Dexterity, as he watched Molly complete the autopsy of the murder victim, he couldn't help but attribute this word to her. Dexterity or dexterous
Her adroitness in the task, far exceeded any other pathologist he had previously encountered.
Her hands were such an important part of the job, needing to be precise and exact. So she made the right incision, not impacting the answers she needed to find, but also deftness of touch.
Over time Sherlock had studied, watched, deduced and realised, just how much was involved in her abilities.
It wasn't just being capable of diagnosis like a doctor but she needed to understand how things decomposed and the time involved in many different situations and environmental impact too. What the cause of death could be when not clear first hand, sifting through the layers of death and exposure to outside influences. So much knowledge, hard work and skill was involved. But Molly loved it too, liked the investigation of it and getting to the answer.
A bit like him, really.
But her touch when working was a craft in itself. Molly's hold on the scalpel had to be exact and precise, any nick or wrong touch could impact the results and answers she needed to find.
Deftness, another word that was just her.
Whilst Molly was petite and as such had small hands but, they were strong and powerful like her. She had an inner strength and Sherlock respected this more than anyone knew, however, he could see there were times her body knotted and stiffened from the work she did.
But she was still nimble and delicate in her work.
However, as he sat there all he could envision and feel were her hands working on him, on his knotted back. His bruised body after the fight the other night with the serial love cheat and as he had proven, murderer.
Oh but it had been good, no glorious, delightful. He had enjoyed it far more than he ever knew he would.
Knowing he had to feel those elegant hands on his body again and soon. It left him itching, desperate to move nearer and closer to her.
He discovered, she used to have a regular massage and due to this had taken a course to help her know how to apply the right pressure when needed. Her knowledge of anatomy helped tremendously and knowing how the muscles, ligaments and tendons worked too.
He saw she had finally finished the autopsy and removed the recording and saved it for the paperwork, she would complete during tomorrow's shift.
It was late now and he knew he needed to go home, but he wanted more of her touch.
He couldn't leave her now, he needed the physical contact with her. It was becoming his new addiction, at least it was healthy.
As she caught his eye, she told him she was getting her bag and jacket from the locker room and then heading home for a shower as she had the late shift again tomorrow. Or graveyard shift as Molly loved to call it, with a smirk.
He waited in the corridor for her, hands stuffed in his Belstaff's pocket, needing to do something lest he take her hand in his.
A minute or so later, she smiled at him as she came through the door and thanked him for waiting for her. She was glad of the company to get a cab tonight.
As they left St Bart's, they could hear the chimes from St Paul's, reminding them of the late hour.
Around the front of the building Sherlock, used his superpower and got a cab very quickly.
They nestled in the back and Molly gave her address to the driver. Sherlock noticed neither of them had said he would be going onto Baker Street after the first drop off.
Perhaps she expects you to stay, like you usually do.
10 minutes later as they pulled up in front of Molly's home. She went to pay and Sherlock stopped her but putting his hand over hers.
It was warm and snug wrapped within his long fingers. Her hand was petitions, but his heart was skipping for the feel of it.
He then realised what he needed and she knew it too.
Molly paid the cab driver and not relinquishing her hold, pulled him out of the cab to follow her.
Unlocking the front door with her right hand as her left was still interlocked with Sherlock's.
She smiled up at him and told him, come Sherlock, I know you love to be touched, but I think it's time we start to feel.
Sherlock knew this was the change they needed and he decided as he raised his hand to cup her cheek.
Slowly lowering his mouth to hers.
Eyes closing.
This was the perfect way to learn not just the art of physical touch but how to feel, in more ways than one.