That evening, Molly couldn't help feeling a tingle of anticipation about the scenario ahead. Really, it wasn't much of one to work with, but well, the last one had been so special when Sherlock had proposed again to her. How many women could say their man had proposed to them twice?
She carefully put on the same jumper she had worn a few days before, the one from that day. It was rather fortunate the jumper was quite old and stretched out after many washings, because it still fit over her belly, just barely. Well, it was a little bit short now. She put on the same black jacket, the red and black scarf and her red gloves. Her hair was already up in its ponytail.
Should I take off my rings? she wondered, then decided against it. This little scene didn't require her to be ringless.
Sherlock entered the room. "I hope you remembered to use the loo first," he said and she blushed.
"Yes I did, so we have maybe an hour and a half before I have to go again. We should really keep conversation to a minimum."
"Oh, I intend to," he drawled, as he strode towards her and gave her a quick, hard kiss. Her traitorous heart gave a great thump.
"My turn to get dressed," he told her. "Off you go." He gave her bum a little swat and she scurried out.
"By the way," he called, "this one starts with me looking out the window when you come in, so you have to enter from the front door."
Molly huffed a bit at that. Why did she have to go outside the flat? Oh well, he has indulged my little fantasies, I suppose I can afford him the same courtesy. She did not intend to exit the flat though until he was ready.
"Let me know when you are ready and I will go out of the flat and count to thirty."
"Sounds good," came back the reply.
Molly perched on the sofa and waited. He was taking an awfully long time.
After what seemed an age, Sherlock's voice called, "I'm ready. You can go outside now."
Molly obediently followed his request and went out onto the landing. She shut the door quietly and looked down the stairs. Fortunately there was no sign of Mrs. Hudson.
She counted slowly to thirty, then opened the door to the flat and stepped inside, closing the door behind her.
Sure enough, Sherlock was standing at the window, staring outside.
"You wanted to see me?" she asked.
He turned, and she could see he was wearing his favourite maroon dressing gown, with the belt securely tied around him. His legs were bare which was rather odd, but she didn't have time to think about that as he answered, "Yes. Molly.." and took a step toward her.
"Yes?" she asked.
"Would you.." he took another step and repeated, "Would you like to solve crimes?"
"Have dinner?" she timed hers perfectly with his last two words.
Of course, that was where the scenario needed to change, as initially she had tried to cover her embarrassment and pretend she had not said those words.
This time Sherlock kept advancing towards her. "Hmm, you want to have dinner? I think I like that idea a lot better." Reaching his hands to cup her face, he gave her a heart-stopping kiss that left her breathless almost immediately, it was so raw, so primal with need.
Sherlock released her and unwound her scarf from her neck, which was a good thing. She was already feeling uncomfortably hot. Then he drew off her gloves, followed by her jacket.
"Molly," he said in a deep voice that made her tremble with need, "undress me."
With trembling fingers, she didn't know why they were trembling all of a sudden, she untied the knot of his dressing gown belt and released it, then reached up to slide it from his shoulders.
Then she drew in her breath and held it. Sherlock, unlike any other time when he wore his dressing gown over his clothes for some incomprehensible reason, was completely naked. She felt her face burn. He isn't even wearing his boxers, she thought a little dizzily. She wasn't sure why this was so incredibly erotic to her, but there it was. She forced herself to expel her breath.
He stood there, supremely male and sure of himself. "Do you like what you see...Molly?" He caressed the two syllables of her name, and she had an urge to fan her hands in front of her face. He was so absurdly hot.
"Yes," she whispered, quite mesmerized by all that masculine flesh. She didn't get to observe it for too long, because he stepped close to her and whispered in her ear, "You look like you've never seen a man naked before."
She gulped. "With all due respect. If this w...was back then, that w...would have been a true observation, unless you counted corpses," she managed to stammer. Lord, how he affects me, even more than usual due to the situation. She couldn't remember Sherlock being the one who was completely unclothed, while she was still dressed.
"Tell me what you want, Molly," he demanded, sliding his hands caressingly up under her blouse and jumper, then kissing her neck, exposed as it was with her hair pulled back.
"Y..you," she could barely get the words out. She didn't know if it was these little scenarios from their past that got her so hot and bothered, but she knew her heart was beating fast, and she could not seem to catch her breath.
He picked her up in his strong arms and carried her into their bedroom, depositing her gently on the bed, then joining her, casually laying next to her in his nude state, waiting.
Molly faced him and ran a hand along his chest, feeling his pectorals, the fine growth of hair in between. He shuddered slightly, and his breath hitched. She touched his scar from the bullet, marvelling anew at the miraculous way he had survived, especially after his heart had stopped on the operating room table. Leaning down, she kissed the scar, then his chest, and she felt his breathing become more erratic.
There was a certain sense of power that came from being the one who was still clothed. The fact that he was able to be so vulnerable with her, so willing to let her lead, was an intoxication. It was like their first time, but in reverse. On their wedding night it had been he who took the initiative. Despite the fact they had both been virgins, he had instinctively known what to do, how to explore those previously forbidden areas and it had been wonderful, perfect.
Now, five and a half months later, it was even more incredible. Just as their love for one another grew each day, so did their knowledge of each other's bodies. She knew the way he trembled when she touched his chest. He knew the way she melted every time he massaged her shoulders and back, or caressed her breasts. These simple intimacies meant as much as the actual act of love itself. It was part of the whole package.
She lifted her head back to meet his hooded gaze. Oh, how those glances of his still make my stomach clench. Even though he was giving her the power to do as she wished, his eyes were telling her he could only wait so long before he reasserted control.
So Molly kissed him, pouring her breath into him, and taking his for herself. Tongues mingled, then separated because it was their lips that tingled from the kissing, always the lips, fitting together as if they were made for one another's kiss, which they were.
Then it was time, time to take it to the next level. "Undress me," whispered Molly in a subconscious echo of her husband's earlier words, and Sherlock complied.
Molly sat so he could pull off her jumper and blouse, then her bra. He palmed her breasts, his thumbs moving in circles around and over their rosy peaks, eliciting a gasp of pleasure from her. He slid his hands downwards to remove her remaining clothes, then cupped her bottom to pull her as close to him as possible, without pressing against her taut belly.
"God knows I tell you this all the time, but you are so beautiful Molly, my Molly, my darling, my angel, my beloved, my sweet, my heart." He feathered little kisses all over her face, punctuating each endearment with a kiss to a different part, her eyelids, her forehead, her cheeks, the sides of her mouth, finally capturing her lips again with his own.
She gloried in the knowledge the he was hers and she was his. And when kissing was not enough anymore, and their bodies cried out for each other, they joined as one, climbing together to the wings of ecstasy that can only have come from God. It was a gift, and it was theirs to share together.
Afterwards, as their heated bodies relaxed and heartbeats returned to normal, Sherlock pressed his forehead to hers. "What did you think of your dinner? Was it worth doing that simple scenario for this?"
Molly wound her arms around him and kissed him gently. "Every scenario with you is beautiful. I know it sounds silly, but every time we make a new memory, it pushes away the shadow of hurt or sadness from the earlier one."
"I know what you mean, my love," he said. "It gives us a chance to express what was truly in our hearts, what was truly in my heart, before I was aware of it. You , of course knew your feelings towards me. It makes me happy, no, it brings me joy to do this for you, to re-examine things from our past, now that I understand the emotion I tried so hard to protect myself from."
Molly leaned her head on Sherlock's shoulder, feeling his warmth. "You've brought me indescribable joy, Sherlock. I wouldn't trade places with anyone. I wouldn't wish things any differently, not really, because everything we have been through has shaped us into the people we are now."
She lifted her head to meet his blue-green gaze, then her expression changed and she abruptly sat up.
"Where are you going?" he asked, looking highly offended. "I thought we were having a moment."
"We were," she answered, then grinned. "But it has been two whole hours since I've been to the loo, and my bladder does not care about moments."
She hopped off the bed and dashed to the bathroom, while Sherlock chuckled.
When she returned, the covers were down on the bed and Sherlock was already situated. She climbed into bed and scooted next to him after he drew the covers over them.
They spooned together, his arm protectively covering her abdomen, rather than her breast as it usually did, because her girth made that a little awkward now.
Molly made a little sigh of contentment as she felt the baby moving within her, and slept.
Author's note: I really enjoy writing out my little scenarios. Do you like my little running joke about Molly needing the loo a lot? Believe me, it's a real thing!
If you enjoy reading my work, consider leaving feedback. It is my only compensation for this, and I experience such happiness when someone feels my work is worthy of leaving feedback.
I welcome suggestions as well for future writing projects. If you give me an idea, and I use it, I will give you the credit for it :)
Updated for errors and better flow 6/23/18. Tiny revisions 6/4/19.
