Sherlock Holmes Has A Girlfriend
(I do not own any part of BBC's Sherlock. I just like to imagine)
Summary: Sherlock and Molly have been dating for a few weeks, and he's finally ready to take the next step. Sequel to "Sherlock Holmes Has A Crush".
"I had a great time tonight, Sherlock," Molly said as they strolled down the street. The evening was dark and cool. She pulled her coat a little tighter around herself and sighed. They were walking hand in hand, a sensation that Sherlock found quite pleasurable. She slowed to a stop in front of a door of a nearby flat.
"This is me," she told him. "Thanks for walking me home, Sherlock"
"It was my pleasure, Molly," he said, truthfully. He didn't want the evening to end. He felt like he was being opened to a whole new world of feelings and sensations, and he just wanted to keep exploring.
Molly climbed one stair and turned to face Sherlock, her hand still clasped in his. He took in the sight, filing it all away in his Mind Palace. The way her cheeks flushed in the evening chill. How her warm, brown eyes smiled into his. Her dark hair down for once, curling slightly at her shoulders. Especially her lips – they were pink and looked so soft, and he was overcome with a strong desire to feel them against his own.
"Molly," he asked, "may I kiss you?" He heard her breath hitch, and she nodded slowly. He kept his eyes fixed on hers as he leaned in, feeling something close to electricity between them.
Finally, after what felt like eons, his lips timidly brushed hers. Instantly, a spark. His brain fell silent, like a door slamming shut. All he experienced was feeling. The feeling of her lips touching his, the feeling of her breath against his cheek. The feeling of his body on fire. The feeling of her hand sliding into his curls, and her mouth pressing more insistently into his. It wasn't until his lungs were burning for air that he reluctantly pulled away. He opened his eyes to find Molly grinning at him.
"Good night, Sherlock Holmes," she said. She detangled her fingers from his hair and, with a sly grin his direction, disappeared into her flat. Sherlock was left at her door, in a state of shock after his first kiss.
"Good night, Molly Hooper," he whispered, touching his fingers to his mouth to try and retain their warmth.
Of all the memories he has filed in his Mind Palace, his first kiss was by far the most visited. Of course they had experienced many more since then, each just as delightful as the last. What he once considered pointless, a weakness in the transport, was now something he couldn't get enough of. Hmm, Molly Hooper. What a strange phenomenon, that the woman he once saw as nothing more than a ticket to fresh bodies was now the only woman he saw, period.
He and Molly had been dating for a little while – two months, one week, three days, and eight hours, to be specific – and all he wanted was to be near her. They went for walks during her lunch hour, ordered take-out and watched crap telly together, spent the afternoon at Molly's favorite art museum (though he still didn't understand it). Even mundane tasks like examining bodies for clues was more exciting with Molly by his side. Between cases he had even taken up sleeping in regular cycles and eating three meals a day, and his five-pound weight gain was a testament to the contentment and peace he felt. But after two months, one week, three days, and eight hours, he was ready for something…more.
He broached the subject first with John, who had become his longsuffering and somewhat reluctant confidant. They had been in a cab headed back to Baker Street after giving their statements at Scotland Yard (missing wife, it was the mother-in-law, hardly a 5) when Sherlock broke the silence.
"John, I think Molly and I are ready for the next step," he mused, staring out the window into the sleeting rain. John's eyebrows shot up.
"What, sex?" he asked, watching Sherlock's ears turn pink. He smirked. If he had to sit and listen to Sherlock yammer on about Molly Hooper, he at least got to make the man uncomfortable sometimes.
"No, John!" Sherlock replied quickly, "I meant, asking Molly to be my girlfriend"
"Ah, I see. You really are serious about her then?"
"Completely," Sherlock sighed. "It's sounds ridiculous, but I just want to make it official"
"It's not silly," John assured him. "It's perfectly natural to want commitment, Sherlock"
"So, how do you think I should ask her?" Sherlock asked, turning to face his friend. If anyone knew how to romance a woman, it was John "Three Continents" Watson. The good doctor grinned.
It had been a long day at work, and Molly was very much looking forward to an evening with Sherlock. She smiled at the thought. Her and Sherlock. She had spent so much time loving him from afar, and it seemed so surreal that they were now dating. And he was so lovely. Of course, he was still Sherlock, and he still needed to be reminded from time to time what was polite or normal or a bit not okay. But he was learning, and she didn't think she could be happier.
He had said to be at his flat by 7p.m., that he had something special planned. So she headed home after work for a quick shower and to change into something that didn't smell like formaldehyde. She decided on a dress for the occasion, a pretty sapphire frock that Sherlock had never seen before. Admittedly, it was a very un-Molly-like dress – it was tight up top, drawing attention to her curves, and fluttered to her knees like a waterfall. Un-Molly-like indeed, but she felt like knocking his socks off. After a few swipes of makeup and a quick curl of her hair, she was ready. She hailed a cab and headed to 221B Baker Street.
The moment she entered Sherlock's flat, she was thankful she had chosen the un-Molly-like dress. First of all, the flat was spotless. No experiments on the kitchen table, no piles of evidence in the living room. And the stench from the chemical fire last week was finally gone. Instead, she was greeted by soft music and candles. A space had been cleared in the living room, for what she was unsure. A delicious aroma led her to the kitchen, where she found Sherlock. He seemed unaware of her, so she watched as he set the table.
He looked impeccable, as usual, in a dark suit and blue shirt that matched his eyes. His creamy, fair skin looked luminous in the candle light, and his hair looked extra silky soft. The more time went on, the more handsome he was to her. Sometimes, like tonight, he simply took her breath away.
"Staring is impolite," he murmured, setting the last fork on the table. He glanced up and winked, making her blush. He straightened himself and gazed at her. "You look beautiful," he finally said. He slowly moved toward her, pulled her into his arms, and leaned down to place a tender kiss on her lips. Molly was still getting used to the intensity of, well, everything about Sherlock. His burning gaze, the tenderness with which he touched her, especially the way he kissed her. Like a starving man savoring his last morsel of food, hungry and reverent all at once. She had never been kissed, or touched, or looked at that way before.
"You've been busy," she said after pulling away for air. "Did you do all of this yourself?"
"What, you don't think I'm capable of cleaning a flat?" he smirked.
"I've just never seen you do it before," she told him, wandering over to check under a lid of a pot. He shooed her away.
"I've never had a reason to," he said simply.
Dinner was a success. Sherlock had scoured some website called Pinterest for meal ideas, and had ended up making a roast chicken and grilled vegetables, followed by a simple dessert of fresh berries with cream. He'd even found a good bottle of Sauvignon blanc, Molly's favorite white wine. Said bottle was half empty by the time Sherlock mustered up enough courage to ask Molly his pressing question. He took her hand in his and watched her earnestly.
"Molly," he began. "Can I ask you something?" he raised her hand to his lips and placed a gentle kiss across her knuckles.
"Of course," she replied, cheeks a delicate pink from the wine and the feeling of his lips trailing her wrist.
"Are you happy? With me?" he asked shyly. They were watching each other, both aware of the vulnerability of the moment, and the slight tension in the air.
"Of course I am, Sherlock," she told him, "You're all I ever dreamed of, you know"
"But am I really, Molly? I know I'm not the easiest man to get on with"
Molly took his face between her hands and said sternly, "Sherlock. Listen to me. I know you have your faults, and I have mine. But that's all part of being in a relationship with someone: seeing them for who they really are, and loving them anyway," Sherlock's eyes widened. "Yes," Molly admitted, "I've loved you for a very long time, Sherlock, and I couldn't be happier with you."
Molly finished her impassioned speech and watched him quietly. Had she said too much? Was it too soon for the L-word? He didn't seem to be recoiling. No, instead he was…grinning? Ear to ear, at that.
"Molly," he kissed the fingers that still framed his face. "You know I've never been one for love, or romance. Hell, I'm barely a man for friends. But being with you in this manner has been so surprisingly delightful. And while I don't know exactly what I'm feeling, I do know that I want to be feeling it all with you"
Sherlock closed his eyes, took a breath, and asked,
"Molly Hooper, will you be my girlfriend?" He heard giggling.
"Sherlock, Darling, open your eyes," her gentle voice came. He obeyed, and found her smiling sweetly at him. "I couldn't think of anything else I'd rather be. Of course, I'll be your girlfriend"
"You called me Darling," Sherlock released the breath he had been holding.
"I suppose I did. Is that alright?"
"Yes, yes it's very alright," he replied, standing to pull her out of her seat.
Wordlessly, they moved into the living room. Sherlock hit play on his iPod, and the room was filled with soft music. He fastened his arms around her, the warmth of her skin setting his heart a-thump.
"Dance with me, Lovely" he whispered into her ear.