Hello readers! This is my very first Sherlolly story :) I love Sherlock and I love SherlockxMolly pairing. Please read and review and be gentle, it's my first story XP thnx!
It was easy enough for Sherlock to deduce where Molly Hooper was off to on a stormy Friday night in January. She might have been wearing her usual frumpy clothes under her lab coat, but her hair was nicely curled and pinned back (hmm, he'd never noticed how very attractive that look was before he saw her like that), her makeup was done and the golden color she'd chosen for eye shadow made her brown eyes glow like warmed amber, and she was wearing the most amazing perfume that made her smell like vanilla. She normally smelled like the chemicals and plastic that surrounded her every day at Bart's lab. The vanilla made him think of Molly baking delicious treats – perhaps baking them at Baker Street just for him and he could lick the errant batter off of her fingers as she worked.
Wait, what?!
Where on God's green earth had that come from? He was Sherlock Holmes, he didn't fantasize about any woman, let alone Molly Hooper. And he certainly had no business fantasizing about such a ridiculous domestic scene. No matter that she was the woman who helped him most strategically in besting Jim Moriarty, the woman who meant the most to him, but that did not make her sentiment in his heart. Nothing was sentiment for him. Irene Adler had failed to break down that wall and Janine had been a foil all along, even if he did find her slightly amusing. None of them had done anything to warrant his acceptation of sentiment in his life and no one ever would.
The reason why he followed Molly after works as she walked towards the restaurant where she would be meeting another disaster of a date was because he wanted to save her the time of figuring out that she'd made another bad choice. She couldn't be trusted to pick suitable dates on her own, clearly. Nothing to do with sentiment at all.
She wouldn't even want sentiment from him at this point even if he offered it. Once he had been done with taking care of the Moriarty imposters after his five-minute exile, he had willingly gone to rehab to prove to everyone he loved that he was ready to turn his life around. That included Molly Hooper and he made sure she knew he was clean for good this time. Unfortunately, it seemed to be too little too late.
He was lucky to have the support of his friends, the Watsons. John had forgiven Mary for everything and they had welcomed a little baby girl into their lives whom Sherlock doted on. If it weren't for that, he would have felt that rehab had been all for naught.
Back to the problem at present…
He "borrowed" a page cap and traded his Belstaff for a tweed jacket from the coat rack by the front door before he slipped into the restaurant and settled himself at the bar, just in the line of sight of her table.
As he expected, she was on another date.
The man was average height, blonde hair, brown eyes, and a smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks. The sport coat he was wearing strained at the shoulders and his jeans were too tight.
Competitive swimmer, now a lifeguard and a swim instructor for a private school. Time out in the sun amounted to a few worrisome moles on his face. Owned two cats, one brown and one white, he could tell from the hair on his clothing and the small scratches on his hands. So, not nice cats. Vegetarian. Liked vodka far too much.
Oh, Sherlock thought as he looked at the man. He had a taste for naughty movies and prostitutes.
Bingo.
He waited for about an hour, watching this man order Molly three glasses of wine as the meal progressed. When Molly's laugh bordered on ridiculous and drew the stares of other patrons in the restaurant, he chose to make his move.
"Molly!" Sherlock exclaimed in mock surprise and happiness, walking up to the table. "Fancy seeing you here!"
"Sherlock?!" Molly slurred, completely stunned.
"Who the hell is this?" her date asked with a smug smile.
"Oh didn't she tell you about me?" Sherlock said, feigning disappointment. "I thought I meant more to you than that, Molly."
"What're you doing?" Molly demanded, her eyes heavy but clearly angry.
"Slight emergency at Barts, I need your expertise immediately," Sherlock said.
"Can't this wait til tomorrow?" she said irritably, her gaze going pointedly towards her date.
"Oh, don't worry about him, he'll be fine," Sherlock sneered, looking the man up and down. "He's probably already got his favorite call-girl on speed dial just in case you decide not to go home with him tonight. So, shall we?"
"Sherlock!" Molly cried in disgust. "Don' listen to him, Mason, he's absolutely insane!"
Her date turned tomato red.
"I think it would be better to call this a night," Mason said, standing up and placing money on the table. "It was nice to meet you, Molly. Good luck."
Sherlock smiled smugly as Mason walked quickly out of the restaurant. The smile dropped when he felt a small fist collide with his arm. He looked down to see Molly's furious face looking up at him.
"How could you?!" she cried. "He was nice!"
"He was probably on his third round of amoxicillin in as many months, I saved you the same fate."
"You're a berk."
"And you are sloshed," Sherlock stated, grabbing her hand. "You're coming home with me to sleep it off."
"No thank you," Molly slurred again, trying to twist her arm free as he marched her through the restaurant. "I can manage jush fine on my own."
"When you can pronounce your tees at the end of your words again, then you can manage 'jush' fine on your own. Until then, I don't want anything bad happening to you," he told her firmly, leaving no room for argument. "So, off to Baker Street we go."
The only problem with his plan, he realized as they walked up the stairs to the flat, was that the electricity was out. The afternoon storm must have done it to the old building. Molly stood in his lounge and shivered while he thought.
"Now what, genius?" she asked.
"I'm thinking!"
"Would've been better if you'd lef me with Mashon," she grumbled. "We could be making our own heat by now."
"Stop that," Sherlock ordered. "He was beneath you."
"How do you know?" she said moodily. "You don' even know'im."
"I know that he spent his money on pornography and hired women," Sherlock told her flatly, walking towards her and watching her eyes widen as he closed the space between them. "And that you would have been just another notch on his belt if you'd gone home with him tonight."
"So wha'?" Molly countered, crossing her arms over her chest. Sherlock tried to ignore the way the pose pushed her breasts up in her low cut shirt. "At leasht I'd be warm!"
"Fine!" Sherlock bellowed, grabbing her hand again and pulling her down the hall, Molly almost tripping along behind him.
She squeaked loudly when he deposited her on the bed, sliding in next to her and pulling the covers over the both of them.
"I'm not shleeping with you!" she cried in protest.
"That's precisely what we're doing," Sherlock informed her as he wrapped his arms around her body and pulled her close. "Just sleeping. You're too drunk to think straight, Molly, just do as I say. If I left you in here by yourself, you'd freeze, and I'm not letting you go out there alone with the weather being what it is and your intoxication levels being what they are. Now hold still and go to sleep. You'll feel better in the morning."
Miraculously, she did as he said. The only problem, of course, was that he now had a bundle of sleeping Molly in his arms who smelled like cookies and felt soft and warm in his arms. Which, he reminded himself, was not a problem since he did not do sentiment. Not a bit.
Molly awoke the next morning with a pounding head and an awful tasting mouth. Her eyes cracked open and she was shocked to realize where she was: in Sherlock's bed! The sheets and pillows had all been disturbed and his side was warm. Bits and pieces of the night before swam back to her in her mind and she groaned, dropping her head into the pillow. She'd got drunk on her date and Sherlock had scared the very nice man who she'd wanted to shag off. And then… and then?
Back to Baker Street obviously, and all she could remember was him saying, "Do as I say," and then the warmth of his body. Had they…? Oh God, if they had, she didn't remember! She couldn't remember the first time she'd slept with Sherlock Holmes! How cruel could the world be?
And then, like an angel, he appeared in the doorway with a tray of fry up and a pot of coffee. He was already dressed and smelled like fresh soap.
"Feeling better?" he asked as he placed the tray down on the bed beside her.
"Not really," Molly confessed with a squeak, reaching happily for the cup of coffee and a piece of toast.
"Eat that, then shower, and then sleep some more," he instructed. "My house is yours for the day."
Molly clutched at the collar of her shirt as he walked out of the room. Sherlock Holmes, taking care of her while she was hungover - hell must have frozen over. She was so stunned she realized she didn't ask him what had happened the night before, but the thought of standing up was too much. So instead, she ate the breakfast and downed a cup of coffee and fell back to sleep.
She woke up hours later, feeling much better, and wondered into the bathroom to shower. In the middle of shampooing her hair with his shampoo, the door opened and she nearly screamed.
"Sherlock!" she squeaked, reaching to cover her important bits. The shower doors were clear, after all! "What do you think you're doing?!"
"Giving you a toothbrush to use," was his reply as he dropped the toothbrush into a cup on the edge of the sink. "Don't be so shy, Molly, it's really not a big deal."
"Oh," she said, more confused than ever. "Is it because… i-is it because we… I-I mean, did we?"
"Did we what?"
"You know," she said, barely able to get it out. "S-sleep together?"
"Oh heavens no," Sherlock laughed, leaving the bathroom.
He left fresh pair of his pyjamas on thebed for her to use. They were huge on her! But she admitted that she liked wearing his clothes, they smelled like him and made her so happy. When she walked into the living room almost tripping on the too long pants, he took one look at her and suddenly he stood up and crossed the room. He swept her into his arms and kissed her passionately. Molly squeaked loudly, pressing her hands against his chest when her senses kicked in.
"Stop right this minute Sherlock Holmes!" she instructed firmly. "Now you tell me exactly what happened last night! Did we have sex?!"
"Oh, Molly," Sherlock said, taking her face in his hands. "Do you think I would take advantage of you like that? Like your date would have? No, my darling, I would never. Because…Molly, I must admit what I've barely come to realize myself in the last few months. I would never do that to you because… because I am in love with you, Molly Hooper."
Molly gasped, feeling almost faint.
"I love you too, Sherlock," she whispered, falling into his arms.
They kissed passionately for several long minutes, their tongues dueling fiercely until it was clear that they both wanted more. Sherlock led her to the bedroom and her head swam as they landed on the bed. The clothes she just put on were removed and his naked body was over hers soon. He sucked on each breast and his fingers rubbed her clit, making her juices flow freely as she squirmed beneath him. He made her come twice with his fingers alone! She practically screamed in pleasure when he finally pressed into her, his cock was huge and delightful. Somewhere in the back of her head she thought maybe they should be using a condom, but a larger part of her din't care about that. He felt too good bare inside of her as he pistoned in and out of her, the obscene sounds of their flesh slapping together filling the room as much as heavy breathing.
"You are mine, Molly," he growled, sucking on her neck. "No one else's. Do you know what it did to me to watch you with those other men?"
"O-only yours," she gasped as he pounded into her.
"Never look at another man," he said.
"Never!" she submitted.
"Because I will make you forget all of them," he growled again. "None of them would ever compare to me, would they?"
"No one could, Sherlock!" she cried, her third orgasm hitting her like an earthquake.
He wasn't far behind her, his ejaculate hot and deep inside of her.
"There will never be anyone else but you," he murmured as they came down from their high. "So why wait? I want to marry you, Molly Hooper. Please tell me that you will become my wife?"
"Oh, yes, Sherlock!" she cried, tears welling in her eyes. "Of course I will."
She was so happy, so much happier than she had been just twelve hours before, and she couldn't wait to spend the rest of her life with Sherlock Holmes, happy every single day.
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