Prompt: I'd like to see Molly being fed up by Sherlock cos he thinks that's what new relationships are supposed to do? He maybe takes it a bit far. ;-) Lot of stuffing and soothing tummy rubs and maybe a bit of Sherlock gain please?
The first time Sherlock kissed her, Molly couldn't quite believe it. Except he was really a rather good kisser, and she ended up clinging to his coat lapels so he was definitely there. Then he said... well he actually managed to say some genuinely nice things for once, and then he said that she was the one who mattered the most, thanked her again for her help in faking his death. He asked her out to dinner and she accepted. She couldn't quite contain a happy little dance after he had left again.
Molly had told herself not to hold onto the hope that this might become a long term thing, but as the weeks wore on, she let that hope free from it's cage so that it could flutter in her chest every time her mobile lit up with Sherlock's number. They had a lot of very lovely dinners, sometimes Sherlock would drop by with lunch for her and they would chat, usually about corpses, but then perhaps that was due to their line of work. And Sherlock seemed to know the owner of every chippy and restaurant in London so there was loads of variety. And food to be honest. But Molly was happy to eat what Sherlock brought her, especially as she saw the warmth come into his eyes as they tucked in. He was very attentive and affectionate in a way she hadn't expected. He always seemed so cold and untouchable, but Molly learned he was quite warm when cuddled up against and quite prone to random little kisses. And he was near worshipful in the bedroom.
So Sherlock would arrive, food in hand, and Molly would eat to contentment, sometimes a bit further. Sherlock had discovered he rather liked feeding her himself and that always seemed to make Molly lose track of how much she had actually consumed. And damn that man's voice, he could always wheedle an extra sweet past her lips as well. Many times it seemed, Molly ended up with a bit of a stomach ache, her middle swollen with food, but Sherlock would be right there, kissing her gently to soothe her, long fingers spreading over her belly and rubbing it soothingly. Molly always found herself quite red-faced when she'd eaten so much, but Sherlock never seemed to mind. And his hands felt really very good so she let him continue, burping softly and sighing as her cramping stomach relaxed.
There was, of course, a bit of a blip in their paradise. Molly appreciated Sherlock's thoughtfulness when he brought her lunch, was delighted when he also took it upon himself to visit a bakery to bring her a treat now and a gain, and their dinners together were lovely, but... well. Molly's clothing wasn't fitting the way it used to. Her blouses stretched across a now amble chest, rode up over a softened and burgeoning belly. She took to wearing some of her roomier jumpers, but still felt herself flush as she felt the new weight shifting and jiggling under her movements, her belly pressed up against the worktop as she looked through a microscope. She'd need new skirts and trousers too if Sherlock kept this up. He didn't seem to notice or mind, but Molly began gently moving his hands away when he pressed up against her at night with a soft. "Sorry, Sherlock. Not tonight." She could almost feel the man flinch as if wounded, but he always responded with a warm rumbled "Alright. I love you, Molly Hooper," before rolling respectfully away and going to sleep.
Molly knew Sherlock must have noticed, because well, he was Sherlock Holmes for Heaven's sake! But he didn't seem to plan on stopping. He'd put on a bit too, just a light layer of softness on his middle and over his ribs. It was nice, actually. He looked better, healthier. Somehow that only made her feel more like a blimp. She asked him to bring her a salad one day. Sherlock had complied, looking confused. But he also brought her the largest chocolate muffin she had ever seen, so she gave up trying to get healthier options out of him.
Finally, one day as they were approaching their three month anniversary, Molly had had enough. They were going out to dinner. Again. And she was panicking and rushing around trying to find a dress that still fit her. Again. This one couldn't even get past her hips anymore. This one just made her look pregnant. She gave an odd muffled shriek of frustration, throwing things out of her closet. The pathologist then forced herself to breathe, put on a loose pair of jeans and a jumper, neither of which were as loose as they once were, and went shopping.
Molly arrived half an hour late to the restaurant. She had pointedly ignored every text and call to her phone. She'd have to ask him to be honest with her tonight. A terrible voice of self doubt has wriggled itself into her mind. It kept whispering that Sherlock never meant anything that he had said, that she was just some new experiment he'd picked up because John was with Mary and he'd gotten bored. Sociopath.
He didn't look like a sociopath when Molly was lead to the table Sherlock had reserved. The detective looked rather frazzled, curls that had clearly been slicked back now springing free as if a nervous hand had been running through them for quite some time. His leg was jiggling with nervouse energy and his eyes made him look like a lost puppy.
"Molly! Thank God, I was worried that something had happened, you weren't responding," said Sherlock, surging to his feet as he caught sight of her, his bow tie askew. He took her hands and kissed her forehead in agitation.
"I'm fine, Sherlock, really," Molly answered, and she couldn't help but smile a little at how flustered he seemed. "I-er- I had to do a bit of shopping."
The detective's eyes crinkled in a smile as they swept up and down the midnight blue dress she had found, stepping back to admire her. It was simple in cut, stopping above the knee but longer in back, just flowy enough to skate over her new curves without squashing them, but tight enough to give her shape.
"You look lovely, Molly," purred Sherlock, raising her hands to his lips to kiss them. "Now then, shall we dine?"
He showed her to her seat, then sat as well. "I took the liberty of ordering for the both of us tonight, it should be ready any moment," said Sherlock, straightening up proudly. Oh... good.
The starter was an immensely creamy soup loaded with chicken, spinach, and small delicate dumplings. Sherlockhelpfully nudged the bread basket her way, but Molly hesitated, a hand wandering to her now squishy stomach.
"Er, Sherlock..." she began hesitantly, and clear blue eyes snapped to her face immediately. "M-maybe I should take it easy tonight. I've been... feeling a bit funny lately."
Sherlock blinked, concern creeping into his expression as his lips parted to speak, but then something over her shoulder caught his eye.
"Geoff? What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded suddenly, and Molly twisted around in her seat.
"Fancied a nice dinner with the wife," said Greg Lestrade, smiling genially and tilting his head to the woman on his arm, "Dear, this is Sherlock Holmes."
"Charmed," said the woman, flashing a brilliant smile at Sherlock. Molly felt a flush creep into her cheeks. Sherlock however just continued to glower at Lestrade.
"Nonsense. Mycroft sent you to spy on me again didn't he?" the detective snapped, "For Godsake, he can't even let me enjoy a simple date with my girlfriend anymore without having me on constant surveillance!"
"Sherlock, come now, don't make a scene," said Molly. She would have kicked him under the table, but she wasn't able to reach in her current sitting position.
"Girlfriend?" repeated Lestrade, looking pleasantly surprised and turning to smile at her. Molly willed herself not to blush. She hadn't seen Greg in a long time... not since.
"Oh, Molly!" he exclaimed, smiling even more broadly, "Sorry, I almost didn't recognize you. You're looking well!"
"Isn't she?" agreed Sherlock, also beaming as he added, "She's gained at least 25 pounds since we've gotten together."
"Sherlock!" snapped Molly, spinning around to look at her date instead. Greg coughed and excused himself politely, following a waiter to their table.
"Wh-"
"What the hell was that?"
"Molly, please. Keep your-"
"Shut up!" she snarled and Sherlock fell silent, "Why didn't you say anything before? Why didn't you just tell me? Or stop bringing me ten different types of takeaway every day?"
The detective frowned. "That's a gross exaggeration. At most I brought you-"
"It doesn't matter," Molly said shortly, blinking to keep the tears from falling, "This was all a big joke to you, wasn't it? M-make me think you loved me, f-feed me up so n-no one would ever want m-me. Then just l-laugh in my f-f-fat face!"
"Molly," said Sherlock, and his voice was low and gentle. He had risen from his chair and was now crouched before her, reaching out to take her hand. She flinched, but looked down at him, still furiously fighting back tears. The detective blinked in kind, then bowed his head.
"I... I am sorry. I've never," he swallowed, looking embarrassed, "I've never had a girlfriend or lover before. Data was limited on how I was supposed to proceed. John once said-"
"Oh, so this is John's fault is it?" said Molly, raising her eyebrows.
"No," said Sherlock firmly, "It's mine. I was just trying to explain..."
He wet his lips and frowned, then looked really quite embarrassed. "As I said. I have little experience. John seems to know endlessly more about these things and he once said that girlfriends are supposed to feed you up. I assumed the same could be true of boyfriends. People in steady happy relationships tend to gain a bit of weight as a testament to that fact. I thought... that was what I was meant to do."
Molly was shaking now, then she burst out laughing. Sherlock jumped, looking alarmed.
"What?" he demanded defensively.
"Oh, Sherlock, I'm sorry," Molly managed, still giggling and shaking her head, "It's just... it's just so you, love. But, it's just and expression. It happens, but it's not like you get in a relationship and start fattening each other up to prove how happy you are!"
Sherlock frowned. "Really?" he said, looking quite unhappy at being wrong, then he chuckled as well and looked down. "To be honest, that's a bit of a relief."
"Why?" said Molly, still smiling gently at him, "Tired of me and my fa-"
"No," said Sherlock sharply, then softened again and rubbed tentatively at Molly's plump thigh through the dress. "I think you look incredible, Molly. Beautiful. Sexy." He tilted his head to give her a dark wink and she felt her stomach flutter. Then Sherlock looked down again.
"I had been worried that you weren't interested," he admitted shyly, "My... my weight gain has been minimal at best. I didn't think you wanted to be my girlfriend."
Molly smiled and leaned down to kiss Sherlock's curls, her belly squashing in her lap, but she didn't seem to mind anymore, least of all when Sherlock reached out to grab a pinch to gently rub between his fingers.
"I do want to be your girlfriend," Molly assured him, smiling, "And don't worry. I think we'll soon fix that."
She smiled up at the waiter that had been hovering awkwardly just out of earshot and waved him over.
"My boyfriend here would like a second bowl of soup, please. And could we have some more bread with our entrees? Thanks," said Molly. The waiter nodded politely then dashed off. Molly pulled Sherlock up a bit.
"Come on, back to your seat, love. That soup isn't going to eat itself," she said brightly. Sherlock chuckled, leaning in to kiss her gently before returning to his seat and tucking in. By the end of the evening, Molly was feeling quite content and full. Sherlock looked positively stuffed, his suit straining over his stomach as he sat back lazily in his chair. Molly smiled and walked over to collect him, tugging him up from the seat once the bill was paid.
"Come on, let's get on home," she murmured. Sherlock huffed and groaned, leaning into her. "That's it," she murmured, leading him outside to catch a cab, "I'd say that's a pretty good start. After all, you were looking far too skinny to be my boyfriend. You need a bit of feeding up."
Sherlock gasped, looking at her with wide dark eyes.
"Yes, God yes, Molly," he breathed. Then he was kissing her so hard she was worried they both would topple over. Well, perhaps this was what girlfriends were supposed to do after all. She'd have to remember to thank John sometime.