A/N: Thank you for the prompt. I did not what you quite wanted but I hope it's okay.
"What's this, Molly?" Sherlock Holmes asked as he strode onto the lab in a flurry of coat and flying hair. He was as impeccably dressed as ever and to normal eyes, he looked his standard self but Molly Hooper could see that he was quite out of sorts, discovering something that had him both excited and put out.
It could only be one thing.
"I am so sorry, Sherlock. I was just about to inform you earlier but it slipped my mind." Her eyes shined as she began, "The death was so peculiar. I knew it would interest you. But why did Greg inform you about it? - Surely, that is how you found out. It's not like it was a murder or anything, just a stupid case of- I mean, who dies by condom-"
"What- No, it's not that, though I would wish to hear later on," Sherlock interrupted. "What brings me here today Dr. Hooper," there was a strange note to his voice, "is why I was not aware that you could draw, and draw really well."
Molly blinked at him. "I don't see why I had to inform you of that."
"I don't not see why you didn't have to," he insisted, maneuvering around the lab table she was performing tests on and situated himself in front of her
She furrowed her brows at his reply. "Sherlock, why are we having this conversation?" She asked cautiously.
"I don't know," he replied, petulantly, producing the incriminating piece of evidence- her art book, which contained portraits of everyone she held close to her heart, including Sherlock, "All I know is that you did not tell me.
"Why are you making such a big fuss about it?" She tried again. "No, you are," she, when she saw him open his mouth to protest, "Also, I thought you already knew, seeing as you can deduce anything and everything about me."
He relaxed a little, "So, you were not hiding it from me?"
She shook her head. At her nod, his whole demeanor changed and he turned around to fiddle with some equipments. "You were saying about that man-"
He stopped when he felt tug at the back, Molly's hand gently touching the fabric of his coat and keeping him in place. "What was that about, Sherlock?" She asked, calmly, exasperatedly- as if she did not expect him to answer but was trying anyway.
He faced her again, not fooled by the tone of her voice. Molly was a stubborn woman and she always got an answer when she wanted one. "I am supposed to know everything about you. I like to know everything about you. When I found this," he looked down at the book in his hand, "I was stumped that I missed something so obvious."
Molly rolled her eyes. "In other words, the great detective was disappointed that he was wrong in his deductions."
Sherlock shook his head, stepping closer to her, invading her personal space in an offhand manner. "No, it was not that. I just thought you were hiding it from me. Everyone except me knew about this talent of yours and I was the only person who was unaware. That did not seat well with me. You see, Molly Hooper," he pushed back a stray strand of brown hair from her face, "I am possessive about you and I should be the only person to unravel all your secrets." There was something so sensuous about the way he pronounced the words secret, as if alluding at something more which Molly could not, quite catch. "No, one else, only me," he said, forcefully.
"What are you saying?" Unknowingly, her voice came out breathless.
He smiled, leaning closer and planting a kiss on her cheek. "You tell me," he whispered, winking and striding out of the lab in the same fashion as he came.
Molly Hooper stood there, dazed.
That man might have died by condom, but it would certainly be Sherlock Holmes the reason her post mortem would sport.
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