Options One, Two and Three

by Apprentice08

My version one and two of the aftermath of that telephone call. A little bit Angsty, a little bit funny, a little but smutty, all the good stuff. Version one posted now, version two soon to follow. All roads lead to Sherlolly. No synops as its hard to do it for two essentially though it is this, honesty maybe the best policy but the truth will set you free.

1. Chapter 1

A/n: Just in case any of my readers from non-sherlock stories are checking this out, I know I'm falling behind on my Harry Potter story, but I am absolutely suffering writer's block, this is my second attempt to work it out, Sherlock always helps me work out my ever cramping hands.

For those purely here for Sherlolly goodness, a lot of people have been doing the "after meeting" of Sherlock and Molly at the end of season four since our lovely writers, producers, creators and such didn't think it was relevant to show us the make up, this is my farfetched Angsty somewhat fluffy, very smutty version...in fact…..there are two versions here, LIGHTLY edited so all mistakes are mine and I apologize. I tried to keep them in character but you all know how artistic license is….

Anyway, enjoy and let me know what you thought of this.

Version One

The Jellyfish

He has been sitting on the bench for most of the previous night, recalling memories of the last time he was here and how he could have missed the obvious. Trying to sort out the actual memories from his drug induced nightmares. The sun is well on its way into the sky. The early morning hours having passed with a timid ease and the slow rising din of a waking city greeting those troubled few who were out before anyone else.

He has smoked a pack and a half at this point, thanks to a very annoyed Billy, who did not appreciate a one a.m. text while he was trying to get off with a local bar crawler. A small pile of burnt out stubs has collected by his feet and little remorse is shown as he pulls out yet another and lights it, taking a slow drag and then following it with a sip of cold coffee. It is bitter and he is dissatisfied with it but he refuses to leave his perch, refuses to move as he isn't done thinking.

He has been in and out of his mind palace most of the night, completely oblivious to passers by and their drunken cries, though he does recall bumming a smoke to a young girl who he had told to go home. Her parents were worried and the boy she was about to run off with was just using her for a ride and would quickly ditch her for the girl he was actually trying to get to.

Upset but grateful, the girl had bestowed upon him a gentle kiss to his cheek, his mind, which had expected a slap instead, had shifted instantly away from ghosts of his past to another issue entirely.

Three days ago, that's how long it had been since the incident with his sister.

Three days worth of paperwork, phone calls, the endless red tape and coverups and the brutal scrutiny of his brother by the very few that were higher up on the food chain than him. Sherlock could count on one hand, actually with two fingers, those that were placed on the inquiry board to figure out what the bloody hell had happened, how it had happened and what needed to be done to rectify the mistakes that had been made and to keep it from happening again.

Sherlock has never doubted his brother's position, this would be the first time Mycroft's decisions had ever been questioned. Despite his cool demeanor, Mycroft had been worried, yet it seemed he would be alright as the British Government, namely the two people that still retaining more power than the eldest Holmes sibling, were in no hurry to remove the highly intelligent man, despite his massive error in judgment.

Still, even after everything that has happened, Sherlock can not bring himself to hate the man. In fact, truth be told, he never has truly hated his brother. Only the man's clucking, intrusive and controlling behavior.

Finding out he had a sister he had forgotten, that at one point in his life very early on he had had an actual friend….a friend who had died….it put his life...his very existence...his habits….his personality and his loyalty to friends and family in a whole new light.

He plans to visit his sister as soon as he can, take his parents to see her and right the wrongs that have been done to a seriously hurt and confused woman. For all Eurus's cleverness, her intelligence….her sadistic tendencies….she was just a child locked in a body and Sherlock was not going to just leave it alone.

He promised he would help her, be there for her, and he plans to keep his promise. No matter the cost, the time it may take, he has to do what is right. Long before the game had been over he had decided he was going to be a good brother and do everything he could for her.

All of this intricate family business aside, there were a few other things that seemed to be weighing on his mind as well, things that kept nagging at his conscious mind even as he tried to fight them away. The most prominent being a one, Molly Hooper.

Molly is a part of his family, though he knows she doesn't often feel as such, she is an integral part of his life, a very close friend. Someone, like John, who can understand his rather rude and often eccentric personality traits. She has remained loyal, caring, considerate and unbelievably kind over the years.

His debts to her might even be greater than the ones he owes to his brother, a scary thought for sure. Yet, as he sits on his bench, remembering the feeling of his sister sitting next to him dressed up and playing the role of another woman, he finds his mind continually rushing back to the issue of Molly Hooper.

He has yet to see her and she has not called. As far as he is aware Mycroft had reached out to her, showed her the recordings from Sherrinford and had left with little else to report. Molly said she needed time, and that was the extent to which Mycroft could report.

Sherlock is expecting to have to wait a few weeks, and it makes him nervous, though there are plenty of things to occupy his time.

Baker Street needs mending, Mrs. Hudson needs to be debriefed (as silly as that may sound) she has been away through this entire endeavour since the explosion staying with her sister and has yet to be brought back into the fold. Mycroft's issues and those with my parents are mostly sorted but I promised them a visit sometime this week, oh, how my insides crawled at the idea… the amount of sentiment that is about to befall you via mummy's near broken heart, will be very trying on my thinning patients.

Sherlock sighs, lights another cigarette and feels his throat protest at the long drag he takes.

Then there is the matter of John and little Rosamund, their safety and privacy in the aftermath of it all and the living arrangements…. John has offered up his spare room until Baker Street is righted. It is a kind but expected gesture though not without its own selfish reasoning. John seems to be a little too interested in how I am adjusting, on how my mind is regulating, far more than he ever has before. He isn't a psychologist, yet, he has started asking far more questions about my mind palace, how it works and the inevitable side effects this case has had on me.

It is almost unnerving as John has always been quick to simply accept Sherlock's abilities and ask few questions, now he was trying to peer behind the curtains and Sherlock does not know if he is glad for it or annoyed.

So here he sits, chain smoking, thinking and trying to refocus himself. Molly Hooper and the other's swimming in and out of his main line of focus. A cacophony of noises, memories, words and actions blaring to life and nearly making him go deaf. He shakes his head to try and clear away the rubbish.

I love you...you say it, you say it first….don't...I can't say that to you...it's true, Sherlock...it's always been true….always…

He feels such a sharp pain in his chest and grits his teeth as he rubs an eye with the heel of his hand, crunching his brow together and hissing out in frustration.

But again, he hears it, that defeated, anguish filled whisper, I love you-

"For Christ's sake!" he growls out as he hunches down lower in his seat, feels his back twinge and spasm at the sudden onslaught of feelings and memories that make him cower and shake. He has to make this stop, he dives in deeper to his mind.

Not long after the morning rush hour Sherlock senses a presence approach and he holds out a cigarette, his eyes still closed, as he waits for the person to take it.

"Low tar? Bit light for you, isn't it?" comes the familiar voice of his brother.

"Of course." Sherlock responds, nonplussed, and he smirks, "I had a feeling you would be the one to track me down, not that I am hiding of course."

"Of course not." Mycroft says as he takes the cigarette.

Sherlock is quick to offer a light and places the black object perfectly between them on the bench next to his pack.

"A bit assumptive isn't it?" Mycroft says as he takes a deep drag, the smoke billowing out and catching on the light breeze.

"Hardly. You've just come out of rush hour, a break during the inquisition, and mummy is still calling you, I figure at least one more if not two and I am only willing to light so many for you."

"Charming."

Sherlock doesn't respond as his eyes remain closed and he continues to try to sort out his mind into something he can actually utilize.

"How...how are you?" Mycroft asks awkwardly after a lengthy silence.

"Small talk, really? Oh no brother dear, that won't do." Sherlock says in a low voice, his hand flying in front of his face to swipe at some imaginary thing he wishes to dismiss all too quickly.

"It is not small talk, it is what normal people do." the older man says snappily.

"We aren't normal people-"

"No. But we are family." that statement is enough to draw the younger out of his mind. He looks to his brother with a puzzled expression, his eyes scanning over the man next to him, taking in his fatigue, his worry….the utter stench of hidden sentiment. Sherlock feels a longing in his chest, a warm wash of affection mixed with nostalgia and he looks away angrily.

"You're joking." Sherlock offers with disbelief, trying to hide his own issues subtly beneath the surface, his discomfort is evident though and Mycroft can see it.

"Afraid not brother mine, despite my many stories in our youth you were not adopted and therefore I do worry. Your excursion to this particular spot aside, I know you have been having troubles….I do wonder….can I help?"

Sherlock feels the anxiety in his stomach and he tries to swallow it down, tries to calm his thoughts and feelings but ever since Sherrinford he has been having trouble regulating. His well crafted walls trembling in the wake of his sister's mind games. She had wanted to experience and understand emotions and sentiment, attachments...love….she understands now….but has left him weak and vulnerable.

She had wanted to dissect him, to see him, and the only way to do that was to unhinged him. After everything, Sherlock has found a block in the way, a barricade that seems to be keeping his original wall from closing. His emotions are surging through and then violently retracting, he feels uneasy, anxious and scared.

This sudden onslaught and then instant retraction overwhelmed him but repeated over and over, sentiment and feelings building up in his chest, his logic and ability to remain cold and detached suffocating under years and years of suppressed emotions, memories and feelings.

He has been working to fight it back, remove the new barricades that his sister has placed and return his walls to proper working order, keeping his sentimentality under control. Try as he might though, he feels his emotions starting to truly struggle against his active desires to squash them, his normal control slipping over and over again like sand through a sieve.

"I am fine." Sherlock replies stubbornly and Mycroft just stares at him with that all too familiar quizzical stare, not believing him, not wanting to listen.

"Come now Sherlock, I have been dealing with our sister for years. It takes a very strong mind to resist her rather violent and intrusive suggestions. You think you can resist her reprogramming...not to say your are stupid...but you are...well….stupid….comparatively."

"Ta, brother dear." Sherlock sneers as he rolls his eyes, knowing his brother is only being his usual blunt self and not actually trying to be a prick.

"What I mean to say is...I am used to it...she is the reason I have been able to become so…" and Mycroft trails off and glances at Sherlock regrettably before he clears his throat, "Practice makes perfect." He says softly before taking another cigarette from the pack and lighting it himself, the image of Mycroft holding a Bic to light a cigarette is so strange to Sherlock he can't help but smile a shade.

"I can help you realign your mind, remove any blockade or bar she has managed to place for her own benefit. Return you to as you were, I could tell as soon as it was all over your emotions were back in play, well, more than they had been after previous cases, and that includes the affair with Magnusson. I heard you even called the Detective Inspector by his actual name."

"Sentiment." Sherlock murmured irritably as he near violently ran his fingers through his hair.

Mycroft notices his brother's frustration and tries to bolster his attitude, "It isn't easy Sherlock, it took me years to help you get to where you were, I can help you rebuild your mind palace and remove any blockades our sister has placed but-"

"I am FINE, Mycroft." and it seems as if his word is final. He hopes the shrug from his elder brother is the end of it. He wants to deal with this on his own, it is, in a way, embarrassing though he knows it shouldn't be. He did not have this problem with Moriarty, or after the Magnussen case, though his sister is a different beast entirely, he is resolute in his decision to figure out how to handle his situation on his own.

"Sherlock, why must you always be so difficult?" and Sherlock let's out a frustrated growl and eye roll as he realizes this discussion is far from over.

"Why do you always feel like you must face your demons alone?" and Mycroft sounds put-upon though Sherlock knows better. The man simply wishes to help, and he is frustrated that Sherlock is refusing. Always the mother hen, always trying to protect him and make sure he is taken care of.

"I will deal with it on my own, alone is safe, alone protects me-"

"Friends protect you, family protects you. Repeating mantras from our youth is just a desperate grab for control. It worked for us then, it will not work now. We are getting older brother mine, you cannot play pirates anymore, at least not on your own. You need support...I- we both do. Not to say we should open up to the world, we've tried that and it doesn't work. You have found a small group of special people who understand...do not turn away from them now. I won't be here forever, neither will our parents-"

"Alone is better. No one has to deal with it if I do it alone, it's a burden to expect-"

"As far as I can deduce, which you know is quite a bit, your friends do not mind the burden. I dare say, you yourself have taken on quite a few on their behalf in order to keep them safe and protected. When is it your turn?"

"Alone protects them." He says again, not realizing the Freudian slip until it is too late, by the time he catches it Mycroft is already giving that smug smirk and Sherlock is near seething in resentment, his emotions traveling along a path he has little experience walking.

"So the truth comes out. It was hardly hidden anyway. You always like to play the martyr don't you. Well, take it from someone who knows, you aren't protecting anyone by doing this alone. I would think our sister's little science experiment would have taught you that. Traumatic experiences aside, it is time for you to put more faith in others, and stop putting all of it in yourself."

"So saith the ice man."

"So saith the man who has chosen to be alone his entire life….and is much poorer for it."

Sherlock looks to him then and to his surprise he sees the barest hint of regret in those sharp reptilian eyes. The clever king hidden under years of loneliness and secrets, never giving anyone a chance, never caring to try because he has always had Sherlock and as far as the younger man can tell, that has always been enough for him.

"You love me." Sherlock says with certainty and a mild amount of fake disgust.

"I do." The man says with such resolute honesty, "More than you will ever realize. You are my blood, my brother….petty rivalry and family feuding aside, I only want your happiness Sherlock. Why ever would I put up with all your….habits and personal tendencies if I didn't."

"Caring is not an advantage." Sherlock quotes softly.

"No. It is not. But that is the chance we take with those who matter the most to us." and Sherlock has never heard his brother breath so much sentiment in such a short time. This moment between them, while awkward and uncomfortable, is filled with more brotherly affection than they have ever shared before and this new part of Sherlock that has broken free from it's cage actually finds a sort of strange comfort and fondness peeking out from behind a once locked door.

"John has Rosie to look after. I cannot expect him to put me before his daughter, and Hudders is absolutely too talkative to get any real aid from. Greg is a poor choice as well, for all his real world experience...he is rubbish with emotions and his workload keeps him busy…"

"All just excuses to escape the inevitable brother dear. If you do not wish to share such burdens with me, Dr. watson, Mrs. Hudson or the the Detective Inspector, that leaves only one."

Sherlock stares at him a moment and then looks away, "Absolutely not." He says sharply, digging his nails into his knees as he turns his head to look off. He feels a rush of anxiety and excitement flood his belly and he winces at the very notion such a response represents.

"I am not stupid Sherlock, Miss. Hooper is the only viable option. You know she will help, why not just-"

"I do not deserve her help. I do not deserve anything from her. She does not wish to see me anyway, you said so yourself. She needs time. It is the least I can do considering…" and he trails off because that voice returns, I can't...I can't say that to you...you know why...because it's true Sherlock...it's always been true….I love you.

He stands violently and shakes his head, gritting his teeth and growling as he starts to pace.

"All this time, all this damn bloody time and I never knew! Thought it was just a phase, rubbish, it would pass, it wasn't real, it always passes once you open your mouth, the world's only consulting detective and I didn't see it? Couldn't? Wouldn't? Some great detective….so many years and I missed it...missed it...I always miss something…"

"Sherlock, do be a good fellow and settle down, you're scaring off the animals." Sherlock turns sharply to sneer at his brother with heated eyes and a frown, he looks to see a squirrel scurry off under a bench further down and he sees birds flutter away nervously.

He comes back to the bench, sits with a huff and lights another smoke, "Damn animal lover." He murmurs.

"They were here first, long before modern man deigned to destroy the Earth. We should endeavour to leave them with something once we are all bones and dust." The older man sniffles haughtily.

"Join P.E.D.A if you are so concerned but leave me out of it you damned vulture-"

"Anger and fear do not suit you brother."

"Angry? Whose Angry?"

"You are."

"Says the man who nukes countries like mummy nukes her eggs-" the man's gruff voice hisses out.

"Stop this, Sherlock, now." and there is warning in that tone but Sherlock doesn't care, he feels the emotions swelling up and though this would be an excellent time to practice his control, to remember the exercises his brother had taught him so long ago, he stands up again and swirls to look at his brother, "And if I don't?"

Mycroft's half-lidded and thoroughly unphased eyes stare at him, his expression neutral, "Then you will get absolutely nothing done."

He hesitates before he stubbornly sits down again, leaning his head back and looking at the sky, "Gawd, I detested such tedious and unnecessary fluttering. Why won't you go bother someone else?" he nearly whines out.

"I have no one else Sherlock, save you, and don't think you are the only one to find this afternoon visit tedious and annoying."

"Then why are you here?" Sherlock sings out with a challenging lift of his eyebrow, "You know why."

"Dull!" Sherlock spouts before sitting up to grab another smoke, "Let's make a mental note Mycroft, dealing with the emotional fall out of a turbulent and violent fight with your sister you never knew existed is exhausting. We shouldn't do it again."

"Always so difficult." Mycroft murmurs as he looks away, his fingers twitching atop their post on the wooden umbrella handle.

"Your twitching. Have another." comes Sherlock's assumptive chirp and he extends the pack to his brother with a devious smile.

"Stop avoiding me and listen-"

"No, I think I'm through with listening Mycroft. I'd much rather stare at the river and feel sorry for myself." his tone is sarcastic but he actions resolute as he stands and moves to the railing, leaning over to stare at the flowing water below.

"Pathetic." The man hisses with disgust.

Whipping around at the insult Sherlock's narrow eyes blaze with anger, an emotion he used to hide much better, "What? Me? You hide our sister away from the world for twenty years and don't tell a soul until it is far beyond to late, leave her in the hands of people she can easily manipulate, and I am the pathetic one?"

"You are pathetic because after everything you have done in your life, including jumping off a building and faking your death, surviving a very serious gunshot wound from your best friends wife and killing yourself slowly with drugs only to be nearly suffocated by a serial killer, not to mention that fun little sojourn into the depths of hell with our sister, the great Sherlock Holmes can't manage to have a simple conversation about his feelings." Mycroft stares at him with equally narrow eyes and waits, it is a challenge but all Sherlock can do is shrug, "So says the ice man."

"I don't share my feelings Sherlock, not because I don't have them, but because I don't need to. You on the other hand or drowning, quickly, I only hope you allow someone to save you before it is too late." Mycroft stands then, straightens his coat and proceeds to start walking.

Sherlock stars after him, his eyes stressed and face reluctant before he finally lets loose a growl and calls out, "I am on the losing side."

"Beg pardon?" the man questions lightly as he stops and turns to look at him.

"You once told me sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side...well I am losing...badly."

Mycroft seemed to digest this a moment before he clears his throat and offers a correction, "I said love….love is a chemical defect-" and Mycroft still stares in what most people would call his version of surprise, his back arches back a little and his lips frown, the half lidded gaze so frustrating Sherlock looks down and away, a sign of shame and guilt that often goes unnoticed by those closest to him.

Accept with her, she always notices, always sees me.

The silence is harsh but finally the elder Holmes cocks his head to the side and muses, "Miss. Hooper then." It is a statement and Sherlock gives a very subtle jerk of his head in acknowledgment , "Is it that-"

"Obvious? Yes. Though, I must admit the coffin fiasco was quite telling." and the superior smirk on the older man's face makes Sherlock sneer and look away again.

"Have no fear, I don't plan to gloat." Mycroft says casually, "You always were so emotional as a child...so loving and….clingy…. The only thing you need to ask yourself is if it is worth it. Telling her, after all the effort you've spent keeping her away, trying to keep her safe and unaffected yet still retaining the ability to have her close….it's a difficult balance between you and her. Why ruin a good thing?"

"I've already ruined it, or don't you remember the phone call where I obliterated her last shred of dignity."

"All things considered I think Miss. Hooper gained more dignity than lost it, or don't you recall her ordering you to say it first." .

Sherlock couldn't help the small smirk that came to his face at the memory of Molly's adoringly brave backhand, "She was strong...wasn't she?" he marveled.

"Very, and in the end, she came through once again, as Miss. Hooper always does."

The silence this time was one of reverence, both men giving a silent salute to the ever determined Molly to rise above it all.

"I can say that it would suit you to have a Jellyfish. And mummy would be so happy."

"A what?" Sherlock asks with a raised brow and bemused expression, "Well you can't really call your lover a goldfish, rather unbecoming. It's well documented that the sting of a Jellyfish feels like a thousand little spears, all of which release a poison that damages the skin and burns something awful, some of them even glow near neon in color….tentacles up to eight feet long…some longer-"

"Your point!" Sherlock barks, not at all liking this metaphor.

Mycroft smirks again, tossing the butt of a third cigarette that Sherlock had not noticed the man having, more annoyance fills his chest at the very idea, "What better to start the heart of Sherlock Holmes than eight feet of poisonous neon tentacle? It's really rather perfect."

Sherlock thinks his brother must be high, thinks Mycroft is crazy and doesn't actually realize what he just said is the biggest load of utter rubbish he has ever heard when suddenly the man chuckles, "By the way Sherlock, I said love was found on the losing side….but I never said I was a winner. Call me if you need anything, and don't talk to mummy about me, she's rather upset with me just now, wouldn't want you to get caught in the cross hairs."

As the man leaves Sherlock calls after him, "That's all you've got? The world's worst metaphor and a warning to not piss off mummy? What about Molly?"

"Tell her or don't, I won't stop you...but you better do it soon...or you will lose the nerve to do so. However, I would keep in mind your job description, make sure this is really what you want. With no offense intended you would do right to remember Mary. Your's is a very dangerous lot in life. Take care." The man calls back even though he keeps strolling, his voice growing more faint as the distance increased.

Sherlock thinks about that last comment long and hard, realizing there is more to consider and despite his desire to keep this to himself, he must seek other opinions. He must do something that he has avoided most of his life, he needs a man date.

PAGEBREAK

"Greg? What are you doing here?" John Watson's curious gaze lands on the salt and pepper hair and unmistakable duster of the D.I. the older man looking just as confused as John feels.

"I could ask you the same question but you know the answer."

"Sherlock." both men say in unison.

"Bit odd isn't It? Him wanting to meet us here? Both of us, I mean." Greg says looking around the relatively empty street.

Both mean peer up at the sign above the door that reads, The Boars Head Pub, and then back to each other, "Case?" John offers up.

"You would think so, accept I've got nothing on." Greg says with a shrug.

"Private case then. Maybe from Mycroft, Sherlock said something about a mandate, knowing Mycroft he's already shoved something off on Sherlock he would be better to do himself."

"You'd think after everything that's happened this past week those two would take a break."

John gives a skeptical look and Greg sighs, "Right. Well come on then, let's get this over with."

The two men enter and scan the room, Greg giving a light backhanded smack to John's arm and pointing when he locates Sherlock in the furthest back corner, sitting in a private booth and seemingly in his mind palace. A pint of untouched beer before him.

John shakes his head and sighs as he heads in that direction, Greg following right behind.

As the two men slide into the booth Sherlock does not respond, instead he continues to sit before them, as if they are not even there. The annoyingly familiar "thinking pose" that everyone in the famous detectives extended family is aware of, shows the two men Sherlock could leave them waiting a long time.

The two decide to order a couple pints and talk softly amongst themselves while they wait. Twenty minutes later John checks his watch and decides enough is enough.

"Sherlock, hey, mate….wake up…" and he snaps his fingers in front of the man's face and surprisingly it seems to work, though the sudden jolt from the man and a sharp intake of breath surprise the two as their friend looks thoroughly startled.

"Blimey, you okay?" Greg asks as he gives a confused smirk at the man.

Sherlock seems to come more clearly into his right mind and glances at them and then away as his cheeks turn a light pink.

"Yes. Yes, absolutely fine, just...having problems with my- never mind...thank you for coming."

"Hold on, no, what was that about?" John asks quickly, leaning forward giving his friend and curious yet knowing look.

"What was what?" and Sherlock seems evasive, more than keen to not draw attention to his little shock fit. But john knows better, he should, after all their years together.

"You've never done that before-"

"Done what?" Sherlock is getting defensive now and John narrows his eyes, "What you just did, jumping like that….it's new."

"No it's not, and it's also not why I called you two here."

John resigns himself not to argue as he has limited time to spare, Rosie is waiting for a pick up from the sitter and John can't be late again.

"What's this all about then?" Greg asks as he takes a drink, "Mycroft has some new mandate we are to follow? The man's crazy if he thinks-"

"What? No, not mandate...a man….date…"

"A what?" John asks thoroughly confused.

Sherlock pauses and then sighs, "A man date, when a bunch of men get together and talk over beers about their problems...though in truth I've come to notice they usually get too drunk to actually talk about their problems and just end up pissing in a back alley or-"

"Wait, you've asked us here….for advice?" and John is stunned, glancing to Greg and then back before realization seems to sink in and he leans further forward and asks softly, "Is this about Molly?"

Sherlock looks surprised, or perhaps take by surprise is a better way to explain it, his eyes looking everywhere but at the two of them and then they close again and he is gone back into his mind.

"Christ." John murmurs as he leans back and let's out a very heavy sigh, "Dear god, why now, why did this have to happen today?"

"What?" Greg asks curiously, his eyes betraying his guess but still he wants to confirm his suspicions.

"The coffin…" John winces out as he brings a hand to rub at his tired eyes, "The bloody coffin."

"Coffin? You mean the one he bashed up?"

"Yes, the one he bashed up. Much to forcefully, granted we were being tortured, treated no better than rats in an insane experiment, but I pegged it as frustration and nerves… as concern for Molly's well being…. I didn't think that he would...could….this is going to get messy."

Greg muses a moment and then glances to Sherlock and then back, "You think he loves her?"

John sits back, take a big swig from his glass and then slowly turns it round and round on the table as his eyes lock onto his quiet friend and his face melts into a resolute mask, "I'm gonna call the sitter, this could take a bit, excuse me."

Greg shuffles out of the booth so John can head outside to make the call, the Detective Inspector looking at Sherlock regrettably not sure he truly comprehends the severity of the situation.

PAGEBREAK

Sherlock reemerges from his mind palace to find John and Greg talking softly, they both have an empty glass and a new full one before them and John glances at him before he turns his head and says, "You are in love with Molly Hooper."

Sherlock feels his anxiety spike but he reins it in quickly, he has to get back to himself, has to remain unaffected and calm.

He takes a breath and then says softly, "I don't know." he is sure he is, that is where his problem lies, why he needs clarification, but keeping that balance of uncertainty with John and Greg may give him more insight, "I need help...examining the evidence of my own concious …. I am having trouble regulating my mind, my thoughts and feelings…" it comes out more resentful than he wants it to, nevertheless he keeps talking as he looks down into his untouched glass of beer.

"I need to ask questions that may seem rather….rudimentary….but I don't understand certain things, so I am asking for your help."

"Blimey, this don't happen everyday does it." Greg says in surprise, he takes another swig and then bites his bottom lip before he asks awkwardly, "What questions...I mean...not like… personal questions righ'?"

Sherlock makes a face and rolls his eyes, "If you are referring to questions about sexuality do not worry, I am well versed….that is not the iss-"

"My god, really?" Greg asks giving him such a shocked look, John joining him as both men stared, "Just because I don't care for matters of the heart...for sentiment…. does not mean I haven't tried it…"

"When?" John asks, a doubtful smile curling onto his face.

Letting loose a very irritated sigh Sherlock slumps back and bites out in defense, "Honestly, why is it so hard to believe-"

"No, shut up. I am having a hard enough time believing you are even considering a relationship with someone at all, let alone that you have had them before...no I don't count Janine by the way….so for the sake of taking everything into full account, you should tell us about it." John said adamantly and Greg gave a silent cheers to that.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and continued, "Uni mostly...whenever I attended….most of the time I was...unaware but on several occasions I did retain-"

"While you were high." John says sharply.

Sherlock seems to catch the man's disapproval and gives one short nod to confirm before he says softly, "I need to know how to proceed. Is it….alright for me to pursue her after what has happened? Would I be selfish? Is it selfish? It is selfish...I shouldn't but I wish too...is that bad?"

Greg let's out a puff of air as his finally seems to realize why this is going to take some time, he glances to John and then says as he points, "Before this goes any further, you need to take a big ol' drink of that."

Sherlock looks to his beer and his brow drops down in confusion, "What? Why? I only purchased it to make the man date more authentic."

"First off, stop calling it a man date, it's bloody weird, and second, this…" and he motions to the beer, "is called liquid courage...now trust me on this, you are going to need it."

And John smirks as Greg pushes the beer towards Sherlock and says, "Drink up, Romeo."

PAGEBREAK

Molly feels a smile on her face as she gently hovers above London, the air is warm but humid, thick fogs rolling gently across the waterways and down the city streets as she gazes adoringly at her beloved home. Swooping down a little closer the lights of the city break through the fog and give the appearance of a night sky, the star like shine of the windows twinkling through the lazy cousins to the clouds.

She hasn't felt this good in days, the joy of being able to break away and be free from the suffocating atmosphere of life on the ground more than adequate to make up for her aching heart. Slowly, she leans back, now staring up at the real stars, floating gently in the air, an easy circle as her fingers rest laced together on her belly.

Flying is wonderful, she thinks, not wanting to come down, but she has to work tomorrow and unfortunately that means she may have to face her demons. She doesn't care for demons, they always seems to muck things up, but here, in this open space they can't reach her and she lets out a contented sigh and closes her eyes.

Molly…

Jerking up she looks around the open sky, but she is alone. Yet still, when she glances down to the foggy embankment of London, she sees the faintest of shadows moving about.

MOLLY HOOPER….

It is almost sung, the deep voice calling her down, back to her home on the ground, to the life that is slowly turning into an unwanted nightmare. Yet, despite her heart's desire to stay high above it all, her body slowly starts to sink and she gazes at the river's murky edge only to see another shadow move through the mist.

Come down Molly, I am waiting. Come to me…

It doesn't take long for her body to slowly sink into the rolling mists but her feet do not touch the sandy, muck covered shore. They remain tucked a foot above, not wanting to lose the last bit of flight she has, she isn't ready to land, to be normal again, she wants to remain special...for just awhile longer.

Who's there? She calls softly, fear and worry filling her chest as she slowly spins in the air, the imagine of the ballerina from her music box coming to mind.

Molly Hooper…

She jerks around and there behind her is the faded shadow, tall and lean, hand outstretched. She shoves back, curling in on herself protectively, W-Who are you?

You know me, we are friends…

I don't know any shadows, only demons…

Come now Molly, you know me, we are friends…

And she does recognize the voice, but she doesn't want to admit it, for this is a demon in disguise, her biggest demon...the one which haunts her mind and soul, her very heart threaded with its inky uncaring tentacles.

Sherlock? She asks timidly, though she hasn't felt so timid around him in a long time.

That's my girl, see, I knew you would know me. We are friends...aren't we? Say it for me, would you?

Say what? Sherlock, I don't-

Take my hand.

And the shadowy demon holds it out, all black and lacking any detail. It's as if all traces of the human condition were removed from him. No color, no detail, no clothes...just the outline, filled in with that solid inky black, fading in and out, yet even so...those long musician fingers can be seen and slowly Molly extends a hand tentatively, uncertain.

Take my hand, Molly.

As soon as her fingers gently touch his palm that hands jerks forward and yanks her down, her feet sinking into the sandy sloppy muck, a cry of fear singing from her throat, NO!

Molly...My Molly...so carefree and high above us all...but it's time to come down, to join us in the land of the living… the shadow mocks tenderly, he pulls her to him, her back pressing to the hot aura, hands held firmly onto black wrists, trying to pull away as that shadow presses a cheek to her own, time to come home Molly, no more flying for you, say it for me, will you, say it for me please?

And a black fingers guides her chin up, her eyes scanning that black featureless face and instantly she calms, though her heart screams at her to not do it, to not say it, to not relive her worst nightmare.

Say it for me Molly, please...I won't laugh...I want to hear you say it...I want to hear how much you mean it…

That black hand ghosts down her face, cupping her jaw, an arm pulls her closer, tighter, I meant it too, you know I did, deep down you know it...you heard it...I want to hear you say it again, say it and mean it… I will say it too…

You say it first… she whispers to the shadow, her brow starting to sweat from the heat and the tears in her eyes start to build. Her body is burning for this creature, yet she is terrified of what the ramifications could be. Still, she will always love him, always want him so she peers up with dark eyes and takes a breath.

Say it like you mean it… they say at the same time and that empty face gets closer to hers and as her lips part to speak she hears that familiar voice, that so Sherlockian bass rumble in her chest and they speak together.

I love you

PAGEBREAK

Molly sits up in bed, her body covered in sweat, her head dizzy and spinning. Heavy breaths pant past her lips as she clenches her legs together and grits her teeth, the heat and wetness down there near unbearable.

"Shit." She whispers out as a lone tear falls down her face.

"You have to stop this." She urges to herself and she rubs fingers into her eyes to try and clear the sweat and sleep away.

Slowly she looks around her dark room and then sighs, reaching for the lamp to turn on the light. Every time she does this she half expects to find Sherlock sitting in the chair in the corner, in his mind palace or staring off into space. He's done it so many times she isn't surprised by it anymore.

She is alone though, and part of her is grateful. She needs more time, more time to process and mourn and deal with her humiliation.

It's only been a few days, still her dreams torment her as they did before, her thoughts are continually filled with him, even though he broke her, even though he had had no choice...she wishes she could hate him, but her heart is so enamored, so dedicated and loyal and...attached.

She has been asking the same question for years, why are you torturing yourself, why can't you move on? She remembers the answer every time he comes into the lab, every time he slings out an impressive deduction, every time he hurts her and she just loves him more.

"Masochist." She murmurs but she doesn't continue to sit there, she is still to shaken from that dream. Fear and terror mixed with lust, desire, devotion and love. Complete surrender, that is how her dreams end every time, even when she tries to resist him, she fails and wakes up wound tighter than a ball of string, aching, messy with want and angry at herself for letting this happen.

She leaves her bed and is heading towards her bathroom, her nightshirt grazing her knees as she turns on the bathroom light and sets her mind on a shower.

A knock on her front door stops her, shoulders slumping in defeat as she realizes that unless someone is dead, there is only one person who would knock on her door at three in the morning.

She pokes her head out into the dark hall, her fingers gripping the door jam tightly, the knock sounding again and her eyes grow sad as she thinks to herself, I'm not ready.

At the sound of the third knock, which is slightly louder, she realizes it doesn't matter if she is or isn't, Sherlock apparently is and just like in her dreams, if he wants something, it's rare for her to deny him.

Not bothering with a robe as at this point she feels she has no dignity nor humility left to him, she simply heads for the front and tries desperately to brace herself for what is to come.

She hesitates with her hand on the knob, her left fingers pinching the dead bolt tightly before she takes a breath, unlocks her door and opens it just a crack.

"Hullo, Sherlock." She says quietly, her eyes looking to a button on his coat and not anywhere near those startlingly blue eyes.

"Molly." and her name is breathless, as if he has just ran to her, she feels her hand tighten on the knob and she still does not look up to him, "What do you want Sherlock?" It's softly asked, almost sounding desperate because at this moment she does not know what else she can give him.

There was a rift between them now, one she had caused. If she had just said it, said what he had asked her to say the first time he had asked all that drama, the heartache and pain, the anger could have been prevented.

But no, the one time Molly Hooper decided to stand up for herself and speak her mind, to lay all her dirty laundry out on the table was the one time she should have just rolled over and not asked questions. If she had just said it and hung up….things could be different, he could pretend again, that he didn't know she loved him, she could continue to admire him from afar.

Now, her feelings were not only on display for everyone else to see, but also for the one person who didn't want to see. She clenched her eyes tight and tried to keep her voice steady, "Sherlock, it is late….could you...could we do this another time… I can't...I need space to...please?" She nearly whins and she hates herself, hates everything about herself in that one pathetic request.

Her anger swells and she looks down, "Stupid." She hisses out and she feels heat rise to her cheeks and a tear roll down her face and she just wants to slam the door and ball up, she doesn't want to deal with this… absolute mess.

"Open the door Molly." comes his soft but stern tone and suddenly she feels defiant, her honey brown eyes finally glancing up to his contrasting ones with the heated anger she has been burying for days.

"No." She says almost instantly.

She sees the barest spark of something like desire in his eyes, but of course she knows it's just wishful thinking, though that hint of a smirk ghosting the corner of his mouth throws her off a bit. Still as she opens the door just a speck wider she maintains her own stern face, resolute and solid.

"Molly, open the door." and there is a warning in that beautiful voice, one that promises he will gain entry by other means, but she can be just as stubborn and she doesn't want to face him right now….cant handle him telling her his own truths, the truths she already knows.

Her body tightens and she braces a knee against the door opening it just a touch more, unaware how she is paving the way for her own defeat by being so careless.

"No. I won't… I'm not ready...I need….I need-" but she can't finish because despite her anger, she is also hurting and her voice fills with that thick sticky goop that proceeds tears and her vision blurs from those betraying ducts at the inner edges of her eyes and she sucks in a gasping breath and looks down to the ground.

I hate you...she says to herself, because she does, she hates everything that makes her Molly Hooper and she is so anger because she is the weakest link.

She is trying to calm down when she feels a soft warm hand come to her cheek, and her face is raised to look up at the representation of her most basic and complex desires, "What do you need?"

The tears continue to flow and she takes a breath before she tries one more time, "Please, just...don't do this...to...me."

In those eyes she doesn't see disdain or a mocking sarcasm, she doesn't see a frown or hard lines on his forehead. His eyes are soft and kind, lips just barely smiling as he leans down to softly say, "Open the door Molly Hooper."

She feels her body slump in submission as she looks into those eyes and she lets out a strangled little whine of protest but her hand pulls and her body shifts and she is opening the door as he steps through.

She shuts it softly and locks it out of habit, wrapping her arms protectively around herself as she stares again at her floor. She had loved this floor, that ancient reclaimed look always made her feel like her home was older, more lived in. She had been so happy the day after it was installed….the same day she had braved asking Sherlock to coffee.

Stupid…

"Look at me Molly." and that soft bass pulls her from her thoughts, makes her face the demons she has been trying to avoid. Her eyes scan up his body, seeing that outfit that has always been one of the things that makes him Sherlock, stopping at that blue scarf for only a moment before she finally makes it to his face, that face which haunted her dreams and made her heart melt.

She sees a sadness in those eyes, not that she has never seen it before, she always sees him. But this time, it spikes a certain amount of reservation in her, he has never been sad for her before and it's unnerving.

"Sherlock-"

"I need you to listen to me...to hear me...I know that the last few days have been difficult for you...Mycroft told me that you needed space and time but I could not allow it. I need to speak with you now."

Molly simply continues to stare at him and wait, the sooner she lets him speak his mind the sooner he will leave and she can get back to trying to deal with the fall out her life has become.

"He showed you the tapes?" his eyes searching hers for recognition, for any visible reaction but Molly only nods and keeps her face neutral.

"Then you know why I had to do what I did, why I had to make you say...you understand what would have happened if I didn't?"

Molly closes her eyes and nods again, fighting to keep the tears away and remain strong, to keep her dignity, whatever shreds might be left, intact.

"I have a question for you then, and I must know the answer before we proceed. Please, tell me, do you still...do you still love me, after everything?" and his voice betrays nothing yet his eyes speak volumes.

Molly's insides go cold, her face finally giving an emotional response as her eyes grow wide with terror and her mouth rolls in on itself as she tries to keep from sobbing out in such unnecessary rage.

Sherlock watches her, his eyes scanning every inch of her face and taking in her gestures but Molly can't stand the idea of his deductions right now, not on her, not about this. She drops hers arms and instantly moves away, towards the sitting room where she aims to pass straight through and head to her room.

Halfway across she is stopped by a firm grip on her wrist and she turns to see Sherlock standing there, his face stone and eyes sharp and she wipes her face clean with her free hand and says in her own brand of warning, "Let me go, Sherlock."

"No." he says sharply, though his tone seems less sure of his actions, she can see that he knows he is crossing a line but it doesn't seem to stop him so she repeats herself, "Let. Me. Go."

"Not until you answer me." his determination is set and Molly's resolve to escape comes crumbling down, her knees shake and her face twists into such a pleading expression she knows he will think her weak, spineless and overly dramatic.

"Please let me go, don't do this to me...not again...please d-don't do it." why is she always left to beg him, why can't she ever just ask him for something and he do it? Why must he torture her like this, over and over, knowing how much it sodding hurts. She tries to yank her hand free but he does not release her so she jerks harder but to her utter horror he pulls her back towards him, an arm coming around her waist to pull her against him, his hand releasing her wrist to take up her jaw.

"Let me go!" she sobs as she tries to pull away, "As soon as you answer me…" and he leans in close, his lips inches from hers, "I promise I will let you go."

Molly feels herself calm down near instantly, Sherlock's eyes doing what they always do to her, and erasing all her thoughts. She always gets lost in those eyes, pulled into what it's and tantalizing fantasies, she can't help it, it's like he has brainwashed her and maybe he has, albeit unintentionally.

"I-" but she stops because another bout of sobs wrack her body she buries her face into his chest as she wishes he would just leave her alone, ignore her, he was so good at that for such a long time, why did he have to take up interest in her now?

But Sherlock seems content to let her ruin his coat with her tears and snot, holds her for quite awhile in fact. When Molly finally stills she braves a look up at him and her mouth parts slightly at the adoring gleam in his eyes. Then, he does something he has never done before, the tip of his nose graces across hers and then he leans closer, bringing those lips to run gently across her brow. Molly can't stop the soft gasp that escapes from her mouth and her fingers dig into his coat as her knees finally give out.

Sherlock doesn't hesitate to support her and she looks up into eyes that are bright and curious and the purest calm settles over the rest of her anxiety and she sighs and savours the way her lips caress his cheek as she whispers, "I love you, Sherlock."

He slowly turns his head, nuding hers gently so his eyes can lock gently with hers, "I love you too." he whispers and then he places his lips on hers and Molly is momentarily lost.

The kiss is like everything she has ever imagined, and yet, still better because it is actually happening. She wants it to last forever but near seconds into finally getting to taste him, to have this so intimate and romantic a moment with her long time one-sided love interest, her mind plays a cruel trick on her and before she can stop herself and just enjoy the moment her palm spread flat on his chest, her heel comes down on his toes and she is shoving away from him as he lets out a burst of pain filled noise and stumbles sideways.

"What are you doing!" she yells as her head spins and her body trembles.

Sherlock has sat on the edge of her coffee table and has removed his shoe and sock to look at his big toe, bending it to make sure there isn't a break. He winces as he says breathily, "Admitting my love for you, I thought, all things considered it could have gone better-"

Molly's face screws up in confusion and she stares at him as he continues to wiggle his toes and make faces of pain, "My love for you, I was admitting it…" he repeats again, "I was trying to embrace it….isn't that what people do? John said-"

"You aren't- you can't be seri- you are- you're lying!" Molly yells and Sherlock stills at this and looks up at her, his eyes once again taking in her every movement, her expression, almost as if he is trying to read her and figure out if she is testing him somehow, "I'm really rather serious Molly….I love-"

"Don't! Don't say it. I can't handle- you don't love me...not like I love you...you can't...you won't...you said-"

"I know what I've said Molly but given the circumstances of the last few days I have allotted for many new changes in my life and I was hoping you would be one of them."

Molly doesn't believe it, she wants too, so badly she wants to, but after eight YEARS of dismissals by this man, multiple times that he has sent very mixed messages and the most recent and gut wrenching phone call all she can think is that the great and mighty Sherlock Holmes feels guilty.

"I don't want your lies Sherlock, I don't want your pity. You did what you had to do to save my life and I am grateful but you doing anything to help me stops here. Right now. You don't have to pretend just to make me feel better….you dont-" and she stops because he stands abruptly and comes toward her, she steps back and rounds the back of the couch, keeping a safe distance between them.

"Listen to me, Molly, my Molly, I understand why you might...how you might misconstrue this as some attempt on my part to ease guilt or to try and make you feel better, but I wouldn't lie about something as serious as this-"

"Janine." She snaps quickly and Sherlock stops dead, looking at her with a scrunched up brow and a sudden bought of worry on his face, "That was for a case-"

"So was the phone call." and Molly knows she has him cornered. He cannot say either of her accusations aren't true, and suddenly Sherlock looks very worried indeed.

"Molly, I understand-"

"No you don't!" she yells, a near perfect imitation of John Watson on one of those "bad days" he often talks about, "You don't understand eight years worth of unrequited love, or knowing you are being manipulated via compliments but you let it happen anyway, or watching as you slip into the background because you're just not interesting enough! You don't understand how stupid and angry I feel, how utterly thrown over...and every time I try to move on...everytime….you come back…..and it comes back...that horrible crippling love I have for you….I'm obsessed with that feeling Sherlock, I've never had such a strong feeling for anyone….I am sick...but I know I could get better if you would just let me, please just let me...stop playing with me so I can get better...s-so things can go back to normal."

"Things can never go back to normal." Sherlock says darkly and he tries to approach her again but she moves away and asks with disappointment, "Why not?!"

"Because it's true Molly, everything I've said is true, I love you and damn it all if I am not just as confused and angry as you. I want to go back to how things were, I want my other life back...but I- I can't do it...because if I did that….I couldn't have you….sweet Molly Hooper….my Molly...right?" he asks with a weak chuckle and fingers that just barely graze her arm.

She moves quickly to stand by the coffee table now, her hands ringing the edge of her long worn out nightshirt, "But it...it has to go back to the way it was Sherlock...eight years...I've spent eight years wanting you… loving you...worrying about you...but...I- I've no idea how to...how to...be anything you might want….no clue how to actually be in love with you...god I'm sick...I need help… I need to be away from you."

She turns to rush down the hall to her room but Sherlock manages to get in front of her. Before she can stop her momentum his hands come up and firmly take her face, "Please, Molly...please just...dont panic...neither of us should panic...we have been forced into a situation that has made us compromise a lot...but thats...thats what love is right? Compromise? We can do that...yes? We have compromised for each other before."

"When? When have you ever compromised anything for me?" Molly asks.

"More times then you will probably ever be aware, and I would be more than willing to discuss each and everyone with you at a later time...but I suppose it is all just the semantics of love. That damn chemical defect, well I'm defective and I need you to believe me...I love you...and you love me...right?" and he kisses her forehead, and then her neck and her lips and goes to open his mouth and lay claim to her own when she turns her head ever so slightly and he must stop.

"I want to believe you, but I am not well, haven't been well when it comes to you. This is just indulgence, it is a bad idea. What happened...it makes people seek things they normally wouldn't…. What you've been through could make any person reach out and grasp for something solid to hold onto. I am just a shock blanket."

"Not all all, you are so much more. If this past week has done anything to me it's to make me see things far more clearly than I ever have. Besides, indulgence only represents giving into something you shouldn't because it's bad for you. You aren't an indulgence for me Molly, you represent all my good habits, and you haven't been trying to avoid me, you've been trying to avoid alienating me because you think I am either incapable or unable to reciprocate...you think I don't find you physically appealing, that you are not exciting enough to enchant me or win my favor. But I have something to tell you Molly Hooper-" and in a single motion he scoops her up into his arms and silences her squeak of surprise with a stubborn and solidly honest kiss, "You are very wrong about all of the above."

Molly can't believe this is happening, she can't, yet she feels her body reacting, her mind spinning with the dizzy signs of want, lust and the ever powerful drug called love. She is looking into the most sincere blue eyes she has ever seen, not noticing that he is carrying her down the hall as he continues to hold her gaze.

"Truth be told…" Sherlock murmurs, and Molly doesn't realize he has entered her room nor that he uses his foot to shut the door softly behind him, "I've no idea how to go about loving you either, but after everything, I have learned there is value in taking chances, in admitting you care, after all, I could die tomorrow and I would never know, would I." it's a statement and Molly is so lost in those cold blue eyes she simply responds with a soft, "Mh?"

"I'm glad to see I still hold some effect on you." Sherlock muses with a near adoring smirk.

"Would never know what?" Molly asks in a dazed voice as she leans her face closer to his.

"What you taste like." he says in a deep breathy voice and then he kisses her, deeply, hungrily and Molly Hooper suddenly realizes that not only is this really happening, but she is absolutely certain that come what may, she doesn't really give a damn.

PAGEBREAK

She is coated in sweat, chest heaving, breasts bouncing and Sherlock cannot get enough of the gasps and moans and begging pleas to continue his ministrations. His head has been between her thighs for nearly an hour, getting her close but never letting her tumble over. It's a wonderful new game, this, making Molly Hooper squirm, gasp and beg, and dear god does he love it.

His hands hold her hips firmly, as much to his delight, she has tried to shift away numerous times to escape his tongue with takes in her womanhood with a ravenous hunger. The very idea of holding her in place and subjecting her to such sensual and raw pleasure sparking a beast in his chest he had forgotten existed.

He hears the tears of utter ecstasy saturate her voice as her hands clench the bed sheets so tight her knuckles are white and her thighs are trying to close, to keep him from working her into even more of a mess, but he is stubborn and releases her hips only to grip onto her thighs and splay her legs open.

It is a miscalculation however, as the instant his hands release their vice like grip on her hips she rolls and Sherlock is forced to pull back. Still, he is not one to give in and quickly shifts up to lay behind her, gripping and arm around her and pulling those desperate hands away from her clit so that he may snake his a hand of his own down and continue his work.

She presses into him, tries to press away, her hips thrusting vigorously in an attempt to increase friction and get herself to the edge he has playfully denied her. He plans to visit his mind palace later, to watch this all over again and see if he can determine why he enjoys torturing her so but for now as she lets out another plea, he rests his chin on her bare shoulder and his cheek against her sweaty one, eyes closed and nose inhaling the pungent aroma of her burning need.

"Are you ready?" he asks in such a deep voice it nearly startled him.

"Yes, please, Sherlock please...let me-"

"Soon." He promises and she whines, his prick is hard, more than ready and despite the tortures she must be going through he himself is nearly gone with want and need.

They undressed long ago and he presses his length to her bum, rutting like a horny school boy and knowing he is about to finish her off despite his brain urging him to make her wait just a little longer. Still, he knows he has been too cruel and desires to move on quickly.

He pulls himself back, grabs her thigh and raises it, positioning himself at her entrance as his fingers still probe and stroke her bud near relentlessly.

"Ready to finish?" he asks brutally soft into her ear and Molly sobs out a frustrated yet excited confirmation and not even a second later he presses in fast and hard. She tips over and nearly yells as he slides all the way in, her slickened arousal making his first time entry near brutal as there is no resistance.

He feels her body clamp around him like a vice, over and over as she tumbles down but he doesn't wait. He is pulling out and pressing in just as fast, quickly rolling her onto her belly and pinning the small woman beneath him. He takes her mercilessly hard but she is all cries of joy and clenching slick hot muscles and he can't stop himself from a growl and a grunt in between thrusts, lost to his own needs and more than ready to finish right behind her.

When he comes, which at this point does not take long, he presses in what he fears is too deep but she takes his demanding thrusts happily and continues to encourage his selfish and rough intrusion into her body. Saying things that are most unholy and not at all what he would expect from little Molly Hooper.

His brain is absolutely quiet save for a word spinning like a vow through his mind and it glows white hot like a house ablaze, MINE, and though he won't realize it until later he says as much through his trembling lips just before his teeth latch onto her shoulder and leave a bite so dark it will be obvious this beautiful goddess is spoken for, not to be touched by anyone else and he is very satisfied with the prospects that brings him.

He remains on top of her, kissing her shoulder and nuzzling into her hair long after he has finished, still inside her and no where near ready to be done but a quiet sigh from his new lover makes him come too and he reluctantly shifts off.

He pulls her closer and holds her, after all, that is what people do, right? He listens to her soft breathing, admires her tired and utterly spent body, takes in the smell of her hair and the feel of her next to him and he thinks, maybe, he could get used to it, to this chemical defect and all the new things it will bring.

Twenty minutes later Molly stirs and he gently kisses her cheek and then makes room so that she may roll to lay on her back. Still, he stays close, admiring his handy work in the way her cheeks still have a tinge of pink, her swollen lips pulling together for the shyest of smiles and the way her tussled hair frames her sharp yet beautiful face, "So, what now?" She asks softly, her eyes staring at him in such a way he feels his heart stutter a little.

He leans down, kisses her lips so softly and then says, "Now, we shower, and tomorrow...we work on the logistics."

Molly gives a small smile, "Hmm, not before we have another roll around I hope."

This time Sherlock smirks and he runs his hand up her side and grips firmly at the woman's ribs, "Why, Miss. Hooper, you've read my mind."

Version two will be posted when complete R AND R to let me know what you think!