AN: There isn't much of a plot to this, but it's a style that I wanted to experiment with. Originally, it was going to be a bit naughtier, but then I thought it would be a bit shallow and I wanted to go deeper than Greg just lusting after Molly.
Enjoy!
We were at a party when I started to see you in the way I do now. It was Christmas Eve, 2012 at 221B Baker Street and you were wearing that little black dress. You only wore it to impress Sherlock, of course, but I don't think you saw the way I looked you at you the moment you took your coat off. For some reason I'd always imagined you to be stick-thin under all those jumpers and lab coats. Clearly, I was wrong. You looked so fucking gorgeous that I had to remind myself repeatedly that I was married and trying to work things out with my wife, who was sleeping with someone else, of course. It didn't stop me, though, from imagining what you'd look like naked and writhing underneath me in the way you are now.
I went home as hard as a rock that night and was strangely happy to find my then-wife away with the P.E. teacher and my daughter sleeping over at a friend's place, so that neither of them could hear me moaning your name while I had a wank in the shower. I pictured you in that dress and imagined what would have happened if I had taken the chance to grab you by the waist and fuck you in the middle of that room with everyone watching. I thought of the last time you'd said my name in a casual conversation and wondered what it would sound like if you were begging me to let you come.
No, not yet, love. Not just yet.
After the holidays were over I shrugged off the way I thought of you that night, or at least wanted to. I'd had a bit to drink, after all, and you did look fit in that dress. Everyone saw that. Well, everyone except for the consulting dickhead, but then you know what he's like. As much as I tried to push you from my mind, I couldn't go a day without thinking about you in that dress. That fucking dress.
Strangely, we became a little closer after that. Maybe I just needed a distraction from the divorce and maybe you just needed a friend when things were bad. I guess, in the back of my head, that dress sort of triggered something in me. One day, things were particularly bad and to cheer you up I asked you out to lunch. We were both looking forward to it, but then something came up and you texted me to cancel. I thought it was probably for the best.
After the fall happened the last thing I wanted to do was pressure you. Someone like you deserves better than that, but I don't think you have a clue how hard it was to look at you and have to fight back the urge to kiss you hard enough to make your legs weak and make love to you on the nearest desk. Sometimes we'd share a platonic hug or peck on the cheek and I could catch a whiff of your perfume. It drove me crazy! I remember smelling it when I held you on the day of Sherlock's funeral. You were crying and I thought it was because of how you felt about him, but now I know better.
For a year I was stupid enough to try to forget whatever it was I felt about you. I went through date after date and went to bed with most, but would always wake up feeling strangely empty. One of them was near perfect for me, even made it through a third date, and still I felt that same emptiness until I started to understand why: none of these women were anything like you.
That's when I started to realize that whatever I felt for you was more than lust. I wanted to get to know you. Not just the you that worked in pathology and went home to a cat to watch episodes of Glee, but you. The real you. I wanted to know what your childhood was like. I wanted to know what your dreams of the future were. I wanted to know what made you happy and what made you sad. I wanted to know how you took your tea.
One day I was ready to bite the bullet and ask you out, but when I did you told me that you were seeing someone else and that it was already getting serious. I'd blown my chance. My own fault, I suppose, but the more I heard you talking about Tom, the more I knew that I was going to hate him.
When Sherlock came back and told me about your part in…well…everything, I was amazed. I don't know how you managed to do all that and keep it a secret for that long. You saved all of our lives, none of us had a fucking clue and I don't think any of us have thanked you for it, so here I am thanking you.
Thank you, Molly, for being as amazing as you are.
I knew I was going to hate Tom from the moment I saw him, but no more than he hated me. I've never said it out loud and I don't know if he said it either, but the fact that he was with you and was going to marry you created a bit of a wedge between us. I know that he saw the way I looked at you, especially at John and Mary's wedding.
Normally, I hate weddings, which is probably the result of being a divorced man well past his prime, but you just looked so lovely in that dress. There may have been a little bit of innocent flirtation in our conversations before and after the ceremony, but then, of course, Tom had to butt into every single fucking one of them. He looked like he wanted to kill me at the dinner table, which I still can't help but laugh at. One swing and he'd be on the floor crying for his mum against the likes of me. Still, I fought the urge to touch you somewhere under that table. I didn't care if it was on your hand or on your thigh, but either way I couldn't stop myself from sneaking a look at you here and there. You looked so beautiful. I don't think you even know how beautiful you are.
I still remember the way you looked at me when we danced at the reception. It was casual at first, but as soon as the music started to slow I remember you blushing before we decided to just go with it. Truth be told, I only went with it for the chance to feel close to you. If my feelings for you were a lost cause, then at least I could hold you just this once. Maybe the lager had gotten to me, but I had to hold you. I had to feel your body against mine and I didn't care if it was platonic or sexual. I just wanted to hold you and you have no idea how badly I wanted to kiss you then and there.
You're so lovely, Molly. So fucking lovely.
I don't know why you turned to me as soon as things with you and Tom ended, but I never had any complaints. Maybe it seems like I only acted as a shoulder to cry for the chance to sleep with you, but the truth is that things came to a point where that didn't matter anymore. Just getting to talk to you was enough for me. Those extra pounds I spent on tea in the morning was worth it just to see the look on your face when someone surprises you with a cup. I liked making you laugh, most of all, especially when days seemed the worst. I love it when you laugh. You've always had such a beautiful smile.
Why you came to my door tonight I don't know, particularly in the pouring rain, but…well, here we are.
You didn't say anything as soon as the door was open. Even as I invited you in, you said nothing. I offered you a drink, you still said nothing. You just held me as tightly as you could and kissed me hard on the mouth. For a moment I lost my balance, but I didn't hesitate to kiss you back and pin you against the wall. I don't even know where it came from. Maybe you knew, somehow, that I've wanted you since that godawful Christmas party or maybe you just wanted to feel close to someone.
Either way, you're here, you're in my bed, you're naked, you're moaning, you're writhing underneath me and gripping the sheets as I move deep inside of you. You are everything I'd imagined you'd be and more. You're so tight around me that holding back is almost as painful as the scratches you leave on my body. They probably don't hurt as much as the bruises and bite marks that I've left on yours, but I know that you love it. I know what it does to you. With my hand on your throat, the way I bite your neck between kisses makes you shudder almost as much as the things I whisper in your ear. I tell you all the things I've wanted to do to you since that party and it makes you shudder when I touch you. You love the way I touch you, I know.
I'm close and I can feel you getting closer. I'm gonna come. I want to feel you come, too. Come for me, Molly. Please. Yes. Oh, fuck!
For a moment things go black. I might have passed out and not even noticed, but you don't mind. You rest your head on my chest and I hold you. A smile plays at your lips when I run my fingers through your hair and you kiss my chest. If I could I'd stay here forever and spend the rest of my life watching over you.
Still, I have to ask why you're here and what brought this up.
"Sherlock told me," you tell me.
"Sherlock?"
You look up at me and nod. Your voice sounds almost drunk on the afterglow. "He told me everything."
He knew? I'm almost about to ask, but I stop myself. Of course, he knew. He's Sherlock Holmes. He knows everything.
I could have told you everything, I almost say, but I didn't and I'm so sorry. I'm sorry that I wasted so much time when we could have done this ages ago. Instead, I make a joke of it just because I love making you laugh.
We kiss, we talk, we make love several times, and as soon as I felt you drifting into sleep I tell you that you can stay. You can stay as long as you want. I'm not going anywhere.
I hold you until you sleep and tell you what I should have told you ages ago.
"I love you, Molly."