"It's my dad's recipe," she says as she cuts a forkful of sugar and lime crepe off. "They were his favorite to make on Sunday mornings. I don't know what he adapted the recipe from though."
The bite of crepe makes it into her mouth and she immediately looks pleased.
"Oh. Your grandma's combination is nice. I like it."
She doesn't know why but there's something really nice about blending her dad's crepes with his grandmum's condiments.
"Thank you. And it goes well with your dad's batter. So."
He's not-so-secretly pleased that he's offering her something both unusual and personal and she genuinely likes it. He did that with the fishdive, and the night at the ballet, and now his grandmother's style of crepes, and every time she's met him with warmth and delighted surprise.
It's never been easy for him to share so much of himself with someone. But the more he shares with Molly, the more he finds he wants to tell her, as if he could open windows into his mind palace and let her look in.
"Crepes on Sundays, Dr. Mario, and fishing," he muses. "Based on what I know about you I wouldn't have guessed."
"You read my mind," she says and smiles before taking another bite of crepe. "In the good way."
Not in the "deducing your darkest secrets in front of everyone" way.
And then he even admits to not being able to deduce her, which is another surprise.
"Well, that's probably because Sherlock Holmes never guesses."
She bumps his shoulder with her's playfully and smiles, echoing a statement he'd made about himself long ago when someone had implied he'd made a lucky guess about something or other.
"But I'm glad I can keep you guessing anyway. And you know I'm pretty much an open book so you can always just ask whatever you like to know."
All this casual contact is having a fascinating effect on him. It's both soothing and highly stimulating. It's as if he's getting much more oxygen, or he's recovering from some sort of long-term illness. Yes, logically he knows it's all brain chemistry at work, and there are dozens of papers stored in his mind palace to back that up, but those are far less interesting to him right now than observing her firsthand.
"That's a dangerous blanket permission to give, Molly," he says, a grin stretching his mouth. But saying her name sets off that first wave of curiosity. "You know. Actually. I know you've seen my full name, when you did the death certificate, but I don't know yours. You haven't got anything monogrammed with your initials in your wardrobe, and I haven't seen them on any jewellery..."
"Well, you noticed I just said you could ask," she points out. "I didn't say I would definitely answer."
She smiles cheekily in reply to his grin.
"I think I'm flattered that you haven't had your brother do a full-on background check on me."
Molly assumed he already knows mostly everything about her that one could find from a paper trail, but it's kind of nice that he doesn't. They'll have more to discuss at least.
"Margaret Ann-Marie," he echoes, turning the name over in his mouth. "You're right to use Molly, it suits you better. Less ordinary."
As he says it, his eyes warm, the realization rolling over him. Like him, she's changed which version of her name she uses in everyday life. There's a sudden sense of connection to her, of a distance being bridged.
It's so strong he doesn't even point out that Mycroft's already done the paper trail and he just hasn't asked to look at it. Not that he ever will. Mycroft has always been far more paranoid about the company he keeps than he himself has.
"I just always hated Margaret. It sounds like an old woman's name," she says. "The only person who calls me that is my mum. It's always weird when people read it off lists at the doctors or when telemarketers call."
She looks up from her crepes to see a new look in his eye. He seems...pleased at finding out this tidbit about her. Pleased and maybe endeared? She's not sure.
"That's exactly why I don't use William." That warmth makes its way to his voice, too, turning it into a pleased rumble. "For one thing, it makes me sound like I'm ninety, and for another there was this little shit named Billy Thorton who used to beat me up at school, so by the time I was seven I'd dropped it."
He reaches over to swipe a smear of sugar away from the corner of her lower lip with the tip of his index finger. Instead of wiping it off on a napkin, though, he simply licks it off. He'll have to experiment, but he's pretty sure the taste of her is an excellent chaser for just about any flavor profile.
"I don't know, I kind of like Will," she says with a shrug. "And I would have thought the name Sherlock would have got you beaten up more.
"Sorry you got beat up at all though. Kids can be so cruel."
Molly never got beat up but kids were sometimes crueler without fists.
After he wipes the sugar away she licks the spot on her lip anyway to get anything else left behind and then watches as he licks the sugar from his finger. It's so intimate, all of this. Talking about their parents and their names and their childhoods over breakfast makes her chest swell even more. She's worried her heart might burst at the seams even though she is a doctor and knows that's not possible. At least, not from something like love.
He watches her expression soften, just as he's swallowing a bite of crepe, and though he can't know what she's thinking he knows that she's every bit as present in this moment as he is.
Despite the parts of their names that don't fit them, despite all those nosy texts, despite the unhappy memories--they keep making their way back to each other, leaning into one another for support.
His fingers skim over her cheekbone as he tucks a lock of hair back behind her ear. It's a little easier to reach out to her every time he does it.
And every time he does, Molly registers it as a win. This frustratingly logical, machine-like man had evolved right before her. And not just this past week. It started long ago. She knew what he was capable of being. She saw in him a deep pool of emotions he tried so hard to repress. She saw it would kill him someday if he didn't start to admit they were there and they were valid. Now here he is and she never expected to be the one with him on the other side of that hurdle.
"Tell me what you're thinking," she requests. "I mean...if you want."
"Loads," he murmurs, hand stirring gently against the warm curve of her jaw. "Wondering about your dad's crepe recipe. Which of the boxes is likely to have the best view. When I'll see you next after this. Whether I ought to put something up on the blog to address the whole photo thing."
It'd likely just be a short statement--yes, I have a regular ballet date, she's tremendously intelligent, I will consider any harassment of her carte blanche to make your life a total hell--but he's not sure, yet, if it's either necessary or something she'll object to.
"Of course," she says with a fond smile as her head tilts into his hand just a bit. Of course he is thinking about a million things at once and far too fast for any normal person to keep up she's sure.
"I can share the recipe with you. Any box or seat will do. Whenever you like - you know where to find me. And...I don't know."
She hadn't thought about that - that he could address it out right on his own platform that people read. That they don't have to get the gossip from Tatler. If he were to just come out and say it, then would that cut down on the gossip and speculation? Or will that just stir up more interest in her?
She's always been quick to catch up to him, he realizes, and this is no exception. It's why he's preferred working with her over anyone else in the morgue or the lab, right from the beginning. His expression warms subtly.
"If things haven't died down in a week I'll address it," he says, "but in the meantime. As I do know where to find you, I'll meet you there when your shift ends, before your next day off. Provided I'm not on a case."
Although any case that would win out over time spent with Molly Hooper is going to have to be an absolute corker.
"Alright," she says with a nod. Hopefully no one will really care that much, aside from Meena and Sophie who know her history with Sherlock.
"And I work a 12 hour starting tomorrow at 7am and then an overnight on Friday. I don't know if I'll be in much shape to do anything but sleep by 7am on Saturday. Might be better to plan on something later that day after I've had a few hours....If you're not on a case anyway."
Molly knows that cases will come first, especially the really interesting ones. That's okay with her. He's got a job, like she's got a job. Or sort of like she's got a job. His is just erratic and unpredictable. She can live with it.
omg it was amazing. *_* and hopefully snow day from work tomorrow...
"I could bring breakfast," he suggests. "Or lunch, I suppose, depending on whether Rosie sleeps through the night."
Yes, he sometimes gets up in the middle of the night when his goddaughter starts crying to address the situation. Or, well. Often it's not so much that he gets up as that he's already up and he might as well help because John's still having a rough go of it most days.
"Although it's entirely likely I'll see you at work before then."
"I thought it might be likely," Molly says with a pleased smile. He did stop by often when she was working to get access to the lab or morgue, so it wouldn't be weird for him to do so now. Except that some of her coworkers know about them. That might be awkward. She doesn't want to seem unprofessional, having her boyfriend(?) coming by her workplace. She's also not sure about calling him her boyfriend. Partner? Male friend? Yeah, no. Not that last one.
"But, if not, breakfast or lunch on Saturday would be good. I'll be hungry after my shift."
She usually ate a little something before going to bed. Overnights really messed her up though.
(He's really not fond of the word boyfriend, because he's hardly a boy anymore, but there are really very few terms in English that even come close to sounding acceptable. Though he supposes he's grateful they're not French, as he remembers learning that the standard phrase for someone you're in a relationship with is petite amie, and Molly is certainly a lot more than a 'little friend'.)
"And it'll be more than crisps this time, as it's a terrible idea to eat those in bed."
"Oh, are we eating in bed?" she asks with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. "Going to feed me bonbons?"
She giggles at the idea of it. She's never found the idea of bringing food into bedroom activities as that appealing. It seems messy more than sexy. Although she's not opposed to breakfast in bed.
He finds himself laughing too, caught up in the absurdity of the idea. It makes for a very dramatic image, like something you might see on the cover of a terrible romance novel.
"Feed you? Are you planning to handcuff yourself to the headboard?"
Although as soon as he's said it, he finds himself actually considering the idea, which is... actually sort of appealing. Not the bonbons part of it, though, just the handcuffs.
Molly's eyebrows shoot up at the question and then she gets a devilish little smirk.
"I don't know, do you want me handcuffed to the headboard?" she counters, knowing that he probably didn't even mean that sexually. At least, not initially. As soon as it's out of his mouth she can see the wheels turning.
Abruptly the moment's starting to change, the heat between them sparking up again. It's probably going to keep being a little alarming to him for a while that his sexual response to her can be as immediate and powerful as it is, but right now that only adds to the thrill.
"I might," he says, his voice dropping a bit. "Though I didn't bring my cuffs, so I'd have to use the scarf instead."
And just like that, Molly's lost the upper hand in the conversation. Her bit of teasing had quickly been made into a possible reality with Sherlock's response which brings a sudden onslaught of visuals to her, never mind he's suggesting utilizing his scarf. It's possible the scarf has made its way into her fantasies before.
"Uh...yes...the scarf would be...fine," she says, blushing at her own imagination. "I mean...if you're serious."
They've barely got food into them and they're already talking about sex again. Not that she's surprised by it. It's usually how things start out. And she's certainly not got a problem with it.
He realizes his window of focus is about to start narrowing dangerously.
"We should put away the nutella, at least," he says--after all, even if he and Toby don't exactly get along, that cat is very dear to Molly and he'd hate to be responsible for Toby getting sick off food that shouldn't be out. "But. Yes. I am serious."
Molly huffs out a laugh because the whole thing is still so absurd to her in some ways. Sherlock and her just sitting at her kitchen counter discussing which food to put away before having a shag. Totally normal.
"If you can wait until I can get the perishables back into the fridge, then I can," she suggests. There are a lot of leftover crepes, which is good because neither of them have eaten nearly enough and they'll be hungry again after this round for sure. "I'll be quick."
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The bite of crepe makes it into her mouth and she immediately looks pleased.
"Oh. Your grandma's combination is nice. I like it."
She doesn't know why but there's something really nice about blending her dad's crepes with his grandmum's condiments.
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He's not-so-secretly pleased that he's offering her something both unusual and personal and she genuinely likes it. He did that with the fishdive, and the night at the ballet, and now his grandmother's style of crepes, and every time she's met him with warmth and delighted surprise.
It's never been easy for him to share so much of himself with someone. But the more he shares with Molly, the more he finds he wants to tell her, as if he could open windows into his mind palace and let her look in.
"Crepes on Sundays, Dr. Mario, and fishing," he muses. "Based on what I know about you I wouldn't have guessed."
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Not in the "deducing your darkest secrets in front of everyone" way.
And then he even admits to not being able to deduce her, which is another surprise.
"Well, that's probably because Sherlock Holmes never guesses."
She bumps his shoulder with her's playfully and smiles, echoing a statement he'd made about himself long ago when someone had implied he'd made a lucky guess about something or other.
"But I'm glad I can keep you guessing anyway. And you know I'm pretty much an open book so you can always just ask whatever you like to know."
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"That's a dangerous blanket permission to give, Molly," he says, a grin stretching his mouth. But saying her name sets off that first wave of curiosity. "You know. Actually. I know you've seen my full name, when you did the death certificate, but I don't know yours. You haven't got anything monogrammed with your initials in your wardrobe, and I haven't seen them on any jewellery..."
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She smiles cheekily in reply to his grin.
"I think I'm flattered that you haven't had your brother do a full-on background check on me."
Molly assumed he already knows mostly everything about her that one could find from a paper trail, but it's kind of nice that he doesn't. They'll have more to discuss at least.
"Margaret Ann-Marie Hooper."
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As he says it, his eyes warm, the realization rolling over him. Like him, she's changed which version of her name she uses in everyday life. There's a sudden sense of connection to her, of a distance being bridged.
It's so strong he doesn't even point out that Mycroft's already done the paper trail and he just hasn't asked to look at it. Not that he ever will. Mycroft has always been far more paranoid about the company he keeps than he himself has.
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"Is that why you use Sherlock instead of William?
"I just always hated Margaret. It sounds like an old woman's name," she says. "The only person who calls me that is my mum. It's always weird when people read it off lists at the doctors or when telemarketers call."
She looks up from her crepes to see a new look in his eye. He seems...pleased at finding out this tidbit about her. Pleased and maybe endeared? She's not sure.
"What?"
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He reaches over to swipe a smear of sugar away from the corner of her lower lip with the tip of his index finger. Instead of wiping it off on a napkin, though, he simply licks it off. He'll have to experiment, but he's pretty sure the taste of her is an excellent chaser for just about any flavor profile.
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"Sorry you got beat up at all though. Kids can be so cruel."
Molly never got beat up but kids were sometimes crueler without fists.
After he wipes the sugar away she licks the spot on her lip anyway to get anything else left behind and then watches as he licks the sugar from his finger. It's so intimate, all of this. Talking about their parents and their names and their childhoods over breakfast makes her chest swell even more. She's worried her heart might burst at the seams even though she is a doctor and knows that's not possible. At least, not from something like love.
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Despite the parts of their names that don't fit them, despite all those nosy texts, despite the unhappy memories--they keep making their way back to each other, leaning into one another for support.
His fingers skim over her cheekbone as he tucks a lock of hair back behind her ear. It's a little easier to reach out to her every time he does it.
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"Tell me what you're thinking," she requests. "I mean...if you want."
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It'd likely just be a short statement--yes, I have a regular ballet date, she's tremendously intelligent, I will consider any harassment of her carte blanche to make your life a total hell--but he's not sure, yet, if it's either necessary or something she'll object to.
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"I can share the recipe with you. Any box or seat will do. Whenever you like - you know where to find me. And...I don't know."
She hadn't thought about that - that he could address it out right on his own platform that people read. That they don't have to get the gossip from Tatler. If he were to just come out and say it, then would that cut down on the gossip and speculation? Or will that just stir up more interest in her?
back from vacation~! <3
"If things haven't died down in a week I'll address it," he says, "but in the meantime. As I do know where to find you, I'll meet you there when your shift ends, before your next day off. Provided I'm not on a case."
Although any case that would win out over time spent with Molly Hooper is going to have to be an absolute corker.
\o/ I hope you had a great time!
"And I work a 12 hour starting tomorrow at 7am and then an overnight on Friday. I don't know if I'll be in much shape to do anything but sleep by 7am on Saturday. Might be better to plan on something later that day after I've had a few hours....If you're not on a case anyway."
Molly knows that cases will come first, especially the really interesting ones. That's okay with her. He's got a job, like she's got a job. Or sort of like she's got a job. His is just erratic and unpredictable. She can live with it.
omg it was amazing. *_* and hopefully snow day from work tomorrow...
Yes, he sometimes gets up in the middle of the night when his goddaughter starts crying to address the situation. Or, well. Often it's not so much that he gets up as that he's already up and he might as well help because John's still having a rough go of it most days.
"Although it's entirely likely I'll see you at work before then."
Awesome! And I already have a snow day. :D
"But, if not, breakfast or lunch on Saturday would be good. I'll be hungry after my shift."
She usually ate a little something before going to bed. Overnights really messed her up though.
UPDATE SNOW DAYS ARE THE BEST
(He's really not fond of the word boyfriend, because he's hardly a boy anymore, but there are really very few terms in English that even come close to sounding acceptable. Though he supposes he's grateful they're not French, as he remembers learning that the standard phrase for someone you're in a relationship with is petite amie, and Molly is certainly a lot more than a 'little friend'.)
"And it'll be more than crisps this time, as it's a terrible idea to eat those in bed."
THEY ARE.
She giggles at the idea of it. She's never found the idea of bringing food into bedroom activities as that appealing. It seems messy more than sexy. Although she's not opposed to breakfast in bed.
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"Feed you? Are you planning to handcuff yourself to the headboard?"
Although as soon as he's said it, he finds himself actually considering the idea, which is... actually sort of appealing. Not the bonbons part of it, though, just the handcuffs.
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"I don't know, do you want me handcuffed to the headboard?" she counters, knowing that he probably didn't even mean that sexually. At least, not initially. As soon as it's out of his mouth she can see the wheels turning.
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"I might," he says, his voice dropping a bit. "Though I didn't bring my cuffs, so I'd have to use the scarf instead."
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"Uh...yes...the scarf would be...fine," she says, blushing at her own imagination. "I mean...if you're serious."
They've barely got food into them and they're already talking about sex again. Not that she's surprised by it. It's usually how things start out. And she's certainly not got a problem with it.
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"We should put away the nutella, at least," he says--after all, even if he and Toby don't exactly get along, that cat is very dear to Molly and he'd hate to be responsible for Toby getting sick off food that shouldn't be out. "But. Yes. I am serious."
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"If you can wait until I can get the perishables back into the fridge, then I can," she suggests. There are a lot of leftover crepes, which is good because neither of them have eaten nearly enough and they'll be hungry again after this round for sure. "I'll be quick."
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