So, here's chapter two! Thank you all for the support. It means the world to me. Also to the guests who reviewed, thank you! I wish I could reply! : )
Once again the lovely and talented MrsMCrieff betaed and Brit picked.
I still own nothing. (Though I do have something in common with Sherlock in this chapter... I'll explain in the end notes.)
Molly had tossed and turned half the night wondering if she'd offended Sherlock - if she'd hurt his feelings (because she was convinced he indeed had feelings, even though he attempted to hide them at all cost) - or if he simply thought she was a complete idiot. Had she upset him because she was so far off the mark or spot on? Or because she had tried to talk to him about something so personal in the middle of an important investigation? Finally she fell into a fitful sleep sometime after 2am. She had heard him downstairs for a while, then it sounded like he had left the flat at some point.
She woke up and looked at her phone. Oh great, it's 9.45, Toby will be properly pissed. She made her way downstairs to find the grumpy feline, hoping that Sherlock was out searching for more leads. What she found, well...
Sherlock was sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee, nothing abnormal about that... except... except...
"Sherlock, what in God's name is wrong with your hair?" she asked as she moved around the detective to get a better look at his head, her anxiety suddenly forgotten. Where she normally saw beautiful, soft, bouncy curls, she only saw a mass of straw-like frizz. It was like something out of a bad 70's film. The man looked like Bob Ross's evil twin.
"Ah, good morning Molly. You are quite lucky I had nothing to do this morning. I fed Tobias. No telling what he would have gotten into, what with you sleeping in so late." He smiled and took another drink, acting as if it was completely normal for him to look like an extra from Starsky and Hutch.
"Um, thank you? Really though, what did you do? Oh God, did you electrocute yourself?"
He stood up and chuckled as he walked to the coffee maker, pouring Molly a cup. "No Molly, this isn't the result of an electrocution." He added some milk then handed her it to her. "Here you go. It's a demonstration, of sorts."
Molly took the coffee and stared in disbelief. "Your hair... is a demonstration?"
Sherlock leant against the counter folding his arms across his chest, his legs casually crossed at his ankles. "Yes."
"Care to elaborate?" Molly asked, still dumbfounded.
"I don't care if people think I'm gay, straight, or that I have a penchant for polar bears dressed in purple tutus. I couldn't care less. The press has speculated for years as to my relationship with John. And of course Mrs. Hudson has her own opinion about that as well. She still makes her sideways comments and she was present for his nuptials with Mrs. Watson. Did I seem remotely affected by the false stories Janine sold to the tabloids?"
Molly shook her head.
"So you see, I don't care what the general public or even those closest to me think they know about my private life, specifically my sexuality. However, given your faulty deduction last evening, I felt it necessary to explain why I am in possession of so many hair care products. This," he pointed at the puffy, brown mess atop his head. "Is what happens if I don't use said products."
"Are you trying to tell me that I was wrong?"
He smiled and nodded.
Molly thought for a moment. "If you don't care what people think about your sexuality, then why tell me?"
Sherlock uncrossed his legs and pushed off of the counter. He slowly approached her, stopping about two feet away. "Why, Molly, do you suppose that I would care that you, out of every other person on this planet, are aware of my sexual preference?"
Molly's mind raced as she thought about it, yet no matter what she came up with only one possibility seemed to fit. But no... just... just no. She had every intention of calling him on his bluff- because it had to be a bluff... it had to be... well, something! He was having her on for her, okay, admittedly poor deduction. But when she opened her mouth to speak all she could say was, "Nooooo!"
Then he grinned. Grinned! And nodded his head. "Actually, yes. I'm glad you figured this one out correctly."
Finally getting a hold of herself (it required looking away from the detective and his, frankly, ridiculous hair) she managed to find her words. "Sherlock, I'm sorry okay," she said as put down her coffee then turned and walked to out of the kitchen and put some distance between herself and the frizzy haired man, but unfortunately, he followed her. "I wasn't making fun of you," she said as she turned around. "I was sincerely trying to get you to open up, talk to me. I honestly thought I'd stumbled upon some secret of yours..."
"Oh, you did," he interrupted. "A very select few know about this." He motioned to his hair once again. "John found out whilst on a case. Shouldn't have been an over-night situation, I wasn't prepared. My one and only dorm mate at Uni has been paid off... twice. The wanker," he said under his breath. "My parents know, of course. Mummy spent a small fortune trying to tame my tresses as I was growing up. And you don't want to know the things I've had to do to secure Mycroft's silence." He was looking off in the distance, a scowl on his face. He turned back to her, shaking his head at the memory. "There you have it; my deepest, darkest secret is unruly hair." The grin returned as he stepped into her personal space once again.
Molly stepped back only to find the wall behind her. "Sherlock, this isn't nice. Okay, I was wrong. But you of all people know that I was just trying to be a good friend. I've been stuck here with nothing to do. I let my imagination get the better of me. I cocked it up and... and... I'm sorry!" Molly put her hands in front of her to stop his advance, which as it turned out, was a huge mistake. Her hands fell on his well-defined pectoral muscles as Sherlock put his hands on either side of Molly's head on the wall. She whimpered and bit her lip, keeping her eyes locked on his chest. Do not look in his eyes, she told herself. Don't look up!
"Molly, look at me," he said in an even deeper voice than normal.
But she refused. She closed her eyes. Yet another mistake, as it turned out. Because suddenly she felt his breath on her neck.
"What's wrong Molly?" he asked then lightly pressed a kiss to her the skin just below her ear.
Suddenly she found that she was gripping two hands full of his tee shirt. "Umm..." Was all she managed before he gently nipped at her throat and moved his hands from the wall to grip her waist.
"God Molly!" Sherlock said. "You," He raked his nose up her neck ending at her jaw. "You smell amazing."
That was it! She had to stop him and his cruel games. "Please Sherlock, stop. I've learned my lesson!" She was nearly in tears, the combination of desire and fear – the utter torment was breaking her.
Sherlock jerked back, but didn't relinquish his hold on her hips. "What are you talking about? What lesson?"
Molly's hands dropped to her sides, she shook her head but kept her eyes averted. "I know I must have seemed silly trying to get you to talk about your... sexuality. But I was just trying to be a good friend. You've proved your point!"
Sherlock brought his hand up to Molly's cheek. He gently brushed away a stray tear that had escaped. "I'm so sorry, Molly."
Something in his voice brought Molly's eyes up to meet his. What she saw nearly took her breath away. In that moment Molly attempted to remember all the different versions of Sherlock she'd seen throughout the years. Many of them were disingenuous. Many of them were unkind, even cruel. But when Sherlock allowed his true self to shine through, it was bloody marvelous! This, she was certain, was one of those moments. His eyes were soft and pale (oh, and slightly dilated!). She had tried many times to attribute their ever changing colour to his moods. Perhaps this pale blue had something to do with sincerity. She dearly hoped so, because her heart, which had previously tried so desperately to let go of the maddening genius, was beating rapidly and holding on by a veritable thread.
"Of course you don't believe that I'm sincere. I've never..." he paused and bit his bottom lip. "Well, this is a better kept secret than my hair, isn't it?" He smirked as he brushed a piece of her hair, which was loose and still sleep tousled, behind her ear. "You see, I'd wanted to- planned to tell you when I came back. But you'd gone and gotten yourself engaged." He furrowed his brow. "Naughty." He leaned back down and whispered in her ear, "I thought I'd warned you about that, Miss Hooper."
His words sent shivers down Molly's spine and she wondered for a moment if she could orgasm from his voice alone.
He moved back slightly so he could look in her eyes. "I won't ruin the moment by rehashing everything, but suffice to say this last year, as you know, I've been a bit not good." He actually looked remorseful. "I have a great deal to make up for, Molly. I'd like to start right away; if that's something you're amenable to?"
Molly couldn't speak. Though she knew had to- she needed to find out exactly what he wanted from her. Just then a thought struck her. "What about Moriarty?" Sherlock didn't eat during a case, surely he wouldn't...
He raised his eyebrows, perhaps surprised that little Molly Hooper could form a coherent thought at this particular moment. "I solved it last night. Got home about an hour before you woke up." He smiled.
"What?"
"Yes, actually you put me on the right path." He finally released her and paced across the room, suddenly back in consulting detective mode. "I was certain that I'd eliminated everyone within the network. But, what about a family member? Suppose Dear Jim had an adoring niece or nephew? A cousin? A little brother hell bent on exacting revenge? That's where I was concentrating my search. I was still stumped as to why they weren't contacting me, playing the game as Moriarty so loved doing. But when you mentioned your blog and that you should maybe delete it, I remembered something. Jim from IT contacted you via your blog. That's how you two met." He paused.
Molly cringed, then nodded.
"On the off chance that this new player was, once again using you as a means to get to me, I checked it." He walked over to his laptop and pulled up her blog. "Take a look." He motioned to the still slightly stunned woman to join him on the settee.
Molly looked at the notes on the last blog entry. Livin' with Jim's sloppy seconds. So sad. He always said you two were the same. I suppose I get it now. Come and play. You might LEARN something. Then she saw another reply: On my way!
Molly shook her head. "Where?"
"My first case with John. Roland-Karr Further Education College." Sherlock closed the laptop. "Sean Doherty, Moriarty's first cousin, twice removed. They were roughly the same age, but went to different schools. Sean wasn't a part of the organization, that's why I was unaware of his existence. I imagine our consulting criminal didn't give him much thought at all. However, Sean worshiped Jim... from afar. He also spent the last three years building up a small and ineffectual group of thugs. Sean's specialty? IT, ironically. He created the hack to get my attention. Calling me back and saving my life. How did he know I was about to be sent into exile? He didn't. That was serendipity."
Molly finally found fault with his explanation, giving him an incredulous look. Sherlock Holmes didn't believe in luck, fate and least of all... did he really just say serendipity?
"What? Oh, fine. Occasionally these things... just sort of happen. At any rate, he had always planned on airing it on New Year's Day. Just so happened that I was leaving on my mission at the same time." He ended his explanation with a satisfied smile.
Molly took a deep breath, trying to process the story. "And I assume he's in custody?"
Sherlock nodded as he scooted closer to Molly on the sofa. "He and his merry band of misfits." He picked up her hand, turned it over and brought it to his mouth. "No more distractions." He kissed her palm, her wrist, her arm.
"What about the exile?" she said, trying to concentrate.
"My country was so very grateful for the quick and discreet resolution of this new threat, and trust me when I say they were never really a threat at all, that I'm to be given a pardon." He graced Molly with a cocky grin. "I'm a free man."
Molly swallowed. "What is this?" she whispered. A victory shag, she thought, still not allowing treacherous heart to hope for more. Even that seemed very unlikely, although Sherlock Holmes kissing her at all, seemed... preposterous.
He cupped her cheek with one hand and looked at her with again with those soft eyes and said, "An inevitability. And it should have happened a long time ago."
Molly nodded. She felt hypnotized. "This will shatter me, Sherlock. Tomorrow I'll wake up broken hearted."
He furrowed his brows. "Why on earth will you have a broken heart tomorrow?"
"Reality."
He shook his head. "The reality is, Molly Hooper, tomorrow I plan on waking up – rather late I'd imagine – as we are expected at the Watson's home for dinner tonight... that I now realise I forgot to tell you about." He looked a bit confused for a moment, but shook it off. "Considering that we'll be getting home rather late, and I will have to wait hours to take you back into that bedroom and make love to you again..." He rolled his eyes. "Why are we still talking?" He moved in to kiss her, but stopped. "You're crying again. What'd I do this time?"
Molly wiped the tears off of her face. "Make love? Bring me home?"
He rolled his eyes. "Indeed Molly. Because, since I obviously haven't made it clear, I do love you. And this is your home now."
Molly gasped and suddenly found that she'd launched herself at the detective, attaching herself to him and kissing him with all her might.
So, Sherl's got the fuzzies! As do I! I have to say, I'm speaking from experience here. If I don't use about twenty-five different products on my hair, I look like I'm (and I'm quoting a former boss of mine) an angry cave woman. I have 'special hair'.
Thanks for reading. What do we think about Sherlock's reveal?
