Sherlock's mind was still reeling from the realisation that he'd believed Doctor Hooper's facade for years, never suspecting that he was in fact a she.
For the world's only consulting detective who prided himself on being able to see the most obvious and work out what others might find difficult, he was embarrassingly behind on this. For goodness' sake, even Watson knew about her deception!
Tonight, Sherlock's ego had taken a big blow and he knew that he'd remember it for the rest of his life. Strangely, though, it didn't bother him as much as he thought it would.
The women came out of the church and began to disperse, but Sherlock was only looking for one of them. In a few moments, he spotted her. She was in her man's disguise, wig, mustache and all, but now that Sherlock knew who she really was, there was no way she could mask her femininity anymore. At least, not to him.
She'd looked exceptionally lovely in the blue robes she and rest of the suffragettes wore in the de sanctified church. Sherlock even thought she looked lovely in her disguise, too. He chuckled.
Things that should have been obvious about her came to the forefront of his mind. The way Dr. Hooper sometimes looked at him with brief admiration, only for it to disappear and be replaced with that stern expression. The soft curve of her cheek, the warm brown of her eyes, the way her lips would part when she glanced at him when she thought he wasn't looking.
All of these small and seemingly unimportant mannerisms had been hints that would have eventually led Sherlock to the conclusion that Dr. Hooper was, indeed, a woman. Yet, Sherlock had never even noticed, although she'd been in front of him for years.
What a fool he had been, but no longer.
Sherlock waited until Dr. Hooper was far enough away from the other women before he walked over to her. There was a slight smile on his face as he said, "Hooper."
She looked up to him, returning a tiny smile of her own along with a firm nod. "Holmes," was her reply. Hearing her speak in that masculine accent made Sherlock's lips twitch.
"Let's not play this game anymore, shall we? My given name is Sherlock and I would like you to call me by that name. Although, I'm afraid that I don't know yours."
After a brief deliberation, she sighed and held out her hand to him. "Molly," she said in a voice lighter voice, free from the masculine tone that she always used. "My real name is Molly."
Sherlock took her hand in his, but instead of shaking it, he smoothed his thumb along the skin. Molly's eyes widened in response and she let out a tiny gasp. He continued to keep his beautiful green eyes on hers as he brought her hand to his lips and gently pressed a kiss to it.
The light from the full moon outside made it easier for Sherlock to see and the desire on Molly's face was clear. Perhaps she felt drawn to him just like he was drawn to her. He held her hand much longer than necessary and before Molly could say anything, Sherlock pulled her to him.
Their bodies were much closer than what was proper, but he didn't care and neither, it seemed, did Molly. She gazed up at him with such affection in those warm brown eyes. Sherlock placed his hands on both sides of her cheeks and she sighed, covering his hands with her own.
Sherlock could have been content to just look at her, but he needed more, so much more. Without hesitation, he pressed his mouth to hers and held her tightly.
Molly didn't pull away. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his waist and passionately moved her mouth against his, moaning quietly. Her reaction was music to Sherlock's ears and he slowly sucked Molly's upper lip between his own, holding her so closely that her body was like an extension of his own.
He eventually drew back and playfully pecked the corner of her lips, make her giggle in response. What a beautiful sound that was. He hoped that he would hear more of it in the future.
When they stopped kissing to catch their breaths, Sherlock held her hand to his heart and leaning his forehead to touch hers. "Molly Hooper, you captivate me."
A small hand grazed his cheek and she said softly, "I could say the same thing about you...Sherlock."
"I would like to see you again, to hold you like this and not worry about what people might say. I also want to know about you, your story, everything. I have many questions to ask, but this is not the place for them."
Molly licked her lips. "I want that, too. Perhaps, you might accompany me to my flat. We'd be much freer there, if you wish, but you have to promise me something."
"Yes?" Sherlock looked down at her with warmth and he heard her breath hitch.
"You can't fall in love with me."
The detective let out a chuckle and as he bent down to met her lips with his own once more, he whispered, "I'm afraid I may already be in danger of doing that."
And from the adoring gaze in Molly's eyes, Sherlock knew that she felt the same way.