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“It’s me! I’ve brought Chinese if you’re hungry!” There was no reply as Molly Hooper fought with the lock, which refused to surrender her key. She was finally able to remove it, and closed the door to 221B Baker Street behind her. “Sherlock? Out with John, I suppose,” she added to herself.
She struggled with the large paper bag that held takeaway from Cheng’s, but made it to the kitchen table regardless. Resting the bag on one of the chairs, she started clearing the table, or at least moving things around. She relocated test tubes, beakers (one of which held a noxious brown liquid that she dared not query what it could be), and microscope (which bore a label reading “Property of St. Bartholomew’s Teaching Hospital”) to its own territory, making sure the lines of demarcation between experiments and food were clearly marked.
She took out the food she got for herself (shrimp fried rice with a couple of egg rolls) and put it on the table before turning to open the refrigerator. She peered inside, knowing she would have to rearrange the contents. She took out a plastic container labeled “TOES—DO NOT EAT” and opened the lid.
“Well, I don’t know what I expected,” Molly muttered to herself, replacing the lid and returning it to the refrigerator. After a bit of clever maneuvering, she was able to wrangle the fridge into some semblance of order and put the rest of the food inside. She shut the door and returned her attention to her own food.
“What are you doing here?” demanded a low voice in a harsh tone.
“Ooh, someone’s grouchy today. No case, I suppose?” she replied without turning around. She focused on the matter at hand, rifling through the cupboards to find a clean plate. “Aha!” she exclaimed as she found one in one of the uppermost cabinets and stood on her tiptoes to retrieve it, one foot leaving the ground to steady herself. When she returned to her position, she hit a broad-shouldered mass. “Oh! Hello!”
She tried to walk away from him, but a hand gripped her shoulder while another settled on her hip, holding her firmly in place.
“Oh, not now, love. I just got done with a double shift and I’m not half starved—there’s some for you too if you wa—oh!” Strong arms turned her around and she stared into a pair of ice blue eyes that bore into hers intently. Molly paused and took in the sight of Sherlock—not dressed as Sherlock. His dark curls were slicked back away from his face, and instead of his usual button up he wore a tight black shirt with long sleeves and a leather jacket. Molly thought he looked just like a villain in a—oh.
Molly’s eyes widened as she realized what he was doing, and an amused smile played around her lips. “Sherlock, what are you doing?” she laughed.
“Who,” he growled menacingly, “is Sherlock?” He took her shoulders in his large hands and her smile changed from one of amusement to one of excitement. Sherlock allowed himself a satisfied smirk at her change of expression.
“Oh! I’m—I’m so sorry, sir. My mistake.” This is new, she thought to herself. Her eyes were saucers as his hands wandered down her arms and to her hips, pulling her closer to him. Silently he leaned forward and pressed a series of kisses down her neck. When he reached the base of her neck, he opened his mouth, licking her skin from shoulder to ear, sending a shiver through her. She could feel him smile again as his mouth lingered next to the hollow of her ear.
“Who am I?” he breathed into her ear. His deep voice sent thrills of pleasure through her, and she closed her eyes. “I want you to say my name.”
“K-Khan.” Molly never imagined Sherlock to be one to play this kind of game, but there was no way she was going to ruin the moment by questioning it. She decided the scientific approach was to see the experiment through to the bitter end. To the end indeed, she thought to herself. Molly, you saucy minx. She mentally high-fived herself.
“You’d do well not to stutter when you say my name, girl,” Sherlock snarled. He took a step back from her and circled, like a tiger circling his prey. Standing directly behind her, he stepped forward and pressed his body against hers. His hands snaked around her hips as his lips returned to her ear. “And who are you?”
She gasped audibly as his hands found the hem of her shirt and traveled upwards. “M-Molly. I’m Molly.”
“Not the answer I was looking for.” Sherlock’s teeth nipped her earlobe as his hands continued their work.
“I—who do you want me to be?” she asked him shakily.
“You know the answer. Who. Are. You?” His fingers danced along the sensitive skin under the waist of her trousers and she moaned involuntarily.
“I—I’m yours,” she whispered breathlessly.
His cheek pressed against hers, she felt him smile with satisfaction. “Now, that wasn’t so hard.” Sherlock grabbed her by the shoulders, whirling her around to face him. He took her face in his hands, and kissed her deeply, pressing his body against hers. Before she had much time to react, he scooped her into his arms, carrying her to his bedroom and slamming the door.
——————
Molly forgot about the Chinese food until much later, when Sherlock went to the kitchen to get her a glass of water, his hair wild once more, free from the gel that held it in place. Seeing the uneaten food on the table, he put it on the plate she laid out, reheated it in the microwave, and took it with him when he returned to the bedroom.
Molly would later tell Mary that that was the most romantic thing anyone had done for her.
And Khan would be known to make a few more appearances in the future.