She turns and tips her head, finding his mouth with hers, and for a few seconds all Sherlock can do is kiss her. The first long taste of her leaves him stunned for a second, unable to do anything but process the sweep of her tongue against his own, the flavors that have nothing to do with what she's been eating and that are simply hers.

When they separate for a moment, as he loosens his grip enough to let her turn and face him, he manages a single word against her lips, a low moan and a request--

"Molly..."

--and then he can't help himself, he has to kiss her again, has to taste her answer before he hears it.