It was a dark and stormy night the night she met Sherlock Holmes. By all accounts, the wind howled, the rain lashed down indiscriminately, trees even took it upon themselves to creak ominously as she ran the short distance between home and the co-op. She had rolled her eyes at the very clichéd-ness of the setting before darting out into the storm all to satisfy a whim of her mothers'.
Fairy cakes. The damned woman had all but demanded she go an get herself possibly murdered all for the sake of some slightly stale fairy-cakes. Had she not been inexplicably terrified she would have been furious.
Mustering her courage as she lingered near the door of the small shop, fairy cakes wrapped tightly in the plastic bag at her side (as well as a kinder bueno, cause dammit if she was getting nothing for her troubles!) and the heater overhead swiftly drying her drenched hair, she took a deep breath and darted back into the torrent.
Only to come to an abrupt standstill after taking a scant five steps outside, breath whooshing out of her and her shopping bag tumbling delicately into a waiting puddle: a puddle that was evidently far deeper ( and far better connected) than it had been mere minutes before as it swiftly swept away her precious cargo down the street, the white of the bag glowing dimly in the gloom of the dismal evening. She stared, dumbfounded, aghast and miserably after it, before turning her gaze on to the newcomer.
She hadn't expected to see a ghostly, pale face looming out of the darkness, though her rational mind attempted to beat sense into the part that screamed at her of ghosts and vampires, although his unnatural stillness did little to disprove that supernatural hypothesis.
However, the far more pressing worry of her bag of treats disappearing down the road distracted her from her perusal of the stranger's face as she turned sharply away and sprinted after it, water soaking through her shoes and splashing her legs. Finally, she reached it. Drenched to the bone and shivering violently, water running in rivulets off her fingers as she bent down to snag the bag, only to find a pale, equally wet hand grab it instead.
Her evening, in that exact moment, went from 'bad' to 'dismal'.
Instead of thanking him, taking the bag and going, she let out a frightened 'squeak' and ran, vaguely conscious of both the ludicrousness of the situation and of how very rude she was being; however, he was getting a bag of fairy cakes out of it.
She was cold, wet and scared and wanted nothing more than to be at home and warm. Regardless of her mother's ire. (She ignored the voice in her head that whispered snidely that her mothers' wrath would be plenty hot enough anyway.)
Fumbling for her keys on her doorstep, barely able to see due to the severity of the rainfall (really, what sick god had decided to piss Thor off this time? And why now?!), she suppressed a defeated whimper as they fell through her numb, rain slicked fingers to the equally wet step beneath her waterlogged feet. Tonight was just not her night.
She groaned as she sensed the stranger's presence behind her, turning dejectedly to face him. Then started laughing. Really, she must have been going insane, after all, she hardly looked much better, yet all she could focus on was the steady stream of water running down his forehead, between his brows and down his nose, trickling, tap-like, onto the floor below. His black(? It was far too wet and dark to tell) hair was plastered to his head, though its general shape and flicky-ness at his nape suggested normally riotous short, he just looked ridiculous. And attractive. Ridiculously attractive, whilst she resemlbed a small drowned rat, even at the age of twenty-three.
After all, the rain had managed to turn his shirt from white to see through and form fitting, his trousers clung to the sculpted musculature of his legs and the dim light made his face all the more angular- making her wonder if a smile would soften it. She shifted uneasily on the stoop, eyes latching on to the shopping bag still clutched in his long fingers (she thought he might be a musician, piano or violin perhaps,) as he seemed to appraise her.
As she opened her mouth to speak, hopefully something more polite than the squeak of before, the squeal of the upstairs window opening broke their silent standoff, Molly's mother shouting out of the window. The harsh, smokers' rasp of her mothers voice cut through the evening as she shouted down the street for Molly, to get some fags whilst she was at the shop. The window slammed shut with a giant rattle of what seemed like all the glass in the house... And a swiftly stifled snort from Molly.
Finally, he spoke. Her knees turned to mush. The smooth, rich baritone rumbled from deep within his chest before sliding silkenly from between those full, lush, rain slicked lips. Until that point, spontaneity was not something Molly had especially prided herself on; however, as she leapt forward and slammed their mouths together, she decided she might have to rectify that trait.
Especially when his hands abandoned their furious grip on the wet bag and instead found themselves locked in a furious grip in her hair and on one hip.
A massive peal of thunder broke them apart, much to her chagrin, as the rain seemed to somehow increase in intensity. She grabbed his hand, the bag and her keys, jammed them into the lock and pulled them through into the foyer of her house. Pressing a finger to his lips, she ran up to her mother, deposited the change and the bag (minus her bueno) on her mothers bed and ran back down to the waiting stranger.
He took her hand in his and made for the door, still as silent as a mouse. She had just enough time to grab her keys from the door on the way past, before sprinting with him, his long legs covering far more ground than her diminutive 5"3 stature would allow. Once at his flat (who knew the handsome devil lived so close?!) their clothes were off and on radiators in record setting time, and they began radiating heat of their own. It was in bed, considerably later, that they finally introduced themselves. (She was very happy to discover that the silent, brooding, antisocial man she had heard so much about on the news and such, was in fact a cuddler.)