Wake up, Molly.
"You look sad, when you think he can t see you. You okay? Don t just say you are, because I know what that means, looking sad when you think no one can see you."
" You can see me."
" I don t count..."
Molly had fallen asleep remembering this exchange with Sherlock, remembering the way he turned from his microscope and stared at her, remembering the look in his eyes. She was in her old double bed, a hand-me-down from her parents, with a fan going full speed nearby on this hot summer night, the sounds of London at night coming in through the open window of her flat. Her plush grey cat, Smog, lay stretched out on the opposite pillow, first sleeping, purring loudly, then suddenly awake, startled, and growling.
Molly shifted sleepily and said, "hush, Smog, back to sleep, it's still nighttime, you silly kitty. Did you dream of a giant rat or something?"
" There are three species of rats which are referred to as giant, but as they are all native to tropical climes, I doubt your obviously domestic feline has ever seen one."
Molly had uttered a shriek at the first sound of Sherlock's voice coming out of the darkness. She sat up quickly, displacing Smog, who stalked off in disgust to find a quieter place to resume his nap. Molly gathered her quilt around her and watched as Sherlock moved out of the shadows and came closer to her bed.
"Sherlock, you frightened me! What are you doing here?" she asked him, frowning.
He did not answer her immediately. His eyes looked as they had that day in the lab, startled, as though he were seeing her for the first time. He stepped closer, and then slowly sat on the side of her bed. He gazed at her intently and said, again: "You see me."
Molly felt lightheaded. She felt perspiration break out on her brow and drip down the back of her neck. She was suddenly very aware of the thinness of her tatty old tank top and shorts, ideal for sleeping in this heat, but not for being under the scrutiny of Sherlock Holmes.
"Yes, I see you, Sherlock. I always have. I see you even when you aren t there. I can t NOT see you."
His eyes, usually such a light blue, seemed fathomlessly dark, and she saw with shock that he was afraid. Suddenly, she felt something new, something she had never felt in his presence before, something similar to knowing how he felt that day in the lab, but even surer this time, absolutely certain that she knew why he was here, out of the darkness, in her bedroom.
"Sherlock, you re a man, right?" said Molly.
"Yes, of course," he replied with a quick return to his usual impatient air, raising his eyebrows.
"I mean, physically, you are a fully functioning male human being, yes?"
"I don t know what you re getting at..." Sherlock paused as Molly placed a finger over his lips, eyes wide. His eyes grew even wider as Molly began unbuttoning his shirt with her other hand. She felt almost as if it were someone else doing these things, as though she were outside her own body, watching a scene in a movie, or one from her own vivid imagination. Sherlock continued to sit before her, ram-rod straight. Molly reached the last button of his shirt, and opened it. She placed both hands on his hard chest, and knelt up in front of him, no longer thinking about her skimpy attire. She kept her eyes on his, noting the fear that had entered his eyes, feeling a heady combination of desire and tenderness, wanting to both protect him and rip into him like a tigress. She had only been with a couple of men in her life, and had always been very passive in bed, not really enjoying it all that much, if she were honest with herself. She suspected Sherlock had never been with a woman. This confident brazenness was something completely new for her.
Molly climbed onto Sherlock's lap, facing him, still holding his gaze. She expected at any moment he would stop her, break free of her hold, protest, even run for the door based on the rigid anxiety she saw on his face but he remained utterly silent, utterly still. She took his hands from his sides and placed them lightly on her hips. She felt his hands contract ever so slightly, holding her to him, and suddenly she couldn t take another moment of waiting. She placed both hands on his face, leaned in, and put her lips to his. Then she waited, not moving, just letting their lips touch. For a moment he remained perfectly still, and then wonder of wonders! he was kissing her! It was everything she had ever thought it could be. She gasped and wound her arms around his neck, felt his hands slide up her back, and they were kissing, pressing themselves together almost frantically, lips and tongues exploring each other. She felt his hands in her hair, releasing her messy ponytail and stroking the long honey-brown tresses, and she moaned with pleasure, unable to really believe it this was really happening.
Sherlock broke their kiss and asked breathlessly, "What is that racket?" She was confused for a moment, having been oblivious to anything but the feel of him kissing her, touching her - then she realized there was a buzzing noise. She laughed softly and, keeping one arm possessively around his neck, reached with the other for the digital clock and hit at it. Infuriatingly, it would not be silenced, and she broke free of Sherlock for a moment, grabbed the clock, hit the switch and...
...opened her eyes to the bright sunlight streaming in through the window, and her empty bedroom. She stared up at the ceiling and waited for her breathing to slow, closing her eyes and trying to hang on to the last gossamer threads of her wonderful dream before it faded completely away .