, you can't keep doing this! I – I –…Everyone thinks you're dead except your brother and me. I'm basically adopting you – fostering you! You're like a bad dog!"
She sunk to the floor, hands in her face as Toby walked out of her arms and disappeared under the bed.
Sherlock sighed heavily, and looked down like a scolded child.
"I'm sorry. I…should have been more – more appreciative."
Molly removed her hands and looked up blankly. Sherlock Holmes just apologised to her.
Sure, it wasn't the first time. There had been that time at Christmas, where he kissed her cheek and strode away, leaving her feeling shocked and hot. Then, there was the time when he walked in the lab and said that she did count. And he needed her help.
Molly giggled. Sherlock frowned.
"What? What? What's so funny?"
"You look like you've been scolded by your mother."
Sherlock harrumphed and snatched the wig up before disappearing out the door and down the stairs.