Get Over You
An entire weekend off was a rare occurrence for Molly, and she intended to take full advantage of it. At the moment she was playing music full-blast, mainly due to the fact that her neighbors on either side of her were conveniently away on holiday. She did of course have a pile of laundry to do, and her flat was a bit of a mess, but at the moment she couldn't care less. All she wanted to do was dance around her flat. Toby of course wasn't too thrilled by this and had taken to hiding beneath her sofa.
Due to the fact that the song was playing so loudly, Molly was entirely oblivious to the fact that Sherlock had just allowed himself into her flat. She was currently dancing in place, gyrating her body to the music, her eyes were closed and her arms were flung out wide. Sherlock was certain he had never seen her appear so free. It was only when she began to sing along with the words of the song that he felt a strange feeling surge through his body.
You think you've got your way
But baby there's a catch
Don't need your foul play
Now you have met your match
She continued to move with the rhythm of the song and Sherlock realized that he was frozen in place. It was almost as if he was bewitched by her movements and the words she was singing; which was completely ridiculous.
You had me taken in
But now I've found you out
And I won't go through that again
You've always had to win
You'll have to go without
You don't know where to stop
His heart felt like someone had reached into his chest and clenched it in their fist. Molly was still oblivious to his presence and the affect that she, and the words she was singing, were having upon him.
Go, go, go, go, go
I'll get over you
You drive me crazy, up the wall
Think you're Mr. Know-it-all
Go, go, go, go, go
I'll get over you
You drive me crazy, up the wall
Goodbye Mr. Know-it-all
She turned about, her back now to him and started shaking her bum. If she had been aware of him being there she would have been absolutely horrified. In spite of the fact that he couldn't breathe, he rather enjoyed seeing this unknown side of Molly. But still … the words … the words of the bloody song!
I let you have your say
You never compromised
Complaining everyday
About everything in sight
I've let you stay a while
Now I am getting bored
No substance in your style
And you're not the man
You thought that you were
You had me taken in
But now I've found you out
And I won't go through that again
You've always had to win
You'll have to go without
You don't know where to stop
Oh, get over you
Go, go, go, go, go
I'll get over you
He intended to do exactly what the song said; go. He forced his feet to move and he left her flat as silently as he had entered it. The song came to its end and Molly collapsed upon her sofa, quite out of breath. She let out a laugh and reached for the remote to turn the music down.
Three weeks later Molly was at work in the morgue. Things had been a bit strange lately, slightly off. Sherlock had not come to look at any bodies. He hadn't stopped by her flat, which he had begun to do rather frequently, nor had she received any texts from him. She could only presume that he was on a case. But when she had seen Lestrade a couple of days ago he had told her that he hadn't worked with Sherlock for quite some time. Something was not right.
There were several times during those three weeks that she held her fingertip above his name on her mobile. But she never went through with it and texted him. He had always been the one to instigate the texts, not her; except for when she had a particular body part to bring him that she knew he would be interested in having.
As all of these thoughts milled about in her brain she finished sewing up the chest cavity of Mr. Lewitt, and snapped off her gloves before tossing them into the bin. She then returned the body to its cold storage unit. When she turned about she saw John standing in the doorway.
"Oh hello! It's been awhile since I've seen you here! Is Sherlock not with you? You're not working on a case then?" she said to him.
John shuffled his feet. "No, ahh. He's not. Sherlock is actually the reason why I am here." He stepped further into the morgue, staring down at the floor for a moment before lifting his gaze to look at her. "You two wouldn't have happened to have a bit of a falling out … would you?"
Molly's eyebrows met. "Falling out? You mean that we argued or something? No. I haven't seen Sherlock for weeks. The last time was with you actually, when he came here to see the body of the drowned boy."
John's shoulders slumped. He reached up and ran his hand through his hair. "Well then, I'm completely stumped!"
"Is something wrong? Is he all right?" her heart started to beat a bit more rapidly.
John exhaled slowly. "He isn't ill, or injured, and I haven't had to go and search for him in drug dens. Don't worry; you won't need to have him pee in a cup."
Molly crossed her arms over her chest. "What is it then?"
"He hasn't taken a case in weeks and he refuses to help Lestrade. Not even when Greg had a 9 for him! He hasn't left the bloody flat! He's only showered when I've yelled at him, and he's hardly eaten a thing. All he does is listen to this one song over and over!"
"Oh." She paused, not really sure what to make of what John had told her. "He's composing then?"
John snorted. "No. He isn't. He's listening to a song, on repeat. I've never seen Mrs. Hudson be driven so batty. He wears headphones now. And when he isn't listening to it, he just sits there in his chair glowering at the wall. I would have come to you sooner but Emily has been sick and so has Mary, so dealing with the two of them, on top of Sherlock has been a bit rough."
Molly bit down on her bottom lip. "What song is it?"
John took out his mobile and went into his iTunes. "I should honestly know the name of it, seeing as I heard it so much … ahh yes, here it is 'Get over You' by Sophie Ellis-Bextor."
Molly's eyes widened in shock, her hand covering her mouth. "Oh no! He must have come by my flat when I was playing that song, singing along with it. Oh God, he must have thought I was singing about him! He is such a bloody fool!" She covered her face with her hands.
John, in spite of her reaction, breathed out a breath of relief. "Can you go and talk to him, explain to him that he misunderstood? I really can't handle an infant and a toddler in two separate places, it's just too much."
Molly dropped her hands away. "Of course. I'll go to Baker Street after my shift ends. What a drama queen!"
John snorted. "That he definitely is! Thanks Molly, I wish I had come to you sooner."
She smiled slightly. "I wish you had as well. I hope Mary and Emily are doing better now."
"Oh they are, thank goodness! I don't know how, but I managed to avoid getting sick myself. I'll leave you to your work then, and good luck with the git."
Molly had considered going home first, to shower and change, but then realized that Sherlock was never bothered by the scent of the morgue; in spite of his innate sense of smell. So she decided against it, instead taking a cab straight to Baker Street. Half way there she made a slight detour; she wanted to be prepared, just in case. She had every intention of taking care of the ridiculous berk, if he allowed her!
Upon arriving at Baker Street she rang the bell for Mrs. Hudson, knowing that Sherlock would either not hear his doorbell or would just ignore it. When the elderly lady answered the door and saw that it was Molly, her face broke out in a relieved smile and she pulled her into a welcoming hug.
"Oh Molly dear! I am so happy to see you. Sherlock has been such a mess lately; I've never seen him quite like this. And poor John hasn't a clue of what to do. Perhaps you'll be able to help Sherlock though; he does seem to have the tendency to listen to you."
"I only hope that I can, and I would have come sooner if I had known. I believe his little tantrum is actually the result of a misunderstanding. A misunderstanding that I intend to make clear," Molly explained to her.
"Well good luck to you my dear. I am sure you are going to need it!"
Molly began to make her way up the stairs, clutching tightly to her Tesco's bag. Upon entering the flat, she found it to be in a shockingly decent state; surely the work of both Mrs. Hudson and John. Sherlock was sat in his chair with his eyes closed. He was wearing a pair of headphones, and was holding his violin in his hands. He was plucking at the strings and it only took Molly a moment to recognize the notes that he was playing. She brought the Tesco's bag into the kitchen and placed it on the table before walking back out into the sitting room. After taking off her coat and scarf she moved towards him.
He was entirely oblivious to her presence, or at least he appeared to be for he was still plucking at the strings of his violin. He looked terrible; his curls were in complete disarray, and it was obvious he was in need of a good wash. He also was pale and rather gaunt.
Molly contemplated what to do. Should she shove back the headphones? Tug the violin from his hands? What was the best way to let him know that she was there? She spotted the wire of the headphones and followed it until she found the source that it was plugged into. It seemed to be as good of an idea as any. She yanked it out and the song blasted through the speakers, causing her to flinch.
"JOHN!" Sherlock roared, his eyes snapping open. The snarl on his face quickly changed into an expression of shock, before turning into one of disgruntlement. He shoved back the headphones, letting them rest upon his shoulders. Molly stooped to hit the stop button and the flat became pleasantly silent.
Sherlock hugged the violin tighter to his chest, as if he were using it for protection. "Why are you here?" He spat out. "Aren't you ... 'over me'?"
Molly was standing directly before him now. She placed her hands upon her hips. "Sherlock Holmes! You are the most ridiculous man I have ever had the fortune to know!"
"Fortune?" he scoffed.
"Yes. Fortune! In spite of the fact that you drive me absolutely mad a lot of the time, I still consider my self lucky to be amongst those you find most important to you."
He looked like a scolded child.
Molly took in a deep breath, before softening the tone of her voice. "Sherlock how could you? After all that we've been through. After all that I've done for you, and you've done for me, I just don't understand ... how could you think that I-" She stopped, mulling over her next words. "I could never stop loving you. I've tried that once before, and failed miserably. I can't be 'over you.' It just isn't possible. But if you honestly believe that I am capable of that, then I guess that means that we-" She stopped again, struggling for words once more. "You managed to conjure up such a ridiculous falsehood, so why don't we just make it a reality? Clearly it's something you've feared; otherwise you wouldn't have thought of it ... would you? So I'll just go then ... but let me just say one last thing ... you were wrong." Molly turned and gathered up her coat and scarf. Just as she reached the door she felt Sherlock's hand upon her arm, stopping her, preventing her from leaving.
"I told you I loved you," his deep baritone rumbled.
She turned and looked at him. "Yes, you did. While we were in my bed, at three in the morning. I thought you only said it because you believed me to be asleep."
"I knew you were awake."
"Well how the hell was I supposed to be aware of that?! I know how you are Sherlock! I know that you aren't good with expressing your feelings! I was terrified that I would scare you off if I let you know that I had heard you!"
He now looked like a kicked puppy. "When you didn't answer me I thought that perhaps you know longer did love me, that you only saw me as a friend. And then I had to come over and hear you sing that blasted song."
Molly breathed in deeply, tossing her coat and scar to the floor. "For the last time! I was not singing that song about YOU! I love you, you bloody idiot!" She very nearly stamped her foot.
His eyes blazed. "Then why were you singing it at all?!" The words came out more harshly then he meant them to.
"Because I like the song! It's got a good rhythm to it, and I enjoy the sound of Sophie Ellis-Bextor's voice. It had nothing to do with you. Although ... you do have the tendency to drive me crazy, and you are a bit of a know-it-all." She fully faced him now, poking her finger into his chest. "You may find this to be a bit of a shock, Sherlock Holmes, but the world doesn't revolve around you, nor does my life revolve around you! Everything I say and do does not have to be about you!" She poked him in the chest with each repeat of the word 'you.'
He grabbed her hand, enveloping it in his much larger one. He was certain he would be eventually bruised if he allowed her to continue. She stared at their joined hands, watching silently as he cradled them against his chest. She could feel the rapid tattoo of his heart. Ever so slowly she raised her eyes to meet his, and what she saw there caused her mouth to drop open slightly.
"Your pupil's are dilated." She didn't know why she felt the need to tell him this.
"Are they? So are yours."
She swallowed.
"So I was wrong then?" he asked her.
"Yes."
"I'm very rarely ever wrong."
"Well you are this time. If you had just stayed until the end of the song, made your presence known … although I'm rather glad I had no idea at the time that you were there – oh God how embarrassing!"
He smiled slightly, watching the blush form on her cheeks. "Don't be embarrassed," he told her. "I rather enjoyed watching you dance. If … what you were doing could exactly be considered dancing."
She smacked his arm with her free hand. "Shut up! I thought that I was alone in my flat! I am quite free to do whatever I wish in the privacy of my own home. I know that my dancing skills aren't the greatest but I honestly don't care. I feel good about myself when I can let go like that. It's not very often that I can feel that way."
Sherlock frowned slightly, slipping his other arm about her waist and pulled her in to him. "I'm sorry to hear that. I've never seen you look so happy, so … free."
Her blush deepened. But perhaps that was also because of the fact that she was standing so much closer to him now.
"You were right," he said to her, as the silence that had fallen began to extend into several minutes.
"Right about what?"
"It has been something I've feared; you giving up on me."
Molly closed her eyes, unable to handle the intensity of his gaze. "Sherlock. I helped you fake your death, and I kept your secret for two whole years. I forgave you when you had your drug relapse and we've been spending so much more time together recently, outside of the lab and the morgue." She opened her eyes and stared up at him. "Why would I now suddenly decide to give up on you? Surely you have deduced that I am an extremely stubborn woman."
He smiled again. "That you most certainly are. I think it is time that I admit to you that you are a puzzle to me Molly Hooper; I've never been able to quite figure you out. Which is not entirely fair, you know me so well! A little too well."
She laughed softly. "Perhaps I'm not meant to be solved. But you can do your best, and try … if you like." She peered up at him cautiously, hoping that he would grasp what she was hinting at.
His eyes widened slightly then suddenly his hold tightened on her, before he dropped his head down and captured her lips with his own. Molly leaned into the kiss, her hand clasping onto his shoulder. He still held their joined hands to his chest as he deepened the kiss. They then parted for breath, staring into each other's eyes. It was clear that no other words were needed; they were now finally on the same page.
When he moved to kiss her again Molly wrinkled her nose. "You need a shower Mr. Holmes! Go and take one and I'll make you dinner. You need to eat something."
He began to grumble then smiled when he came upon an idea. "A shower would be much more enjoyable if you were to join me!" He brushed the tip of his nose along her jaw line.
She gave his shoulder another smack with her hand. "You are such an arse! There'll be plenty of time for that later on! Right now what you need is to be taken care of. It's a wonder that you've managed to survive this long with your ridiculous tendencies to starve yourself. Go and clean yourself up! I'll be right here when you're done."
"Better be," he mumbled against her neck, his hold tightening about her waist.
With a giggle she gave him a slight shove, and this time he did as she asked of him. Once she heard the water running she set about making the meal. The kitchen was shockingly clean; John must have gone on one of his massive disinfecting rampages. She was certainly glad for this.
By the time the sauce was boiling, the room filling with the scent of tomatoes and basil, Sherlock came walking in. He was wearing a fresh pair of pyjamas, and his curls were still slightly damp. He smiled at her.
"Am I allowed to hold you now?" he asked her.
She smiled. "Yes. Now you are quite free to hold me." She didn't even get a chance to finish her sentence before he had engulfed her in his arms. When his lips found hers again she moaned softly into his mouth.
"Continue making noises like that and we will be skipping dinner," he said in a low growl.
She giggled, before giving his bottom lip a slight nibble. "Not a chance Mr. Holmes, you are putting some food into your body before anything like that will be taking place!"
He sighed and but didn't loosen his hold on her, pressing his face into the curve of her neck. "I do love you, you know," he mumbled into her skin.
She turned her head so that she could nuzzle at his jaw line. "I know. I think I've known for a long time. But I didn't want to rush you into anything. I was willing to wait for you, allow you to go at your own pace. We don't have to do anything you don't want to Sherlock."
He closed his eyes and buried his face further into her neck, curling his body around hers. She held on to him tightly, running her hands slowly up and down his back.
He sighed again. "I don't deserve you."
She smiled. "Mmmm, I think you do."
He chuckled, the vibrations of his laughter sending a shiver through her body. He lifted up his head and looked down at her, their eyes meeting. "Like I said before, you know me far better than I know myself."
Her smile widened. She then giggled when she felt his stomach growl. "It's nearly ready," she told him as she stepped out of his embrace.
He crossed his arms in front of his chest before proceeding to pout. A few minutes later the pair of them was settled upon the sofa. She had toed off her shoes and now had her legs tucked beneath her. Sherlock had insisted that she be sat next to him as near as possible; he had denied himself the closeness for so long that now he could not stop craving it. He devoured his bowl of pasta within a matter of seconds. Molly eyed him for moment, eating hers much more slowly and slightly more daintily.
"There's plenty more in the pot," she told him. "You should probably eat at least a little bit more, and perhaps more slowly this time. You'll just end up giving yourself a belly ache if you continue to eat at that speed."
He let out a slow breath, staring down at his empty bowl. "I didn't even realize I was so hungry until I had the first mouthful. This is … delicious." He smiled at her.
She returned the smile and he leaned down to kiss her. "Go and get more pasta!" she told him, backing away.
He huffed slightly but did as she said. Molly found that she could get used to this; telling Sherlock to do something and having him actually do it. When he sat back down beside her, she was fighting back a smile.
"What is it that you are finding so amusing?" he enquired, twirling a bit of the pasta.
"Oh nothing really … I'm just enjoying the fact that I'm getting you to do things. It's a nice change."
He exhaled slowly. "I suppose that just apologizing for all the times that I've … used you, wouldn't suffice?"
She looked at him for a moment. "No. But I may be able to think of something." She gave him a cheeky smirk.
His eyes widened. He moved to lean closer to her but she waved her fork between them.
"Ah! Ah! Ah! You need to finish eating."
He exhaled again, very loudly. "You're insufferable."
"Mmm, likewise!"
He glared at her from the corner of his eye and she smiled cheekily again before continuing to eat. As soon as Sherlock was finished with his second helping he placed his bowl onto the coffee table and tossed his fork into it. He then wrapped his arms around Molly's waist and tugged her onto his lap. She giggled as he began to kiss along the length of her neck.
"You shock me Mr. Holmes. I never thought of you as such a touchy-feely person!"
"I've wanted to touch you so many times Molly but I never allowed myself to give in. Now that I have, I'm going to take full advantage." He slipped his hand beneath her shirt and massaged her back.
She leaned into his touch, humming slightly. Sherlock grabbed her bowl, blindly dropping it onto the table, before tugging her about so that she was facing him. Their lips met and they divulged in a basil-tinted kiss.
He sighed into her mouth. "Wish you had listened to that song so much sooner."
She had buried her hands in his curls, and now gave them a slight tug. "Wished you had stopped being such a cowardly git and 'fessed-up sooner!"
He opened his eyes and frowned slightly. "You really knew all along, didn't you?"
It pained her to see so much emotion in his gaze. She cupped the side of his face in her hand, brushing her thumb over the apple of his cheek. "Sherlock … I always know, I always see you. You know that I do."
He let out another sigh and pressed his forehead to hers. "Sorry." His tone was a somber one.
She brushed her nose against his. "It's all right. We are passed all of that and we're here now." She gave his lips a gentle peck.
He smiled slightly, his hands massaging the skin of her back once more. "Yes we are. Aren't we?"
Molly nodded her head. "Mhmm!" she replied before kissing him. She yelped slightly when he suddenly pushed himself up off of the couch, cradling her body against his. "Dishes!" she gasped out.
"Deal with them—later!" He silenced her protests with another kiss as he carried her into his bedroom.
She moaned softly against his lips, when he settled her down upon the bed and covered her body with his own. Her shirt had shifted upwards and he dragged the palms of his hands down across her stomach. She shivered beneath his touch.
They parted and he dropped his head down to her shoulder, breathing heavily. She ran a hand through his curls, the other coming to rest on his shoulder. He then lifted up his head and looked down at her. She moved her hand and brushed her thumb across his swollen lips.
"Molly—I—"
"Shhh … we don't have to do anything right away Sherlock … we can take this as slowly as we want. There's no need to rush. I know that you've barely slept, so sleep now. I'll be here when you wake up, and we can see how you feel in the morning." She pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose.
He sighed, knowing that she was right. He then grumbled in annoyance beneath his breath, but laid his head down upon her chest. Molly smiled, kissing the top of his head as she laid her arms across his shoulders, carding her fingers through the hair at his nape. They lay like that for a few minutes then suddenly he sat up.
"You should change out of your clothes. You'll be uncomfortable." He moved off of the bed and walked over to his wardrobe. "You can wear my pyjamas. They'll be a bit big, but you won't really mind that will you?" He returned to the bed and held the t-shirt and bottoms out to her.
She smiled up at him, and took the offered clothes.
"You can change in the bathroom," he mumbled this as he stared down at the floor.
She chuckled softly before standing up on her tip toes to press a kiss against his cheek. She went into the bathroom and once she had changed she took her hair out of its ponytail and plaited it. She then returned to the bedroom. Sherlock was stretched out upon the mattress, when he saw her he opened his arms out to her and she practically ran to him. He held her close, kissing her as if she had been gone for hours not minutes.
After a several moments she pulled away and slowly exhaled against his lips. "You really should get some sleep Sherlock; I know that you're exhausted."
He began to grumble again and she nipped at his bottom lip. He nudged her onto his back and returned his head to her chest.
"You should get some sleep as well Molly; I don't think you'll be getting a lot of that tomorrow." His voice vibrated against her.
She laughed. "Have you rediscovered your libido?"
He nipped at her left breast through the t-shirt. "It's always been there. I've just been suppressing it all of these years."
"Mmm, except for that one morning three weeks ago."
He huffed. "That just sort of happened. It was morning, and I had just woken up, and-"
"Shhh, I'm only teasing you."
He huffed again, burrowing his face in-between her breasts.
"Go to sleep you ridiculous man."
She watched as he closed his eyes before she moved her hand and brushed her thumb across his cheek. He smiled, and she smiled as well. She then closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, to dream about what awaited the pair of them.
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:)