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Molly cursed under her breath as she flipped through the files Stamford had sent to her. Pathology reports, autopsy reports, and forensic reports from half a dozen different active cases were jumbled up in the pile, and it was up to her to figure out which file went with which case before sending them over to New Scotland Yard. She was doubly irritated because Sherlock had yet to come in today to obtain the fingers she said she had for him last week. Part of her was still angry at him, but most of her just wanted to see him again, even if their relationship would only ever be a working one.
She walked into the lab and her heart leapt when she saw him sitting at his normal stool in front of “his” microscope. The fingers she had set aside for him were laying on a metal tray next to him, the nail bed removed from one of them. She walked behind him, half distracted by an incomplete pathology report that had caught her eye, stopping to place the pile on the counter only a bit away from him.
“Sherlock,” she greeted him absentmindedly.
“Molly,” he rumbled in response.
She cursed under her breath as she flicked through the other reports in her pile. Looks like she’d be staying late to finish them again. She heard the petri dish clatter and her eyes flicked up briefly to watch him. She smiled gently.
“You found the fingers, then?” she asked, trying to make conversation. To feel out where they stood after… everything.
“Obviously,” he remarked dismissively. Her heart clenched at his tone. Back to normal then, are we? she thought to herself. Her shoulders slumped just the tiniest bit and the light in her eyes flickered and died. She looked at him for a bit, then nodded to herself, as though deciding something. She straightened her shoulders and the fire in her eyes reappeared.
“You could say thank you, actually,” she stated, her tone coming out a little harsher than she intended.
Sherlock started and turned to look at her. She was surprised at how his eyes grew soft and his lips quirked up in a tiny smile. He nodded at her.
“Thank you, Molly.”
Molly gaped at him for a moment.
“You’re—you’re welcome,” she replied. He returned to the slide under his microscope, more or less dismissing her. Smiling slightly, she returned to the files in front of her and began going through them. After a beat, she heard him move from the stool and approach her.
“Molly?” he asked.
She looked up at him, her eyes searching and concerned at the expression on his face. “Sherlock? What is it? What do you need?”
He looked so unsure and scared—it would have been comical if it wasn’t so heartrending. She felt him grasp her wrist, forcing her to face him straight on. His pulse beat a wild tattoo at his neck. He reached up and brushed his fingers across her cheek, his touch shaky and unconfident. Her eyes fluttered closed as she inhaled sharply at his caress, leaning into it.
“I had a litany of things I wanted to say,” he began, “but I find that they have all vacated my mind.” He swallowed hard.
She opened her eyes and met his gaze, asking the question she knew she always would until the end of time.
“What do you need?” she whispered, her hand coming up to rest on his chest, over his heart. It felt as though it was going to beat straight out of his chest and into her hand.
“You,” he murmured. Her eyes closed as his lips came down to graze hers gently. His other hand left her wrist and came up to frame her face as he softly kissed her. A warmth sparked in Molly’s heart and spread throughout her body as Sherlock slowly moved his mouth against hers. Memories flashed in her mind of their previous encounters: of hot tongues, love bites, and mindless pleasure. This kiss was nothing like them.
She nipped at his bottom lip as she reached around his waist to pull him closer. Sherlock pressed more firmly against her mouth, grazing his tongue against hers. Pressing a final kiss to her lips, he pulled away and rested his forehead against hers.
“Sherlock?” Molly whispered, her throat working against the emotions that threatened. His kisses told her everything she needed to know about how he felt about her.
Sherlock loved her.
Truly, madly, deeply loved her.
He exhaled and swallowed with a click. “Come to Baker Street after your shift,” he said huskily, roughly. “We can talk then.”
Molly nodded as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Okay.”
With a final graze of his lips, Molly let him go. He picked up his coat from where it rested on the counter and shrugged it on. Reaching the door, he pushed it open, only to pause and look back at her. Molly stood frozen, watching him leave with a soft smile on her face.
“Thank you, Molly,” he said.
Her smile dropped as her brow furrowed in confusion. “For what?”
“For making me say it first,” he replied. He beamed at her. “I’ll see you later.”
He left before he saw Molly’s face light up like the sun.