Author's note: Hooray! Someone offered to be my beta. I didn't want to wait to post this chapter, though, so while it didn't get a second set of eyes, I hope it's still enjoyable. Hopefully from here on out, all chapters will be beta'd and perfected.
Thank you for all of your lovely reviews. It keeps the creative juices flowing!
Just a warning, this chapter starts getting intense with a lot of foul language. So if you're sensitive to that type of thing, a) turn back now!, and b) This is rated -M-, so perhaps you shouldn't be reading stories with this rating anyway. I'm just saying! :)
JOHN. TEXT ME ASAP. -SH
John was startled awake as the chimes from his phone alerted him of a received text. He switched his phone to vibrate and attempted to go back to sleep.
STOP IGNORING ME. THIS IS IMPORTANT. –SH
John heard the vibration from his phone and groaned. It could only be one person texting him at this hour.
Mary rolled over. "Sherlock?" she asked wearily.
John grunted his affirmation and reached for his phone. Sure enough, Sherlock's name was displayed on his screen with 2 received messages. Not wanting to disturb the precious sleep his pregnant wife was trying to get, he rolled out of bed and put his robe on, retreating to the couch in the living room.
THIS BETTER BE IMPORTANT. IT'S 4 BLOODY AM. WHAT? –JW
I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO. –SH
WHY DON'T YOU CALL ME? –JW
NO. NO CALLING. JUST TEXT. DON'T WANT HER TO HEAR ME. –SH
WHO? WHO DON'T YOU WANT TO HEAR YOU? –JW
MOLLY – SH
MOLLY HOOPER? –JW
YES. –SH
John's mind reeled at the possibilities. He surprised himself at the surge of excitement he felt about the prospect of Sherlock and Molly. Together. Alone. At his apartment.
SHERLOCK. WHAT IS MOLLY HOOPER DOING THERE? –JW
He didn't want to assume. He needed to know.
There was no response.
John waited impatiently.
SHERLOCK? –JW
Still nothing.
"Everything alright, love?" Mary asked sleepily as she made her way over to the couch where John sat, curling up next to him as she laid her head on his shoulder.
John couldn't formulate a response, his mouth hung open, trying to get a word out, but instead, he just started laughing.
"What's so funny?" Mary asked while yawning. John just handed her his phone, with the text messages on display.
Mary's eyes went wide. "But—"
"Yep. I know." John said with a big grin on his face.
"Molly Hooper….and Sherlock Holmes?" Mary asked.
"Apparently."
Mary started laughing. "Well it's about time!"
John looked at her quizzically. "What do you mean?"
"Oh come on, John. It's been so obvious."
"From Molly, yes. But I would have never thought that Sherlock—"
"John. He is your best friend, and you couldn't see it?"
"Sherlock doesn't date, Mary."
"So?"
"Soooo, Sherlock doesn't have the um….the um…" John struggled to find the right words to describe the detective, and instead used his hands to animate his train of thought. "You know what I'm saying."
Mary gave him a blank look. "No. Can't say as though I do."
John paused, carefully choosing his wording. "He doesn't do what normal guys do to attract their interests."
"Really? Hmmm." Mary raised her eyebrow and tapped her finger against her chin, feigning contemplation. "You don't think he tries to amplify his strengths to be more appealing? Or stare forlornly across the room as the person he loves is affectionate with another man? Or rather, be nice and pleasant to the one person who holds his affections after years of being a cock? Tell me, John, from your accounts, who was the first person you saw Sherlock apologize to?"
John would never forget that night. "Molly. It was Molly."
"Uh-huh, and tell me, and I'm sorry for bringing this up, dear, but it's important to my point." Mary explained while gently touching his knee, as if soothing him before the blow. "Who did he turn to to help him fake his death?"
A proverbial light bulb shined through John's face as he marinated on the questions and answers laid out before him. "Huh…" He thought back to every encounter he had with Sherlock and Molly since Sherlock's return. Molly was the only person Sherlock had been consistently pleasant with since he'd been back. The only person he went out of his way to be nice to. Sherlock was soft around Molly. And Sherlock was never soft with anyone.
"John, remember how you were when you first met me?"
John chuckled sardonically and scratched the back of his neck. "I was a complete ass to everyone."
"Right. You weren't outwardly rude, mostly just dismissive and contemptuous of everyone and everything that moved."
"And yet you saw through it, somehow." John recalled, being overly tender with his voice.
"When I first started working at your practice, I saw the sadness in your eyes. I knew why you were angry. I mean, everyone knew, it was all over the news. But, I made it a personal mission of mine to make you smile again. And I still won't forget the first time it happened."
"Nor will I. That cock Walter Harris. He was never happy about anything. And on this particularly day, I was pretty sure he was possessed by Satan himself. But you, you helped me calm him down." John smiled at the memory. "To be honest, I can't even remember what he was upset about, because he was always upset. But I remember you. I remember how you dazzled him with your charm, and by the end of it all, he was laughing and shaking my hand. Something I had never seen him do before."
"And you smiled. Over at me, then over at him, then over at me again, this look of total disbelief on your face."
John nodded his head. "I had this epiphany. If Walter Harris could find something to smile about…."
"Right. You asked me out that day. And I knew. I knew right then and there that things were going to be different." Mary grabbed John's hand. "And just like I knew with you, I know Sherlock had that same kind of epiphany with Molly."
"When?"
"I don't know, John. But whenever or whatever it was, it was their point of no return. And I know, I just know, that things are going to be different between them from here on out."
….
Crash.
Sherlock put down his phone and went running from his bedroom to the source of the shattering noise in the kitchen. He turned on the light and was met with a startled, bare-legged Molly Hooper looking back at him with a broken teacup strewn about her feet.
"I'm really sorry about that, Sherlock!" Molly explained quickly, her voice slightly hoarse. "I'm like a bull in a china shop. I will replace it, I promise!"
"Don't move!" Sherlock said as he rushed out of the apartment. "Mrs. Hudson!" Molly could hear him yelling as he made his way down the stairs. She cringed at his volume, knowing it was a little early in the morning to be shouting for his downstairs neighbor. Moments later she heard him rushing back up the stairs, appearing with a broom and dustpan in hand.
"You don't own a broom?" Molly asked incredulously.
"Why would I need one when Mrs. Hudson has one?" Sherlock said soberly as he bent down to sweep away the broken cup. He glanced up and blushed as he realized he could see Molly's underwear from his vantage point. He quickly averted his eyes but could still make out the lacy pink outline in his peripheral.
Molly followed Sherlock's line of sight and gasped as it dawned on her how little she was wearing. She hugged Sherlock's pajama top more tightly around her legs and bent one knee slightly in front of the other to retain a modicum of modesty. She felt the heat rising in her cheeks and tried to change the subject. Though, no one was actually saying anything. "I-I'm really sorry. I couldn't find the light switch and needed a drink of water—"
"So you used a teacup?"
"It was the first dish I found that had the capability of holding liquid."
Sherlock finished picking up the last remnants of the broken cup and emptied his dustpan into the trash. He set both the broom and dustpan aside and turned hesitantly towards Molly, trying to keep his eyes focused solely on her face. But what he observed was heart-wrenching. Her eyes were puffy and red, her cheeks were tear-stained and smudged with the mascara she missed while wiping her face with the back of her sleeve. He had seen her cry earlier, but he knew to garner that kind of puffiness around the eyes took a great deal of sobbing.
"Here." Sherlock said as he reached up into the cupboard and grabbed a tall glass. "Use this."
Molly grabbed the glass from his hand, brushing against Sherlock's fingertips as he released his grip…his touch, instead, gripping her insides. "Thank you. Again." Molly walked to the sink and turned on the faucet, testing the water to make sure it was cool enough to drink.
Sherlock saw the flash of pink again and swallowed, adjusting the growing muscle stirring beneath his trousers. He couldn't find the will power to look away from the curvy smoothness of her legs, and felt the moisture in his mouth evaporate as his insides boiled with…something akin to desire. Molly was usually so modest, leaving most if not all of her limbs to the imagination. But this…this left nothing to his imagination. It was right there. On display. And he was mesmerized. Without tearing his eyes away from her, Sherlock reached up to grab a glass for himself.
Crash!
Sherlock's trance was interrupted as the glass came crashing down onto his foot. "Damn!" He yelled, feeling it cut into his skin, but refusing to look at the damage. Don't look. Pain is psychosomatic. Looking will only make the pain worse.
Molly jumped from the noise and choked on her water, spitting it out as she gasped for air. She coughed to remove the liquid from her lungs, and turned to Sherlock. His eyes were boring into her, which made her flinch noticeably.
"Molly. There is a piece of glass sticking in my foot that I need you to remove. Please." Sherlock said in an overly calm and collected tone.
Molly looked down at Sherlock's feet and sure enough, a large shard of glass was sticking out of his right foot, blood trickling down the sides.
"Where do you keep the first aid kit?" Molly asked, carefully putting down her own glass.
"Underneath the sink."
Molly knew that at this point, any attempts at modesty or decorum were futile. So instead she settled on being grateful she had worn her lacy pink boy shorts today rather than her granny panties. She bent over to open the cupboard, doing her best to point her buttocks away from Sherlock. She saw the green box with the white cross and pulled it out. "Aha! Found it. Could you hand me the broom, please? I think I should try and clean up this glass around our feet first." Molly said as she reached her upper body forward. .
Sherlock carefully grabbed the broom and dustpan sitting on the table and passed them to Molly, his movements very slow and deliberate. She grabbed them from his hands and squatted down to sweep up the tiny bits of glass, inching her way forward as she paved a safe route to where he stood.
"There. I think we're all clear." She emptied the dustpan into the trash and grabbed the first aid kit, removing the supplies she needed, including a rubber band she used to tie her hair into a ponytail, and then returned to the sink to wash her hands. "I'm sure you've already done this, but try and keep all of your weight on your left foot." Molly slipped the gloves onto her hands and knelt in front of Sherlock. "Now hold very, very still."
Sherlock felt her sanitize the area, still refusing to look down…until the sharp stab of pain made him reflexively look at the source. Molly was still working away at the wound, but a different view caught his attention, making him feel like a voyeuristic pervert. The front of Molly's (or Sherlock's, rather) pajama top had fallen very much open, and peeking through the top, looking up at him, were Molly's very perky, very firm, very perfect breasts with very pink nipples. His boxers became uncomfortably tight as the muscle beneath them stiffened down his leg. He was surprised any blood was making its way to his foot at all, as he was certain it was all taking up residence in his cock.
Molly finished putting the butterfly bandages on his foot and covered it with another bandage. "This will most certainly need stitches, so I suggest in the morning we head over to St. Bart's so I can administer them. This'll do for now, though."
Molly removed her gloves and started getting up, struggling as she realized her feet had fallen asleep. She fell slightly forward and used Sherlock's legs as leverage to steady herself, hearing him groan as a result. "Sorry!" She said, remembering his injury. At such close proximity, she couldn't help but notice a very distinct outline running down the inside of his pants, and her mind rushed through possible explanations of why. Surely he couldn't be aroused by…her…could he? The very thought caused her center to flutter and pulsate, shooting ripples through her stomach and down her leg. A flush crept up her cheeks as she fought the desire to reach out and touch him. Touch it.
When Sherlock reached down to help her up, she realized she was staring at…it… and mentally kicked herself for being so obvious (she was never one to be debonair or subtle).She grabbed his hands and was brought swiftly to a standing position, causing her body to fall into him from the momentum. The blood rushed to her feet, creating the sensation of pins and needles poking them relentlessly.
Sherlock steadied her, but Molly refused to look at him. She was mortified of what she was sure he just witnessed. But he wasn't letting go of her hands. Why wasn't he letting go of her hands? She looked up at him hesitantly with just her eyes and saw him gazing at her, the usual cool icy irises now appearing gray and stormy as he looked at her. His jaw was twitching as he visibly clenched and unclenched its muscles. His eyes flitted from her mouth to her eyes, to her mouth to her eyes. And she could tell he was holding back. Sherlock was holding back. But what was he holding back?
He inched closer to her, bringing his hand up to place a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on the end, massaging the softness between his thumb and forefinger. But his eyes, his eyes never left her face. Molly's mind was racing a million miles an hour as she tried to keep up with the sensations coursing through every vein, every nerve in her body. And when he leaned his face towards her, she was absolutely sure she was going to implode. But she closed her eyes and parted her lips, readying herself for this moment. This moment. It was here. She had waited. Waited SO long for this…
…and when she felt his lips against her cheek, it was as if the orchestra of excited anticipation went sharp and died within her very soul.
"Thank you, Molly Hooper. Good night."
And when she opened her eyes, he was gone.
….
"Hi, this is Molly Hooper, just calling to let you know that I won't be coming in today. I think I've come down with the flu. Anyway, if you need me, feel free to call me on my cell. Thank you!"
Molly hung up, wondering if she had been too cheerful sounding for a sick person, but her attention was quickly diverted as she looked at the taunting red "13" next to the phone icon on her screen. I just need to get this over with. She thought to herself. She tapped the phone icon and braced herself for the first voicemail.
October 17th, 11:21 PM: "Molly, it's Tom. (deep sigh) Look, I know things have been…awkward. And I know I've been an ass. It's just...how do you think it makes me feel when he hangs around at your work all day, ya know? And I know, I know, I work with my ex-girlfriend and we're still good friends…but my point is…it's just…he's Sherlock bloody Holmes! He's famous and smart and…and…anyway. Call me back when you get this. We need to talk."
October 17th, 11:28 PM: "Molly, I love you. God, I love you. Please. You can't just leave me like this ON OUR ANNIVERSARY. Come back so we can finish our night. I promise I won't bring him up again. I promise. Please. Call me back."
October 17th, 11:32 PM: "It's Tom again. You're not calling me back. Look, I know you're upset. And I don't blame you. But is this really necessary? I mean, we've announced our engagement to everyone. Do you really want to suffer the embarrassment of having to tell them it's broken off? I really think we can work this out. You're worth it to me. Am I worth it to you, Molly? Am I fucking worth it to you? I'm willing to forgive you if you're willing to forgive me. We can FIX this. It doesn't have to be over. Please, my love, call me."
Molly wiped away a tear that escaped her eye. Here she was, at another man's house, looking at his erection, and wanting to be kissed by him, while there was this other man who loved her and wanted to be with her. The guilt ate away at her insides, but she continued with the torturous voicemails.
October 17th, 11:46 PM: "(laughing) Okay okay okay ,you're not calling me back. You must really be upset. Molly. My love. I'm at St. Bart's. Let me up. Please? I know you're here. We need to talk. Please, just call me back!"
Molly's stomach felt sick. He was at St. Bart's?
October 17th, 11:51 PM: "Molly, I'm still here. I know you're up there. Just let me in, okay? I promise I'll be better. I won't be upset with you for not calling me back before. I swear. Forgive and forget, right? Can you forgive me, Molly? If I can forgive you? Just let me in."
Molly's insides turned, she had never seen Tom act this way before. Then again, they had never broken up before…
October 18th, 12:01 am: "FUCK YOU, MOLLY! YOU FUCKING CUNT! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW LUCKY YOU ARE TO BE WITH A MAN LIKE ME!? HUH?! WHO'S GOING TO LOVE YOU IF I DON'T LOVE YOU, MOLLY?! WHO?! NO ONE?! NO ONE WILL! BUT I GUESS THAT'S WHAT YOU WANT! TO BE FUCKING ALONE! WELL GOOD LUCK, BECAUSE THIS WILL BE THE LAST TIME I EVER FUCKING TALK TO YOU!"
Molly went numb. Tom had NEVER yelled at her before. Ever. It's like he wasn't even the same person.
But she still had 7 voicemails to listen to.
October 18th, 1:04 am: "Molleeeeeeeeeee…I'm rilly, RILLY sooorrrry. You, you're BEAUtiful, annnnnnd I…I am an AAAAAASSSSSSS." Tom said in a sing-song voice. "I, I've had this ENTIRE bolltle of wine ALL by myself (hiccup). And now I'm BAAAAAAACK. I don't. even. know if you're RILLY heeeere. St. Bart's. (snicker). But I have often waaaaaaaaalked on these streets befooooooore (continued singing an off-key rendition of My Fair Lady's On the Streets Where You Live)."
Fear gripped Molly's chest. Only 6 voicemails left, she told herself. She NEEDED to hear what he was doing…or where he was.
October 18th, 1:42 am: "I fucking KNEW you were cheating on me, you cunt. Didn't take very long for you to start sucking his cock then, eh? Well, you can tell your new boyfriend I WON'T be leaving you alone. Not now. Not ever. And he better watch his fucking back, because now I'm angry."
Boyfriend? Did Sherlock…did he talk to Tom? And he seemed incredibly sober for someone who was slurring his speech just 40 minutes before…
October 18th, 1:45 am: "Was it bigger than mine? Huh? Did you enjoy feeling his seed inside of you? Is he a better lover than me, Molly? Did you make that whimpering noise as you were coming? OOOO, Sherlock, fuck me! Fuck me! I'm telling you right now, Molly, I don't give a shit that you're fucking him, because I'm NOT done with you. WE. ARE. NOT. DONE. Do you hear me? IT'S NOT OVER UNTIL I SAY SO!"
October 18th, 1:47 am: "Mmmmm….Sherlock, my fucking hero! Fuck me fuck me fuck me! Ooooo, it's mine and Tom's anniversary, I'm going to break his fucking heart and you're going to fuck me good! Is this why you're not answering, Molly? Because you're giving your white knight a good fucking? WELL GUESS WHAT SHERLOCK! I'M STILL HERE! COME AND GET ME YOU ASS HOLE! I'M NOT AFRAID OF YOU! REMOVE YOUR DICK FROM MY FIANCEE'S CUNT SO YOU CAN FIGHT ME LIKE A MAN!"
Molly could barely make out the last part of the message as he was yelling at the top of his lungs directly into the speaker. 3 voicemails to go.
October 18th, 2:27 am: "Your boyfriend punches like a pussy. Barely felt a thing. Nice to know you're okay with resorting to violence, though. Cunt."
Sherlock punched Tom? So he knew he was there the whole time…and didn't tell her?
October 18th, 3:23 am: "(laughing) I saw you leave with him. Do you even realize what you've done, Molly? Do you? No, I don't think you do. But you will. You will know. And then…you'll be sorry."
October 18th, 5:15 am: "I guess you didn't come back to our place. Didn't even feel you needed a change of clothes, eh? Probably prancing around naked anyway. Fine. Max misses you, though. Don't you, Max! Don't you boy! Too bad your mum is too much of a slut to come say goodbye! (lingering pause) Next stop, 221B Baker Street. Better get your panties back on. I'm coming for you."