Molly's body stiffened when her phone began to buzz. Her head jerked in the direction of the sound, to where her phone was lying on the floor. She was surprised it was even still working after the way she had chucked it across the room earlier. She had been so shattered after that awful phone call with Sherlock that she had felt the need to destroy something else as well.
She squeezed her eyes shut tight and tried to ignore it. She wondered if she would have to go the rest of her life feeling a sharp ache in her chest every time a phone rang. She covered her ears with her hands trying to block out the incessant noise, but it didn't do any good. Her eyes flashed open and she watched as her mobile skittered slightly across the hardwood floor with every annoying buzz. She felt as if it was trying to crawl its way towards her, pleading to be answered.
Molly groaned through gritted teeth and stormed across the room. She bent down to pick up the phone and silence it once and for all. She paused when she saw John Watson flashing on the now cracked screen. Her first instinct was to ignore it anyway.
It's probably just about Sherlock. Everything usually is.
But a nagging feeling gnawed at her gut.
But what if it's an emergency? What if it's about Rosie?
Letting out a sigh, Molly answered the call.
"Molly, please listen to me and let me explain." Molly hadn't even taken a breath to say hello before Sherlock's voice filled her ears. He rushed on as if not wanting to give her the chance hang up on him. Sherlock's story gripped Molly in place and by the time he was finished she couldn't have put the phone down even if she wanted to.
A sister. Sherlock had a sister. One that was even more brilliant and broken than the Consulting Detective himself. She had been the one who forced Sherlock into making Molly say those words. The words that lived deep inside of her heart. A heart that had to be ripped wide open in order for them to be released. But however much pain it had caused, Molly knew now that Sherlock had only done it to save her life.
"Molly?" His voice shook with her name. "Are you there?"
"Yes," Molly managed to whisper.
"I have to see you." Molly could feel Sherlock's desperation through the phone. It was the same as her own.
"Yes," she whispered again. "Yes."
"I'll be there soon."
Molly had the door opened before Sherlock had even reached it. She had heard his footfalls as they pounded along the hallway towards her flat, fast and frantic, just like the beating of her own heart. She felt like she had been waiting forever for him to arrive and now he was here. Finally.
Sherlock froze once he was in front of her. Neither of them said a word. They just stared at each other for a moment, taking each other in, their chest heaving with heavy breaths. Then, so quickly Molly didn't even see him move, Sherlock stepped forward and wrapped himself around her.
He held her so tight it was almost painful, she could barely breathe. But Molly didn't care. She wouldn't have wanted him to let her go for anything in the world.
"Molly," he whispered her name, voice muffled from where his face was buried in the crook of her neck. His breath was hot, and warm wet tears soaked into her skin. "I could have lost you. Molly. My Molly."
Molly felt something give in her chest and a sob escaped her lips. "Oh, Sherlock. It's okay. I'm here. I've got you. I'm right here."
Sherlock pulled back after a moment and took Molly's face in his hands. He bent down, peppering her face with kisses; her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, eyelids, and finally, her lips. His arms wound around Molly again and suddenly she felt like she was floating. It took a moment for her to realize she actually was, that Sherlock had lifted her off the ground and was now carrying her towards her bedroom.
He took his time as he undressed her. There was a reverent look in his eyes as he peeled her clothes from her body. It was like he was unveiling something sacred, cherished. He used far less care when ridding himself of his own clothes. A few buttons popped off his shirt in his rush to remove it, tap dancing across the floor and rolling away. He almost tripped trying to get out of his trousers. Molly watched him from the bed, fighting the urge to laugh. Things didn't seem quite so amusing, however, once Sherlock had finally divested himself of his last stitch of clothing, standing before her with every bit of his gorgeous, marble flesh exposed.
Molly's breath was trapped in her throat as Sherlock lowered himself down on the bed beside her. She sighed as his eyes and hands began to roam over her body, his mouth soon joining the exploration. He moved his lips against her, murmuring in a voice too soft for Molly to hear. But the words he uttered over and over again burned themselves into her skin until every inch of her body was covered in I love you.