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

The wariness in the way she eyes his Madras curry nearly makes him giggle again.

"I'm not having coke and I'm not about to sprint five city blocks, Molly, it'll be perfectly fine."

Her warmth re-settles next to him--funny, that the last time he saw her in this kitchen she was on edge and now she's totally relaxed.

"Remind me to show you something after lunch."

From:

theonewhocounted

"Alright, well, you know where the loo is," she says before she goes back to her own curry, taking sips of her water in between. It's not too hot really, just spicy enough. Good spicy.

"If what you have to show me has anything to do with that last bit of story, then I'm a little concerned."

His mind moves 1000 kilometers an hour so she knows he's probably already 20 topics away from the previous one, but hers is a little slower and she finds the jump in subject amusing. Sometimes she can follow how he's gotten from one seemingly unrelated subject to another and sometimes she can't find the links of association.

From:

punchmeitssubtext

"What--oh god, no, even I know that's terrible relationship etiquette for everyone except penguins." He has another bite. It might be near impossible for him to keep track of things in the normal, regimented ways other people do, but he knows his last full meal was a couple of days ago and it's a good idea to refuel more often now that he knows he'll be devoting some energy to... emotional stuff. (Okay, and sex.)

Plus, rather than being the crack in a lens, Molly's presence just sort of tilts that lens a bit so it's turned on different things. Not only can he taste all the ingredients, but the tastes register as something he likes. Something with value.

From:

theonewhocounted

She laughs.

"Okay, good," she says. "Just making sure."

It doesn't escape her though that's he's just referred to this as a 'relationship.' She's not sure he even knows he's done it or that they technically haven't talked about that. He probably doesn't even know that usually there's a discussion where you decide things are official. He'd find it entirely dull and unnecessary, she's sure. Or maybe in his mind they're halfway to married. He does think on a whole other timeline (ss much as she loves this man, that's a vaguely terrifying thought.).

"How's your dish? Good, I hope."

From:

punchmeitssubtext

(In Sherlock's mind, the link is a simple one: a relationship means both parties are significant to each other. Also a Facebook status for announcing yourself to be either off-limits or desperate to be single again, depending.)

"Better than what we get at Baker Street, actually. Shame we're not in their delivery zone, the flavors are noticeably less of a culinary sledgehammer."

He eyes her food, and his smile quirks.

"Based on how often you order it I don't need to ask about yours."

He might sound just a touch smug about that.

From:

theonewhocounted

"I can always bring you some when I come over," she says, forgetting for a moment that no one is coming over to 221B for a while. "Once you're back in, of course."

She takes one last bite of her curry before she makes herself stop. She's getting far too full for her own good.

"I'm not sure if it's creepy or kind of romantic that you've stalked my curry shop orders on my laptop in order to pick my favourite."

From:

punchmeitssubtext

"I wasn't stalking, I was researching. And you know I'd have deduced it anyway." He's slowing down, too; he might be absurdly thin but he's not a bottomless pit. Plus the spice has, in fact, reddened her lips slightly, which is a very attractive and distracting look on her.

From:

theonewhocounted

"Potato, potahto," she teases with a smirk as she starts putting the cover back on her container so she can save it for later, but then stops.

"Oh, did you want to try some of mine before I put it away? It is really good. Might become your new favourite too."

Molly is serious about plumping him out. As long as she doesn't also plump herself at the same time.

From:

punchmeitssubtext

She keeps pushing back, challenging him in these very small ways, and every one makes him want to get closer to her.

"Game on," he says, and scoops up a bite for himself.

It's different--not as much heat as the one he likes, but a significant kick all the same, with an unfamiliar balance of sweet and savory. It's another clue to the complexities of what she prefers and who she is.

It's delicious.

"Mm--" He's almost reluctant to swallow. "--okay, that is vastly better than the one close to us."

From:

theonewhocounted

She grins, entirely pleased that he's willing to try her dish. She's even more pleased that he seems to even enjoy it. Sherlock is a creature of habit who generally only seems to want to try the things he comes up with himself. Getting him to deviate is a proud moment for her. Actually, this whole day has been a deviation for him. Molly's version of smug is looking like someone brought her a puppy. They kind of have - floppy hair and all.

"Have more if you like," she says, pushing the container a bit closer to him.

From:

punchmeitssubtext

"I'm okay for now. Much more and I won't be able to demonstrate."

He fastens the lid on his own container--she's right, they do give large portions--and sits up a bit, head inclining towards the front room.

"Ought to be enough space for it out front, when you're ready."

From:

theonewhocounted

Molly looks confused.

"Demonstrate?" she asks, looking a bit confused and wary. His demonstrations at Baker Street usually have to do with noxious chemicals and explosions.

From:

punchmeitssubtext

He gets to his feet, smirking faintly as he strides past her to put their food in the fridge.

"Front room, Molly. Fifth position."

(He's entirely forgotten that he left the Belstaff and his scarf and jacket in a crumpled heap in the front room the night before.)

From:

theonewhocounted

Molly's eyebrows raise. He does like to be dramatic.

"Alright," she says slowly even has her wariness turns to amusement. She stands up and heads into the sitting room.

Toby has not forgotten about Sherlock's coat on the floor and has returned there for an afternoon snooze. Molly's initial reaction is to shoo him away, but he's looking so cute that she doesn't have the heart. Besides, Toby owes them from his usual routine being so rudely interrupted.

"Toby, you're not going to win him over this way," she says to the cat. One eye opens to look at her and immediately closes again.

From:

punchmeitssubtext

It only takes him a minute to catch up to her--and his own expression ends up caught between amusement and offense.

"Mittens," he says, like Toby will understand the threat. "Furry little bastard."

Still, at least napping in the coat he can't interrupt.

"Right. Fifth position, arms out, stand facing away from me."

From:

theonewhocounted

"I think he likes you," she says about Toby, not sure that's true at all.

She then goes to a clear spot on the floor and crosses her feet so the heel of her right foot is touching the toe of her left. Her arms come out in second as instructed. She then looks over her shoulder for him, curious as to what his plan is.

From:

punchmeitssubtext

He's already moving up behind her. When she catches his eye his smile shifts, becomes something warm and secret.

"Keep your back straight and trust me."

And then he sweeps her into a perfect fishdive, handling her as if she's weightless. She's nearly parallel with her own floor, her feet higher than her head, and he knows exactly how to hold her so she won't fall.

From:

theonewhocounted

The smile definitely warms her, that's for sure.

She doesn't have much time to sit in that feeling though before she is suddenly lifted and turned on her edge. A surprised squeak leaves her mouth but somehow, even taken by surprise, her muscles remember and her arm reaches forward and her leg goes into passé. It's been ages since she's done this though so she can't imagine she really hitting the pose that well. She didn't break herself though, so that's a plus.

"Jesus, Sherlock," she says, a bit breathless from the surprise of it and from his arm around her tightly, holding her up.

From:

punchmeitssubtext

Even though she lets out a startled noise, he can feel her stretching into her muscle memory, following his lead. She really does have gorgeous hands, whether they're moving through autopsy work or perfectly curved for a ballet flourish.

"Started practicing again last year." His voice is low, breath warm on the back of her neck. "Helped me build my strength back up. Haven't gotten to do this since I was in uni, though."

From:

theonewhocounted

It's one thing to be able to do a ballet lift, it's another entirely to have studied the art. It's the difference between her being impressed and her falling in love with him again. She pictures a young Sherlock in studio in dance clothes, practicing, or on stage in tights and costume executing leaps and turns and lifts.

"I had no idea," she says, still breathless, but now it's because she's getting turned on. Christ. Whether it's intentional or not, he's practically seducing her with ballet.

From:

punchmeitssubtext

Gently he pulls her upright again, setting her lightly back on her feet. But his arm doesn't unwind from its place around her waist--instead he holds her against him, so he can lean down and whisper.

"Nor does anyone else."

Even John doesn't know about this. (And he's never really been inclined to share--at least not with the way John needles him sometimes about being, in his words, "a bit public-school".)

Another man might bring the woman he loves flowers. Sherlock, instead, offers her a secret, something tiny and precious and hidden.

From:

theonewhocounted

Her arms settle on top of his as he keeps her close. She closes her eyes and the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end when he whispers in her ear.

"John?" she asks, knowing that it's possible Sherlock doesn't consider John 'anyone else.' In Sherlock's mind, she thinks he probably sees John as more an extension of himself.

From:

punchmeitssubtext

"Hasn't got a clue."

(Well, that might not be strictly true, but Sherlock knows his best friend hasn't guessed how much training he had before they met, or that he specializes in ballet. For all John knows, he has no rhythm whatsoever and is just a very fancy tit who likes to go to the theatre more than average.)

His lips graze the curve of her ear; he takes a long, deep breath of her.

From:

theonewhocounted

"Oh," she says like a revelation. This is just for her, for them. She's the only one he wants to share this with. (Mycroft probably knows too because he knows everything, but he doesn't count.) It's better than any actual gift. He's trusting her with this information, that she won't run off and tell or make fun of him for it. It makes her feel special.

A shiver runs through her body at the feel of his lips and him breathing her in. It makes her feel desired.

From:

punchmeitssubtext

She sighs out the word quietly, a low and surprised breath, and it's as great a triumph as a standing ovation. Maybe more so, because she's not pulling away and she hasn't made any kind of biting remark. Instead she's still warm and pliant and poised in his arms.

He's given her something, and she's accepted it in perfect trust.

Now that he thinks about it, she's always been reliable with his secrets.

His arm tightens around her slightly; his other hand, which supported her through the lift, flattens gently against her thigh. And he can't help himself--he has to kiss the exposed curve of her throat, soft and slow.