Just an idea that I had last night, when I was wondering if the purple shirt would have the same effect on Sherlock as it does on all of us, if it was worn by someone else. Hope you enjoy my little one shot! Shoot me a review, I would love it!
A Study in Purple
Molly had had enough. They had been playing this little game of cat and mouse for months now, and she was tired of it. Sure, she was ecstatic to be in any kind of romantic relationship with Sherlock Holmes, but his idea of taking things slow was slowly killing her.
She understood it. After all, it was one of her cardinal rules in a relationship that they had to wait a while. But Sherlock took the phrase to a whole new level. He said he was doing it for her benefit, but a part of her knew that he was a lot more scared than he was letting on.
She respected that, and didn't want to push him too far too fast. But 10 months of nothing but chaste pecks on the lips and Chinese takeaway was almost too much for her to handle.
She knew that he wanted it too. The way his hands roamed her back frantically in their more passionate kisses, the way his breathing halted anytime she did anything even remotely seductive, the way his pupils became almost black whenever she was close. His willpower was fading fast. He was walking a thin wire, and Molly had a plan to trip him up.
Molly stopped by 221B on the way home to see John. The poor man was still not quite recovered from the shock of Sherlock's death, and she felt guilty knowing that in actuality the man was quite alive, and had been staying with her on and off for the last year or so. She hated seeing him like this, although she knew that it was the only way. Still, it was getting harder and harder to keep the lie up.
When John excused himself to the loo, Molly put her plan into action. She snuck off into Sherlock's room, which was still perfectly preserved in the exact state he had left it. She searched through the closet, finding what she needed and stuffing it into her purse.
She looked around for anything else she might want or need, and spied a half used bottle of cologne in his favorite scent. She grinned and took it as well, knowing how useful it could be. She left quickly, hearing John start to come out. Molly rushed back into place, sipping her tea to hide her smile.
That night, Sherlock came back to the flat late and exhausted. He had spent the entire day pretending to be homeless, and the stress- not to mention the smell- was getting to him. The sooner he was able to infiltrate this cover company that Moriarty had set up, the better.
He looked around. Molly keys were laid on the table instead of being hung up where they usually were. She'd had a long day, then. The couch wasn't set up for him to spend the night, so it must have been a long enough day that she hadn't had the energy to take care of it. There were small particles of food left in the Toby's bowl, meaning that the cat had already eaten some time ago, and seeing as how this was one of the last things Molly did during the day, she was likely asleep.
He walked back towards her bedroom and slowly opened her door, but was surprised at what he saw. Molly was not asleep, though she was in bed. She sat under the covers, wearing a dressing gown and reading one of her latest pathology books. Her wavy hair was down and loose around her shoulders, and she had yet to remove what little makeup she was wearing. She looked perfect, and Sherlock drank in the sight.
She looked up and smiled when she saw him in the doorway. He came over and brushed a kiss across her cheek. She stood and wrapped her arms around him, and he could feel the stress evaporating from him. Something was different about her, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Whatever it was, it was intoxicating.
After he let her go, she walked slowly over to the closet and reached up, pulling down the sheets and blankets for his makeshift bed one at a time. Sherlock made no move to help, staring at her from behind and memorizing the curves of her body as best as he could beneath the dressing gown.
When all the supplies were lying on the ground, she walked back tantalizingly. "You know, I was thinking…" She said as she came towards him, "it is rather late, and I really don't want to set up the couch tonight. You could just stay…" She wrapped her hands around his neck, "with me."
She kissed him, a bit shy at first but it quickly grew into something passionate and deep. Sherlock kissed her back firmly and hungrily, his desire growing every second they were together. While one hand gripped his hair, she undid the dressing gown with the other. He pushed it off her shoulders and broke away to look at her. "Is that…?"
Hanging off the body of the tiny pathologist was a deep purple buttoned shirt, and nothing else. He recognized the shirt immediately as one of his own. The sleeves had been rolled up so that he wouldn't see them earlier, and there were a few buttons undone at the top, leaving him with just a hint of what lay below. Moreover, it was doused in his own cologne, which was what he had been unable to pinpoint before.
Molly Hooper was standing in front of him, wearing his own shirt and his cologne, and it felt irrevocably right. She was wearing his clothes, she smelled like him—she belonged to him. A guttural growl escaped him, as he realized that he wanted that to be true in every sense.
He kissed her more forcefully, his lips impatient as she struggled to unbutton his shirt. Finally he just pulled it off, not caring that the top button was torn off the garment as it dropped to the floor.
She giggled as he practically threw her down on her bed, and his lips attacked her open neck. She ran her fingers over the fine toned muscles of his back, and sighed contentedly. The long wait was over, and Molly knew as he trailed hard kisses along her clavicle that it had all been worth it.