When he claws up her skin, teeth shimmering in the darkness and laughter spilling down in-between the covers, Molly can't help but hope his hair was curlier and lips far colder on her skin. It's something that scares her deeply because what's use is to live in a fantasy that could never come true? They play with each other, she grazing his chest with fingertips, he whispering promises into her ears, saying that he would never leave her behind the way that the jerk did.
When the mattress creaks and Toby mews outside the door to her bedroom, she can't help but not believe that is what happiness and true love is all about. It's nothing like what she imagined having with Sherlock, with observing the riding crop falling and falling onto the bodies, breaking the skin, tissues and silence. They don't moan when they make love to each other, Molly gasping silently the exact moment when it's wanted and Jim just sighing, running his fingers through her uncombed hair desperately. It's slow, it's exiting and Molly starts to want the pain again. She wants to be ignored, she wants to beg for the attention that won't come without a price.
It sickens her to think she's not happy just the way it is.
She doesn't know why she wants to introduce Jim to Sherlock. She dreamt once of laughing into his face about her happiness, happiness he could never provide her even if he'd like to. She loved dreaming, thinking out thousands of what ifs and what could have beens. It was distracting, it was something out of her reach. Sherlock Holmes is glancing at her like Michelangelo's David is gazing at the bystanders and Molly feels the ice filling her stomach and tears crawling down her smiling wrinkles when Jim is being said to be gay.
She is in the spotlight, it's not just bring me some coffee, do not disturb me, this is my new admirer, John Watson who is taking your place beneath my feet. Sherlock is looking at her with a bored expression but he is talking about something concerning her, her of all people and even though the anger stains her skin with a flush, the blood starts circling lively once again. There is no past numbness anymore, there is nothing left of that intolerable lightness of being.
Molly starts screaming at the beautiful marble statue but it doesn't decay in her eyes, Sherlock's face opening with something akin to surprise upon seeing her reaction to his words. His eyes look at her like they did never before and there's fire starting in her insides when she flees down the stairs, calling for Jim who wanted to meet the mystery jerk she has told him so much about.
Tonight sex is marvelous and it's the first time Molly breaths out a moan at the end, her insides filing themselves with butterflies. Beside her Jim is echoing Sherlock's name with bliss filling his eyes and his hands jerking themselves onto her hips. They do it times on end, never tired, never having enough. Jim screams, he claws and laughs with the David's name on his lips and Molly smiles widely, dancing nearly from happiness.
It's sickening and revolting but she's happier being lovesick than feeling just that inhuman bliss. It feels more fitting and less ordinary, just the way Sherlock is and she knows that and so does Jim.