One-shot from prompt on Tumblr (enamoredwithsherlolly). Feel free to submit a prompt anytime!

"Molly!"

Molly Hooper was nearly startled out of her chair from the loud shout and the pounding that started at her door immediately after. Sherlock.

Tying her bathrobe (which she hadn't yet had a chance to change out of, damn him) tightly, she unbolted the door and opened it, only to be nearly bowled over by the tall man rushing inwards.

When he saw her, he suddenly stopped in his tracks.

She waited for him to speak expectantly, wondering what on earth propelled him to come to her apartment at nine at night. Wasn't he working on that case about Magnussen? Also, she sniffed to herself, she still hadn't forgiven him for getting back on drugs again.

Uncharacteristically out of breath, he stood there, still staring at her, breathing heavily, until she decided that, for once, the mighty Sherlock Holmes wasn't going to speak first.

"Don't you have the key? Why didn't you just use the key, Sherlock? I'm still in my bathrobe, for heaven's sake!"

Having regained enough breath to argue with her (apparently), he grabbed her arm and tugged her toward her bedroom.

"No time. I'm sure you'll be glad to know your ex-boyfriend's back, so you need to pack quickly."

She dug in her heels, nearly throwing him off balance with the vehemence of her movement.

"Tom? You know we've broken up already. Besides, I don't see why I need to pack for that. He was perfectly amiable. He was the one who broke it off, after all."

He turned around, grabbing both her shoulders and shaking her, his fingers digging into her slight frame.

"No, Molly. Moriarty."

She gaped at him, partly in shock, partly in horror. But that was impossible. Moriarty was definitively dead. She knew it. She had taken care of his body herself.

"But…"

Sherlock shook his head at her. "More likely Moran. None of the images of Moriarty on the screens were live, so probably someone using his image. Now who? Who do we know that's close to him, his right hand man? Moran. So let's go."

"Wait, but where are we going?" Molly asked, even as she pulled out a small suitcase and began haphazardly stuffing clothes into it.

"To live with me. You're going to be the new resident at 221B Baker Street."

Thirty minutes later, she had settled into his spare bedroom (originally John's. Sherlock had emptied his room along with his chair) and was sitting on the bed, wondering what had just happened. Toby was around somewhere, exploring his new home (You'll be staying here temporarily until I can ascertain Moran's whereabouts. Considering your previous close relationship with Moriarty, Moran will not underestimate you a second time. I need you where I can see you). She was living with Sherlock Holmes.

He had dropped her off at his apartment, telling her not to leave, before speeding off in the cab. Probably off to give John and Mary instructions as well.

She puttered around the apartment for awhile, examining Billy (he was a truly fascinating specimen) and playing with Toby, before she fell asleep on the couch, waiting for him to come back.

"What are you doing?"

Sherlock's voice sounded next to her ear, startling her up.

Wha…

She barely had time to register what was happening before Sherlock picked her up, ignoring her protests that she was full grown woman who didn't need to be carried, and dumped her onto his bed.

"This is your room." Her voice was hesitant.

"Excellent observation, Molly."

When it seemed he had no intention of continuing, she made to get up off the bed.

"Sit down, Molly. Moran is a sniper, and a very good one at that. If Mycroft had not called him off in the Lazarus plan, I'm sure John would not be alive right now, much less have had the time to find and have copious amounts of sex with Mary. Since this is the only room without a window, you're staying here."

"But where will you sleep?" She sat back down anyway (like an obedient pet, Sherlock mused. He must keep her around more often. He had always wanted an intelligent pet for company, and she had more dog-like qualities than he had originally assumed. Loyal, obedient, loving…he stopped himself from thinking any further).

He paused for a moment.

"Here, of course."

"So here. The both of us. In one bed."

"Was I unclear? I assure you, Molly, if I had wanted you in my bed for lascivious purposes you would have been here months ago. I promise I will be a complete gentleman as I have been when we were sharing your bed. This arrangement is no different."

The problem was, her bed was a queen size. She needed to sleep well, and she had decided to indulge in that one thing. They were perfectly capable of sleeping on her bed without touching. Although she had woken up almost every day to him spooning her. She wasn't quite sure if it was on purpose though or if he just moved around in his sleep a lot.

A regular sized bed would be worse.

But necessity called for desperate measures, and two hours later, they both lay on opposite sides of the bed, Molly so close to the edge she felt she could nearly fall off at any second. But in her camisole (damn it, she should've looked at what she was packing), she didn't dare risk moving more towards the center. And since she was facing outwards, she couldn't see if Sherlock was asleep or not.

A little while later, she could feel Sherlock shift in his sleep, and suddenly she felt herself dragged backwards a little until her back was against Sherlock's chest, his arm was around her stomach, and his face was buried in her hair.

After a moment of stillness, she was quite sure he was asleep. Squirming a little, she tried to escape his clutch, only to have his arm tighten more around her and she was completely pressed against him.

She struggled harder (he definitely needed to break this habit, although he hadn't been nearly this bad earlier). And then froze.

She could distinctly feel something hard poking her in the bum, and she blushed a fierce red, knowing exactly what that was and exactly what that entailed.

"I've been trying to catch your attention for months." A deep, gruff voice sounded behind her. "Your assumptions about my sleep patterns were quite a mistake, Molly Hooper. I most definitely do not move around in my sleep, as one statement from Mycroft could have told you."

"But then Moran…was that a lie?"

He growled and buried his face in her neck.

"You're my pathologist, Molly Hooper, and I'll be damned if I let Moriarty steal you away from me again."