Unrequited

"Unrequited love's a bore, and I've got it pretty bad."

John Mayer was crooning into her ears. Molly sighed to herself, her chin resting in her hand. The words he had just sung could not have been truer.

"Bloody bastard." She muttered.

No, not John Mayer, but none other than Sherlock Holmes. With a great huff Molly stood up, pulling the ear buds out and hitting pause on her iPod. Now was not the time for her to be listening to sad music. She returned to the microscope she had been sitting in front of, but couldn't focus on the slide that she was supposed to be studying.

"Damn." She muttered.

After cleaning up the slides she strode towards her office, deciding that perhaps now would be a good time to peruse through the pile of mail she had brought with her. There was never much to do whilst working the graveyard shift.

She settled down into her chair behind her desk and began to look through her mail. She ignored most of it, noting that they were junk. Her fingers stilled, as her whole body grew tense, when her eyes landed upon a thick cream envelope. She dropped the rest of the mail onto her desk, keeping her gaze locked on the envelope in her hands. Her heart was beating rapidly, practically pounding in her chest. She wanted to open it, but she was also terrified. Terrified of what the inside contents would reveal. Would it be a yes? Or would it be another rejection?

Taking a steadying breath she slipped her fingernail under the seal and broke it. Another breath and she pulled out the paper inside. She let the envelope fall, unfolding the letter.

Dear Dr. Hooper,

We are pleased to accept your application …

The rest of the words blurred before her as her eyes filled with tears.

Molly hated farewell parties. She had always tried her hardest to duck out of them whenever a co-worker was leaving. To her, these types of parties were awkward and sad. She never knew what to say, more often than not stumbling over her words and making a complete fool of herself.

Now she was on the other side. The farewell party was for her. She was rather grateful that no one expected her to give a speech. At the moment all she really wanted to do was go home and finish up the rest of her packing. Thankfully the party was starting to die down; most people had already left, wishing her the best in her new endeavors.

Thirty minutes later the party was over. Just as she was making her way towards her office, her office that would soon be hers no more, she heard her text tone chirp.

Come to Baker Street. – SH

Please. – SH

Molly sighed. Of course he would know of her departure. She had considered not going to say goodbye to him, but that thought had quickly left her mind. She couldn't be that cruel.

Making sure that she had taken all of her things from her office, giving it one last go-over, she said her final farewells to Mike and Meena and departed from Bart's for the last time. Her heart gave a slight lurch as she stepped from the building. She didn't look back, instead hailing a cab.

After giving the driver the address to Baker Street, she settled back into the cushion and took a few unsteady breaths and allowed several tears to fall from her eyes. She dashed them away quickly. Not wanting to cry anymore. She had cried too much already.

Upon arriving outside Speedy's, Molly felt her heart give another lurch, a cold dead weight forming in the pit of her belly. Even though she couldn't see him, she knew that he was looking out the window. Taking a few deep, steadying breaths she let herself into 221B and climbed the stairs. He was still standing at the window when she entered, his back to her.

"You wanted to see me?" She questioned.

He spun about as soon as she finished talking, "… Molly!"

Her heart gave another jolt. She wished it would stop doing that. But this, this was all a bit strange. This was far too similar to that day he had asked her to solve crimes with him. He stepped towards her. She didn't move to take off her coat. Their gaze locked.

"You're leaving."

It wasn't a question, but a statement.

"Yes." The word came out of her mouth a little too breathy.

"But you love London. And you love your job."

She took in a deep breath, "Yes, to both."

"Then why are you leaving?"

She took in another deep breath, "It's an excellent job offer."

The look he was giving her let her know that he didn't believe that this was the only reason.

She let out a sigh, her eyes dropping from his strong stare, "I'm not happy here."

"Not … happy." He spoke these words slowly, mulling over them in his mouth.

"I want to be in a relationship Sherlock. I'm tired of being alone."

"And you think that by moving to America you'll find … love?"

She gave an unconvincing shrug, "I don't know. It just seemed like a good place to start."

"You don't think that you can find someone here?"

She refused to look up at him, instead focusing her eyes on the carpet, "With my current track rate? No. And definitely not with you hovering around all the time. It's useless."

Several beats of silence passed. Sherlock pushed back the sides of his dressing gown and shoved his hands into his trouser pockets.

"This is about me, isn't it?"

Her eyes returned to his, flashing with fire.

"Yes of course you would assume that, wouldn't you? It's always about you isn't it?!" She spat.

He leaned back slightly, hoping that she wasn't in the mood for more slapping. Their gaze was still locked. The words were bubbling up inside of her. Words she had held in for so many years, they were threatening to spill out, overflow, be spewed from her mouth. His indifferent gaze was the final straw. The dam broke.

"Yes, you know how I feel about you, you've always known! And that's how you have always been able to manipulate me into doing things for you. Countless things that could have cost me my job! But I did them, because I wanted to help you, I wanted to please you. But no more. I can't do this. I can't see you everyday, be around you all the time feeling like this. It's killing me inside. You wouldn't understand because you don't do sentiment or caring. You have no idea about any of it." She took in a deep breath before continuing on, "There is nothing quite like the pain of loving someone and knowing that they will never love you back the way that you want them to." She paused, still hoping that possibly, just maybe, he would say something, anything. But no. He stood there entirely mute. "Goodbye Sherlock. I don't think we'll ever see each other again." She turned, placing the key to the flat on the coffee table before walking out, feeling as if her heart was now shattering into a million pieces.

"You absolute cock!" John was positively fuming, "What the fuck is your problem Sherlock? You need to go to her before she leaves. Stop doing this pathetic, twisted dance around your feelings and just accept them and let her know!"

Sherlock was sat in his chair. Fingers steepled, eyes closed. It was far too tempting for John to walk over and punch him in the face. He strode towards Sherlock, but held himself back; knowing that hitting him would be futile. He leaned down, his face close to his.

"If you don't stop her, if you don't tell her that you love her too, you'll regret it for the rest of your life." He spoke this in a fierce tone.

Sherlock's eyes flew open, meeting John's, "Don't be ridiculous."

All restraint left John. He pulled his arm back before thrusting it forward, his fist connecting with Sherlock's jaw. The chair scooted backwards from the force of his punch. Sherlock rubbed at his jaw as John stepped away from him, clenching and unclenching his hands.

"Stop lying to yourself Sherlock. It won't do you any good. It won't do her any good. You think you're being some sort of hero, protecting her from yourself, keeping her at bay. I know that's what you think, Sherlock that she deserves better than you. And you're right. She does deserve better. But it's clear to me that she doesn't think that. She loves you, she wants you, just the way you are. After all the things that you have done to her, asked of her, she has never once stopped loving you. Go to her Sherlock. Put an end to both your misery. Accept the fact that you two belong together."

Molly had checked, and doubled checked her ticket. She also repeatedly made sure that she had her passport and other essentials in her carry-on bag. She wasn't a nervous traveler, never had been. She had always loved flying. And this was going to be the longest flight she had ever been on. And yet, she couldn't sit still. She was restless, uncertain. Had she made the right decision? Was going to America the answer to all her problems? Or was all this a completely foolish mistake?

Multitudes of thoughts like this swirled about her head as she waited for the cab to arrive that would take her to the airport. She tried to distract herself by looking around at her empty flat. It was strange seeing it so barren. Her heart ached at the thought that she had given up Toby to a friend. She couldn't subject him to the six-month quarantine.

The sound of a horn honking brought her back to the present. She gathered up her things, took one last look around the flat then walked out and shut the door tightly behind her. After dropping off her keys to the land lord she stepped outside. The cab driver was waiting for her. He took her luggage from her and placed it in the boot. She went and sat in the back of the cab. Just like with Bart's, she didn't allow herself to look back up at the building.

The driver got into the cab and began to drive down the street. She stared down at her hands in her lap, not wanting to watch London go by. If she had been looking up, she may have noticed the driver repeatedly casting glances at her through the review mirror.

"Going on holiday, miss?" The driver had a thick, Scottish brogue.

"No. I'm moving to America." Her voice sounded sad as she answered him.

"Ahh, you don't sound very pleased about that."

"Oh, I am. I am." She said this a bit too quickly, "I'm very excited. I've got a whole new life before me."

"Who are you trying to convince? Me or yourself?"

Molly froze, growing tense. The Scottish accent had disappeared, replaced by a far too-familiar English accent. A deep, English accent. Her eyes flew to the rearview mirror, the driver's face in full view.

"SHERLOCK BLOODY HOLMES!" She roared, he flashed her a pleasant smile, as if he commonly did this sort of thing.

"This is bloody kidnapping Sherlock! What the hell are you doing? I have a flight to catch!" She all but screamed at him.

He kept his gaze straight ahead as he maneuvered the car through the traffic, "Not anymore you don't. Mycroft cancelled your ticket."

She spluttered, "What? He wouldn't!"

Even though Sherlock wasn't looking at her she was staring daggers at him through the rearview mirror. His eyes flitted to the mirror for a second before returning to the road before him.

"He did."

Molly cursed loudly, throwing herself back into the cushion and crossing her arms in front of her chest. If Sherlock hadn't known her better he could have sworn that she was pouting.

"Where are you taking me?" She asked him after several moments of silence had passed, noting that they were not going in the direction of the airport.

"To Baker Street."

"Why?"

"Because there is something we need to do."

She hugged her arms closer to her chest, staring angrily out the window. When they arrived at Baker Street he parked the car and got out. He walked over to her door and opened it cautiously.

"Are you going to come up without a fight or will I have to carry you?"

Her glare would have turned a lesser man into stone. She got out of the car and followed him inside. Upon entering the flat he spun about and faced her.

"Stay there. Don't move. And don't take off your coat."

With that said he hurried passed her and disappeared into his bedroom. She could leave. She had the chance to, right here, right now. But her feet wouldn't move. It was as if her shoes were filled with lead. Deep down inside she wanted to know what this was all about. What was it that Sherlock was up to?

Suddenly he reappeared, no longer dressed in his cab-driver disguise, but wearing black trousers, a button-up shirt and a dressing gown; the brown one. He stood before her, his hands in his trousers pockets. She stared at him, waiting. Their eyes were fixed on each others. His voice suddenly broke through the silence.

"Yes."

She looking at him questioningly, knowing that she hadn't said anything.

"Yes, Molly, I would like to have dinner with you."

He took a step closer to her.

"Yes, Molly, I would like to have coffee with you."

He took another step. And another. Until they were toe to toe. She had to tilt her head back to keep her gaze locked on his. Ever so slowly he brought his hand up and cupped the side of her face.

"Yes, Molly. I do love you."

She was breathing heavily. He could practically feel the rapid tattoo of her heart. Her eyes fell closed. He leaned down and pressed his lips gently to hers, bringing his other hand to rest upon her hip. Suddenly she had her hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer to her in order to deepen the kiss. He moved his hand from her hip to the small of her back, pressing her up against him. Within moments their mouths parted and their tongues danced. Her hands had moved to cradle the back of his head, her fingers running through his curls. They had to part in order to catch their breath, although neither one of them wanted to. He continued to hold her close, his forehead resting against hers.

"Please tell me this isn't a dream." She whispered.

He gave her a quick, tender kiss, "This isn't a dream Molly. This is real. And I mean every word that I said. I'm sorry it took so long for me to finally tell you."

She brushed her nose against his, "I should have tried leaving England sooner."

He chuckled softly before kissing her again. She moaned against his mouth. That sound did something to him. He nudged her backwards, pressing her into the door. She gasped as he parted their lips, placing his mouth upon her neck and leaving a trail of wet kisses. She moaned again as he suckled at her pulse point.

"Can we—do you think we could move somewhere a bit more comfortable?" She whimpered out, his teeth grazing across her skin.

He lifted his head and looked down at her for moment, then he gave a wordless nod and took her hand in his, leading her towards the bedroom. She had actually meant the sofa, but sure, the bed was a perfectly fine alternative.

Upon reaching the bedroom he shut the door behind them, and then pulled her back up against him for another deep kiss. He pulled away, wordlessly asking a question that desperately needed answering. She nodded; pulling him back down to her for another heated kiss as she unceremoniously shoved his dressing gown off of his shoulders. He grabbed her hands as the dressing gown fell to the floor, bringing them to his chest. Their foreheads were now touching and they were gazing into each other's eyes, both of them panting slightly. He released her hands, letting them fall to the buttons of his shirt as he dropped his hands down to her hips and gave her jumper a tug upwards.

In spite of the passion-filled kisses, they managed to slowly undress each other, piece by piece falling to the floor; their hands wandering, brushing over newly-revealed skin. Once they were both entirely naked he eased her down onto the mattress.

Gone was the shy Molly Hooper. She was laid bare before him now, in more ways than one. She didn't move to hide or cover herself. He kissed, suckled and nibbled her body. Worshipping her breasts, her stomach, her thighs, that delicious apex between her legs, telling her without words how much he loved her. When she cried out with pleasure, from the ministrations of his mouth, tongue and fingers, he felt a great shiver of pride run through his body.

He brought his mouth back up to hers and kissed her hungrily. She clung to him, hooking her leg over the back of his, lifting her hips up towards him. Letting him know what she wanted, what she needed. He wasn't about to deny her anything. He surged his hips forward, entering her in one swift movement. Their bodies acted as one, settling into a rhythm as if they had been together always; knowing exactly what the other liked. They took it slowly, reveling in the sensation their joined bodies were creating. Eventually her moans grew more desperate and his thrusts more erratic, as they neared the fruition of their coupling.

She clung tightly to him, hugging his hips with her thighs. He groaned into her mouth as they kissed again. It took only several more thrusts before both of them were crying out as their orgasms washed over them. He panted into her shoulder, certain that no drug could ever surpass the feeling that her body around him had just created. Once their breathing had slowed he lifted himself up, hovering over her, his skin brushing up against hers.

"Stay with me? Always?" He questioned softly.

"Always."

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So many fluffy feels.

Excuse me while I go off and die from the fluffy feels!

Haha, sorry, I just really love how this turned out :)

Leave a review, I love them so!

FYI: The song John Mayer is singing is called Glad to Be Unhappy, he performs it with the trumpet player Chris Botti 3