Author Note: It was Sunday, and I had sherlolly feels.
I do not own any characters I've written here.
Sherlock burst into Molly's flat with a loud bang. She didn't even bother to look up from the books she was reading on the floor, already desensitized by his loud antics.
It was all right and quiet until he started pacing. Well, it wasn't really pacing; more like marching across one end of the living room, shooting daggers at her, only to repeat the process towards other end of the room. Just when she thought he was going to burn a path on her rug, Sherlock finally gave in.
"Well, who is it?"
"What?"
"Your boyfriend or some other." He looked at her pointedly.
"Sorry, what?" Molly asked bewildered.
"Don't play dumb Molly, you know it irks me to no end. You're dating someone!" He resumed pacing across the room.
"You're more cheerful at the lab, even going as far as smiling and giggling randomly when you think no one is around; your outfits are more coordinated, you haven't strayed too far from your colorful pallete but they're more feminine; wearing makeup to work—not too much, just enough to flatter your natural features; you don't work overtime during the weekend anymore; I spotted a few new lingerie and dresses in your closet, no tags on (you have a tendency to wear them for someone then), not to mention the fact that you wear your hair down every day after work now!" He finished dramatically.
"Okay," she said slowly, putting her book down to indicate her attention.
He tapped his foot impatiently waiting for her response. Molly remained quiet.
"Well? Who is it?"
"What, you really don't know?" She stared up at him incredulously.
"Don't play games Molly, would I be asking if I knew?" he finally turned around to face her.
"Who. Is. It?"
Molly couldn't help it. She burst out laughing, hugging her sides and everything. She may have even pulled a muscle.
After a few moments she caught her breath long enough to say, "It's you, you clot."
He blinked at her.
Molly raised an eyebrow at him. "Seriously Sherlock? In case you haven't noticed, we spend and awful lot of time together lately. If I'm not helping you at Barts I'm being dragged off to every other case you take on; you don't even leave your flat to solve some of them, yet you still require my presence. If you're not making me bring you take-out I'm otherwise dining at upscale restaurants and clubs, supposedly 'undercover' for said cases. You even asked me to dress the part on occasion.
Also, you're almost always at my flat now, even when you don't need anything from me. I've found you a few times—yes, you—hugging my midriff when I wake up in the morning on my bed, muttering sweet nothings about me in your sleep. Though I suspect you do that more often than I've caught on.
You even watch telly with me! Well, when you're not berating or rolling your eyes to oblivion." She could see it begin to dawn on him.
"Oh…oh. Am I—is that what we're doing?" Sherlock stammered out.
Is he blushing? Molly grinned, absolutely delighted by his reaction. Oh, where is my camera phone when I need it!
"Okay, let me phrase it this way. Would you rather I do this—" she gestured between the two of them "—whatever we've been doing, with some other bloke?"
"No!" He practically shouted. "No, I suppose I wouldn't" he finished quietly, more to himself.
"You're not very good at deducing yourself are you?"
"Apparently not" he sniffed haughtily. And with that he promptly sat down on the floor next to her, grabbing one of her medical books nearby. He then proceeded to bury his feet under hers as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world.
I bet he hasn't noticed we do this footsy reading routine every Sunday, she giggled to herself.
"What?" he asked affronted. Molly could see a distinct pink covering his lovely cheekbones.
"Nothing. It's just—I'm dating Sherlock Holmes."
Molly was in hysterics again as he ducked behind the book again. His ears were beet red.