Opening Notes: Welcome! This opening note is just to let you, the reader, know what you're getting into before you start reading. This story is strictly Sherlock/Molly pairing. Yes, there will be sexual/romantic involvement but it isn't that cut and dry. Molly is a strong, confident woman and Sherlock has behavioral issues. In reality, this isn't the easiest paring for a relationship. So, I'm approaching this story slowly and realistically. This is my version of the time when Sherlock stayed at Molly's apartment during his supposed death. And because it's my version, the end result will be far different than the show.
With this, encouragement is greatly appreciated and even leaving a small review makes a world of difference. So, thank you ahead of time and I hope you enjoy!
1. Roommates
Molly Hooper burst through her apartment door in a panic. She threw her bag, nearly hitting Toby. In an embarrassed, crazed stupor Molly jumped all over her flat, picking up random articles of clothing, anything from discarded socks to bras and ran down the hall, tossing the heap of clothes into her bedroom. She slammed the door shut and ran back into the kitchen, quickly putting dishes in the dishwasher and wiping up dried coffee stains from that morning.
When Molly woke up this morning, the last thing she expected she would have to do would help Sherlock Holmes fake his own death, and on top of it house him until everything had quieted down. She knew 221 B Baker Street was anything but a pristine palace, if it wasn't for Mrs. Hudson, she imagined Sherlock would be dead from malnutrition. But, Molly wouldn't be able to live with herself if Sherlock was to come to her apartment and it was an unruly mess. Though, Molly's flat wasn't anywhere near Sherlock's infamous state of disarray and disorderliness in his own apartment.
Even though Sherlock didn't display any emotions and was always stoic and rude, Molly wanted him to feel welcome in her home. She knew it would never be Baker Street but she cared that Sherlock felt cared for.
Still, she couldn't believe Sherlock was going to be living with her. Never in her wildest dreams did Molly ever think the infamous, handsome detective would be living with her. Molly didn't expect anything sexual and romantic to come out of the favor to him, Sherlock has always been strictly platonic when it came to her. And as the mere thought of their platonic relationship resurfaced, making an uneasy tingling feeling arise in her throat, someone knocked curtly at the door.
She rushed to the door and tore it open. Sherlock stepped over the threshold and Molly shut the door behind her. It had only felt like a minute has gone by since Sherlock pulled the stunt of his fake death and only seconds since Molly saw him in the morgue where she helped smuggle him out. His blood was still smeared on his dark coat and when her eyes finally found his, they froze her like a shallow pond in winter.
"Didn't have any trouble getting here I hope?"
Molly quickly berated herself for such a stupid question.
However, Sherlock ignored it and squinted, taking in her appearance. "Elevated heart rate, perspiration, pink cheeks, heavy breathing," he looked around the living room and back at her. "What were you doing?"
"Me?" she questioned, "Oh- um- nothing-" Molly noticed Toby move from his original position on the couch, revealing a pair of nude pantyhose. Molly jumped at them when Sherlock wasn't looking and held them behind her back. "Oh! What was I doing? I was just cleaning up, that's all."
"Why?" He sounded completely befuddled by the concept.
Molly couldn't stop herself from grinning like the love sick woman she was. Sherlock Holmes was standing in her apartment. The concept was foreign to her and she was still getting used to seeing him standing there, especially when he was dead to the world.
"Well, I wanted it to be nice for when you came over."
He narrowed his eyes, "Don't people usually do that sort of thing when they're having important company over, like a date or something?"
Molly swallowed nervously. She'd give anything to just have coffee with Sherlock, much less a date. But, that was the last thing she was thinking about after just helping him fake his death mere moments ago.
"Some people like a clean flat, Sherlock," Molly said.
"Orderliness gets in the way of creation and my thought process," he shook his head, his deep voice silky and commanding.
"I can't imagine what you'll be creating while you're here, you are hiding out," she said.
"You can't expect me to not continue with my other smaller projects, Molly."
She smiled, "Of course not."
Secretly, Molly was rather excited to watch Sherlock work on anything besides his cases. John and Mrs. Hudson had never been too keen on his experiments but Molly was thrilled to see.
"Um- let me show you around-" she began.
"What for?" he asked innocently.
She stopped short. "Um-?"
"I can't imagine there is much to show, it's a small flat."
Molly embarrassingly shoved her pantyhose in her back jeans pocket and wrung her hands together. She loved her flat, it was just the right size for her and Toby. She had been living there for years, as it was her first place living on her own. The apartment was feminine in almost every sense but it wasn't overpowered with pinks and reds. It was very laidback and almost felt like an English garden in spring time, with light hues and touches of pastels. It was one of the reasons Molly was such a homebody, she loved her flat and loved being there. It was nothing like Baker Street. Sherlock's apartment was dark, with rich tones of browns, greys and some burgundy's. Nothing had a place where Molly made every trinket and pillow have a home in her flat.
Sherlock watched her stand still and felt the sudden onset of silence. He owed Molly Hooper everything at his moment, she was the true man power and brains behind faking his death. She came up with the concoctions, splattered the fake blood and signed papers in the morgue proving his fake death. And now she was allowing him to stay in her apartment, free of charge.
"Though," he began, "I have made two deductions about where the linen closet is, care to show me which?" he asked.
Molly suddenly smiled, "Now, we both know you know where it is, Sherlock." But, she didn't argue and brushed past him. She felt him directly behind her. The closeness was comforting and never intimidated Molly. She liked when he stood close and could always smell the faintness of the cologne he wore, which has been the same since she's met him. She'd grown accustomed to the cool, clean and fresh scent. When she stopped in front of the linen closet, she opened the door and with breathy words said, "Here are the towels... the laundry closet is right down the hall."
However, when she looked up at Sherlock he wasn't looking at the closet but at her. His icy, blue eyes were squinted and focused. He reached forward, pressing two of his fingers to her neck and then her forehead. "Your heart rate is elevated again and you're incredibly warm. Your eyes are glossy and your pupils are dilated-"
Molly slammed the linen door shut and stepped away, "It's nothing- I was just cleaning, I told you-"
"One would think you have a heart condition," Sherlock began. "But, with your pupils dilated that can only mean one thing-"
"I'm starting to think you like embarrassing me," Molly said, turning away and opening the next door, trying desperately to ignore Sherlock. She didn't want him to say what he had already deduced. She had a hard enough time trying to suppress her feelings for him when they were at the hospital.
"I don't seek out to embarrass you," he said matter-of-factly, "I have far more important things to be doing but it does suggest that you're still attracted to me, whether it be physically or in some other manner-"
Molly groaned, "This is the spare bedroom, it only has a bed and a dresser and a small closet..." she met Sherlock's stare bravely and said, "You know I like you. Your deduction is old news."
He smiled for only a second, "My deduction isn't old news, it sheds light on new information."
"Really? What is that?" she asked, knowing he'd tell her one way or another.
"That despite how platonic we are, you still are attracted to me, and that is what I can't figure out."
Sherlock and Molly stared at one another in a thick silence. Molly couldn't explain to Sherlock that she wasn't just attracted to him, that she was in love with him and had been for years. She knew it was unhealthy and unrequited and the reason she was still single, but she couldn't turn it off like a light switch. She wasn't cold and calculating. The feelings she had for Sherlock Holmes were real, and she knew they had to be, because he'd never once gave her a reason that they'd be anything else than platonic.
When Molly said nothing in response, Sherlock quickly looked at the spare bedroom and back at Molly, "Where is your bedroom?"
"M-My bedroom?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Um- just down the hall-"
Sherlock brushed past her when Molly suddenly remembered the pile of clothes she tossed in there earlier. She chased after him and just barely squeezed herself in between Sherlock and her bedroom door.
"You can't go in there!"
"Why not?"
"I don't have to explain everything to you."
"Hmm. No, you don't, I can usually figure it out for myself," he shrugged, "I can always figure it out for myself. And by the way you're desperately guarding the door, even though I can easily push you aside-"
"You wouldn't dare, Sherlock," Molly said.
He smiled, "It must be something embarrassing."
"W-Well yes-"
"There is no point in being embarrassed now that we will be living together for the time being."
"I'm allowed to be embarrassed," Molly argued.
"I don't see the point of the emotion," Sherlock said, "It only hurts you, it does nothing to your opponent."
"I'm not your opponent-"
"Molly," Sherlock said her name slowly, with a hint of playfulness behind it.
He was right. He always was. They would be living together and though she knew she would have some privacy, it was nearly impossibly for anyone to have privacy with Sherlock around. Molly knew what she was signing up for when she allowed Sherlock to stay with her. She released her grip on the door knob and stepped to the side.
Sherlock opened the door and looked around the modest bedroom and stopped completely in front of the tossed clothes. Bras, panties, socks, pantyhose were all laid out.
He looked back at her, squinting humorously, "Do you keep your clothes in the middle of your room?"
She rolled her eyes, "Of course not!" Molly pushed forward and scooped up the massive pile of clothes in her arms, staring up at Sherlock through her eyelashes. "I was picking up earlier... I didn't think you'd come in here." Molly turned around and stopped abruptly when she felt the pantyhose slip out from her back pocket. She turned around, blushing bright red.
"Don't forget these," he said, holding them out to her while still taking in her bedroom. "I will be staying in your room. The spare bedroom is far too small, the bed is certainly not long enough for someone of my stature."
Molly quickly took the pantyhose. "O-Oh, um- alright then, I suppose that makes sense. I don't want you to be uncomfortable while you are here." She sounded defeated but she stood tall as she left her bedroom that was now Sherlock's and tossed her laundry on top of the washer to be cleaned later. She held the nude pantyhose in her hands and sighed, cursing at herself for looking like such a fool in front of him.
"Do you normally stare at your laundry?"
Molly jumped at the sound of his voice. He was standing behind her, staring down at her.
"N-No, I-"
"Thank you."
It was said so quickly that Molly nearly missed his gratefulness entirely. She stared up at him stunned.
Sherlock's eyes shifted away and back at her, trying to find exactly what to say. "I can trust you Molly and I don't trust easily. You are truly a good person with a kind heart, why you bother to try and befriend me confuses me entirely. Thank you for helping me today and allowing me to stay here," he stepped forward, closing the large space between them, "And keeping it a secret. I've asked a lot for you and you did it without question."
Molly smiled, overwhelmed by Sherlock's sincerity and nodded, "You can stay as long as you need to... my home is your home."
He narrowed his eyes, "I've never understood that sentiment. It's ridiculous, I would never say my home is someone else's home."
"Well, I don't know about everyone else, but when I care about someone they're allowed into every part of my life, which includes my home." Molly smiled sheepishly, "I-I care about you, Sherlock-"
"I know," he said quickly, trying to stop her from continuing, knowing precisely what direction she was headed. She dropped her head slightly at this. Sherlock smiled briefly and leaned forward, placing a chaste, innocent kiss on her cheek. "Thank you, Molly."
"You're welcome, Sherlock."
He breathed in deeply, "Well, after jumping from a building and dying, I am in need of a shower."
"Afraid there is only one bathroom," she said, "It's in my- well- your bedroom now."
"Excellent," Sherlock reached into the nearby linen closet and retrieved a towel. "Oh-" he said, turning back to face her. "I am in need of clothes."
Molly glanced at her dirty laundry and back at Sherlock, "Of course! Should I run to Baker Street-?"
"Of course not."
"Right!" She cursed at herself, "That wouldn't work, um-" she smiled, "I can go out and buy some clothes for you."
"Thank you," he nodded, "I will write my measurements down-"
"You don't need to, I already know them," Molly blushed instantly, "I-I mean, well, it's not hard to figure out and I see you, um, around so I have an idea- and, you like black and blues so that's easy to remember- um," she backed down the hallway, grabbing her coat and bag. "I'll be back in a little while. The water takes a few minutes to warm up, make yourself a cup of tea in the meantime," she rushed out of the flat, slamming the door behind her.
Sherlock stared at the door, listening as Molly Hooper raced down the stairs of her apartment building. He walked to the window of the living room and stared down at the street, watching to ensure she crosses the road safely.
He had to ask himself if he cared about Molly and the truth was, Sherlock questioned whether or not he was built to sustain such compassion and warmth for other people. He hates humanity and is only interested in their motives and who they are through deduction. Sherlock wasn't a social creature. But, truthfully, he believed he held Molly of great importance, maybe not as important as John, but Molly was important to him.
Sherlock thought of all of this while he stripped out of clothes and began running the water in the bath tub. Now that he was alone, he was able to really think about everything that had happened. He had to fake his own death to ensure his loved ones were safe, he had to lie to John and when the time was right he would reveal himself but until then he had to remain hidden from the world and in Molly Hooper's flat of all places.
He tested the water and dipped himself into the steaming bath and relished in the bliss of his muscles unwinding. And all while the hot water was running, he was lost in its droning sound and thinking of no one else other than Molly Hooper.
It's surely because I just arrived here. I've never even seen her apartment.
Molly Hooper confounded Sherlock Holmes every time he came into contact with her. It was instantaneously that she would get nervous, stumble over her words and just stare at him for long periods of time. He wasn't an idiot, he was well-aware that she fancied him but for the life of him he was unable to understand why. It couldn't be because of his intelligence or genius deduction skills, because that is why everyone found him useful- no, there must be something else that he isn't seeing. Sherlock concluded that whatever she liked about him it must be miniscule and quite possibly because he reminds her of her father-
Daddy issues. Makes sense. I fill a void.
Sherlock reached for the soap absentmindedly and when squeezing the cream into his hands, realized it smelled just like Molly. It was fruity and light, he read the bottle and agreed that Molly did smell like black raspberry's and white tea. He sighed dismally and rubbed the shampoo in his air, making a mental note that he would have to ask Molly to pick him up some suitable bathroom supplies.
Once he was rinsed off and feeling cleaner and less bloody, he wrapped the towel around his waist and left the steamy bathroom. Sherlock walked out into the kitchen and began making himself a cup of tea wondering where Molly was.
Meanwhile, Molly was fumbling in her purse for her apartment keys while also juggling a few bags of clothes she had found for Sherlock. She tried to find appropriate wear concerning his style but also clothes that wouldn't break the bank. Once the door opened, she kicked her in way inside and at the sight of Sherlock in her kitchen, she dropped the bags at her feet.
"Sher-Sherlock!" her mouth was gaping open, and for the life of her she tried to close it. He was just standing in her kitchen, droplets of water fell from the ends of his dark, mass of curly hair and the only thing he had on was a towel, that was barely hanging onto his waist. Molly swore if she looked any longer it would surely fall off of him. "Um! Sorry- I- I'm sorry- I- got you some clothes and-and- oh God," she whispered, glancing at him once more and fumbling to grab the bags of clothes.
Sherlock stared at her confused and put down the cup of tea, "Let me help you-"
"No, NO!" she grabbed the bags, keeping herself pressed against the wall, "I can do it," she smiled, "Just- uh, I'll put them in our- my- your room, Sherlock's room. I'll put them in there and you can- can get naked-" she squeezed her eyes shut, "Sorry, I meant dressed." Her smile fell, gripping the bags tighter against her chest, "Sorry."
"Am I distracting you?" he asked, in the most serious tone.
"D-Distracting me? Uh-" she laughed, "However could you mean?"
"I don't know, that's why I'm asking," he narrowed his eyes, "Most people don't drop the same bags again and again unless something or someone is distracting them... or they have terrible coordination, which you don't."
Her eyes widened softly, "You know I have good coordination?"
Sherlock nodded slowly, "Yes," he approached her and took the bags from her arms, "Thank you, again. And yes, you do have good coordination, despite the fact you stumble over your words quite often."
"How do you know that?"
"Well, I've watched you walk before, of course. How else will I know about your coordination," he peered into the bag, "This will do wonderfully." Sherlock smiled slightly, his blue eyes were as light as sea foam, making her feel like a wave had knocked her over, stealing the air from her lungs. Molly could smell the scent of a warm shower on his skin and wanted so badly to just press her face against his chest. She imagined it felt wonderful.
"Y-You've watched me walk?"
"Why are you being so... strange?" he asked, "Hm. Oh," he added, "And next time you're out, can you pick me up some shampoo? I'd rather not smell like raspberry's. That is strictly a Molly scent."
She smiled, "A Molly scent?"
"Yes," he nodded, "Your shampoo. It must be your favorite since you always use it."
Molly was having a hard time focusing. Maybe Sherlock didn't realize what he was doing to her - oh yes he did, who was he kidding - but him standing so close, hair dripping wet and with a towel hanging desperately low, Molly was gawking at every part of his body but his face.
"Yes, you are my favorite- sorry, yes, it is my favorite," she stuttered, now staring solely up into the blue eyes that were as cold as ice but somehow they always made her warm.
"I imagine after being flat mates for some time, you won't feel as-"
"Yes," Molly answered quickly, feeling a deep blush creep up her neck.
He nodded, "Good. I'll get dressed then."
Molly watched Sherlock walk down the hallway and disappear into her bedroom. As soon as the door clicked shut, she sunk down the wall and covered her face with her hands.
This was going to be a lot harder than she ever imagined.