~ Vertigo ~
He had apparently not expected the dogs.
Molly began to blurt, "Sher–" but he cut her off with a single word.
"Run!"
They ran.
Molly was fast, particularly when terrified, nearly as fast as the consulting bastard who had talked her into this ill-advised adventure, the same insufferable git who now had an iron grip on her wrist as they fled across the dewy lawn in the pale light of a summer morning, the rays of the infant sun just peeping over the horizon to give the three Rottweilers an excellent view of their prey. But wait…
"The car's that way!" Molly yelled, and tried to veer to the left.
"Too far, never make it, we have to jump!" he shouted back, determination and a distinct note of glee in his voice.
Fury joined with primal fear to send a murderous surge of adrenaline coursing through her. The chaotic babble of denial, blasphemy, and prayer in her head coalesced as they neared the edge and the thirty foot drop, and she managed to shriek, "If I die I'm going to haunt your arse–" and then her words were lost in a long scream as they sailed over and Sherlock was laughing, somehow caught her against him and turned them in mid-air so that, two infinite seconds later, his back took most of the impact when they hit the glassy water and plunged deep.
He released her and they came up kicking, sputtering, and unhurt, and even as they gulped air Molly could see the elated grin on Sherlock's face.
"You idiot!" she roared and swam over and started to smack him about the head and shoulders.
But he caught her flailing arms, still laughing, pulled her close, and kissed her soundly. She was so astonished that she stopped struggling and they sank, so it didn't last long, but he was still grinning as he kicked them to the surface again and let her go to tread water alongside him.
"That was brilliant!" he said, emphatically.
"You… you… you…"
"Use your words!," he teased, swiping his lank curls back with one hand to reveal eyes that brimmed with fun.
"I hate you!" she finally managed.
But he said, scornfully, "Is that the best you can do?" and took her hand, giving it a tug. "Come on, I'll buy you breakfast."
"We're soaking wet!" she said, beginning to swim along with him toward the shore.
"We'll go to the White Hart, it's in Petersfield, just a few miles from here. The innkeeper owes me a favor. He'll probably give us a room and breakfast in bed while he sees to our clothes. And a couple of dressing gowns to wear after we've cleaned up – yes, I could see the maidenly protest forming on your lips. Your virtue is quite safe with me – if that's what you'd prefer."
"Of course it's… I mean… oh, you horrid…"
And to her relief he stopped swimming and hugged her again, and kissed her, too, and said, with both sincerity and deep amusement, "Anything you like, my Molly. You have my word on it."
~.~