A familiar sonorous voice reached her inner ear and it took a while for her brain to process that it had a slightly annoyed undertone.
"You really couldn't resist, could you?"
Molly wondered who was replying. It was someone with a voice just like hers. No, not like hers, it was her! When she mustered all her attention and focused it on her mouth, she felt it move and form words. It was as if her vocal apparatus was dissolved from her control.
"Mmm, had to eat one to make him eat one too," her mouth murmured and the familiar voice made a grunting sound.
"Can you walk?" the voice wanted to know and Molly was surprised about the saucy answer her own mouth produced.
"Do I look like I can walk? So help me get up."
"You stay here until I'm back. Don't move, don't talk, just stay put."
Her lips opened again to remark something, but her brain couldn't quite process what it was, so she just pouted and her head dropped back to her right shoulder. She was a little afraid that it would fall on the floor and roll away, but much to her relief it simply stayed where it was, in an uncomfortable position that would definitely cause her neck pain.
She had no idea as to how long she had been sitting in that position, but the next thing she perceived was that baritone voice again, telling her to keep quiet. All of a sudden, she felt a tight grip around her waist and she was sure that she had spread her wings - since when did she have wings? - and flown through the hall, out into the fresh air. She was a butterfly, albeit a butterfly with some pain in the stomach. Something was pressing against it and it wasn't really comfortable. Two dark wings were fluttering before her eyes and they reminded her strangely of a bat. Bats and butterflies - there was something... Oh, she would be eaten by it! Molly felt the urge to squirm, but the next moment, the pressure in her stomach was gone and she was sitting somewhere. A plane? Butterflies on planes? How stupid! No, not quite. Taxi it was. Although she didn't know where the thought came from, her brain told her that that was pretty likely and that it was also pretty likely that she wasn't a butterfly.
Her head felt heavy and light at the same time and she couldn't help but let it roll to the side again. This time, however, it came to rest somewhere else, somewhere slightly rough but also cosy.
There was the voice again, along with a humming sound. Bees. Was she inside a beehive? The noise was varying from very quiet to rather loud and with it came a feeling of movement.
"Molly. Are you ok? Do you have any difficulty breathing?"
Molly, that was her, of that she was rather sure. Not all sure, but quite.
"Yes, I'm ok. Jusss... a little... dunno," her mouth produced.
"You'll be fine again soon, don't worry. Your response to the drug is unusually strong. Sure you had only one chocolate?"
She had closed her eyes and for a while she simply enjoyed the boat trip and the gentle rocking of the waves. No, taxi, not boat! Why was she confusing everything?!
She tried to lift her eyelids to get an idea where exactly she was, on a boat or in a taxi, and after some endless time she managed to focus on something. It was oddly familiar and made her heart beat a little faster. A shirt - a purple shirt. She knew the shirt, and it suddenly flashed through her mind that she was leaning against the man of her dreams - Sherlock. It was a bit of a shock, but at the same time she told herself that she was surely sleeping anyway and it didn't matter. Why shouldn't she enjoy her dream?
"Are you ok?"
Sherlock. It was his voice. And he wanted to know if she was alright.
"I'm fine, darling, better than I've ever been."
Only slowly did her mind realise what had just slipped from her mouth and for a split-second she felt the body she was leaning to stiffen a bit, before a quiet snort told her that Sherlock had briefly laughed. Why the hell had she said it?
Before she could contemplate it any further, she was lifted again, felt the same pressure in her stomach as some time ago. She closed her eyes because she was a tad nauseous and tried to focus on something else rather than the bat wings that had come into her vision once more.
"Jesus, Sherlock! What's that? What have you done with her?"
Another familiar voice, but Molly was unable to remember who it belonged to. The voice didn't sound very pleased, though.
Her legs and a second later also her face hit something cool and soft and a bewitching scent filled her nose. A realisation crept into her mind: she was lying in Sherlock's bed.
Don't think, just enjoy, she told herself and kept her eyes closed.
"She ate one of the truffles that were meant for Mycroft and she responded a little too much to the Scopolamine. We need to watch her breathing. I don't think, however, that she'll need the antidote. She's just hallucinating a bit. John - erm, don't ask her anything, ok? I'm not sure if we want to hear her hidden secrets."
Molly heard the words, but they didn't make any sense to her and she slowly felt her surroundings dissolve before she distantly heard a chuckle accompanying her into her sleep.