A/N: To celebrate the new episode that is about to unleash itself upon us. And well, because everyone needs a little loving, once in a while. 3
Decisions
Molly was deciding between the red frock with the short, capped sleeves or a longer black dress with bead-embellished straps.
"I look like rubbish in both of them…" she said with a sigh, flinging both dresses on her bed in resignation. She too flung herself onto her bed, wrapped only in her lavender silk robe.
"Should I stay…should I go…should I stay…should I go…" Molly whispered absentmindedly to herself. New Year's eve parties could be fun, but they could also be terrible.
"Where are you going?" came a voice that lingered at her door frame.
"Oh, you're back. Do you need dinner?" Molly asked the tall, familiar shadow.
"No, I had some terrible pub food while spying on a careless drug-ringleader, now answer my question, where are you going?"
Molly sat up and sighed. Sherlock would pop in and out of her flat as he carried on spying on cases whilst being 'dead'. He only had her for sanctuary, really. Going to look for Mycroft was something Sherlock did only in emergencies. Molly didn't mind Sherlock being in and out of her flat. She got so tired of him picking her lock she eventually gave him a set of keys. But of all days for him to come and look for her, it had to be now. Just when she was feeling vulnerable and unsure about everything, he had to show up, poking his nose into her business.
"I was just…" Molly began fiddling with the dresses that lay on her bed, "…thinking about going to the New Year's eve party that Lynnette was throwing…"
"Lynnette? The uppity, brainless one from neurology? Why would you go to her party?"
"Because it's at a lovely place…it's going to have nice food and drink and…"
"And?"
"And well…it would be fun, wouldn't it?" said Molly, forcing a smile, "Being with everyone, cheering and toasting one another when New Year strikes…you know, that sort of thing."
Sherlock stepped out of the shadowy doorway and into the light of her bedroom. He studied her nervous smile and how her hands were so agitatedly folded across her chest, wrapping her robe tightly around her.
"So if this would be fun, why do you seem so anxious and out of sorts?" he asked, frowning at her.
"Oh, I don't know…" Molly said, shrugging, "I suppose I just got a little worked up not being able to decide what to wear."
Molly stood up and reached for the two dresses holding them up so she could analyse them again.
"Maybe I'll go with the - "
Molly's decision was rudely cut short by Sherlock reaching for the two dresses and taking them into his own hands. He lifted them up to the light and studied them with furrowed brows. He then placed the red one in front of Molly, as thought to picture her in it, and then did the same thing with the black dress. Molly could only look at him, stunned, as she stood still before Sherlock. He seemed to be thinking deeply, studying the shape of the dresses as they followed Molly's body. He took in their colours, their lengths, their shapes, whatever embellishments they had. With a sharp exhale, he flung the two dresses behind Molly and looked straight into her eyes.
"So…um, which dress do you think…I should…pick for tonight?" asked Molly, with a nervous laugh.
Sherlock raised one eyebrow and the corners of his lips lifted into a rather devilishly handsome smirk. He then walked back to the door and clicked it shut, before turning to Molly and looking at her with the smirk still plastered on his face.
"Neither." he said, at last.
Quick as a flash, he swept the two dresses away, scooped Molly up into bed and swept her out of her robe before burying his face into the crook of her neck, kissing her feverishly, his warm lips pressing against her cool skin.
"W-what…what are you…" Molly gasped, unable to concentrate due to the deliriously wonderful sensation of his mouth on her skin.
Sherlock stopped to catch his breath and pulled himself reluctantly away from her.
"Sherlock…what…was that?" Molly asked, trying to compose herself.
"My decision." he replied.
"Your decision? To what?"
"To your predicament." he answered matter-of-factly.
"I don't understand…what predicament?" asked Molly, suddenly realising she was disrobed and in the arms of the detective she would only secretly dream of.
"The New Year's eve party."
"What about the party?"
"You're spending New Year's with me," he said, his eyes sparkling with mischief, "And you will need neither of those dresses."
End