theonewhocounted | (no subject)

theonewhocounted

The Bright Spot Meme

(Was there every a more suitable meme for dear Molly?)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

punchmeitssubtext

He may still be prickly, awkward, socially awful Sherlock, but he's happy with her and it shows. Before now he'd only really imagined sharing little bits of himself with the few people he considers close friends, but Molly's here for ballet and gruesome anecdotes and him, all of it rolled together, and that's so new he's a bit drunk on it.

There is, in fact, plenty of free champagne. And they do run into the choreographer who secured their tickets--as well as an incredibly handsome American dancer who's apparently on loan to the Royal Ballet for the season--and somehow Sherlock puffs up even more when he introduces Molly to them this time. Both choreographer and dancer treat Molly like she's royalty, which seems about right to Sherlock.

(In fact, on their way into the theatre proper, he overhears a little girl nearby ask her mother if the lady in the blue dress is a princess. He hopes Molly's heard as well, though personally he thinks princesses are overrated. Who'd want a princess when you can have a pathologist?)

And even if he's not nearly as open with her in public as he is in private, he finds he's not embarrassed when he catches people staring at his hand clasping Molly's. He's no longer ashamed to be caught caring about someone--or even afraid of it. Yes, the events of the last year have made it clearer than ever that love is the quickest way to the most profound kinds of hurt, but every minute he has with Molly now is memorable and brilliant enough to chase away the fear that he'll lose everything he has somehow.

Her hairstyle and the neckline of her dress draw his attention to the soft and impossibly attractive curve of her throat as they start to find their seats, and Sherlock's pulse speeds up a little. The ballet's only eighty minutes or so, but Sherlock knows it's going to seem a lot longer once they're sitting side by side in the dark.

For a second he does sort of wish they'd skipped the whole thing to drag one another back to bed. Is this how normal people feel as kids, he wonders, on Christmas Eve? Split between agony that something's almost close enough to taste and a dizzy anticipation of what's to come?

From:

theonewhocounted

Molly is beside herself meeting both choreographer and a principal dancer. She's a bit awkward as usual, but if either of the men notice, they don't let on - plying her with champagne and praising her attire. Combined with Sherlock at her side, it's more male attention than she's received in a long time. It feels really good actually and she's all rosy cheeks and smiles by the time they make it to their seats.

She does hear the little girl's comment, but she doesn't register that it might be about her until they've sat down. It's definitely a surprise. Molly's never felt much like a princess. Well, maybe Cinderella before her fairy godmother shows up. There isn't exactly a Disney princess who cuts open dead people and mostly wears ill-fitting clothing.

Once she's settled in, she feels Sherlock's eyes on her and she catches him eyeing her exposed neck a bit hungrily and she blushes. It's a good thing she didn't go with the low-cut dress option she'd also tried on, he might jump her where she sits. She just smirks at him and takes his hand again. It's the safest form of contact right now.

Edited Date: 2017-02-23 01:07 am (UTC)

From:

punchmeitssubtext

His fingers twine through hers, and for a quiet moment he's unbelievably grateful that she's here at all. After everything they've been through, after everything he's done and been responsible for, he somehow still has this chance at something he's been too stubborn and frightened to admit he craves.

And how many people can say they've taken the most significant and painful emotional risk of their lives and ended up at the ballet with a clever, interesting, and frankly bloody gorgeous woman?

He shifts in his seat a little, clasps her hand just a bit more tightly. The lights start to dim, which seems strangely appropriate. He's sharing a secret in public with her, and she's the only one who can tell how important this is, how firmly she's connected to him on a level he's never let anyone approach before.

From:

theonewhocounted

Molly can feel the weight of this night in the way he's been holding on to her hand, the way he's been parading her around like he's proud to be with her. She knows how huge all of this is for him and she hopes that she can be all the things he needs .

As the lights dim, she feels excited for the upcoming performance and sits up a little taller in her seat. She doesn't want to miss a moment. She smiles over at him and then looks back to the stage as the music starts and the first dancers step out onto the stage.

From:

punchmeitssubtext

Molly would likely be shocked if she knew that he is proud to be with her, as proud to show off the fact that someone truly loves him as he was to show off after John had called him his best friend. And all he needs her to be, all he's ever needed her to be when she's helped him most, is herself.

*

During the performance he sneaks glances at her, alternating between being absorbed in the dancers' fine form and energy and being fascinated by the way Molly's reacting. Every time he catches her looking delighted by something, he tucks the image into his mind palace, trying to ignore the occasional adolescent skitter in his pulse.

(He does let go of her hand to applaud, at appropriate moments, but as soon as the applause is finished his fingers find hers in the dark again.)

There's no interval, but between the pleasure of the ballet itself and the newer, sweeter pleasure of studying her, it flies by.

All too soon--or maybe not a moment too soon--the heavy red-and-gold curtain falls, and Sherlock lets go of her hand again to join in the wave of applause that's breaking over the theatre. And this time when he glances at Molly, he's looking for a signal, something to tell him whether this evening will linger at its current warmth or blossom into a fuller heat much more quickly.

From:

theonewhocounted

Mostly Molly is enrapt by the performance, but she does catch Sherlock watching her a couple times and smiles. She squeezes his hand to let him know that she is enjoying it immensely (if that wasn't already apparent). and that she's thrilled to be enjoying it with him.

When it ends, she's one of the first to get out of her seat for a standing ovation as the dancers come out for their final bows.

As the curtain falls for the final time and the lights come up, she is still grinning in pure delight. And when she looks over at him, she can't help but to lean over and give him a quick kiss, that lingers ever so slightly.

"Thank you," she says as she leans away and looks up at him. "That was...incredible."

The whole thing - their seats, meeting the dancers, being on his arm, and most of all, the performance. She forgot how very much she loves the ballet.

From:

punchmeitssubtext

[[ooc: that's so cool! What kind do you take now? I did tap dance for a couple of years in high school but I adore ballet and... I guess you could call Matthew Bourne productions ballet-adjacent? I was lucky enough to see his Sleeping Beauty: A Gothic Romance at the Kennedy Centre a couple of years ago and I own that and his Swan Lake on DVD. :D so that one little pirouette in So3 kinda gave me carte blanche to let out my inner dance fangirl, lol.]]

The look she gives him before she leans in to kiss him is one that sends light rippling through his mind palace. He's never managed to make anyone this genuinely happy before--maybe some of the things he said at John's wedding came close, but this is different, more intimate. And when she does kiss him, some small anxious thing in his chest uncoils, reassured by the contact.

(Thankfully she kisses him too quickly for anyone to fumble out their mobile and snap a photo, but before the end of the week there will be at least three blind items in gossip columns and on blogs. One of London's most eligible and least approachable semi-celebrity bachelors, out on the town with a stunning woman he's obviously mad for. Sorry, ladies and gentlemen, looks like somebody else gets to wear the hat for the foreseeable future.)

He smiles, but that kiss sets off a strange chemical reaction that's half affection and half arousal. God, he wants to get her home.

"Glad you enjoyed it," he says, and means it. "Come on. Let's get out of here before someone makes a speech."

From:

theonewhocounted

[ooc: I did almost everything growing up. Now I do contemporary/jazz and tap. I haven't heard of Matthew Bourne before (I love dance but have never been that up on choreographers and companies) but his stuff looks awesome. I've seen Midsummer Night's Dream done by the NYC ballet and an Alvin Ailey performance when I lived in NY but I didn't go as much as I should have and now I have way less access where I live. Regrets. lol. I loved the pirouette in So3! I'd love to break it down with Benedict Cumberbatch. He seems to love to dance. I'm always up for dance fangirling.]

Molly doesn't even think about the fact that other people might be watching them and that they might become a line item somewhere. She'd been worried about it before, knowing some will be mean to her, but she's so entranced by the evening and him that she's barely thinking outside the little bubble around the two of them. The people gathering their things and making their exit of the theatre are barely on her radar right now. It's just about him.

She takes his hand as he starts to head into the crowd that's all probably moving to the same spot (coat check).

"Eager for something?" she teases quietly in his ear, seeing a bit of the hunger from earlier bleeding through the affection in his look. She would be lying if she said she wasn't ready to get home as well.

From:

punchmeitssubtext

[ooc: ooh! You might like the documentary "Afternoon of a Faun", about Tanaquil Le Clercq, who was a star of the NYC Ballet and went on to advise and mentor at the Dance Theatre of Harlem after she contracted polio. lots of amazing archival footage of her performances, and she was a fascinating lady in general. :D and honestly someone needs to cast Benedict as a dancer somewhere, because he's impressively physical. that stripper sketch on SNL didn't count.]

He turns his head to look at her, to take in that warm and knowing and delighted smile on her face, and immediately he knows his brain's on a timer. Logic is losing ground with every passing second, fading as desire hits him like the first delayed tingles of an oncoming high.

"Eager not to be arrested for public indecency," he says, his voice pitched somewhere between a purr and a growl. His grip on her hand tightens a little and he tugs her along, steering the two of them easily towards the coat check. Other ways detective skills are useful in the context of a relationship: knowing how to find the quickest way out of a crowded area.

The acquaintance he'd paid at the beginning of the night to watch their things sees him hurrying over and darts out from the coat check to hand them back. And, because he's Sherlock and of course he'd know the layout of this place backwards and forwards, Sherlock manages to find a nearly-hidden corridor for them to cut through onto a side street so they can avoid the rush to catch a cab out front.

From:

theonewhocounted

[ooc: Oh! That was playing at our indie cinema here a couple years back and I had planned on going but got sick and never managed to get there. It's on Netflix maybe though? I will definitely move it up in the queue. And I totally forgot he was on SNL! I missed that episode. I'll have to go do some YouTubing....]

Touché, she thinks when his response has the equal effect of making her a step closer to that public indecency arrest. His voice goes straight to her clit and if he wasn't hanging on so tightly to her hand, she might have been lost in the crowd as her brain tried to reset itself.

And suddenly he's got them to coat check and their coats just appear and he's dragging her down a hallway she hadn't even seen before and out onto the street. He's like some sort of magician.

"Well, that was bloody brilliant," she says as she lets him help her into her coat. "Remind me to take you out more."

She smirks, echoing his statement from earlier in the night.

From:

punchmeitssubtext

[ooc: If it's on Netflix, definitely move it up! and oh god I've only seen little bits of the SNL episode but this one absolutely killed me because you can tell he's having WAY too much fun with it.]

"I'll set an alert on my phone. Taxi!"

London cabs are, Sherlock thinks, one of the great miracles of the modern era. Somehow when you need one of those squat black shapes there's always one at least a block away from you. And sometimes they even bring serial killers to your door.

This one's driven by a perfectly harmless single mother putting herself through culinary school, thankfully. Sherlock won't realize it until much later, but this is the first time he's ever really thought of the possibility of a murder as a distraction from something vastly more interesting.

He has to let go of Molly's hand as they maneuver their way into the back seat of the cab, but once they're situated next to each other his hand settles on her knee. It's a charged touch, one that somehow makes his throat so dry he's not sure how he manages to give the cabbie the address they're bound for.

From:

theonewhocounted

[ooc: He's such a large child. I love it.]

Her hands her into the back of the cab and she shoves over so he can follow behind. It's only once he's settled next to her that she realizes that this is going to be a long ride; a thought punctuated by his hand settling on her stocking-covered knee. The simple touch lights a fire up her leg and through her body. Her shoulder is pressed to his and she finds that she can't look at him, for fear that if she does, she won't be able to stop herself from doing something very untoward. She doesn't think the taxi driver will appreciate a show.

"We could get a subscription," she says, suddenly, trying to think of anything to say to keep her attention away from other thoughts. "To the ballet...I mean. Or, I guess...that might be kind of...soon...to consider...I mean....we just..."

After it's out of her mouth, Molly realizes that it might be kind of sudden to just get a subscription to the theatre together. That's what couples do who have been together for years (or at least a year).

From:

punchmeitssubtext

"Yes," Sherlock says, or rather the word just sort of falls out of his mouth. She wants to be seen with him in public again. He's shared something with her that's always been closer to his heart than he's admitted to anyone else, and she likes it enough to want to see more. With him.

It means more to him than he has words for. It means something like a chemical change in him, in the way their lives are converging, an emotional reaction that gives off a heat and light like nothing else in his life.

It means you love her, Mary says gently, somewhere at the back of his mind where he keeps truths he needs to hear spoken in the voice of someone who can make them sound less frightening. It means John might be right about more than you thought. Now stop thinking about me so you can concentrate on doing filthy things to her when you get back.

His hand inches up, just a little, brushing the hem of her skirt.

"Yeah. That--would be good, actually."

From:

theonewhocounted

That one word stops her anxious rambling and makes a calm flow through her. They're really doing this and he wants to continue doing this, at least until the end of ballet season.

A laugh bubbles up through her at the thought because it's kind of ridiculous and she looks over at him.

"Yeah? Okay," she says and bites her lip, looking pleased. She bites it harder when his hand slides up just a bit.

From:

punchmeitssubtext

"Good. Well." He smiles, brief and a bit awkward.

Little by little, almost imperceptibly, his hand drifts further up her thigh. His window of concentration is narrowing sharply down around her.

As it's a Tuesday night, traffic isn't bad. It's a quiet, short ride, and thankfully the cabbie doesn't rabbit on about nothing.

Just as his fingers begin to curve toward her inner thigh, they pull up in front of her flat. The wave of dizziness that hits Sherlock is so strong he gives their driver a fifty instead of a twenty as he's getting out. (Not that he'll care later, when he figures out why he's fifty quid short.)

From:

theonewhocounted

Silence falls between them again and she's barely breathing as she feels his hand creep higher and higher. When the cab stops suddenly in front of her building, she lets out a rush of air at once. It feels like they've had foreplay and they've barely been touching.

"Thanks," Molly manages to breathe out to the driver as she follows him out of the cab into the chilly night air. Which is exactly what she needs right now if she's going to be able to concentrate enough to get her keys from her purse and put them in the keyhole. Her hands fumble with the clutch as she walks up the front steps and she's finally able to find the blasted things and let them inside. She's practically shaking with the anticipation of finally being alone with him.

From:

punchmeitssubtext

The second the door's closed behind them, the timer in Sherlock's brain goes off, the last of his patience and his filter burning out at the same time.

He doesn't even take off his coat.

Instead he puts his hands on Molly's shoulders, turns her to face him, and kisses her hard. A strangled little moan of relief escapes him as his mouth meets hers--finally, finally they're back here and she's his again.

From:

theonewhocounted

It's like it's all happening at once, the 'snick' of the door setting in place, his hands on her shoulders and his mouth on hers. Her body melts into his and she's just able to curl her hands into the lapels of his coat to keep herself upright as she kisses him back with as much relief as she feels in his voice.

From:

punchmeitssubtext

She meets him with a hunger that matches his own, and Sherlock pulls her in tight, hands sliding under her coat to pull her close to him by her hips. For a few seconds all he can focus on is the urgent need to refamiliarize himself with the feel of her tongue against his and the press of her body flush against his own.

God, but he's missed her.

From:

theonewhocounted

She'd missed him too and if things had been different, this is how she would have greeted him upon his return to London. While the hours they've spent together before this were wonderful, this is what she craves the most. His hands holding her close, his mouth exploring hers. She sighs in between kisses. Swoons, might be the better word. Sherlock Holmes makes her swoon.

Her hands come up to cup his chin to keep him as close as possible.

From:

punchmeitssubtext

Molly practically molds herself against him, sighing out delicious little breaths against his lips in the moments he's not kissing her, and every faint breathless sound she makes breaks over him like a high unfolding through his veins.

He could drown himself in this, in the sensation of her hands curving around his face, in her hungry kisses. Sherlock won't fully grasp it for some time yet, but he's been starving himself all his life in a number of ways and this is one of them. Molly is an absolute feast.

He's not really sure how, but suddenly one of his hands is trailing through the soft hair at the nape of her neck. The bun comes loose easily, spilling all that long hair over his fingers, and he moans again.

From:

theonewhocounted

Molly didn't necessarily expect Sherlock to be so wonderfully vocal in this capacity - moaning and signing with little care. It fuels her desire even more to hear how much he's enjoying himself. By the time he's pulling her hair down from its not at her neck, she is warm and itching - her coat and clothing suddenly feeling confining in the worst way. Part of her wants him to take her right here in her entryway and the other part wants this to last. As she continues kissing him, her desires are currently battling themselves and while also trying to figure out what he wants too.

Really, they win either way.

From:

punchmeitssubtext

It's several long moments before the need to kiss her dies down into something less frantic, something that allows him to pull back just far enough to whisper against her skin.

"Been wanting to do that for hours." His voice is low and hot; his hands start to move to the lapels of her coat to push it away from her shoulders. "And unless you have any objections I want to start with cunnilingus, because I've been wanting to do that for days."

From:

theonewhocounted

"Me too," she agrees, breathless from their kisses. She lets him push her coat off her shoulders and her arms go to her side so it drops to the floor in a pile. She doesn't care.

And if she was breathless before, what he says next very well knocks the wind right out of her. When that word falls from his mouth, somehow both clinical and obscene at once, it's like the oxygen has been sucked from the room and she feels dizzy as all the blood in her body moves southward suddenly.

"Oh..." is all she can manage at first. A sound of delighted surprise. "Yes...that would be....yes, alright..."

Her brain is too filled with the images of him between her legs, in order to form coherent thoughts.

From:

punchmeitssubtext

"Brilliant. Come on."

Somehow he manages to grab her hand, tug her through the darkened flat to her bedroom, get the door shut behind them--and then, because the thought strikes him, he dives for the lamp on her bedside table. He wants enough light to be able to see her face while they're having sex.

While he's got his arms free, he drops his overnight bag at the side of the bed, shrugs out of his coat and suit jacket just as carelessly as he did on Saturday morning and kicks off his shoes as quickly as he possibly can. And as soon as he's done, he turns back to her, blue-green gaze intense and hungry.

"Turn around," he nearly whispers, indicating the zipper at the back of her dress.