Chapter Text
Molly bit her lips to stifle a laugh at the sight that greeted her. Twenty minutes earlier, she’d received a text from Sherlock, reading simply, HELP ME, with the address to the café in which she now stood. Admittedly, she’d felt a surge of panic, not sure what she might find. Oddly enough, this never made the list of possibilities.
Sherlock Holmes, world-renowned consulting detective, sat at a table with four very pretty, very enthusiastic young women, all likely in their early twenties. Each woman leaned toward him flirtatiously, though they conversed with one another more than they did with him. Meanwhile Sherlock, stiff as a plank and clearly as comfortable as if he were walking one, glanced feverishly about the place, searching for any means of escape. His gaze landed on Molly and instantly brightened with desperate hope. A moment later, her phone buzzed with another message:
THANK GOD. GET ME OUT OF HERE.
Molly giggled softly to herself as she typed her reply.
HOW DO YOU WANT ME TO GO ABOUT THIS?
She watched as he pulled out his phone again, typed furiously, and soon his next message reached her.
ANYTHING. IT DOESN’T MATTER. JUST GET. ME. OUT.
A quiet snort escaped with the laugh accompanying this text, and when she met his eyes again, she found him scowling at her. Without the slightest hint of contrition, she shrugged one shoulder, then sent one final response.
JUST FOLLOW MY LEAD THEN.
Molly stowed her phone in her handbag, bracing herself for the challenge presented to her. Not that it would be too great a challenge. She knew what it was like to be a twenty-something young woman. So many new opportunities, so much to explore and enjoy. And so many men! She’d had her share of experiences, and she knew just how to save the discomfited detective. The question that remained, however, was just how well he’d play along.
By now, Sherlock had read her latest text, and gave her a covert nod before returning his gaze to the center of the table. None of the girls seemed to notice, and Molly wondered if they were really interested in him, or just wanted to look interested. Regardless, she approached their table quickly, with a bright smile on her face. She came within earshot in time to hear one of them ask Sherlock’s opinion on something in their conversation, but he never had the chance to reply. The next moment, Molly’s hands playfully covered his eyes, and she breathed into his ear, “Did you miss me?”
Sherlock stiffened noticeably, sucking in a breath. “I… I, er…” he stammered
Molly giggled and lowered her hands to his shoulders, leaning to one side to look at him. “Did I scare you, big boy?”
He blinked. “No, just… surprised me.”
“That was the idea,” she beamed, then leaned in and planted a lingering kiss on his lips. She refused to let herself dwell on just how soft his lips were, or the smell of his aftershave, or the fact that she’d just wasted her first kiss with the love of her life on getting him away from a group of hormonal uni students. Molly prided herself on her ability to focus on any situation, and by God, she would use that talent now.
With surprising ease, she pulled away and gave him another dazzling smile. To her secret satisfaction, she spotted the faint blush in his cheeks and the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. She lifted an eyebrow, and in a split second, Sherlock’s expression shifted into something she could only describe as cheeky.
“You know how I hate surprises,” he teased in a low voice.
“Oh, dear,” she sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to make it up to you.”
He smirked, his eyes darkening. “You certainly will.”
Christ, he’s good at this. Molly tapped him on the nose, then stood straight to meet the eyes of four dumbstruck twenty-year-olds. “Who are your friends?” she asked jovially, careful not to let even the smallest bit of jealousy slip into her tone. Sherlock shot her a look of barely-concealed horror. She got the feeling he’d forgotten at least one of their names, though that might actually help with this scenario. Still, she waited to see how much his brilliant mind had retained.
“Jillian… Hanna… Edith, and… Clara,” he recited.
“Tara,” the blonde beside him corrected with a scowl. Molly winced inwardly. Poor girl.
“Right,” he smiled. “Sorry. Ladies, this is my Molly.”
She ignored the shiver that trickled down her spine at hearing him refer to her as his Molly. “Lovely to meet you all. Thanks for keeping Sherlock company, but I’m afraid I have to pull him away. Meeting the parents for lunch.” She bit her lip in feigned anxiety and held up her hands, showing two sets of crossed fingers. “Wish me luck, girls!”
Not one of them responded.
“Well, thank you for the… company,” Sherlock nodded, rising to his feet and sliding an arm around her waist. “Must dash. Good afternoon.”
They maintained the couple façade as they left the café, keeping a tight hold on it (and each other) until they rounded the corner. At that point, the laughter Molly had been suppressing since seeing him came bubbling up. She stopped walking to lean against a nearby wall, giggling and tearing up.
“Oh, yes, it’s very funny,” Sherlock grumbled.
“You sh-should have seen y-your f-face!” she cackled.
He huffed a sigh. “When you’re quite finished.”
Molly laughed until she was clutching at her sides, nearly gasping for air. She sighed and leaned her back against the wall, smiling up at him. Her eyes still sparkled with mirth. She looked stunning.
Sherlock recalled the sudden kiss in the café, and considered his reaction to said kiss. He’d enjoyed it… really enjoyed it. In fact, he’d been a bit disappointed when it ended. For those few moments, while their lips touched, the world was still. Silent. Peaceful, even. He forgot the reason he’d asked for Molly’s help, forgot the silly young women holding him hostage with their blatant flirtations. His mind, normally a debilitating cyclone of stray deductions when not focused on a case, calmed to a state of almost liquidity. He was floating, as ridiculous as that sounded. Floating… but also falling.
“Sherlock?”
He snapped back to full attention, meeting Molly’s concerned gaze. “Forgive me. I was… lost in thought.”
Her concern did not diminish. “You seemed awfully focused for being ‘lost in thought.’ What were you thinking about?”
Sherlock paused, weighing his words carefully. In the end, though, the simplest response seemed best. “I was thinking about you, actually.”
“Me?” she echoed, her doe eyes widening almost comically.
He smiled at her. “Specifically, you kissing me. Very effective ploy, by the way. Good you thought of it.”
Her face colored, and his smile grew in response. “Yeah, well…” She trailed off, looking down at her toes. “Sorry I had to resort to that.”
“Are you?” he asked, tilting his head to one side.
Molly frowned at him. “Aren’t you?”
Sherlock crossed the short distance between them, his eyes never leaving hers. “No,” he answered in a low voice. “In fact…” he leaned an open palm against the wall just to the side of her head. “I find myself wishing you would do it again.”
She drew a trembling breath, her eyes lingering on his lips. He followed suit, admiring her sweet, lovely mouth. A dusty memory surfaced, one of himself making a flippant remark about the size of her lips. He felt a spasm of guilt as other unfortunate comments came to mind. It seemed he had much to atone for. He’d do it, gladly… if she would let him.
“You’re lost in thought again,” she observed.
He met her eyes, finding them dark with a desire, yet also alight with excitement. “Yes, well. You do tend to scatter my thoughts.”
A delighted smile curved her lips, and she pulled the bottom lip between her teeth. That act was his undoing. He was scarcely aware of his actions as he took her face in both hands and kissed her soundly. Despite the nature in which it had started, this kiss had the same effect on his mind as their first. The rest of the world faded, dulled, until the only thing he could process was Molly. Her warm, inviting lips. Her radiant smile. Her soft, breathy sighs. He could not have been more wrong that day; her mouth was not too small. It was perfect.
“We should probably talk about this,” she whispered against his lips.
“Yes,” he heard himself reply, even as he sought another kiss. “Talk.”
“Before we get…” his lips cut her off, “…too carried away.”
With a groan, Sherlock reluctantly pulled himself away from her. She looked up at him through dark lashes, a lovely blush lingering in her cheeks. It took every ounce of willpower he possessed to refrain from ravishing her then and there. But she deserved better than that.
Clearing his throat, he nodded and took a step back. “You’re right. We do need to talk. Yours or mine?”
Molly smiled at the irony of his question, typically an invitation to do anything but talk. “Yours is closer.”
They walked in silence, a thick tension surrounding them. As they walked the few short blocks to Baker Street, Molly took the time to process what was happening. She had just been snogged by Sherlock Holmes. Very thoroughly snogged. And now they were going to talk. Trust him to do things out of order. Not that she minded, especially if it meant snogging him.
At last, they reached 221B, and Mrs. Hudson poked her head out of her flat, stopping them halfway up the stairs.
“Yoo-hoo!” she grinned. “Hello, Molly dear! Lovely to see you!”
“You as well, Mrs. Hudson,” she smiled.
“Got some new experiments for Sherlock then?” the landlady guessed.
“Of a sort,” Sherlock cut in, then pressed an insistent hand to the small of her back. “Sorry, Mrs. Hudson, but we really must get to it. Don’t worry about tea, that’ll only slow us down.” Molly snorted, and he shot her a glare.
Mrs. Hudson’s eyes narrowed, but she shrugged affably. “Well, let me know if you change your mind, though. I’ve got some chocolates from Switzerland,” she announced excitedly. “Mrs. Turner’s just come back from holiday there, and the dear brought bags full of the stuff! It’s a bit sweet for my taste, but you might like it, Sherlock. You’ve always loved sweet things.”
This elicited another snort from Molly, and another glare in her direction. “Yes, thank you, Mrs. Hudson, but I’m sure we’ll manage. Ta!” he called, already half-shoving Molly up the stairs.
Upon reaching the sitting room, Sherlock closed the door and locked it. He then faced Molly, his eyes filled with unmistakable hunger, and a hint of boyish mischief. She was sure she’d never seen anything so sexy. They stared at one another in silence for several moments, each waiting for the other to speak first. Meanwhile, the tension between them thickened, and the temperature in the room seemed to climb.
Finally, Sherlock broke the silence. “You said we should talk,” he prompted.
“Right,” she nodded. “Talk.”
He clasped his hands behind his back, an overly-innocent expression on his face, while his eyes danced with humor and anticipation. She nearly lost all sense when he looked at her like that. Forcing her eyes away, Molly was able to remind herself why she’d wanted to talk things through.
“I’m sure you know this about me already,” she began, “but I don’t do flings. When I’m with someone, I’m with them. Exclusivity, commitment… that’s what I want. But I know that’s not something you have ever wanted.”
She paused for a moment, gathering strength to meet his eyes. Gone was the playfulness, replaced by an alert intensity. Good. She had his full attention.
“If you still don’t want that, please tell me now. As much as I would like to continue… what we were doing earlier,” she blushed, “I can’t… I won’t… without some form of commitment attached. I’m sorry, that’s quite an ultimatum to be throwing at you, but I’m afraid that if I don’t stand my ground now, it’ll fall out from under me. So… I suppose what I’m saying is… it’s all or nothing, Sherlock.”
Unsurprisingly, he didn’t respond right away. Molly waited patiently, knowing he would need to think this through. In time, he took a slow, deep breath, and walked toward her. She craned her neck as he drew near, fighting her natural tendency toward timidity, and maintained eye contact with him. He stopped less than a foot away, his face unreadable.
“Molly Hooper,” he murmured, “you deserve the world.”
She swallowed hard, bracing herself for the inevitable. But I can’t give it to you, he would say, then he would kiss her cheek, smile at her, and—
“And I’ll do everything in my power to give it to you.”
“It’s okay, you don’t have—wait, what?”
He smiled. “I am, as they say, all in.”
Molly stared for the space of three erratic heartbeats, before throwing herself at him and kissing him enthusiastically. He matched her easily, their mouths engaging in a dance that was fast becoming familiar… and would become even more so. His arms enveloped her and he lifted her off her feet, providing a much better angle for the kiss. Molly took the opportunity to wrap her legs around his waist, while her fingers carded through his silky curls.
When a deep, rumbling laugh reached her ears, she pulled back to look at him. “What’s so funny?” she asked.
Sherlock met her eyes with that same boyish look. “Mrs. Hudson was right about one thing,” he grinned, pressing a tender kiss to the corner of her mouth. “I do love sweet things. And you, Molly, may just be the sweetest of all.”