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As he walked through the dark and eerily quiet streets towards his hotel, avoiding the drunken antics of several badly tanned Brits, Sherlock Holmes decided he’d had just about enough of this case; he, John Watson and Greg Lestrade had been in Malta for almost a week investigating the mysterious death of a British politician’s wife - naturally, Mycroft had demanded their attention. His companions had left his company hours ago, each seeking relief from the scorching heat – Greg had skulked off to one of the many bars whilst John returned to the villa he’s sharing with his wife, Mary.
He was more than grateful to reach the cool, air-conditioned hotel, eager to peel off his damp clothes and crawl into bed; his mental faculties had been all but drained babysitting the foolish local detectives. Admittedly, they were a cut above the Scotland Yard lot but it was nonetheless exhausting. Sherlock wasted no time in reaching his room, shedding his clothes on the way to the bedroom; it wasn’t until he’d climbed under the single sheet that he realised he wasn’t alone. He sighed, running a hand over his face.
“Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”
The last thing he was expecting was the recognise the surprised squeak of the woman lying next to him: Molly Hooper, the pathologist and principal reason he had accepted the case in the first place, had been snoozing in his hotel room without a stitch of clothing on the body he couldn’t remove from his mind. He glanced around the dark room, noticing the doors which opened out onto the hotel’s private beach were thrown open in an effort to snatch some much needed air. Molly had clearly mistaken his room for hers.
“Sherlock? What are you doing here?” She’d rolled over to face him and was rubbing her eyes, looking at him like he was a vision of her dreams; lying like he was with his sweat-dampened chest exposed, he probably was.
“Case,” he sighed, drawing out the word as his sleep-deprived state caught up with him, “you?”
“Um, I’m on holiday,” Molly replied, sitting up and squinting around the dark room – it took her several minutes to realise she was in fact in the room next door to hers. She gasped, scrambling for the sheets, “oh, God, I’m so sorry, I-I’ll just-“
“Molly, I’ve had a long day. I’m tired. I’m willing to forget this ever happened,” he muttered sleepily, his eyes closed and expression peaceful. Molly bit into her lip.
“Really?”
“Really. It was an accident.”
Molly smiled and relaxed, lying back down on the soft mattress beside the snoozing detective; just as she considered getting out of bed and returning to her own room with her dignity almost intact – well, she couldn’t possibly stay with him the entire night! What would he think – the consulting detective rolled over until his warm, firm body was pressed up against her back, his arms wrapping around her and holding her close. It took all of thirty seconds for Molly to shrug and settle back into her comfortable, deep sleep.
She was gone by the time he woke up from the most peaceful sleep of his entire life; he knew it was more to do with the pathologist beside him than the change of scenery. After running an unsteady hand over his face and throwing on an old pair of shorts, Sherlock stepped out onto the balcony in the scorching heat, immediately regretting the decision – the blinding white sunlight glistened the sea and burned into his skin.
“Found the right room this time.”
Molly’s voice from the balcony right next to his made him look around and, sure enough, there she was, spread out on a sun lounger applying sunscreen to her creamy skin; she wore a large sunhat and very little else. Sherlock quickly returned his focus to her face, noticing her cheeky smile – gone were the days Molly Hooper would be embarrassed to be found in such a position. In fact, it seemed the tables had turned for Sherlock didn’t quite know how to reply without sounding idiotic – since when did she have so much skin?
“Uh, yes.”
“Mary suggested this, you know,” Molly said, peering thoughtfully out to sea, “I mentioned I needed a holiday and she said she was coming out here with John. She even booked the hotel for me; I’m useless when it comes-”
“Molly, do you fancy a swim?”
Molly almost emptied the contents of her sunscreen onto the floor at his words; she stared at him in alarm, wondering if he’d contracted heatstroke. Sherlock was staring right back at her, quite impatiently – no wonder, really, he looked as though he was melting under the heat. Molly nodded slowly and her companion wasted no time in seizing her hand over the low wall that separated their rooms. To say he practically dragged her down the beach in his eagerness to reach the water was an understatement; Molly couldn’t help but giggle when Sherlock dropped her hand and all but dived into the cool blue ocean.
“You’re mental,” she spluttered, shamelessly watching as he resurfaced and swept his soaking hair from his eyes, relief clear in his expression. He stood up, water dripping down his exquisite body; if Molly had been paying attention, she would have seen him advancing towards her.
“Maybe,” he smirked, the cool water having done wonders for his fiery skin. If only it had helped rationalize his thoughts, “now it’s your turn.”
Without further ado, Sherlock lifted the squealing pathologist into his arms, ignoring her joyous screams of protest as she clutched her oversized hat to her head. A few moments later, after Molly had received a thorough soaking and Sherlock a splash in the face as a result, the two of them had somehow wound up in each other’s arms and were giggling like fools. Sherlock pondered how perfectly Molly fit in his arms and her eyes looked beautiful beneath the sun, droplets of water still clung to her eyelashes; his heart leapt at the sight. Molly knew Sherlock was strong but she’d never in her wildest dreams expected to find out just how so; the way he’d gathered her up so effortlessly made her knees weak. Maybe this holiday was all they’d needed.
“OI!”
The detective and pathologist quickly jumped apart and turned towards the hotel where Greg Lestrade and John Watson were standing, hands shadowing their eyes as they looked out towards them; Molly blushed furiously whilst Sherlock groaned, wading towards the beach with an apologetic smile at Molly.
“Nice of you to join us,” Greg was grinning, his arms folded smugly; the detective ignored him, reaching into his room for a towel, “so sorry to interrupt your frolicking but I thought you might like to know about the case.”
“I was not frolicking,” he scowled, hurriedly swiping the towel over his body – the heat was beginning to prickle his skin already. John, too, wore an infuriating grin.
“You were a bit.”
“What is it?” Sherlock snapped and Greg handed him the case file with a sigh.
“Turns out you were right,” the Inspector explained as the consulting detective examined the report with a frown, “it was the husband.”
“Hmm. Mycroft isn’t going to be happy.”
“You want me to tell him?” John asked, removing his phone from the pocket of his sleeveless shirt – the two of them had embraced the heat a lot better than he had himself. Sherlock shook his head, closing the file and thrusting it back into Greg’s hands.
“Oh, no. I think I can manage,” he smirked, glancing behind him briefly – it seemed Molly was enjoying her time alone, swimming back and forth as she waited for him to return. He turned back to them, shrugging, “anything else?”
The army doctor and Inspector exchanged looks. “Well, we have to-”
“I’ll be with in a moment,” Sherlock had already begun strolling back towards Molly as he spoke.
John and Greg could only watch in amazement as Sherlock took Molly’s face in his wet hands and snogged the life out of her under the Maltese sun. He smirked at her after releasing her and turned confidently back towards his friends…only to be tugged backwards into the water and snogged again by a quite keen Molly Hooper. Greg sighed.
“He’s not coming back, is he?”
“Doesn’t look like it,” John replied, grimacing at the now rather steamy display of affection happening right in front of him. He faced Greg, gesturing at the bar, “fancy a beer?”
Greg nodded, equally determined to get out their friends’ presence, “several, I think.”