Sally had a hard time deciding on a favorite part of Molly's body. Every part of her was so soft, so smooth and well-shaped, and real, without an ounce of the obnoxious Photoshopped glamour of the magazines that leered from the stands at the supermarkets.
When she spent the night, as she did increasingly often, Sally would hide her clothes, partially as a joke, partially because she wanted to see Molly naked constantly, and partially because she just wanted to get Molly out of her shell, boost her confidence, make her more brave. She would put up a fight, whine for a bit in her quiet way, and finally resign to her girlfriend's wishes, wrapping herself in an afghan if she got cold.
It was precious to watch her, standing over the stove, scrambling eggs, periodically sipping tea, with the curve of her small, round ass leading smoothly down to her full, soft thighs and slender calves. Sally couldn't keep herself from winding her arms around her waist and putting the full length of her own body against Molly's, especially because the sudden touch would cause her to flinch, and huddle closer into her. With every touch and every smile, she couldn't help but be glad that she wasn't wasting her attentions on that wanker of a detective anymore…
One night, after eating copious amounts of take-away and wasting time in front of the telly, Sally found herself sitting on the loveseat trying to decide on a film to watch, as Molly lay with her head in her lap, reading a cheap romance novel, draped in nothing but a light blanket.
"You know, it's not fair," she murmured timidly, as she turned a page.
"What's not?"
"That I have to be undressed all the time, and you don't."
Sally turned off the telly and set the remote on the coffee table. "Oh? Well, if you asked nicely, you know I would strip for you." Her hands found their way into the long brown hair that was draped across her right thigh, and she started to gently scratch Molly's scalp the way she loved.
"Mmm, and what if I do want you to strip for me?" Molly asked tenderly, closing her book and half-tossing, half-laying it on the floor at the foot of the sofa.
"Then you will have to do something for me in return."
"And that would be…?"
"You have to take charge this time."
One of Molly's thin, red-brown eyebrows arched itself in a graceful display of puzzlement. "Take charge of what?"
"You know 'of what,'" Sally teased.
"I'm assuming I know, but I want you to say it."
"Sex, Molly. I want you to make love to me. And not the gentle kind."
"Well, if we're not doing it gently, it's not making love, is it? That's called fucking," Molly murmured, taking Sally's hand.
"That depends," she mused. "A lot of people think that. But the way I look at it, as long as the sex is with the person that you love, it can be as rough as you want it to be, and it's still making love. Maybe, for all my modern, feminist ideals, I'm still old-fashioned in a sense…"
Molly sat up, letting the blanket fall from around her body, revealing her smooth ivory skin. "That's one of the things I love about you," she whispered, before leaning in to kiss her cheekbone.
Sally leaned into her, letting their faces rest against each other, noticing the change in her breathing patterns already. "Was that a yes, then?'
"I'm not going to answer that question," Molly teased, in a sing-songy voice. Sally had to try and resist the urge to laugh at the fact that she had clearly learned to flirt from that week she spent dating Moriarty. At least she's trying, she told herself.
"Well, what are you going to do to m-"
Molly had grabbed Sally's curls and was kissing her, viciously, struggling to pull her yoga pants off with her free hand. This wager, she decided, had been a very good idea.
Neither of them talked extensively about their relationship. They weren't hiding it- God, no. They had been seeing one another exclusively for eight months, and everyone in the department knew it. They just didn't like sharing the intimate details, partially because they happened to embody stereotypical British reserve, and partly because they treasured their time together too deeply to cheapen it by gushing to everyone or drowning their social media accounts in sappy messages.
Greg made fun of Sally, though, whenever Molly's name was mentioned. Not in a ridiculous way, just a light teasing that seemed to indicate his approval of their relationship.
In fact, the very next night, as Sally was helping him wrap things up at the office, Molly called to say she was at the grocer and buying things for dinner.
"What are you in the mood for, love?" she'd asked.
"I don't know. Whatever you feel like making, I guess. You could just get takeaway again if you're tired," Sally offered, shoving some leftover paperwork into the top drawer of a nearby desk.
"It's my turn to cook, though."
"Turn? Moll, we never decided on turns."
"Well, I did," she insisted. "You cook for me often enough, I'm going to start returning the favor from now on."
It was so rare that she insisted on something, that Sally never really felt the need to argue with her when she did. "Alright, if you want to so badly, do what you must. I've been craving spaghetti, if you're into that, and it'll be quick."
"That sounds nice."
"You've still got that key, right?"
"Yes."
"Okay, let yourself in if you get back before me. I should be leaving here before the hour is up." Sally's voice softened. "I love you."
"I love you, too. See you soon."
"Bye." She hung up, and when she looked up, Greg was standing in the doorway with that typical smirk on his face.
"So, still going well, I see."
"You don't have to investigate my relationship, you know. You could just ask how we're doing." Sally slid her cell back into the side pocket of her purse, where it hung on the back of her chair.
"Both of you are so private, I feel I'd be prying if I did."
"And you somehow feel better about listening in when we're on the phone?" she asked, trying not to let a chuckle escape her lips.
"I can't help that you two are adorable," he said, his smirk deepening. "You should head out, everything's basically done here. Go home to your lady love."
Sally rolled her eyes. "You're an idiot."
"Whatever you say. Go, goodbye. I'll see you in the morning." He motioned towards the door as if shooing her.
"Fine, bye. See you tomorrow." She waved hastily, swung her purse onto her shoulder, and headed for the elevator.
She passed him on the way to the tube station. He was hailing a taxi, moving at a frenetic pace. God only knew what case he was working on now. Dr. Watson was accompanying him as per usual, and waved warmly in greeting as she passed. She returned the gesture without hesitation. Good man, that one. Mary was lucky. And, although in many ways, Holmes had proven himself to be a decent man as well, she couldn't bring herself to forgive him for the hurt he put her Molly through. It was no longer on account of what she had perceived as his mental instability that she hated him; rather, she hated him now on behalf of the woman she loved. She stewed about it for a few minutes more, but after receiving a text from Molly and boarding the tube where he was long out of sight, she felt much better. Even though she wished to God that Moll would stand up to the egomaniac, that she would tell him he'd been wrong, at least she'd moved on. She'd done the right thing, tossed her feelings for him aside, and found someone who really did care for her. And Sally wasn't sure that things could be any better.
After a week more of bliss, Sally was alone at the flat one Saturday night, catching up on a couple of her shows when there was an unexpected rapping at the door. Confused, she looked down at her phone. Moll was still at her own flat, doing some cleaning, and didn't plan to come over for two more hours. She would certainly have called or messaged if she was coming over early…? Unless she'd suddenly decided to surprise her with flowers…
Her hopes rising, she paraded to the door like a giddy schoolgirl, only to open the door and find the one man she loathed almost as much as Holmes, standing there with tired eyes and that God-awful, rapidly greying beard that he'd deluded himself into thinking was flattering. He'd managed to stay away for a solid three weeks, but alas, it seemed that she hadn't made herself clear enough when they last spoke. Or the time before, or the time before that, or any of the other dozens of times he'd come around, horny and a little drunk, thinking he'd persuade her to give him one more night for old times' sake.
"What the fuck are you doing here, Philip?" she demanded, leaning on the doorframe as if to prepare herself for a needlessly long conversation.
"I just...I miss you, Sally. All the time."
"What part of 'I'm in a relationship' don't you understand? Are you that dense?" She started to back away and close the door, but he shifted into the doorway, using his body to prop the door open.
"I know, but what Molly doesn't know won't-"
"Just because you're a piece of shit who doesn't think that you have to be faithful to your partner, doesn't mean I am!" she snapped, feeling her face redden with fury. He started to back away, but his apparent retreat didn't stop her from opening fire. "Yes, I was the piece of shit other woman once, and yes, you're single now, but I'm not, you asshole! I'm in a relationship with someone I love, someone who isn't just using me for sex like you did! You know that, I've told you more than once- many more times than once- to let she and I have our peace, and you won't, Philip, and I don't know why. What I do know," she snarled, "is that if you come around here asking for it one more time, I will file a restraining order against you, and if you don't think I mean that, then test me, you little bitch."
He started to say something again, and began to walk towards her, but her gaze must have been killer. One look froze him in place after only two steps.
"Go suck Holmes's cock, since you love him so much now," she commanded, before slamming the door firmly in his face and locking it, backing away but staying close to the door, so that she would be able to hear when he left.
Anderson stayed at the door longer than he ever had before. He also sounded more desperate this time than she had ever heard him. He continued to pound on the door for an unclear amount of time, screaming her name until he began to sound hoarse, and she thought she heard sobs hiding under his voice. Gradually, the knocks and the cries slowed and became weaker, until after what felt like months, they ceased, and defeated footsteps shuffled towards the stairs. Sally sank back onto the sofa, and resumed the episode she was watching, but before five minutes had passed, she was weeping.
Moll did come over early, but only by an hour, and not bearing flowers, but a nice Chardonnay. Sally was still lying on the sofa, shaking with grief, wetting the decorative pillows with tears, and before she could even acknowledge Molly's arrival, she was in her arms. Molly was cradling her like she were a child, petting her hair, cooing sweet things almost inaudibly into her right temple.
"What happened?" she finally asked.
"Philip," Sally managed to mumble through heaving breaths.
No further explanation was needed.
Three more weeks passed. Philip did not resurface, much to everyone's relief. Once Sally had composed herself enough, she mentioned it to Greg one day over lunch, who, despite still having a strange sort of friendship with Anderson, was decidedly on her side.
"You had better tell me if he does turn up again," he had insisted. "As many times as you have told him to leave you alone, and as many times as he's refused to respect your wishes, he is a legitimate threat to your safety. I won't stand for you or Molly to live in fear."
Thankfully, that hadn't been necessary. Sally wasn't sure if she would be able to handle taking out an order on a man she'd once loved.
Other than that conversation, things passed much without event, until one day, she went down to the forensics lab to check on Moll, who'd been feeling irritable due to her cycle. Sally had gotten her some medicine and chocolate over lunch, and was coming down to surprise her with it, when she saw Holmes standing stock still in front of Molly as she hissed up at him.
Molly later refused to admit to Sally what had caused her to blow up at him, and once they actually formed a friendship of sorts, neither would Holmes. Sally assumed it was less about one specific thing he said, and more about the sum of all the things that he had ever said to her. Either that, or he'd forgotten that she was in a relationship (which she believed he could have; he openly admitted to forgetting things he didn't deem significant), and had done the closest thing to flirting Sherlock Holmes was capable of. Regardless, it wasn't what Sherlock said that mattered, so much as what Sally heard her girlfriend say to him.
"Listen to me," she said coldly. "You're not half as rude as you used to be, I will give you credit for that. But you still treat me like absolute shit sometimes, Sherlock, and I'm through with letting you do that. I used to care for you very deeply, from a… from a romantic perspective, and I used to let you walk all over me, but I am done with that now, do you hear me? Done. I've met a girl, and we've been dating for the better part of a year now, and I love her deeply, and if she's taught me anything during that time, it's not to let the men in my life run over me. If you can't start speaking to me with more respect from now on, then you can… you can...you can kiss my ass and you can go elsewhere for your forensic needs."
Sally had to stifle a laugh. Go elsewhere for your forensic needs. Moll could be such a nerd. But at least she was trying.
The two of them were silent for a moment, and Sherlock finally spoke.
"I...I...you're absolutely right, Molly. I...I haven't ever meant to make you feel badly, and I'm...sincerely sorry that I did. You are...very deserving of respect, and I will take care to address you more appropriately in the future." He hung his head, and started to leave. As he passed Sally, he forced himself, in some strange ritual of penitence, to greet her. "Good afternoon, Sergeant Donovan."
She hoped to God that he'd caught the smug grin she was wearing, and that he could "deduce" how proud she was of her girl for putting the uppity bastard in his place. "Afternoon, Sherlock."
When Molly met her gaze, Sally couldn't help but laugh.
"How much did you see of that?" Molly demanded, her usual timidness coming back in a flood.
"All of it," she answered, laughing. "I'm so proud of you, darling."
"But- was I not too harsh?"
"No. No, no, no. He needed to hear that, I promise you." Sally embraced her girlfriend and tenderly kissed her forehead. "Watch and see, he won't be rude to you again."
When Molly came to the flat the next day, there was a certain twinkle in her eyes that looked like pride, and a white envelope in her hands.
"I found this on my desk this morning," she explained, placing it on Sally's lap. "Read it."
Sally took it out, one regular piece of lined paper, scrawled on in familiar handwriting. Molly, it read, I am sincerely sorry that I haven't been as cordial to you as I could have been, and as I said yesterday, I do plan to improve in that regard. While there's much I don't know about your relationship with Sgt. Donovan, it is clear that she is very good for you, and I am glad to know that you are with someone who appreciates you for the fine, intelligent woman you are. Perhaps I could begin to make amends to you by inviting the both of you to lunch with me and John sometime this week? You have my number, text if you'd like to schedule something. -SH
Sally shook her head. "You do realize John most likely put him up to this, right?"
"I know," Molly admitted with a smile. "But if he was really that opposed, do you think he would've agreed to it?"
"That's true." Sally took off her jacket and tossed it across the living room with a bemused sigh. "In the end, Sherlock does whatever the hell he wants to do."
Molly sat down beside her, cupped her face in one hand, and planted a kiss on her lips. "And so do we."