Prompt: Sherlock & Molly alone at xmas as everyone is somewhere else. Sherlock gets turned on by how much Molly is eating + pushes her further.

When Molly realized that she and Sherlock would be the only ones of their small group of friends in London for Christmas, she spent a good few hours freaking out and trying to decide how to broach the subject if at all. It turned out she needn't have worried.

Hey, Sherlock :) How's your Christmas going? - Molly x

Quietly. John's gone to visit his parents with Harry to keep an eye on her. And Mrs. Hudson's gone to see her sister. -SH

Parents have gone on holiday to Oklahoma - SH

I refuse to celebrate Christmas with Mycroft. - SH

Molly had felt her pulse rise and then steady again as she sighed and rolled her eyes at the next text.

I'm bored. Please bring me another liver. Test results were inconclusive on the last one - SH

Molly sighed. She hoped she wouldn't get blood on her new dress in the process.

Okay! Be right over! :) - Molly x

About twenty minutes later, Molly was slipping out of a cab, wobbling slightly in a new set of heels, and then going up to ring the door bell. Sherlock was at the door almost at once. It was as if he already knew she'd be there. Well, it was rather a Sherlock thing to do. He probably timed exactly how long it took and factored in traffic and everything.

"Ah, Molly. Thank you," the detective rumbled, reaching out for the paper bag Molly was clutching. It was odd to see him out of his usual suit. An undone robe, pajama bottoms, bare feet, and a t-shirt, rumbled curls. He looked so... normal. Except he had just asked her to bring him an organ.

"Merry Christmas," said Molly cheerfully, handing it over, "It was from a motorcyclist, twenty-seven no health problems, if you wanted to know."

"Fine," said Sherlock, already heading back up the stairs. Molly hesitated for a moment, then darted over the threshold and closed the door behind her. She shrugged off her coat, folded it neatly over her arms and followed Sherlock up the stairs.

"So, what are you experimenting on?" she asked, looking around at everything Sherlock had set up in the kitchen.

"Hemoglobin degradation," replied Sherlock, waving at his notebook as he sliced a sample from the fresh liver.

"Oh," said Molly, nodding, and reading the notebook, "Er, like were you trying to see if it could still be done after death or not?"

Sherlock pulled back from his microscope, eyebrows knitted, "No, I was attempting to form some sort of time table."

"Oh, well no wonder you aren't getting any good results," said Molly matter-of-factly, still flipping through Sherlock's notes, "You know that it's done by bilirubin, I'm sure, but that's an enzyme so it needs the right environment to keep it happy and functioning. They degrade pretty quickly after death. You'd have to get a fresh sample of the enzyme for it to work. You can order some from a company online... like from a lab that uses it in schools or-or something." She suddenly realized she might have been carrying on and quickly shut her mouth.

Sherlock was staring off into space.

"Damn," he said, then stood up and binned the liver. "Well, thank you, Molly. You've saved me an evening of wasted work." He stalked off to the sofa and flopped down on it, then tugged his laptop onto his stomach and started typing away. Molly followed sheepishly, perching herself on the arm of John's chair.

"So you're just alone here?" she prompted nervously.

"Yes," replied Sherlock in a bored tone of voice.

"Aren't you- Don't you want to do something for Christmas? Dinner? Or-or something?"

"Not particularly."

"Oh come on! Sherlock, don't be such a Scrooge," said Molly with a laugh.

"Merry Christmas."

Molly sighed and rolled her eyes. But God help her, she was fond of that man.

"I'll cook us a quick Christmas dinner, shall I?"

Sherlock merely grunted again, but Molly slid off the chair and went to raid the pantry. They had some things she could use. Box of instant mashed potatoes. English brown sauce for the gravy. A tin of sprouts... She wondered mildly if Mrs. Hudson would mind her having a look in her refrigerator. She wandered downstairs, still being ignored. Sure enough a note on the refrigerator announced cheerfully that there was a pudding ready to be put in the oven (and to not try lighting it on fire, young man. Merry Christmas!). She smiled and pulled the pudding out, then stacked what looked like four already cooked turkey legs on top of it and carried the lot upstairs. Sherlock was still on his laptop so Molly set to cooking. She cleared Sherlock's failed liver experiment off the table and then set out plates and napkins. She even found a couple of stubby candles.

Then everything was ready. It was a decent spread, Molly thought proudly, a proper feast for two. She undid her apron, checked that there wasn't any mashed potato on her dress and then went to find Sherlock, who was still lounging on the sofa, though his hands now steepled under his chin.

"Sherlock?" No response. She stepped closer and patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. "Er, dinner."

Sherlock drew in a long breath as if he had been awoken from a very deep sleep. Then his eyes blinked open and his nostrils flared. "Oh. Yes. Thank you, Molly," he said, sitting up and looking a bit confused. "I thought you'd gone..."

"And leave you alone on Christmas?" said Molly, smiling, "Never. Come on. I managed to get some things together!"

She lead the way to the kitchen, Sherlock following behind her. All the cooking had really done wonders for her appetite. She sat down and beamed when Sherlock took his place. He looked surprised at the Christmas dinner that had appeared seemingly from nowhere.

"Well come on, tuck in!" said Molly brightly, already loading her plate with turkey, a heaping portion of buttery mashed potato, loads of gravy, some sprouts. She wished they'd have had some mince pies, but this would do. Then she dug into her meal, humming appreciatively. She'd managed to copy her mum's old gravy recipe perfectly. It took loads of cream, but it was Christmas after all.

Molly suddenly realized Sherlock was looking at her. She daintily set down her drumstick and dabbed at her mouth with a napkin, careful not to smudge the lipstick. "S-sorry, is- did I- Do you not like anything here?" she asked timidly.

Sherlock was still staring, then suddenly drew in a breath again and shook his head as if to clear it. "No, no. I mean, yes, it all looks lovely. I do like it." He began putting food onto his own plate.

"Oh-okay! Good," said Molly, smiling nervously and going back to her own plate, though she tried to eat a bit slower. She'd gotten too used to wolfing down her lunches at work... She glances at Sherlock. He seems distracted somehow, pecking at his only half filled plate like a little bird. At the same time she's nearly cleared hers.

"There's plenty to go around," added Molly tentatively, "You don't have to hold back. There's a pudding from Mrs. Hudson too."

"Fine," breathed Sherlock, still looking resolutely at his plate as he ate with agonizing slowness.

Molly sighed and polished off her last forkful of potatoes. Well, no need to let this go to waste. Sherlock clearly wasn't going to eat it. And it was Christmas. She served herself another generous portion, then suddenly found the gravy boat next to her hand.

"Oh, thank you," she said, trying to take it from Sherlock.

"No, please, let me," he rumbled, then dumped a truly generous amount on top of her mound of potatoes.

"Thanks," Molly murmured, then picked up her fork again. Just when she had nearly cleared the potatoes, more sprouts appeared. Molly looked up at Sherlock. She caught him staring in time, even thought she saw a hint of pink tongue licking his lips. Molly is feeling really pretty full by now. And she still wants dessert. But she can manage a few sprouts. Maybe it will make Sherlock feel better about eating so slowly.

She speared a sprout on her fork and swept it through a puddle of gravy before eating it. Soon the last one was gone and Molly sat back with a sigh, grateful now that she decided to wear a dress after all. Then there was another turkey leg on her plate. She stared at it, then looked at Sherlock. No doubt about it. His eyes were definitely on her stomach.

"Sherlock," she said carefully, sitting up again with a huff and crossing her arms self-consciously over her middle. "What are you doing?"

"Eating Christmas dinner," said Sherlock, sounding more like a guilty five-year-old than the world's only consulting detective.

"I meant to me," snapped Molly, nodding at her plate. Her stomach groaned softly and she muffled a small belch.

Sherlock just blinked, there was a slight pink flush creeping into his cheeks.

"Am I your next experiment, then?" she demanded.

"Yes I mean-Not in," Sherlock said, quailing under Molly's glare. "You were enjoying yourself."

Molly blushed deep red. "Ye-so what? I can't enjoy myself on Christmas?!"

"Of course you can," said Sherlock, looking positively bewildered, "That's why I was helping you. I liked seeing you enjoy yourself."

Molly had opened her mouth to retort, but it died before it was given voice. She slid her hands a bit further down her belly.

"You mean you don't think I'm a pig."

"You look... lovely."

Both of them blushed this time.

Sherlock wet his lips. "I wondered if it might be time for pudding?"

Molly looked down at her belly where it was protruding out into her lap. He was definitely enjoying this, she thought, feeling startled and rather warm herself at the thought. She swallowed, considered her options carefully, then smiled. "Oi, I still have a turkey leg to get through."
She picked it up and tore into it quite happily. Sherlock shifted on his chair, his fingers moving slowly to his mouth as he watched her transfixed.

"Pudding then, Sherlock?" she asked sweetly. The man nodded, looking dazed. He stood and tugged at his trousers, then got the dessert and set it down. Molly reached to carve herself a portion but Sherlock stopped her, his fingers closed lightly around her wrist.

"Molly. If you don't mind... could you just eat from- from the entire thing?"

Molly blinked, but one look into those dark, dark eyes and she was pulling the platter towards her. "Don't you want any?" she asked curiously.

Sherlock suddenly seemed very close as he smiled and kissed her cheek. "Only what you're not having," he rumbled and she felt herself flush, a tingle rush up her spine.

"A-alright then," said Molly, lifting her fork and bringing a huge bite to her lips. Sherlock's expression said that she was the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on.