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“Oh, my God,” Sherlock gasped, rolling onto his back. He panted desperately, shaking his head, “that was amazing.”
Beside him, Molly Hooper nodded her agreement, grinning from ear to ear, “yeah.”
The two of them grasped hands, exchanging smouldering glances and scooting closer to share slow kisses as their breathing returned to normal. They'd been in a very pleasant and secretive relationship for almost three months, sneaking around behind their friends backs and deceiving the press. Therefore, in order to grab a weekend of privacy together, Sherlock had told his best friend, John, about a case opportunity in Cardiff, rejecting his offer for help on the grounds he had a child to care for. Sherlock and Molly both groaned in unison when her doorbell rang barely a minute later. The pathologist nudged her boyfriend in the ribs.
“You get it.”
“I’m not here, remember?” He smirked, grasping her hand and pressing her knuckles to his lips, “besides, this is your place. Darling.”
“Fine,” Molly sighed, climbing out of bed with exaggerated effort; she spent several minutes searching for her clothes, Sherlock enjoying the view rather than providing any assistance. She took up his shirt, swinging it across her shoulders with a flourish, “don’t go anywhere.”
She was halfway towards her front door when she heard him call out, “if that’s Mrs. Hughes from next door, tell her to take her hearing aids out next time!”
Molly was still grinning as she reached her door, which only lasted until she pulled it open. Standing on the other side were the Watsons, all three of them, gawping at either her bare legs or extremely mussed sex hair. To be fair, Sharlotte Watson, John and Mary’s four-year-old daughter, was more interested in peering past her in search of Toby than identifying the evidence of her night of passion. Mary elbowed John, who immediately brought his eyes upwards and jaw shut.
“Um,” it was the first time Molly had seen John looking so uncomfortable, like he’d rather be anywhere else. He cleared his throat and tried again, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the ceiling, “you…you said you’d watch Sharlotte and…well, Sherlock’s away and-"
“Oh, no…” Molly, looking very much a deer in headlights as she attempted to discreetly sort out her hair, smiled widely and stepped aside, “it’s fine. Sorry, I, um…just got up. Come in…”
“Yay! Tooooby,” Sharlotte grinned, darting forwards eagerly; Mary caught her shoulders and smiled at Molly – the woman was no fool.
“Before we do…has your ‘special friend’ gone home?”
“Yeah…all clear,” Molly giggled nervously as the family stepped into her flat, Sharlotte making a beeline for the snoozing tabby on the sofa. Molly tugged on the purple shirt shyly, ignoring the stares John and Mary were still giving her, “I-I’ll just go and…put some clothes on.”
She tiptoed quickly to her bedroom without another word, slamming the door behind her and practically ripping the shirt from her body; she launched the shirt in Sherlock's general direction, dropping to her knees to search for her own abanadoned clothes. Sherlock lifted his head, raising an eyebrow appreciatively -Molly's arse was truly one of his most favourite things.
“It’s alright, I’m not going anywhere.”
“Yes, yes you are!” A hand shot into the air, pointing accusingly at him; Molly jumped to her feet a moment later, quickly shimmying into a pair of jeans and throwing Sherlock's own trousers at him, hitting him square in the face, “I totally forgot I’m supposed to be watching Sharlotte today. You have to leave.”
The detective groaned, flopping back onto the pillow, “why can’t we just tell them?”
“Oh, wonderful idea. I’ll just let them in, shall I?” Molly hissed, whirling on the spot in search of her blouse; she found the item draped carelessly over her vanity mirror. Molly momentarily blushed as she hastily threw it on, doing up the buttons, “you’re supposed to be in Cardiff! Now is not the time.”
“Fine,” he sighed dramatically, watching her dress rather than making any attempt to move himself, “I suppose it would make for an unpleasant conversation. And there’s Sharlotte…”
“Which is why you’ll have to go down the fire escape,” she explained, bending in front of her vanity mirror to run a brush through her unruly hair. She caught Sherlock looking at her in the mirror and bit her lip, standing up and turning to face him, “how do I look?”
“Fucked,” he shrugged, sounding just a little bit proud of himself beneath the brutal honesty. Molly rolled her eyes, approaching him and ruffling his hair affectionately.
“When John and Mary have gone, I’ll give you a signal.”
He reached for her, holding her wrist gently, “which is?”
“I’ll figure it out,” she murmured softly, dropping a quick kiss to his lips before leaving her bedroom.
John and Mary were sitting with their daughter on the sofa, taking it in turns to smooth the old cat – he always liked it when the Watsons paid a visit and brought their little human. They always made a fuss of him. Molly hesitated in the doorway, wringing her hands - this was going to be difficult. She cleared her throat, timidly making her way over to them.
“Sorry about that…”
“Oh, don’t worry, we’re sorry to spring this on you,” Mary waved a dismissive hand, nodding at John, “his mum’s ill again and kids just stress her out, apparently. She doesn’t like me much. Actually, can I stay, too?” She jokingly asked her husband, a playful smirk on her red lips.
“NO!” Molly swallowed nervously when her friends just stared at her in bemusement and, on John’s part, slight fear. She smoothed down her blouse, brushing off imaginary dust, “I mean…it’s getting late. You don’t want to hit that traffic.”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” John sighed regretfully, getting to his feet and pulling on Mary’s arm, “wouldn’t want to be late for her criticisms. I get enough of that at home,” Mary looked up from where she’d crouched, cuddling Sharlotte, arching an eyebrow in amusement. John quickly corrected himself, “I meant my old home. I’d better text him actually…” he removed his phone, typing away eagerly, “he’s due home any day. You haven’t heard from him, have you?”
It took several moments for Molly to come up with an answer, “no. No, he doesn’t bother with me when he’s busy with a case. Better things to do.”
“Really?” Mary said, pressing a final kiss to her daughter’s cheek and standing beside her husband, hauling her handbag up onto her shoulder, “he’s always going on about your invaluable help. I’m surprised he’s not been bugging you about this case.”
“Yeah, well…” Molly muttered, distracted by the buzzing of her phone in her pocket, her eyes growing wide in alarm at the message that flashed across her screen: Pants? SH She shook her head, cursing Sherlock for her lack of focus, “you know what he’s like…changes like the weather.”
There was a mumbling of agreement between the two adult Watsons whilst Molly hurriedly replied to her boyfriend’s message.
You weren’t wearing any! Mollyx
Barely a moment later, he’d sent one back to her.
Just a little reminder. And a promise. SH
She didn’t wipe her stupid grin away quickly enough. Mary nudged John in excitement, grinning herself, “not bothered with you, my arse. He’s been texting you every day of the case, hasn’t he? And you go off and shag someone else-“
John’s elbow to her ribs quickly silenced her, followed by a soft whisper in her ear, “you promised not to be crazy.”
“Oh, no, it’s not like that. Sherlock and I are just friends,” Molly smiled what she hoped was convincingly; she glanced back at Sharlotte, watching her pet and talk to Toby - her eyes drifted to her bedroom door before she looked back at her friends, “can we do this another time?”
Mary sighed in defeat but nodded, waving at her little girl, “you be good for Molly, Sharlotte. We’ll be back to pick you up later.”
“Buh-bye, Mummy. Buh-bye, Daddy.”
“Bye, Princess,” John called affectionately, blowing a kiss before smiling at Molly, “thanks again, Molly. We really appreciate this.”
“Have a nice time,” Molly smiled, closing the door behind them with unreserved relief; piece of cake. Running a hand through her hair, she cautiously neared Sharlotte and sat beside her, using her most enthusiastic voice, “hey, Sharlotte…shall we go and get some ice cream from the kitchen?”
“Okay!” The youngster leaped to her feet eagerly and charged into the kitchen eagerly. Without wasting a second, Molly galloped to her bedroom and seized the detective, hauling him into the living room - thankfully, the man had dressed and attempted to tame his unruly curls.
“We must do this again, dear,” Sherlock muttered cheekily, leaning forwards for the kiss he now craved. Before his lips could make contact, he was shoved roughly onto the floor behind the sofa, just as Sharlotte trotted back into the living room. Molly smiled sweetly, making sure the detective couldn’t be seen.
“Are you alright, dear?”
“I can’t reach.”
“Oh,” Molly started, kicking at Sherlock when he refused to stop pulling at her trouser leg, “um, if you wait in the kitchen I’ll be there in a moment,” the little girl nodded and disappeared, leaving Molly to hastily help Sherlock onto his feet and glare at him, “what?”
“You stood on my hand!” He hissed back, pouting as he rubbed at the angry red marks on his skin; Molly rolled her eyes and took his hand in hers, briefly kissing it tenderly.
“There. I’ll make it up to you later,” Sherlock raised an eyebrow, deciding he was very much enjoying himself. Molly threw open her living room window and smiled, pushing at him, “good luck.”
He swooped in for a kiss and clambered out of the window whilst Molly returned to the kitchen, feeling very pleased with herself; they'd done it, lied to their friends yet again. Oh, she couldn't wait to sit them down and tell them properly...in a good few months, when she and Sherlock were out of the 'honeymoon phase' of their new relationship. Molly hummed a happy tune as she prepared two bowls of strawberry ice cream, bringing them through to the living room; she peered out onto the empty fire escape, grinning to herself before slamming it shut. She and Sharlotte curled up on her sofa, watching their favourite cartoons and slurping up their ice cream; several minutes later, a single knock sounded at Molly’s front door. The pathologist gasped in an exaggerated fashion, slowly turning to look at her goddaughter.
“I wonder who that could be?”
Sharlotte grinned in excitement, “pizza!”
“Shall we go and have a look?”
Sharlotte raced over to the front door, jumping up for the handle; the door swung open to reveal Sherlock Holmes, dishevelled and, well, looking as though he’d spent the night in Molly’s flat. Thankfully, Sharlotte didn't pay attention and merely squealed, leaping into his arms. She dragged him inside and sat him on the sofa, crawling into his lap and hugging him tightly; Molly smiled, feigning shock.
“Well…this is unexpected. How was the case?”
His look was positively sinful, as was his smirk, “very pleasant.”
They were still staring at each other when Sharlotte spoke up, “Uncle Sherlock?”
Sherlock finally tore his gaze from his lover, looking down at his other favourite girl, pulling his young niece tight against him, “yes, my little sunflower?”
The little girl's brow wrinkled in confusion, “why didn’t you just come out of the bedroom?”
As Sharlotte munched her fourth bowl of ice cream, she began to wonder if she'd ever get a straight answer...