Molly wakes to the sound of a whirring.
It's Sherlock's snores. He's passed out beside her, completely dead from the night before. His body lay bare beneath the sheets, his fingers clutching the blankets around him. His mouth is parted just slightly, breathing in and out in a mutual rhythm. It's a shame his blue eyes are closed.
Molly wants to reach out and touch him, but refrains, afraid he might wake and walk out of her flat without a word or maybe just mumbling about how much of 'mistake' last night was while putting on his trousers.
But to Molly's surprise, Sherlock's eyes flutter open to the dazzling light leaking in her bedroom. He takes a deep breath, slowly grasping the reality of a new day. It's when he turns involuntarily does he notice that Molly is next to him, tugging the bed sheets around her chest for fear of rejection.
He doesn't make any flicker of response towards it, however. He just says, "-good morning." while staring at her in a state of shock.
Molly raises an eyebrow. She'd been expecting an entirely different response. "Are you okay?" She asks him slowly, pausing for each syllable like she's entreating a conversation with someone mentally unstable.
Sherlock nods softly. "Yes." He says, but it sounds like a question. "Are you? You're nervous."
Molly feels too exposed. She feels as if this was a mistake. What was she expecting? A good morning kiss and breakfast in bed? She just woke up to Sherlock Holmes not James Bond.
"I'm fine," she lies with a squeak.
Sherlock bites his lip and tilts his head. "Hm, no…" he answers for her.
Molly rings her hands. "I just…well, I guess I'm not so sure you're, well, content with the sight of me in the morning, that's all."
Sherlock sighs, throwing his head back against the pillows. "Molly…"
She immediately retracts. "I mean, well, what I'm trying to say is I don't think you want the repercussions of afterwards."
"Molly…"
"-and I get that. I mean, I'm fine with it. But if you're not then I guess I'll just put something on and…" she begins to leave the bed with the duvet still wrapped around her torso but before she can completely exit the scene, Sherlock's hands grip her forearm and send the back of her head to the pillow once more.
"No, don't. I rather like this." Sherlock says simply.
"What?" She asks, quite puzzled.
Sherlock takes an arm and hooks her near him like a ragdoll. She's now moments away from his lips, tightening her own in a thin line. "I said," he answers. "-I rather like this."
Molly swallows. "I just didn't think you…"
Sherlock shakes his head. "That's the thing; you don't think." She would be hurt by this accusation but she's so used to it by now it flies over her head.
Sherlock smiles a bit to soften his blow. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it so…"
"Bluntly?" she finishes for him.
He smirks. "Yes, I suppose." Molly nods and there's a bit of silence that hangs through the air. But a few more minutes later he leans his head in and kisses her mouth delicately, his hands gripping her sides.
When he releases her she blushes and the room begins to spin. "What was that for?"
Sherlock says, "I'm not an idiot. I'm expected to know that women want to be kissed in the morning. It's one of those things, right?"
Molly rolls her eyes playfully and they both laugh softly. "I guess," she murmurs, her eyes still locked on his mouth. "Can you do that again?" She pleads.
Sherlock does. His mouth lingers a bit longer than before. And soon Molly is wringing her fingers through his hair, kissing not only his mouth but the sides of it and his jaw, too.
When she pulls away, Sherlock's eyes are still closed. She giggles underneath his hold and says, "Well, then. Good morning, Sherlock Holmes." She twitters.
He smiles. "Good morning, Molly Hooper."
