Work Text:
-University Reunion-
Ten years really wasn’t that long, Molly thought as she entered the heavily wood-paneled reception hall. She found her name tag on the table, exchanged pleasantries with a female former student before cautiously scanning the room. She felt herself shrinking and she made her way to the wine table as fast as she could. Blessedly there was Merlot and large wine glasses. She poured half a glass and downed it quickly.
She set the glass down for a moment and smoothed her black pencil skirt and checked the tuck on her blouse. She pulled a loose strand from her face back behind her ear and questioned for a moment if a loose bun was the smart hair choice. She refilled the glass up close to the top.
Ten years isn’t long enough, she mused as she spied someone across the room. She wasn’t ready for that yet she told herself.
They had exchanged short texts about medical knowledge. But that was it. All business.
She made her way around the room, never landing in one conversation for long. Her eyes kept going to the man in the other room standing leaning against a table.
His mobile held all his attention she thought.
She missed his eyes steady on her as she laughed with a group of people near him.
She might have caught it as that conversation broke apart, but he was forced to turn his attention to a former classmate who saddled up next to him.
She didn’t fail to see the look of revulsion at this development; the woman eventually did and walked away from him rolling her eyes as she passed Molly and stopped her for a moment
“How were you lab partners with the arse?” she asked rhetorically, walking away before Molly could answer.
Molly looked back at Sherlock Holmes, standing there in his perfectly tailored black suit and gray shirt, engrossed in his typing on his phone.
“Because I…” she started to answer to herself in a whisper, but stopped herself by biting her lip.
She took one more gulp of her liquid courage and walked in the direction she had been avoiding.
As she approached and was within a step or two from him, she opened her mouth to speak but his low voice thwarted any attempt at a normal hello.
“I do not want to talk to them. So talk to me. It keeps other people away,” Sherlock said plainly. His eyes met hers and held them much too long for comfort.
Molly cannot decide if he really wanted her specifically, or just wanted rescue from certain other people in the room. But him asking her to stay beside him to keep others away felt gratifying in a weird way she knew was not healthy. It never was when they were in school.
Time hasn’t changed that, she thought.
“Ok,” is all she managed and they returned to an awkward silence as she nursed her drink and he texted on his phone.
He stayed engrossed in the texts and she became bored. Studying others in the room, she observed some of the side glances and smirks.
“They are thinking we might be interested in each other romantically...or similar assumptions,” he said suddenly not looking up from his phone. Molly flinched at his words, both because they were sudden, and their context.
“Par...pardon?” she stammered out.
He grinned, “Regular people always assume such things in my experience.”
She knew the look she is giving him is that he has lost his mind, but she shook it off.
“Well, I doubt you on your phone typing away is giving that impression,” she sighed.
Brow furrowed, he dropped his phone to his side and moved to stand right beside her and then in front of her.
She half gasped at how quick the shift happened. Her eyes fell to his chest, watching his chest barely rise at all against the tight fitting button up. He always wore his clothes almost too small, she recalled, even in college. She tried to will her chest to not rise so much. She knew he sensed her pulse racing. The scent of his expensive and spicy cologne invading her nose as much as he was her personal space did not soothe her nerves.
He made note of the effect of his proximity on her respiration and heart rate. If he listened close he almost heard her heart as it pounded in her chest, her chest...well he stopped the collection of thoughts there.
Sherlock always cut the impressive figure next to her, nearly a foot taller than her. He close enough there is no doubt of others assuming there is interest even if it is only an act.
Well, for him anyway, she thought.
“Perhaps we should lean against that wall behind you?” he telegraphed that intention turning his eyes to look behind her, and as he moves into her personal space, it forced her to step back a few steps like an awkward dance until her backside connected with the wood paneling. He followed her and leaned his left arm above her head against the wall hovering above her. She risked a glance up, but his eyes already drifted back to his phone in his right hand, hidden from others now.
He remained that way for a few moments and her amazement turned to vexation each moment he ignored her.
“Well I had a date but he..” she started to see if he would respond, but he cut her off.
“Had to work late but he has text you a few times,” he said. “ I caught you smiling at a few of them. I would say early days in the relationship?”
She narrowed her eyes at him, “ Do you think it's really appropriate to say things like that to other people? You’ve always been like this, since the first day we met. Do you really talk to people like this all the time? It's a wonder anyone talks to you at all.”
Molly regretted the words immediately, realizing the alcohol made her bolder than she intended. And perhaps a bit more sensitive.
She glanced away toward the room and ignored her concerns about the alcohol, drinking a large gulp of her wine. When she turned she missed the change in his face, a look nearing regret.
Sherlock thought he was making small talk. Usually, no one said anything, indulged him his odd approach. But she proved his theory wrong, more times than not and not allowed it. He cannot quite decide why she continued to stay here near him despite her obvious annoyance.
But he doesn't apologize, and they fell into silence again. Molly racks her brain, attempting to remember the details of that first day in class and if he has changed any at all.
-First day in Organic chemistry-
Molly sat nervously in a seat near the back of the stadium-style classroom. Normally she sat in the front of the class, but starting university felt different. She made a pact with herself to try new things. The back of the classroom was a small step at least, she told herself.
She scanned the syllabus absently as she fidgeted with her loose braid over her shoulder. In her right ear, she heard the distinct sound of someone sitting near her. She cut her eyes to her right, keeping her head down to remain inconspicuous. That goal went out the window as she laid eyes on the young man who slid the seat away one seat away from her. To say he was impressive carries understatement. He wore a black tailored suit, with a crisp white shirt top two buttons undone. His attire was more appropriate for fourth-year business school than first-year organic chemistry. His hair, a crowd of dark curls, long and wild. They should belong to a first-year literature major trying to make the romantic period come back in fashion. His cheekbones and icy eyes added to that effect. He was the picture of dramatic perfection, she thought.
“Do you have a name? If you are going to stare that hard I want to know who am addressing when I tell them to stop,” he said bluntly in a low voice, not even looking at her yet.
Molly’s mouth dropped in shock and clasped shut as she looked away to her hands.
Sherlock turned his head to look over the woman and began the game he always played in his head with new people.
Sundress with a cardigan, trying too hard, no concept of how makeup works, thin lips, well maybe just the top one, hair perpetually messy if in a braid as it is now, top of class in school previously often teachers pet, usually sits in the front but trying new actions for university, not shy but insecure, attracted to me.
On that last thought, he closes his eyes and shakes away the thought.
“Holmes. Sherlock Holmes,” he said. “Now for yours?”
“Molly. Molly Hooper” she burst out with an awkward smile.
Sherlock does not match it.
“Please do not stare at people, it is considered rude or so I have been told. If you are trying to make a fresh start at university, that is not a good first step,” Sherlock said.
Molly frowned, kicking herself mentally.
“I..I am sorry, just I well you…,” she starts and stops herself, biting her lip before saying something too honest.
“You surprised me that is all,” she finished quickly.
His lip curled slightly at the end, and Molly wonders is that is as close to a smile as he gets.
“That seems to be my specialty,” he said smugly.
Molly nervously shifted in her seat causing a small creak in the wood, uncomfortably loud in the quiet room. Sherlock does not flinch.
Sherlock reaches his across the chair next to him and takes the syllabus off her notebook. Molly sat perplexed at his ever-changing actions and finds herself staring again.
He glanced over the paper and handed it back to her promptly.
“I ...I could go get you a copy if you want one?” she asked timidly, Why are you being nice to him, she thought, he obviously is not interested.
But that vow to herself to try new things rang a bit louder in her head. Soon it was squashed by his response.
“Why would I ask that of you? I have two functional legs, and I have no need of it,” he said with veiled irritation.
God his voice is low and just, well, she didn’t have a word for it yet. Only physical reactions. It made her want to shut up forever and at the same time never stop talking. What she knew from his current attitude that would be disastrous.
“Yes, well, it does contain important dates and lab hours you might need?” she questioned.
“I know, I recorded it all,” he answered.
She furrowed her brow. He noticed it and indulged her an explanation.
“Photographic memory in a way,” he said.
“So the lab times are?” she asked, curious to see if he could recall. She hardly knew why she decided to test him. She tried a smile that she feared was too large.
“11:00 Tuesdays and 16:00 Fridays,” he answered, vexation finding its way in the tone again.
She nodded as the professor entered the room and addressed the class, sensing whatever game they started was over.
Sherlock found himself staring at Molly and wondered for a moment why he indulged her the game of testing him.
She poised her pen ready at her notebook, to take any relevant info down but her eyes strayed to her strange companion in the back row. Best she could surmise, he was making presumptions about the professor same as he did to her.
The professor spoke of the difficulty of the course and Molly laughed to herself for a moment.
Sherlock cut his eyes toward her, frowning. Molly looked at him, realizing she had laughed out loud.
“Sorry just thought of something funny,” Molly said, risking the joke. “ Organic chemistry is difficult. Students who study it have alkynes of trouble.”
She laughed a bit more but swallowed it and looked away from Sherlock to avoid the inevitable eye roll she expected.
She missed the resistance in his face to smile, licking his lips instead.
“You will need a partner for laboratory work. You will be individually graded unless assigned a project,” the professor droned on drily.
Molly regretted sitting in the back and not nearer to a group of women near the bottom left. Maybe she could find a partner before lab Friday. She was sure that Mr. Holmes would find a way to convince the professor to let him work alone.
“I read the entire assigned text already,” Sherlock said suddenly.
Molly snapped her head to look at him, unsure what he was on about with the statement.
He continued,“You have read half the text as well, I can see that by your bookmark and the notes already taken in the specific notebook you selected for this course.
Her eyes grew wider but she did not speak.
Sherlock looked around the room, “More than half the class will fail, there are some bright spots intellect wise here and there but generally speaking you and I are the best this class has to offer intelligence wise. You and I should partner in the lab as we are most suited to advance the other toward success.”
Molly swallowed hard before attempting words. God could I even concentrate with him so near all the time, she wonders.
She got her first test as he moved to the desk chair next to her, she truly got a look at his height, and his leg brushed her arm as he sat. His gaze was steady on the professor but his face betrayed him. He was waiting for her answer.
She breathed in through her nose, not looking at him but rather down at her notebook to steady herself. He is just a bloody boy, stop this. He is smart that is likely accurate. It will advantageous, as he said.
“Yeah, sure. I mean I don’t know anyone else in here and I at least know your name,” she smiled. She did not miss the look of relief behind his eyes.
“Excellent” was all he replied and did not speak another word to her the entire class nor after class.
He practically dashed down the stairs when class dismissed and Molly did not see him again until Laboratory.
-University reunion-
She sipped her wine, looking around Sherlock into the room. To be honest she was starting to get bored again. Maybe. She isn’t that sure having Sherlock Holmes leaning over her was boring. But as nothing else was happening and he was not talking to her, frustrating might be a better word. His cologne would not leave her nostrils and her wine was the only reprieve. But the alcohol only made her mind more confused, putting her in a terrible feedback loop.
Across the room, she almost caught the eye with someone who would make the evening more riveting. Particularly if Sherlock saw him. But she hoped to never see that person again after school. Geoffrey Prescott’s family was just rich enough to make him an utter arse about his status. She noted that he had gained at least two stones if not more, softening his once athletic frame which secretly delighted her. She understood that he went on to some sort of business career. She honestly could care less. He turned the other direction in the room and Molly sighed in relief.
“Whoever was across the room is someone I believe neither of us desires to reconnect with, I take it,” Sherlock said quietly as to not startle her.
She looked up and finds his interest is no longer in his phone. She meets his gaze.
“Geoffrey,” she stated.
Sherlock smirked, but she has seen that smirk before. There is something much darker in it than most would assume. She saw it that day in the lab with Geoffrey.
Sherlock deduced that their common enemy was not in the approach. His face softened, and he unclenched his fist placed against the wall.
Violence would be irksome, Sherlock thought. We’ve done this once before. I hope that was enough.
Molly sensed his thoughts going to the past and she felt embarrassed for a moment.
“I’ll say it again; you do not have to protect me, Sherlock Holmes,” Molly hissed.
He smiles, and reassured her, “Yes I do.”
-Student Laboratory 2 months into the first year-
“Bloody hell you are useless!” Geoffrey bellowed, slamming his hand on the metal lab countertop.
Molly stood dumbfounded.
“I...I was only trying to help you,” she stammered.
“Well, maybe in the future, keep your mouth shut,” Geoffrey sneered.
Molly’s face fell and she gave him the best “fuck you” face she could muster. She did not detect her lab partner approaching her from behind.
“Well, you can continue on that path then. Your distillation process is wrong and will not give you correct results. But please, proceed,” she cautioned, her arms crossed as she gestured.
“Listen, you pedantic cunt. I got this,” he spat, with a dumb grin on his face at first but his face changed when he noticed Sherlock behind Molly.
Before she could retaliate, Sherlock grabs her arm, gently but firmly and pulls her behind him, standing in between her and Geoffrey.
“Sherlock you don’t have to…” she started and he whipped his head over his shoulder. He holds her gaze, is that warmth behind those piercing eyes, she wondered.
“I know...and yes I do,” he declared and he turned back to the offender.
Molly knew she should speak, say something, anything, but she stood behind Sherlock in shock.
Sherlock used his height to intimidate in most cases. But unfortunately, the lad in question is nearly the same height.
“Oi, mate, I said what I said. You her boyfriend or something?” he scoffed. “ The geek and the freak. I like it,” He laughed out loud, but that was stopped suddenly by Sherlock’s fist under his jawline.
Sherlock smirked as he watched the man nearly fall. Molly darted her eyes between the two.
“Bloody hell! You’re dead, mate!” he sputtered out along with blood from his bitten tongue and leaped up.
Sherlock met him once again swiftly with a cross to the nose. Molly heard the crunch and hoped it was his nose, not Sherlock’s fist. Geoffrey stumbled but rushed once more. But his friends were on him immediately this time.
“No, he isn’t worth it! I know his family! They’ll end you, mate!” they yelled.
They dragged him out of the room.
The professor, who came into the room as Geoffrey was being dragged out, gave Sherlock a look.
“Long as you get your experiments done correctly, I’ll ignore this,” he said wearily and went to the other side of the lab.
Sherlock nodded and went back to his microscope. Molly plopped herself beside him on a stool.
She opened her mouth, but he cut her off with a wave of his hand.
“You were correct. He was wrong, and he was not a gentleman, despite his upbringing. He deserved it and hopefully will learn from it. Nothing more. Nothing less. Now we can get on with the experiment,” he rambled out, never looking at her.
Molly looked away from him, holding in a smirk by biting her lip.
“Thank you Sher-” she started.
He interrupts.“None needed except getting back to work...please”
Molly grinned and goes back to her culture prep.
-Reunion, present day-
Molly shifted awkwardly against the wall, starting to feel her calves stiffen.
“So…” she started and stopped when he put a finger to her lips as his eyes cut to the side.
Molly saw around his frame another classmate coming toward them. It was a man she went on a date with several years ago, named Mark. Sweet guy, but no cchemistry,she thought. She wasn’t sure what was worse. No chemistry or too much like the man who had his finger still on her lips.
Sherlock shifted his body closer to her for a moment, within centimeters and Molly gulped instinctively. She felt her cheeks go hot, both from irritation and desire.
Always that combination with him, she lamented. The effect was enough that Mark stopped in his tracks and switched directions. Sherlock smirked as he shifted back, and dropped his finger.
“What the hell was that about, Sherlock?” she demanded under breath.
“I said earlier I wanted no else to talk to me, didn’t I? Any means necessary,” he said in a low voice.
“Besides you really didn’t want to talk to him when you went on a date years ago. You didn’t want to talk to him now,” he smirked again.
“Next time someone comes to speak to me, and you do that again, I’ll bite your finger,” she threatened with arms crossed.
He chuckled quietly as he held her annoyed stare, but did not respond and they fell into silence and their own thoughts again as they looked away from each other.
Why are you always like this, she thought as her anger cooled. He was right and she hated when he was right.
-Cafe, the third year of university-
A rainy day was made for study. Molly asked Sherlock to join her and he relented when she begged for help for finals. Mostly she hated being lonely on a rainy day and her girlfriends were all busy.
She accepted a long time ago he was always going to be odd but she was odd too when she thought about it. Friendship with him was a practice in discontentment. He would always be one of the most beautiful men in the world to her. Both physically and mentally with his near-divine intellect. But she had accepted that he would always be distant and unattainable. The kinship they had as outsiders likely would not carry them into lifelong friendship she feared. So she enjoyed his company while she could. They annoyed each other in ways she thinks they both found comforting. She even wore a colorful jumper with cats on it to see his small eye roll when she arrived.
They discussed on and off important facts they both needed for exams and reminding the other of obscure information the professors were sure to bring up.
Molly absently ran her tongue along her spoon, taking small swathes of yogurt, like a cat lapping milk while reading the text before her, listening to Sherlock.
Sherlock continued to talk, but his eyes strayed to watch her as she ate.
She turned her attention to the yogurt pot, trying to scrap the last bit out, and in an act of desperation, using her tongue to lick the inside of the pot.
An image flashed in his mind that he rejected immediately.
“Molly, please!” he said a little too loud.
“I’m sorry?” she asked.
“We need to focus on our final exams,” he said a little softer.
“Ah yes, I am sorry….I thought I was?” she asked.
Sherlock glanced down at the text, not meeting her eyes.
That image only popped up because of biology. It is a simple chemical reaction firing in your brain because of instinct. Nothing eelse,Sherlock scolded himself.
Molly frowned. Whatever his mood today, if she was honest with herself, he was often in it lately. But she had long given up placating these moods. He continued to be her friend despite this. No reason to humor it now.
She looked down at her mobile, as a text buzzed the table breaking her thoughts. Sherlock stared at her phone as she picked it up, a slight smile crossing her lip.
He moved his stare to her lips, his first observations correct. The top one thin and near absent as she bit it suddenly replying to the text. The bottom made all the fuller by this action as he let his thoughts stray again to his teeth on that bottom lip.
Beethoven’s 1st movement of Moonlight Sonata was playing faintly in the background in the hushed cafe.
He used that as an excuse for his biological urges surfacing and to dismiss his ruminations.
She did not notice his staring, she was reading a text from a new guy she had gone on a couple dates with and he was asking her out again. He was cute, and funny. Smart in a way. Bit obsessed with footie since he played it recreationally. But she liked him
Sherlock observed her own biology respond to the text before she began typing. Pupils, lips and blood vessels all responding together. Signs of lust and early affection.
He saw her have the same reactions for him. But those reactions had dimmed. He relished their ceasing for the time. It restored focus to her mind which he admired wholeheartedly. But biology reveals us all. Even Sherlock Holmes.
Molly glanced up for the moment and nearly lost her breath. His eyes were all warmth and sadness and yet darkened. His face relaxed, mouth slightly open. She had never seen this before, though if she had caught it she would have seen in as the years went on. This look was well practiced but never performed for an audience.
In a second, his look switched, as he blinked, his cheeks tightening and his eyes iced over. Molly’s heart beat again, and she could not shake the puzzlement it quickly set in her mind.
Sherlock mentally shook away the thoughts that he had been caught and proceeded to remedy in case he had.
“You have a date now for the evening I believe. Whatever loneliness you were using me to temporarily alleviate is now abated and resolved with that text. You are dismissed to do whatever normal people do to prepare for these particular amusements,” he drolled.
Molly rolled her eyes at him obviously, stood pushing her chair back and shoveled her books and notebooks into her bag from the table.
“If you are going to turn the mood this way, I am happy to leave, Sherlock,” she declared.
She pushed a strand of hair back from her face, finding her irritation lessening if she thinks of what his face read only a moment ago.
“You want to meet up tomorrow to study maybe?” she asked trying to soothe the tension between them.
Sherlock glanced up, his face still reading cold. “ You have all plans of sleeping with that man tonight; are you sure you can make the time?”
He smirked and it was too much for her.
She closed her eyes and clenched her jaw.
“Sherlock, why must you be like this…” she started but stopped as irritation threatened to bring her to tears.
Sherlock stared back at his textbook.
“I do not know what you mean, but no matter,” Sherlock declared.
Molly spun around to leave, but his voice stopped her in her tracks.
“Oh, and another thing, Molly,” he said not looking at her.
She turned her head slightly to one side to listen.
“Your new boyfriend cheated on his last two girlfriends. I wouldn’t get too attached,” Sherlock said matter factually as he turned the page in his book.
With that revelation, Molly grunted and did her best version of storming out of the cafe into the soft rain.
-Reunion, present day-
Sherlock had been right, more often than Molly felt like admitting. That guy had cheated on her. A good thing she didn’t really like him as much as she thought. Maybe Sherlock’s warning had made her guard her heart a bit.
He thinks its a gift, she thought, but I think it is his curse sometimes.
How long had they been against this wall she wondered? Her backside was going numb. She needed to walk and did spy across the room some other former students she actually liked just walking in.
She turned her eyes to the man still much too close to her looking at his phone.
“Sherlock, if I have permission I would like to go speak to some friends and to relieve the numbness being stuck in this position has set in,” she insisted.
“I do not see why you ask for my authorization when you were not held captive. You could have moved at any time,” he replied his eyes meeting hers.
Damn you, Sherlock Holmes, she thought.
“Ok” was all she managed to say.
He held her gaze, pressed his hand against the wall, and then pulls it to his side as he straightened his stance.
She looked down to break the spell and brushed past him, the right side of her body connecting with his before she was past and moving unsteadily toward the middle of the room. She ignored the tingling on every place on her arm they touched.
Sherlock watched her every step. Then his eyes caught Geoffrey looking back once at the room suspiciously before leaving from the door at the other side of the room. Once Sherlock was sure she was safely not turning back, he turned and slipped out the side door.
Molly finds herself in a group with two female and a male who she remembers from her fourth year. All of them went on to medical school as well.
“So anyone going for a specialty here?” the man asked. His name was Fred. Molly was reminded by his name tag.
“I am actually starting as a specialty register at St. Barts next month,” Molly said before taking a sip of her wine.
The three turned their full attention to her and smiled.
“Oh, congratulations!” Fred said while raising his glass to her. “What field?”
“Pathology,” she replied with a grin.
“Oh wow, well, you were always the brightest of our class, Molly,” the blonde woman, named Emily by her name tag, said.
“So cancer research perhaps?” Fred asked as he took a sip of his wine.”
“No, forensic. Dead bodies. But hey with the right killers, they are already half cut up for me,” she laughed.
Fred nearly spat out his wine as he coughed. The women both gave a small look of disgust.
Fred recovered though, and eked out,” Well, yes, it morbid but nonetheless necessary and I am sure fascinating in its own way.”
He cleared his throat and added, ‘Still specialty register, excellent work, Hooper.”
The other woman, dark-haired and tall, cocked her head obviously in the direction where Sherlock and Molly stood much of the party.
“So I guess that deal finally got sealed, eh?” she teased.
It was Molly’s turn to choke on her wine.
She swallowed hard and confusedly asked, “ What?’
“Oh God, don’t be coy. That man just had you pressed against the wall for 30 minutes,” she guffawed. “He was also an odd one but God, that body and face. Worth it I say, as long as he didn’t talk.”
Molly shook her head, too much really which threatened to make her dizzy.
“No, he is a friend. Always has been,” she softly said while looking to where he was supposed to be, but was no longer.
She searched the room, but did not see him anywhere, and shrugged to herself.
“Mmmhmm,” was the only reply as the woman then started a new conversation.
Molly went in her own head as she stood in that group, remembering each time he had been a friend and that one time she tried to make him more.
-Molly’s student housing, fourth-year university-
Molly fumbled with the key, leaning into the door, and in a moment of nearly falling asleep, laid her head against it. Sherlock grabbed the keys out of her hands and opened the lock. He gently placed his arm around her waist to hold her up while he turned the knob to keep her from pitching forward.
He asked himself why he bothers saving her. He was just at the pub to look for some clues. And there she was, about to fall off the barstool. Something twinged in his chest, but he ignored that. Noble reasons, he was raised correctly and all those thoughts, he pushes to the front. She had just broken up with her boyfriend and found the nearest pub to drown her sorrows. The barkeep had been irresponsible in the hopes of pulling her in her grief and allowed her to have too much. Sherlock would deal with him another time.
Once in the foyer, she attempted to stand upright and failed.
Bloody hell why can’t I stand, she thought
“It's the whisky,” Sherlock states.
Shit, did I said that out loud? She tried with all effort to make her mind go blank since now she can't keep from speaking her thoughts.
“I am going to carry you up the stairs, it is will be safer,” Sherlock relayed his plan.
She looked into his eyes as much as she could hold her head steady. Those eyes that usually looks so piercing and cold, she sees green and gold in them now. It makes them more complex, or was that him? She is so drunk she only held that lucid thought a moment before just nodding and closing her own eyes.
In one quick movement, he scooped her up in his arms. Second-year Molly would have lost her mind at this, but almost graduated Molly finds herself utterly perplexed in addition to the dizziness.
Sherlock noted to himself how light she is and small in his arms. Before he knew better, he stored these facts somewhere in a room in his mind. She had a room, though her name wasn’t on it yet. If he was honest, he knew why he avoided the sentiment. He also noted the feeling of her legs against his hands.
Her door to her room was unlocked and he turned the knob while balancing Molly’s legs. He stepped around her chair and to her bed in the tiny room. He left the lights off, but her set of fairy lights around the window kept him from tripping on anything as he found his target.
He laid her gently on her bed. As he attempted to lift back and away from her, her arms stayed clasp around his neck as he awkwardly hovered above her.
“Molly, you are in your bed. You can let go of me,” He reminded her.
She captured his gaze and he knew what her eyes are saying, hooded and clear.
She lifted her head and nearly got her lips to his before he pulled his head back just enough to avoid them.
A struggle ensued and she caught him off guard by her hand slipping down, gripping his shirt as she yanked him on top of her. He scrambled and placed his hands anywhere he could to get off her, pinning one of her arms down. Unfortunately, one hand found her chest at first before connecting with her shoulder and arm, pinning them down as he lifted himself up and to a sitting position. He kept his hands on her arms as she rose up with him.
Both breathing heavily, though for contrasting reasons.
“Molly, not like this!” he demanded. Her eyes go wide as saucers and his match as his jaw drops.
They hold that gaze for too long and she dropped her gaze as her eyes blurred again. She will remember those words the next day with mixed feelings. Sherlock will as well, wondering about their specificity before shoving them away.
“You need to sleep this off, please calm yourself, find some rational part of your brain to focus on! You are in a delicate state and not thinking clearly,” he started yelling, but it fell to a normal tone by the end.
Molly blinked her eyes for a moment and shut them.
“I’m sorry,” she slurred out, tears threatening to come to the surface.
Sherlock released her arms slowly, and then adjusted his jacket.
She put her head in her hands, “The room won’t stop spinning.”
“Stay here,” She asked suddenly and put her hand up because she knew what his protest would be.“I am fine i won’t try that again….ever. Just...to make sure I am ok.”
“Medically if you need the excuse,” she said slurred and a bit sad.
All the words sounded clear in her head, but Sherlock focused intensely to suss them out. But once he did, he felt relief a rational part of her brain had taken some control. Even admired it, and if he was honest, he felt that twinge in his chest when she sounds sad that he cannot explain nor keep away.
“Yes, perhaps I can stay to make sure you don’t asphyxiate on your own vomit,” he said assuredly. “Do you have a pillow I can borrow for the floor?”
“Fucking hell...just, just sleep with me,” Molly slurred, her voice becoming sleepy.
Sherlock coughed at her words and she realized what she said.
“Shit! Ok, no, you know what I mean, in my bed, is fine. I’ll put the sheet between us to protect your delicate sensibilities if you need, “ she grinned at herself, she was sobering but still three sheets to the wind.
Sherlock rolled his eyes.
“I typically sleep in the nude so I’ll forgo that practice. That will be enough for my ‘delicate sensibilities’ as you called them. I like to say they are respectful manners,” he smirked.
Molly’s eyes grew large again and he regretted the imagery he likely produced in her mind and he slipped his shoes off and helped hers off as well.
“Go to sleep, Molly,” he said quietly as he crawled over her, much too close for comfort. He flopped to the other side of her and pulled the covers up and proceeded to pretend he was going to sleep with his back to her
She pulled her side of the duvet up, laid back on her pillow feeling the room spin lessen as she faced his back, and she soon fell into a deep sleep only alcohol can bring.
Sherlock laid still, but could not will himself to sleep. In all fairness, he rarely slept much. His mind would not let him.
When he sensed she had fully fallen asleep, he turned to study her.
She fell asleep facing him, her dark hair fallen across her forehead haphazardly. He gingerly moved it back in place out of her face and smoothed it down.
Whatever parts of his biology responding now to this felt different than times before. He did understand now he has a protective nature and tried to dismiss this feeling. He did not care as much as he felt a duty. But duty should not make his chest ache.
Her face became more peaceful as she slept and he used it to bring calm to his own. Watching her breathing steadied his own heart and breath and with that, he was able to sleep much easier than he has ever before.
-.-
Molly’s eye shot open after a few hours. Her room glowed from her fairy lights and her eyes adjusted quickly.
She suddenly became aware of another person in her bed, and a heavy arm, wrapped around her waist and stomach. She had turned in her sleep and Oh God, she thought.
She quickly checked under the cover reassuring herself she was wearing the same clothes as she racked her brain to remember. As she looks at the arm there, the memories flood back.
Sherlock, I have the feeling you have no idea what you are doing right now, she thought, studying at that arm under the covers laying across her stomach.
She remembered letting the alcohol get rid of any hesitation on her part. But her honor was intact with him much to her dismay. He was not a complete villain as she thought he might be if put in that situation. Regret and relief sit heavy in her chest. Not like this, he had said. Those words would ring in her head the rest of the day.
She yawned and turned over deliberately slow, letting his arm slide from her stomach to her back. She risked it all, shifting close as she could to him. She stared at his face long as her eyes would stay open. Trying to record every shade of his stubble to memory, every crease in his lips.
She would graduate soon, and who knows if they would see each other again once the common bond of school was gone. He was not continuing on to medical school like her. With those thoughts, she drunk him in once more before she closed her eyes to sleep again.
-.-
Morning light woke Sherlock gradually until he became aware of himself and his arm wrapped around Molly. He stored that memory immediately, what it felt like her skin against his wrist where her shirt has ridden up. He suddenly became aware of his pulse and removed his arm like it was on fire. Molly stirred but did not wake and he breathed again, realizing that reaction could have woken her. He slipped out from the duvet and carefully worked his way over her as his side of the bed was against the wall. He hovered over her as he set his feet down and found himself stuck there for the moment, fighting the ache in his chest once more.
He will likely see her at graduation, but not after. She was headed to medical school and him to find a way to use his skills for anything but school. He would keep in touch; her mind proved to be useful. But he couldn’t quite believe himself as he felt he already missed her physical presence. She was right there, so why did a part of his brain think that way?
I slept too much that is all, he told himself as he stood up, put his shoes on and slipped out the door.
When she woke, she had an empty bed and a painfully full head. She pulled the part of the duvet that smelled like him to her face and stayed that way until her hangover subsided.
-School reunion-
Molly’s thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the sound of pounding footsteps in the hall and the sound of whistles.
She ran out of the room past everyone just in time to see Sherlock round a corner, put his arm out and right at the throat of Geoffrey Prescott, knocking him flat on his back. He landed with a thud and slid a couple feet with a squeak across the slick floor.
Scotland Yard rounded the corner and Sherlock turned his head to see Molly in the hall. There was that smirk she knew. This time she gave him a grin back. He smiled as the police rounded the corner and seized the knocked out man on the floor. The rest of the crowd from the reunion have found their way out, shocked faces all around.
Sherlock strutted toward Molly. The confidence was sexy, she couldn’t deny it.
Once back in her personal space, he looked at the rest of the crowd as the officers pushed them back into the room for some questioning.
Sherlock grabbed Molly’s arm when she attempted to follow them.
“Thank you,” he said, as he caught her gaze and held it.
“Um, you’re welcome I guess? Not sure what I did,” she laughed as she looked at the floor, concentrating on her shoes.
“You played along wonderfully with keeping attention off me. And you left at a perfect time for me to slip out as he did,” Sherlock said.
“Well that was dumb luck, or maybe under your guidance I guess?” She said, not sure what he was going on about.
“Well, yes that is true. But still, you tolerated me. I thank you for that, we caught a serious financial criminal. He stole millions of pound, ” he smiled as she looked up at him.
The conversation felt strangely intimate in all the commotion as they stood close to each other, his hand still on her arm.
“I’ll be at St. Barts starting next month, specialty register,” she said suddenly changing the subject.
“I know. I believed consulting detective is the title I can take at this point,” he replied.
“Pathology, forensic for me. I mean cutting up dead people to see why they died isn’t for everyone, but someone has to do it,” Molly laughed nervously.
“I believe you are perfectly suited for it,” he responded with a tight smile.
“Maybe I’ll see you around the morgue then… for business of course hopefully like a number of times, not like the final time,” she laughed awkwardly.
He raised an eyebrow but keeps his tight smile. “Yes...I am sure we will cross paths.”
“I mean if you need any help, or anything else just let me know,” she said with a little too much hope in her voice for own tastes. She kicked herself internally.
“I am quite familiar with the morgue and the pathologists there,” he began in a curt voice but stopped himself.
“But yes, I believe I will be calling in those favors of all the times I rescued you in school if you do not mind,” he said with a bit of mirth.
Molly bit her lip but did not get to answer that statement.
“Please do excuse me must speak with the detective inspector now. Until next month, Molly,” he did a head bow and strode off toward the crowd of officers near the stairs.
She went back into the room to give her statement and smirked to herself.
“I’ll see you, Sherlock Holmes,” she whispered to herself.