When Two Become One

I do not own any of the characters in this story; they all belong to the BBC and the brilliants writers Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffatt and of course, . Read and reply, rated M for later chapters. Lots of fluffiness and slash, and eventual pairing. Enjoy!

Chapter 1

The light outside started to fade slowly, and Molly realised it was nearing the end of her shift at St Bart's Hospital. She gathered her things, slowly done the buttons up on her coat, swung her bag over her shoulder and made for the door.

"'You're wrong you know," said a familiar voice from the eerie shadows. Molly squeaked involuntarily and turned around to face the tall figure. She watched him carefully, eyes drinking in his blissful sight.

"You do count; you've always counted and I've always trusted you," he hesitated, and turned to face her. "But you were right, I'm not okay."

Molly felt a surge of... boldness? Whatever it was, it managed to overcome the anxious feeling in her stomach and made her reply. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Molly, I think I'm going to die." Sherlock said those words so coldly and bleakly, it made Molly's whole body tremble

"What do you need?"

"If I wasn't everything that you think I am, everything that I think I am; would you still want to help me?" Molly thought she saw a genuine look of fear creep over Sherlock's face, but she soon remembered that he doesn't show emotion.

She repeated her last question strongly. "What do you need?"

Sherlock took a few tantalisingly small steps forward, so that his body was close to hers, and she could feel the radiating heat pulsating from his body. That's when he said the one word which caused Molly's mouth to run dry.

"You."

Molly waited in the cold lab, waiting for Sherlock's limp body to appear around the corner on a stretcher. Suddenly, the doors swung open and Sherlock strode in, acting as if nothing had happened.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Molly almost screamed.

"I'm coming to thank you, why? Is that a problem?" Sherlock replied blandly.

"No, well... Look, Sherlock, you've just committed suicide. You need to lie low for a while, until you can figure out what to do. Actually, where are you going to stay?" Molly inquired.

"Well, Molly," Sherlock averted his gaze from the wall to look into her eyes, "I was wondering if I could stay with you. I would contact my brother, but he would make too much of a fuss, plus it's a risk that I do not wish to take just yet."

"I-I um," Molly stuttered, but soon regained control, "I'm sure that would be okay, but I have to warn you, my flat is a little small, it only has one bed, you can have that if you want and I'll sleep on the sofa. But you don't have any clothes or toiletries, so you'll have to let me know which one you like so I can get them for you. Plus you need to let me know what food you like, what you don't like, and also what-".

Molly was cut off from her ongoing list as Sherlock enveloped her in a gentle hug. He squeezed her lightly, before pulling away. "Thank you, Molly Hooper," he smiled.

Molly blushed like crazy, and turned quickly to grab her bag. "Okay," she said cheerfully, "come with me".

Sherlock followed her tentatively out of the hospital and straight into a cab that Molly had flagged down. He sat next to her, knees occasionally bumped when they went around a corner, or over a bump in the road. Once or twice they made eye contact, but it didn't last longer than a few seconds, Molly couldn't bare the tension.

It had started to rain when they approached Molly's front door, so she hurried to get them both in from the cold.

"Would you like some coffee?" she asked innocently.

"Black, with two sugars, thanks."

Molly put the kettle on, and as she waited for it to boil, she pondered over the events that had occurred that day. Not only had THE Sherlock Holmes asked her for help, but had had also HUGGED her, and was now sitting in her LIVING ROOM. The high shriek of the whistle soon brought her out of her daydream.

"So, have you figured out a plan yet, how you're going to deal with Jim, or at least his assassins?" Molly inquired, sipping her tea.

"Of course," Sherlock replied bluntly.

"Oh, well, that's good then," Molly giggled slightly, and then returned to her tea.

Sherlock's gazed moved from the window to study Molly; the giggle she had just made echoed in his ears and made him smile to himself almost undetectably. From that moment, he started to notice new things about her. He was Sherlock, he never missed anything, how did he miss these details?

He noticed the small clump of freckles under her right eye, how her hair was darker brown at the top of her head than it was at the end of her strands, and how the tip of her ears would go slightly red whenever she smiled to herself.

Molly stood up and reached for Sherlock's cup. "You finished?" Sherlock handed her his cup and their fingered brushed briefly. He noted how she had delicately soft fingers, and wondered if the rest of her body would feel that soft. He shook the idiotic thought from his head and stood up.

"I shall sleep on the sofa tonight, Molly. You have had a... confusing day and deserve a good rest," he declared as Molly appeared from the kitchen. He strode over and hugged her again, softer this time. "Thank you, once again," he whispered.

Molly was too shocked to speak, and only managed a nod against his shoulder. Sherlock pulled back, and Molly felt a wave of coldness spread over her as she lost his body heat. Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she saw, Sherlock lean in. He placed a small, chaste kiss on her cheek, before rearing his head up again.

She couldn't move. It was all getting too much. But she loved it. She wanted more. She wanted to grab his jacket and pull him down to her and kiss him so hard that all of her feelings would flood into him. Or, she could walk away, save herself from being rejected by the world's most gorgeous and unobtainable man.

She had to make a decision. Now.