Disclaimer: None of the characters (or anything recognizible in the Sherlock Universe) are mine. Still the annoying little neighbor girl who likes to play in the sandbox. Beta'd a lonng time ago, so any SPaG errors are mine.

Triggers/Warnings: None.

Author's note: It's been a very, very long time since I've written anything for the Sherlock fandom, so if it's slightly OOC please forgive me (and let me know)!

Dedicated to the lovely Parsleymusic on Tumblr for my 100 followers fanfic giveaway.

Disquieting Flutter

This had become a habit of theirs, since they started their relationship. While she was breaking for lunch, he would come down to Bart's and use the equipment for his experiments while they discussed the day so far.

(When John and Mary heard about this, they said that this was Sherlock trying to make up for when Eurus had caused Molly (and Sherlock) so much heartache.

Molly, who'd been sitting by him, had immediately come to his defense and said that Sherlock had accepted her offer for coffee after the incident and later 'expressed his desire for a more "intimate relationship."' (She used air quotes, making Sherlock sit rigid so as not to roll his eyes.) Molly insisted that this sentence and consequent relationship had more than made up for what his sister had done.

John had then started to choke on his beer, causing Rosie and Mary to laugh, while Molly turned to him with a beaming smile. This was the first time Sherlock felt the flutter in his chest. It was disquieting, though not unwelcome.

That has been three weeks ago and he still hadn't determined the cause of that flutter; but he had more important things on his mind.)

Ever since he had arrived on this afternoon, Molly had been nervous, repeatedly straightening her jumper and smoothing her skirt. Normally, she would have her mobile and would be reading off the stupid things her Facebook friends had posted, but her mobile had been having problems and she was keeping it turned off as much as possible; in fact he'd nearly broken down her door last night after Molly hadn't replied to any of his texts after three hours.

Her actions didn't bother him as much as they would have a couple of years ago, but he had an eight-case that needed his attention. Sherlock held out his mobile, moving his eyes up from the microscope. "You can borrow mine."

"Sorry?" Molly asked, looking up from her clipboard.

"You can use my mobile, though if it is truly important I don't understand your aversion to the landline."

"Stamford said they've begun to watch us more closely, so I'd rather not bring any unnecessary attention to myself with a personal call." Molly gave him a small, sad smile before taking the mobile out of his hand. "Thanks," she murmured, walking out of the lab.

Sherlock frowned at her back. Ever since she'd helped him fake his death, Molly had begun to be less timid around him and had even begun to tease him. (He knew about her fancying him; he may not be the best at reading social body cues but he's not blind for Heaven's sake.) Now that the two of them were in a relationship (he mostly refused to say 'dating' but he absolutely refused to say 'boyfriend' or 'girlfriend.' It was juvenile and unnecessary) Molly had no problem speaking her mind. If she was this quiet, then something was definitely wrong. Before he could start to process what was wrong, Molly came back to the lab in a sad state.

"Everything all right?" Sherlock asked, frowning still.

Molly nodded with a smile. (Fake, obviously.) "It will be."

He watched her smile disappear as soon as he 'looked away.' That characteristic cheerfulness that Molly seemed to radiate was replaced by a sadness that Sherlock would normally think impossible for the small woman. ("I know what that means, looking sad when you think no one can see you," his mind teased him. He pushed the thought back.)

He wanted to help Molly if he could, but he knew that he was complete rubbish at dealing with any kind of emotion. ("Slow and empathetic, Sherlock," his brain helpfully supplied a quote from John that was before his 'death.' "You may not can show empathy much, but if you can listen and act like you care, you'll get them relaxed enough to get what you need.")

Sherlock leaned over into the scope of microscope. He zoomed in and out slowly and counted to ten. "Are you sure you're all right, Molly?" he asked quietly. Sherlock glanced up at her, making sure to watch every minute expression that crossed her face.

Immediately, Molly tensed. Sherlock then gave her his full attention – something was seriously wrong. She would've tried to brush whatever it is off and not have this scared, defensive expression.

"It's my mum," Molly said, moving a strand of hair behind her left ear. "She, um…had a stroke last week."

"How badly off is she?" Sherlock asked, the gentleness of his tone surprising himself.

"She's being released tomorrow. There will be some physical therapy needed, but she's very, very lucky." Molly gave a small laugh.

"I'm glad she'll be all right." He gave her a smile.

"Thank you," she said softly. Molly then gave him a smile (the smile she had smiled that time with John, Mary, and Rosie), and put her hand on his.

That disquieting flutter in his chest started up once more; again, it was not unwelcome, but he didn't know the cause. (He always needed to know the cause of things.) Sherlock straightened and asked, "When will you go visit her?"

The smile dropped. "Not until later in the year. They live so far north that I would only get to spend two days with them. It's just not worth it. I'll wait a few months so I can have a few extra days to take a longer Christmas holiday."

Sherlock nodded, not sure what he should say next without John to guide him. Thankfully, he received a text about the case so he left St. Bart's, but not before kissing her on her cheek and turning over her hand so he could squeeze it gently. When he was out in the hall, he dialed a number. "Hello, Brother Mine. Will you be at the country house this weekend?"

With his plan in action, Sherlock went to the morgue later that week to study a body that Molly had said died under suspicious circumstances (He wasn't 'dropping by;' Sherlock Holmes does not 'drop by'). Those were the best kind of bodies.

It was literally five minutes (he counted, of course) after he had arrived at the morgue that Molly all but cornered him. "I have a favor to ask you."

(Her confidence is back – she must be considering the offer.) "What is it?"

Molly tilted her head to one side, hesitancy radiating off of her. She sighed, then explained, "Yesterday after my shift, I got a call from my sister saying that a non-profit called her and said that my mum qualified for a long weekend at a special home that was about halfway between here and Berwick."

"You want me to find out if this is a legitimate charity?" Sherlock asked.

"Please," Molly asked with a relieved smile on her face. "I tried looking them up myself, but it's a very secretive organisation, the website had practically nothing about them, and I didn't want to make things worse by contacting them and asking if they were legitimate."

"I'll have Mycroft look into it for you."

"Thank you!" Molly said, nearly bouncing in her excitement. Sherlock tensed slightly, thinking she was going to hug him, but she excitedly scurried off, much to his relief. He wasn't ready for all of the physical contact that this relationship could bring, though he had gotten better over time.

His heart began to flutter once again when he saw that her happiness had been restored. Why does this keep happening? He knew that it had started once Molly and he had started their relationship. He also knew that it was something that only happened with Molly. As there was not enough data to theorize why Molly caused this sensation, he turned his focus away to center himself. Sherlock pulled out his mobile and sent a text: Nice touch with the website.

The text back was immediate: My people excel at their jobs, Sherlock. Of course it would be a 'nice touch.'

Sherlock smirked and followed Molly to go look at the body.

Later that day after an 'appropriate' amount of time, Sherlock texted Molly: The Michael Hawkins Foundation is legitimate; they prefer to keep it quiet because you cannot apply – they chose you. SH

Thank you! MH

Are you going to advise your mother to take the house for the time? SH

There was a pause in the conversation for a minute, and Sherlock bounced his leg with excess energy (Sherlock does not have nervous energy) before his mobile dinged with an answer.

Against my better judgement, I've told my mom and brother about it, and they're going to accept. But on the bright side, I'll be able to go and see them there since it's much closer. MH

When will you be leaving? SH

In two days. MH

And, Sherlock, please be polite to Morgan while I'm gone. MH

No promises, but I will try to give extra patience when dealing with his lower intelligence. SH

Thank you, Sherlock. :) MH

Once again, Sherlock's heart did its odd fluttering. He frowned, confused and annoyed at himself. He rolled his eyes and settled into is mind palace to figure this problem.

Nearly a week later, Molly once again cornered Sherlock (after a hug, of course). "I had a wonderful time."

"That's good," he said, unsure of what to say. He saw the smile on her face and the fluttering started once again. All Sherlock wanted was to understand why it was happening, or at least that it would stop being so…loud. If he didn't know any better, he would say that Molly could possibly hear his heart pounding and fluttering.

"They took care of everything," she continued. "They made sure that Mum had qualified nurses, and anything else we needed. We even got to tour the house." She stepped closer while tears filled her eyes. "Thank you, Sherlock. For everything." He tried to object and say that it wasn't him, but she continued, "When they took us on the tour, I saw your portrait, along with your brother's. Even as a young child, that smirk is particularly distinctive." She smiled up at him.

He returned the smile, but this time, the rapid flipping of his heart didn't seem frustrating or out of place…in fact, it seemed…enjoyable. His smile grew bigger, more earnest.

Molly tilted her head and started to say something, but stopped herself.

Frowning, he started to ask her what the matter was, but was shocked to feel her pulling on his Belstaff, which made their height difference less pronounced. He was even more shocked to feel her lips gently pushing against his cheek.

To his surprise, it was too short for Sherlock's liking. He was slightly dazed as he watched her step back, teary-eyed but happy.

That's when it clicked in Sherlock's mind and he realized what his heart was doing: He was feeling overwhelming love for Molly.

He had known that he would do anything for Molly and that he enjoyed her company, but he hadn't realized that love could come this quickly or be this enjoyable.

Molly had let go of his Belstaff and he felt his heart begin to speed up unhappily as she walked away. "Molly?" he said, all logic abandoning him.

She turned around with a smile. "Yes, Sherlock?"

He hesitated, then moved to stand in front of the small woman who was his whole world. Moving quickly so as not to change his mind, Sherlock leaned down and gently pressed his lips to hers. He brought his hand up to cup her head, allowing for a better connection between them. Though Sherlock didn't want this feeling of love to end, he knew it must and drew back from her. Smiling still, he said, "My pleasure, my dearest Molly Hooper."