Author's Note: prompted by penaltywaltz on tumblr: 'your breakfast is getting cold.'
It was Sunday morning and Molly Hooper was cooking a nice English breakfast for her and Sherlock. She had only been living at 221B for a week and she wanted to do something special for her love. As she put their plates of food together, Molly called out for him but there was no answer. Figuring he was still asleep, she stepped into the bedroom to find Sherlock typing on his phone a million words a minute (or so it seemed).
"Sherlock?" Molly spoke softly.
"Hold on, Molly," Sherlock muttered as he continued to flutter his fingers across the phone's keyboard. She waited a few minutes, curious as to what he was on about.
With a sigh, Molly piped up, "Sherlock, your breakfast is getting cold." He turned his head to her with a look of confusion.
"Breakfast?" he questioned, his eyes a myriad of shades of blue and green.
"Yes, breakfast. I made us up plates. I know you don't always take care of yourself the way you should and I just wanted to do something nice for you," Molly explained, still a bit shy at the prospect of actually living with Sherlock. He stood up from the bed and walked over to her slowly. Sherlock wrapped his arms around her, cellphone still in hand, and placed a gentle kiss upon her lips. He then proceeded to place another against her temple.
"Thank you, Molly," he told her with gratitude. They both sat down to eat the full breakfast she had cooked and Sherlock was telling her about the cases he was solving prior to her offer of breakfast. There was a point in which they sat in companionable silence, allowing their fleeting glances at one another to do the talking. Sherlock and Molly could communicate much more effectively with their eyes; hers a soft brown, his a sea green and Molly swore she could drown in his ever-changing irises.
"Oh, look at this, it's practically a nine!" Sherlock exclaimed.
"After breakfast, love," Molly teased.