It was a windy, autumn afternoon in London. Molly Hooper, Specialist Registrar with St. Bartholomew's Hospital, sat peacefully on a bench in Hyde Park, enjoying the noises around her.
She liked to come to the park on her days off, surrounding herself with life after a week encompassed by death.
Inevitably, it was time to go home. She stood, bending to tighten the laces on her left trainer so it wouldn't trip her as she jogged. That's when she saw it - a flash of bright blue out of the corner of her eye. There was someone watching her; someone who quickly retreated behind a nearby tree.
Being friends with Sherlock Holmes came with certain negative perks, and she had become very close with the Consulting Detective in the years since his return. A smart woman knew to prepare herself for every eventuality, and Molly was nothing if not smart.
Not making any indication she saw her stalker, Molly straightened suddenly and began running, hoping the increased speed would go unnoticed. As soon as the figure knew she had caught on, they'd certainly overpower her. "Never reveal an advantage," Sherlock's voice rang in her head.
She kept running, not daring to look behind her, her breathing ragged as she struggled to keep a consistent pace and a pretense of nonchalance.
As she rounded the corner to exit the park onto the street, Molly snuck a glance behind her, but all she saw was a mother and her children at play. She halted, taking a longer look, but there was nothing out of place.
Whether it was imagined or she lost the tail, Molly didn't care. She jogged quickly to her flat, only one block and two streets over, looking behind her regularly.
She saw the dark figure standing on her stoop from the end of the street, but this one took a familiar shape. "Sherlock Holmes," she said as she pulled out her keys and climbed the front stairs, "to what do I owe this pleasure?"
"Just a visit," he said, a hint of breathlessness in his voice, "Isn't that what friends do," he asked, climbing the flight to the first floor behind her.
Molly threw him a skeptical glare as she opened the door, ushering both of them into her flat. "Why don't I make up some tea, and you tell me what you want?" Assuming Sherlock would take his usual spot on the couch, Molly hurried into the kitchenette, put the kettle on, and grabbed a cold bottle of water, drinking it down.
"Thirsty?" Sherlock said, shockingly near.
"Wh-" she gasped and turned around, still shaken from her run, but recovering quickly, "I've told you not to scare me like that, you goose," she laughed, anxiously.
"You're nervous, that much is obvious. You're perspiring heavily - you normally prefer your Saturday runs to be leisurely jogs, so you ran faster than normal today. Something spooked you," he quickly deduced in his signature low voice, moving in closer. "So, do tell, Molly," she was now cornered against the counter, "Tell me what spooked you."
"It was just something in the corner of my eye," she felt compelled to answer, "probably nothing," she shifted her eyes to her feet, an old habit she thought she'd broken. She felt his arms surround her as he leaned in, his hands resting on the counter.
"Molly," he chastised.
"I didn't see much, just a man, mostly in black," she began, lifting her eyes partway from the floor, "except for a splash of colour that caught my eye, a bright… blue…" she stared at Sherlock's bulging coat pocket.
Was that a bright blue scarf in his pocket?
She pulled it out, and met his eyes with sudden clarity - "It was you!"
He hesitated, "it was a training exercise," he tried, pulling back. If Molly hadn't see the quick panic in eyes before they were shuttered, she might have fallen for it.
She narrowed her eyes, "why were you following me, Sherlock?"
"Routines are dangerous, Molly, I've told you that," he admonished, having regained his footing, "and yet every week, you jog to the same bench, then jog home. Every week. It's reckless. Consider this a lesson," he said, moving closer once again, "I could've grabbed you right off the street. You passed no less than three darkened alleyways on your way home. You were too busy looking behind you to look ahead."
"All valid points, Detective, but you've forgotten one thing; I know when you're lying. I'm not falling for it. Why were you really foll -"
Molly was interrupted by his mouth on hers. It only took her a heartbeat to catch on, and soon she was being lifted up onto the counter, a surprisingly passionate Sherlock Holmes between her legs, his hands clutching her sides, pressing their bodies together.
She awoke on a snore, but before Molly could be embarrassed, she found Sherlock stroking her cheek with a faint smile. The beam of the setting sun shone through the curtains behind his head, the light bringing out the red highlights in his dark curls. He leaned forward to kiss her nose, "Hi."
"Hi," she blushed, then yawned, "I'm glad you followed me today."
"Uh…" he started, and Molly immediately knew there was more to the story.
"What is it," she asked, half sitting up, becoming more awake by the second, the comforter falling away. Sherlock's eyes became preoccupied by her naked chest, and Molly would've found it amusing if she weren't so sure he was Up To Something. "Have you followed me before?"
"Maybe- maybe once or twice. A few times," she glowered and he visibly shrunk, "okay, every week."
Molly cocked her head to one side, "And for how long?"
He tried to obscure it with a mumble, but she was insistent, "Since I came back, okay? And a few times before that, when I could," he suddenly became emboldened, "When I started, I was just checking on your safety, and for good reason I might add - look how long it took you to spot me!"
"Don't deflect, Sherlock Holmes. Then what? Why didn't you ever tell me?"
He sighed, then confessed, "You were just so perfect there, in the light. One of the angels," he played with a loose thread from her pillow, bashful, "Then today, I knew you'd spotted me and I knew I had to act quickly to cover it up. I'm sorry I didn't approach you earlier," he looked up with a knowing grin, "the reward was well worth it."
Molly feigned anger, but she could only manage it for a moment. She tickled Sherlock in punishment, but when he started to fight back, she took refuge under the duvet. He quickly pursued her, pulling the blanket over both of them.
Soon the loud giggles were replaced by moans, which could be heard throughout the flat as the wind continued to blow outside the window.
This was a prompt fill for channyfaith (sherlollysmooch on tumblr). The original prompt was 'Sherlock and Molly taking a stroll on a blustery, autumn day." Okay, so it's not QUITE that, but I hope you guys liked it anyway!