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[theonewhocounted]

The Bright Spot Meme


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

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[punchmeitssubtext]

He watches her face go serious, watches her interpret something he did and didn't intend, and before he can catch up and clarify she's kissing him hard and his brain starts flickering like a bulb getting too much current. Her hands are tangled in his hair and it makes this strange not-quite-a-chill go down his spine, a long and watery slide.

His heart is pounding.

It jumps under his skin where he and Molly touch. He doesn't know how to control it anymore. It's not just an internal organ, it's a heart, and Molly makes it do things he doesn't understand.

[theonewhocounted]

Molly hopes this is what he intended when he told her to come over there because if he was just looking for a cuddle, she's giving him quite a bit more. Up until now, she's been very reserved for someone who has been waiting bloody years to get her hands on this gorgeous, infuriating, unattainable man, and had all but given up hope that she ever would. She still won't let herself go too far without them having a chat about it, but, god, she needs to snog him silly right now. He needs to know that her love doesn't end at words.

[punchmeitssubtext]

She's taking long, drugging tastes of his mouth, pulling his capacity for rational thought up from the roots of his hair and into her fingers. His hands flatten against her back, slide up to curl around her shoulderblades and tug her closer. Why does this feel so similar to hauling himself onto a stranger's motorcycle and tearing towards danger at high speed?

[theonewhocounted]

She makes a noise into his mouth as he pulls her close and any worry about his intentions is put aside. It is clear he is on board. His hands blaze a trail of fire as they touch her and that's still through two layers of cloth. She's regretting not divesting herself of her jumper when he took off his jacket. Not that it would much make a difference to the fire that's burning on the inside.

[punchmeitssubtext]

A sudden, powerful thought strikes him, one that somehow runs down his right arm as a pulse of electricity that guides his hand up and into her loose ponytail to tug her hair free.

He wants to know what it sounds like when she says it and she's not crying.

[theonewhocounted]

Her eyes open up as she feels him take down her hair and she leans away from him to shake it out and let the strands fall around her shoulders. She smiles at him. Her lips are red from their kisses and her eyes have become deep pools. Her breath comes out in small pants as she attempts to catch it. It doesn't take a genius to see that she is aroused.

[punchmeitssubtext]

He has to run his hand through the soft sweep of her hair, a slide that makes his fingers prickle with excitement and makes his heart rattle faster. His own face is flushed, eyes dark and startled as he realizes how her body is reacting to his.

"Molly." It somehow seems urgent that he lets her know, even if all he can manage is a whisper. "I think--I think I have to say it."

[theonewhocounted]

It feels like ages since someone has run their fingers through her hair. Her eyes close for a moment in enjoyment but open up when he says her name.

The look on her face changes to one of surprise and then quickly slides into one of adoration. Her hand comes up to press against his cheek fondly.

"Then say it."

The words don't hold the bite they had when she spoke with him on the phone. You say it first. They are permission, not a demand. Right now she only wants him to do what he feels comfortable with.

[punchmeitssubtext]

He's never seen her look like this before. Not with anyone. Not under any circumstances. It's new, and somehow she saved it up for him, for this moment, and that's what finally sends the truth spilling into this small warm space between them.

"I love you," he says, and means it.

[theonewhocounted]

Somehow hearing it, even though she knows it's coming, still catches her off guard and her mouth forms a surprised 'o.' His expression is so earnest, so open, it makes her heart constrict. He means it and it's so much to process. Tears spring to her eyes immediately.

"I love...you, too," she says and her voice cracks in the middle of it. So many emotions.

[punchmeitssubtext]

Oh god. That's not good. That's not good, he's making Molly Hooper cry again and that's not why he came here tonight at all, and--

--and it sounds so different this time, even though her eyes are too bright and her voice cracks. It sounds different because there's a future tangled up in it, because this is something beginning, because it's just the two of them this time and it's still true.

His fingers card through her hair again, tracing the shape of her skull. The sensation keeps the dizziness of relief from overwhelming him. He's in love, he's loved back, and nothing has exploded. And he can't pinpoint the source of the urge, but something makes him pull his hand free gently and trace his fingertips over her carotid artery.

[theonewhocounted]

When his fingers slide back into her hair, she closes her eyes again and the tears that had filled them up, fall down her cheeks. These are good tears. They are happy tears. They are tears of absolute amazement and some disbelief and joy.

"I love you," she whispers again, this time her voice steady. When his fingers trace her neck, she tilts her head to the side, pliant under his touch. He'll feel her heartbeat strong and quick.

[punchmeitssubtext]

Again it's different. This is like tackling a language whose roots he's never heard before. Every new piece of information is equally significant.

She tips her head for him, inviting his touch, and all at once he needs to kiss the bitter wetness away from under her eyes. His hand settles a little more firmly on her throat, and he traces a slow line down towards the collar of her jumper, mapping the terrain inch by inch.

[theonewhocounted]

Molly sighs at his touch and goose flesh rises on her skin. She wonders if he has any idea what his touch does to her.

[punchmeitssubtext]

He can feel the fine hairs rising under his fingers, a subtle shift in her breathing. A strange rush of accomplishment goes through him, one that also somehow registers as a kind of challenge. His hand curls around her shoulder, and then he's shifting his weight so he has a better angle to trail his lips down her cheek, all the way to the hinge of her jaw, over the hot skin of her neck.

[theonewhocounted]

She let's out a sound that's close to a moan as his lips trail over her neck. She's sensitive there in general, but the fact that it's Sherlock's lips pressing against her, takes it to a whole other level.

"Sherlock," she whispers.

She doesn't want to put a stop to what's happening, but she feels like before this goes any further that they need to just check in before she's totally at the mercy of her hormones.

[punchmeitssubtext]

"Mm--" The way she says his name registers as something very important, something he needs to pay attention to. He pulls back to look at her, both of them flushed and rumpled and breathing hard. "You okay?"

It's telling, that that's the first question out of his mouth.

[theonewhocounted]

"I'm fine. I'm on a level of okay that's unprecedented in the levels of okay," she says with a slight laugh and smile as she slides her hand back to his cheek.

"This is...perfect and I...well I don't think I need to tell you how I've wanted this. But...you've clearly had an ordeal (that she still doesn't know the details of) and...I just need to know how far this is going tonight....or...(she looks at the clock, the sun will be rising soon), this morning."

She desires him terribly, but she doesn't want to rush this if it means he will regret it later on. This is a lot for both of them to comprehend and make sense of.

"I don't want you to feel like there's an expectation."

But she also wants to act accordingly and mentally prepare herself.

[punchmeitssubtext]

Oh.

Oh.

Well. He didn't think this part would happen, so he didn't come prepared for anything (except, you know, offering her a stolen coffee). And he knows the mechanics of the thing but it's a totally different matter with someone in his space who's significant in any way, and anyway he should probably get tested at some point in the near future now that he's only recently clean again, and this is rapidly starting to turn into something bureaucratic when all he really wants is to go back to kissing Molly.

"Right," he says, forgotten gears in his brain kicking into action. "Ah. Okay, first, I was--initially going to ask if you wanted to have breakfast later, and we could work something out from there." The implication being that the time in between would primarily have been for necking on the couch. "Second, before breakfast if that's an option, we're going to have to work out some kind of... compromise. Something safe. I mean. If you're up for it."

Smooth, Sherlock.

[theonewhocounted]

He looks...nervous again and caught a bit off guard at the turn in discussion and that he's working through details. That's not what she wants - him feeling cornered. She doesn't want this to be stressful, she just wants this to be whatever it is.

"Breakfast would be...good," she says. "Maybe after sleep."

She not had much of that and unlike him, she needs it to function generally (although she could probably run on the high of him for a while as well).

"What sort of compromise are we talking here?"

She's actually not sure what's running through his mind. She's fine with some more snogging and maybe curling up together. There's plenty of time to get to other things.

[punchmeitssubtext]

His brain-to-mouth filter does that thing where it starts to power down before he knows he's going to need it.

"Sleep would be good, actually. If you're all right with me staying. And--the kissing is good--look, do you want me to be explicit about this? Because we're both aroused, and I can make the negotiation process a lot quicker if it won't cost me couch privileges."

[theonewhocounted]

Molly blinks and then grins because this is the Sherlock she's much more familiar with. The one who is all pragmatic and logistical and matter-of-fact.

She honestly can't help but to press her lips to his quickly because it's just so him and endearing and now she is allowed to express with him how he makes her feel.

"Please, Sherlock, be explicit."

[punchmeitssubtext]

The kiss startles his lips into a smile, and her understanding tilts that smile and broadens it.

"Kissing from the waist up, hands only from the waist down."

[theonewhocounted]

She smiles wider. He is adorable.

"Come on, Sherlock Holmes, let's go to bed."

She kisses him again before she moves away, standing up beside the couch and offering her hand to help him up.

It's close to 5am now and they have both had an emotional couple of hours. They need to sleep. Whatever they decide to do after that will be better for it - breakfast or otherwise. He still needs to tell her about what's happened the past couple of days. They both need to see what this all mean in the light of day.

[punchmeitssubtext]

She looks so happy when she pushes herself up off the couch, when she turns towards him and holds out her hand. Sherlock almost never makes people happy. It's essentially his whole job to find things that run the gamut from upsetting to devastating. That tends to make keeping people at a distance much easier.

But he's not on the job, now. Or, rather, the job is no longer his whole life. There's more to him than work, and this is part of it.

He sits up, takes her outstretched hand, unfolds himself from the couch.

"Just don't put a pillow over my face if I snore," he says, and he's only half joking. (The terrifying thing about intimacy is that it leaves you totally vulnerable to a million different ways someone can murder you, but this is Molly, and she's still smiling.)

Sleep, breakfast, and fooling around (whatever the order of the last two might be) sounds much more human than he's used to, which is, frankly, a nice change.

"And if Toby jumps on me again I'll make him into mittens."