They have all the time he needs. Her only the plan for the day had been to do laundry, but screw laundry. She'll just buy a new wardrobe, if if means spending all her waking, non-work hours just like this.
She smiles at the new category he's created for her in his mind.
"I've always wondered if I have a space up there," she says quietly. She assumed if she did it was a tiny little corner filled with pilfered body parts and ugly jumpers.
She turns her head a bit to nuzzle his nose with her own and look into his eyes.
This moment right now is already being recorded for that space: Molly looking at him without fear or hurt, hair tousled and face flushed, fascinating.
It's an image he never expected to see, much less enjoy. And somehow he thinks he's better for having the chance.
As the shaking subsides, he lifts a hand to brush her hair back from her cheek, away from her marked throat. Even if the words themselves don't come at the moment, there's a clear I love you in that touch, and behind his eyes.
"Does it have loads of cats in it and Hobnobs?" she jokes but her smile turns softer and sober as he looks at her like that. She understands it, her eyes say she does. They also say and you know how I feel.
She files this moment away into her own mental file. It's not a palace, but her most important memories are there to be recalled when triggered or when she needs them. She knows the memory of this day will be called on frequently.
Sherlock watches her, the shift of muscles under her skin as she moves. He's never thought to imagine how her bare shoulderblade might look when she stretches for something, or how a patch of sunlight might fall over the barely-visible ridges of her vertebrae, but now that he's seeing it he wants to write it into a line of music.
That is, after all, usually the best way he can think of to say things that are difficult for him to sort out into neat, clever words.
He sits up a little, watching her intently. Already he's resolved that if she tries to put on any clothes yet he'll voice an objection immediately.
Molly sits up puts her feet on the floor before she reaches for the tissue box on the night stand. She grabs a couple and starts to clean his release off of her stomach. It's only when she's in the middle of it does she feel how he's watching her.
She looks over her shoulder at him and blushes, looking a bit shy before she puts the tissues into the rubbish bin. The final tissue she brings over to clean him up a bit before also throwing that one away.
"Do you want any water or anything while I'm up?" she asks him.
"What I want is for you to finish being up and get back in bed."
That falls out before he can stop it, and because he's Sherlock and possibly a little insecure, he fumbles for a joke to follow up on something so sentimental.
"But if getting a glass of water is some kind of post-coital etiquette I don't know about..."
Your lame joke is too late, Sherlock Holmes, Molly is already beaming at you and hears nothing after "get back in bed."
"It sounds like someone wants to cuddle," she teases him as she slides herself back into bed and proceeds to tangle herself up with him again, pulling the duvet over them both. "For lack of a better word which you have yet to provide."
She grins and kisses the side of his mouth. Sherlock Holmes is a post-coital cuddler. Who would have though?
"Shut up," he says, but it's fond and not at all sharp.
He does enjoy lying here like this with her, the way they did when he woke up this morning: him on his back, her weight pressing gently along his side and chest, arms draped around one another. It's easier to recover and process everything going through his head with her tucked against him, a reminder that being human isn't so terrible after all.
His head lolls to one side, so he can look her in the eye again. The smile really does do wonders for her mouth.
His "shut up" only makes her look at him more fondly. It feels like they're a normal couple doing normal couple things - having afternoon sex and cuddles and bickering.
When he turns his head to look at her, she leans in to press a kiss to his lips.
"I love you," she says quietly and seriously. She doesn't need him to say it in words again, but she feels compelled to tell him.
It's almost funny, that the facts about biochemistry and the relationship between hormones and pair-bonding stay firmly at the back of his mind where they belong. That she can always seem to find a way in past his genius to a part of him that simply cares too much to deflect something of real importance.
"I love you," he murmurs. Which is itself a statement of fact, just not one meant to break the heady power of the moment they're sharing.
Those words from his mouth fill her with a warmth like nothing else. Yes, he had said them last night, but it's hours later and he's still saying them.
She kisses his brow tenderly and then his lips before she tucks her head under his chin and sighs happily. Her bare body relaxes against his and the skin to skin contact is wonderful.
Before now, he's wondered how people could stand something that sounds as crushingly boring as simply being alone together. But lying here in contented quiet with Molly is... actually okay. His thoughts aren't trying to pull him in a million directions at once, and she's not demanding anything of him he isn't willing or able to give.
He runs a hand through her hair idly, learning the texture of it.
She sighs happily at the feeling of his hand in her hair. It feels like everything she has always been too afraid to really hope for when it came to this man. It feels like her dreams come true.
"I want you to know what all this means to me - you being here, saying and feeling the things you are. I know these sorts of feelings are generally not your area. I know a lot of awful things have happened to bring you here and I wish they hadn't, but I am so very glad you're here."
Molly speaks these words quietly as her hand traces patterns over his bare chest, paying special attention to his scars.
Her fingers draw gentle lines between the marks his cases and bad habits have left on him, and he stores away those patterns she's tracing and the words she's saying like a Rosetta Stone. Somehow the circumstances here are all right enough that he can hear and interpret what she's saying, even though it's in a language he's never bothered to learn.
And somehow he can trust that when he speaks, she'll be able to translate for herself.
"I'm glad to be here," he admits, very quietly. "This... this is good. I mean the whole thing--lunch, talking, sex. All of it."
Molly's mouth blooms into a smile as he speaks. He can probably feel it where the side of her face rests against his chest.
"It is, isn't it?" she says, happy he feels that way as well. "Not so awful and scary as you imagined, sharing your heart and body with someone?"
She doesn't look up at him, although her instinct is to do so. She doesn't want to upset the delicate balance of them talking about their feelings. He is uncertain about these things and she doesn't want him to feel uncomfortable. She does want to know if he's any doubts though, wants him to feel comfortable expressing them or anything else with her.
He does feel that smile, curving against his skin, and he almost wishes it would leave a scar. Just so he has physical proof that he's made Molly happy, if only for a short time.
"Not so awful at all."
And it's true. Opening up this much of himself has been excruciating--a long rollercoaster ride through grief and guilt and horror and self-loathing--and this part, the sweetness of love and trust and discovery, is something he legitimately didn't expect.
She feels a sense of pride at being the one to show Sherlock Holmes that emotions aren't always a bad thing to have. There are perks to relationships and caring. She kisses his chest then, over that heart he hasn't always admitted to having, and then looks up at him with a smile, resting her chin on his chest.
"It's an honour and I promise to treat it as such."
She can't promise things will always be easy, but she can promise that she'll try her best to be the partner that he deserves if that's what he wants.
It's a sentimental little gesture, that kiss pressed to his heart, and somehow Sherlock doesn't mind a bit. It's not the kind of thing he'd do himself, but the fact that it's Molly makes it pleasant, gives it meaning.
"Thank you," he says. And then, because it seems appropriate and because he's so drawn to the shape of her smiling mouth, he curls his hand around the back of her head and pulls her up towards him for another slow kiss.
Molly is more than happy to slide herself upward, their heads side by side. in order to meet his lips. The kiss is languid and level, neither feeling the need and urgency from before, except maybe the need to connect on this level.
5:14 PM: You are coming back some time today, right?
6:34 PM: A word would be nice, Sherlock
6:59 PM: Sod it, I'm getting a pizza, whenever you roll in you can get leftovers.
7:02 PM: But if I don't hear from you by check-in time tomorrow I'll come over there just so I can see you're okay.
To: John From: SH
8:31 PM: Heading back.
*
Those first few hours together are--well, not blissful. A little clumsy, a little chaotic. But they're good, which is more than Sherlock ever expected, and which just about cuts the disappointment he feels when Mike Stamford texts Molly to remind her that he needs her in early the next day.
They kiss goodnight on the threshold of her flat, lingering and heedless of anyone who might be passing by. Sherlock walks all the way back to John's place, his coat and scarf full of cat hair and his body and mind ringing with new pleasures. He can't even really care that it's Saturday night and the crowds around him are loud and swollen.
Halfway home he stops to text her a photo of a blue plaque on a house he passes. Dame Margot Fonteyn, Prima Ballerina Assoluta, 1919-1991.
(He's tellingly disheveled, and John absolutely notices. There is an extremely awkward conversation wherein John's suspicions about Sherlock's lack of a substantial sexual history are finally confirmed, and he's sworn to secrecy about it, and then he somehow ends up agreeing to run Sherlock's tests because he was probably going to end up knowing the results anyhow.)
Fortunately and unfortunately, Sunday morning there's a frantic call from a potential client in Cardiff (something about "bad wolves" following her) and Sherlock can't refuse the case. But he texts Molly from the train, and the hotel, and from the back of a pickup truck where he has to spend several uncomfortable hours hiding in the middle of the night. They're not sentimental messages, not the way a normal man's might be, but there's warmth and humor in them. Particularly in the way he complains about the Welsh pathologist he ends up working with.
Early Tuesday morning, however, there's an entirely unambiguous text on her phone.
To: Molly From: Sherlock
6:14 AM: En route back from Cardiff. Just reviewed test results via email; all clear. Ballet proceeding as scheduled.
Molly is a bit disappointed when Sherlock goes out of town so soon after that first day, but she is pleasantly surprised by all the texts she receives, starting with that first picture of the plaque commemorating the ballerina. It's so thoughtful. The rest are amusing and sweet (in a Sherlock way) and she secretly enjoys his complaints about the other pathologist even though she tells him to be nice.
She is pretty much on cloud nine for those days even though he's away. Her very abrupt change in mood has Mike and her other coworkers curious, she can tell. They don't come right out and ask if she's got a new bloke but they're hinting around at it. So far, she's being mum even though that one hickey is as hard to cover up as she expected. Let them wonder for a while. She imagines at some point it will be found out but she needs to prepare herself for that because the questions. All the questions. They're all already so curious about Sherlock as it is. This will be a whole other level.
By Monday night, Molly is unsure if their ballet date will happen. She's not brought it up because this is Sherlock's life. He'll run off to take cases and plans will be disrupted. It comes with the territory she knows. There will be other nights for ballet. So when she wakes up to his text on Tuesday morning, she can't help but grin the whole time she gets ready to go watch Rosie.
To: Sherlock From: Molly
8:02 AM: :D Best news to wake up to. See you at John's later. xx
Molly tries to temper herself upon arriving to John's flat. She's got a change of clothes with her for later since it is likely that baby spit up will get on something she's currently wearing. She wonders how much John knows.
(As Sherlock has observed, John is smarter than he looks, so pretty damn smart. Even though the hickey's mostly faded, he knows what a happy Molly looks like, and the fact that Sherlock came home with the clothes he left the house in but not in them is telling to say the least. He's trying very hard not to think about it, because he knows walking in on anything would be every bit as awkward as the few times he walked in on Harry with her girlfriends when they were in school. But when he confines his thinking about the situation to the emotional side of it, he finds he's earnestly damn happy for the two of them. Molly deserves this, and Sherlock... well, he'd be willing to bet Sherlock can earn it. And it'd make Mary so happy.)
John answers the door with Rosie in his arms. She's alert, and she recognizes faces now--and, as ever, she lights up at the sight of her godmother. Her little hands wave towards Molly, and she laughs excitedly.
"Hey, Molly. Perfect timing, as usual. Come on in, yeah? We can go over the schedule before I leave. How've you been?"
There might be a teasing tone creeping into that last question. Granted, Sherlock is way more fun to needle about this than Molly, but he can't help himself.
To: Molly From: Sherlock
9:09 AM: Did I ever tell you I taught Dad about emoticons when we got him his first iPhone, to spite Mycroft? It backfired on us both.
Molly lights up in return at seeing Rosie so smiley and alert. She really does look forward to their time together and knows that as she grows up it'll be even more important without Mary around. Not that she would try to replace Mary and Molly does hope that someday John would be able to find someone else to have a family with, but in the meantime, Molly and Mrs. Hudson are happy to be the maternal figures in Rosie's life.
"Hi John and peanut," Molly says brightly as she follows them inside. His teasing tone does not go unnoticed and she finds herself blushing in spite of herself.
"I've been...well, thank you. How are you and Rosie doing?"
Her cell phone alert goes off and she knows who it is (he may already have his own tone, but it's nothing special). She ignores it for the time being, knowing he's on the train and isn't going anywhere for a while. She'll get to him when John's gone.
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zvi
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Date: 2017-02-11 09:00 pm (UTC)She smiles at the new category he's created for her in his mind.
"I've always wondered if I have a space up there," she says quietly. She assumed if she did it was a tiny little corner filled with pilfered body parts and ugly jumpers.
She turns her head a bit to nuzzle his nose with her own and look into his eyes.
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Date: 2017-02-11 09:30 pm (UTC)This moment right now is already being recorded for that space: Molly looking at him without fear or hurt, hair tousled and face flushed, fascinating.
It's an image he never expected to see, much less enjoy. And somehow he thinks he's better for having the chance.
As the shaking subsides, he lifts a hand to brush her hair back from her cheek, away from her marked throat. Even if the words themselves don't come at the moment, there's a clear I love you in that touch, and behind his eyes.
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Date: 2017-02-11 09:39 pm (UTC)She files this moment away into her own mental file. It's not a palace, but her most important memories are there to be recalled when triggered or when she needs them. She knows the memory of this day will be called on frequently.
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Date: 2017-02-12 02:00 am (UTC)"It's got the yellow dress and your excellent passé form," he admits. "Just the one cat, though."
He drapes his arm over her languidly. Because it seems wrong, somehow, not to be keeping her as close as possible.
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Date: 2017-02-12 02:33 am (UTC)She smiles in return but when he drapes his arm over her she realizes that she still hasn't cleaned up.
"One second."
She leans in to give him a quick kiss before she gets up to grab a tissue for them.
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Date: 2017-02-12 02:52 am (UTC)That is, after all, usually the best way he can think of to say things that are difficult for him to sort out into neat, clever words.
He sits up a little, watching her intently. Already he's resolved that if she tries to put on any clothes yet he'll voice an objection immediately.
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Date: 2017-02-12 06:15 am (UTC)She looks over her shoulder at him and blushes, looking a bit shy before she puts the tissues into the rubbish bin. The final tissue she brings over to clean him up a bit before also throwing that one away.
"Do you want any water or anything while I'm up?" she asks him.
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Date: 2017-02-12 06:25 am (UTC)That falls out before he can stop it, and because he's Sherlock and possibly a little insecure, he fumbles for a joke to follow up on something so sentimental.
"But if getting a glass of water is some kind of post-coital etiquette I don't know about..."
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Date: 2017-02-12 06:30 am (UTC)"It sounds like someone wants to cuddle," she teases him as she slides herself back into bed and proceeds to tangle herself up with him again, pulling the duvet over them both. "For lack of a better word which you have yet to provide."
She grins and kisses the side of his mouth. Sherlock Holmes is a post-coital cuddler. Who would have though?
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Date: 2017-02-12 06:43 am (UTC)He does enjoy lying here like this with her, the way they did when he woke up this morning: him on his back, her weight pressing gently along his side and chest, arms draped around one another. It's easier to recover and process everything going through his head with her tucked against him, a reminder that being human isn't so terrible after all.
His head lolls to one side, so he can look her in the eye again. The smile really does do wonders for her mouth.
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Date: 2017-02-12 06:51 am (UTC)When he turns his head to look at her, she leans in to press a kiss to his lips.
"I love you," she says quietly and seriously. She doesn't need him to say it in words again, but she feels compelled to tell him.
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Date: 2017-02-12 07:11 am (UTC)"I love you," he murmurs. Which is itself a statement of fact, just not one meant to break the heady power of the moment they're sharing.
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Date: 2017-02-12 07:18 am (UTC)She kisses his brow tenderly and then his lips before she tucks her head under his chin and sighs happily. Her bare body relaxes against his and the skin to skin contact is wonderful.
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Date: 2017-02-13 12:37 am (UTC)He runs a hand through her hair idly, learning the texture of it.
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Date: 2017-02-13 01:25 am (UTC)"I want you to know what all this means to me - you being here, saying and feeling the things you are. I know these sorts of feelings are generally not your area. I know a lot of awful things have happened to bring you here and I wish they hadn't, but I am so very glad you're here."
Molly speaks these words quietly as her hand traces patterns over his bare chest, paying special attention to his scars.
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Date: 2017-02-13 10:05 pm (UTC)And somehow he can trust that when he speaks, she'll be able to translate for herself.
"I'm glad to be here," he admits, very quietly. "This... this is good. I mean the whole thing--lunch, talking, sex. All of it."
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Date: 2017-02-13 10:23 pm (UTC)"It is, isn't it?" she says, happy he feels that way as well. "Not so awful and scary as you imagined, sharing your heart and body with someone?"
She doesn't look up at him, although her instinct is to do so. She doesn't want to upset the delicate balance of them talking about their feelings. He is uncertain about these things and she doesn't want him to feel uncomfortable. She does want to know if he's any doubts though, wants him to feel comfortable expressing them or anything else with her.
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Date: 2017-02-13 10:34 pm (UTC)"Not so awful at all."
And it's true. Opening up this much of himself has been excruciating--a long rollercoaster ride through grief and guilt and horror and self-loathing--and this part, the sweetness of love and trust and discovery, is something he legitimately didn't expect.
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Date: 2017-02-14 12:35 am (UTC)"It's an honour and I promise to treat it as such."
She can't promise things will always be easy, but she can promise that she'll try her best to be the partner that he deserves if that's what he wants.
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Date: 2017-02-14 01:35 am (UTC)"Thank you," he says. And then, because it seems appropriate and because he's so drawn to the shape of her smiling mouth, he curls his hand around the back of her head and pulls her up towards him for another slow kiss.
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Date: 2017-02-14 01:41 am (UTC)HEY ACTUALLY IT'S TUESDAY :D
Date: 2017-02-14 10:16 pm (UTC)From: John
5:14 PM: You are coming back some time today, right?
6:34 PM: A word would be nice, Sherlock
6:59 PM: Sod it, I'm getting a pizza, whenever you roll in you can get leftovers.
7:02 PM: But if I don't hear from you by check-in time tomorrow I'll come over there just so I can see you're okay.
To: John
From: SH
8:31 PM: Heading back.
*
Those first few hours together are--well, not blissful. A little clumsy, a little chaotic. But they're good, which is more than Sherlock ever expected, and which just about cuts the disappointment he feels when Mike Stamford texts Molly to remind her that he needs her in early the next day.
They kiss goodnight on the threshold of her flat, lingering and heedless of anyone who might be passing by. Sherlock walks all the way back to John's place, his coat and scarf full of cat hair and his body and mind ringing with new pleasures. He can't even really care that it's Saturday night and the crowds around him are loud and swollen.
Halfway home he stops to text her a photo of a blue plaque on a house he passes. Dame Margot Fonteyn, Prima Ballerina Assoluta, 1919-1991.
(He's tellingly disheveled, and John absolutely notices. There is an extremely awkward conversation wherein John's suspicions about Sherlock's lack of a substantial sexual history are finally confirmed, and he's sworn to secrecy about it, and then he somehow ends up agreeing to run Sherlock's tests because he was probably going to end up knowing the results anyhow.)
Fortunately and unfortunately, Sunday morning there's a frantic call from a potential client in Cardiff (something about "bad wolves" following her) and Sherlock can't refuse the case. But he texts Molly from the train, and the hotel, and from the back of a pickup truck where he has to spend several uncomfortable hours hiding in the middle of the night. They're not sentimental messages, not the way a normal man's might be, but there's warmth and humor in them. Particularly in the way he complains about the Welsh pathologist he ends up working with.
Early Tuesday morning, however, there's an entirely unambiguous text on her phone.
To: Molly
From: Sherlock
6:14 AM: En route back from Cardiff. Just reviewed test results via email; all clear. Ballet proceeding as scheduled.
I was going to mention that! :D
Date: 2017-02-15 12:19 am (UTC)She is pretty much on cloud nine for those days even though he's away. Her very abrupt change in mood has Mike and her other coworkers curious, she can tell. They don't come right out and ask if she's got a new bloke but they're hinting around at it. So far, she's being mum even though that one hickey is as hard to cover up as she expected. Let them wonder for a while. She imagines at some point it will be found out but she needs to prepare herself for that because the questions. All the questions. They're all already so curious about Sherlock as it is. This will be a whole other level.
By Monday night, Molly is unsure if their ballet date will happen. She's not brought it up because this is Sherlock's life. He'll run off to take cases and plans will be disrupted. It comes with the territory she knows. There will be other nights for ballet. So when she wakes up to his text on Tuesday morning, she can't help but grin the whole time she gets ready to go watch Rosie.
To: Sherlock
From: Molly
8:02 AM: :D Best news to wake up to. See you at John's later. xx
Molly tries to temper herself upon arriving to John's flat. She's got a change of clothes with her for later since it is likely that baby spit up will get on something she's currently wearing. She wonders how much John knows.
V-day Sherlolly, all's right with the world. <3
Date: 2017-02-15 01:02 am (UTC)John answers the door with Rosie in his arms. She's alert, and she recognizes faces now--and, as ever, she lights up at the sight of her godmother. Her little hands wave towards Molly, and she laughs excitedly.
"Hey, Molly. Perfect timing, as usual. Come on in, yeah? We can go over the schedule before I leave. How've you been?"
There might be a teasing tone creeping into that last question. Granted, Sherlock is way more fun to needle about this than Molly, but he can't help himself.
To: Molly
From: Sherlock
9:09 AM: Did I ever tell you I taught Dad about emoticons when we got him his first iPhone, to spite Mycroft? It backfired on us both.
9:10 AM: Expect intermittent texts. Possibly sexting; I haven't decided yet.
(Is... is that an attempt at flirting?)
Seriously.
Date: 2017-02-15 01:15 am (UTC)"Hi John and peanut," Molly says brightly as she follows them inside. His teasing tone does not go unnoticed and she finds herself blushing in spite of herself.
"I've been...well, thank you. How are you and Rosie doing?"
Her cell phone alert goes off and she knows who it is (he may already have his own tone, but it's nothing special). She ignores it for the time being, knowing he's on the train and isn't going anywhere for a while. She'll get to him when John's gone.
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