Chapter 2: Wide Awake

In which Molly contemplates a whole new world (and champagne brunch at The Landmark).

This is for Ellis_Hendricks in congratulations on finishing her superb series, In Loco Parentis, and because she was concerned that Molly never got that takeaway Sherlock promised in the first chapter.

The hours… the dark night…the sound of rain…

I dreamt of you…

Molly stirred, encountered something solid, and gave an involuntary groan even as the solid something shifted to give her room…

Sherlock!

Memory came rushing back at lightspeed… those first kisses in that dark sheltered alcove… the laughter, the light in his eyes as they'd stripped off half their wet clothes in the middle of the living room… his hand on her wrist, pulling her after him, down the short hall to his bedroom, as though he couldn't wait a moment longer…

Then… quite literally hours. Sometimesevery nerve atuned to this new reality, and sometimes half dozing, the moments stretching out as in a dream…

Dreaming, in the dark, velvet night…

…to the sound of rain…

Other sounds, too. Helpless, joyous cries. And words, so many words… desperate babbling… languorous whispers. Words she had never thought to hear – or speak - in such a context…

Beyond all her seemingly foolish, unquenchable hope.

She would remember it all to her dying breath, she thought as she turned onto her back and her eyes opened to meet his…

...more green than blue in this shaded morning light…

…wonder and joy - and a dash of relief - in that beloved, crooked smile…

Later she would recall this moment, too, and find it strange that she had felt no fear that the coming of a new day might have changed things, brought him to his senses, or that he might be put off by what she was all-too-aware was her thoroughly shagged-out appearance.

But that was later. In that first, beautiful instant of awareness, she could only return his smile and murmur, "Good morning!"

"Molly," he said, slow and deep, savoring the word as though it were something new, and perhaps a little surprising. Sending a small shiver through her… a frisson of desire.

Good Heavens. He would surely be the death of her.

But she replied with a whispered demand: "Kiss me." And to her unutterable joy, he did, with careful sensuality… and then less careful. Her hands slid up and she put her arms about his strong shoulders, just as she'd always wanted to do… the feel of him… so real, so alive! And the taste of him… and then he made a small sound against her mouth as his hips pressed against her, moved against her, his burgeoning arousal plain…

He tore his lips away with a soft gasp, closing his eyes and setting his forehead against hers briefly before raising his face and opening them again to look down at her, troubled. "I… Molly, I want you. Again! Is that…" His voice trailed off, his question unvoiced.

"Sherlock, it's fine," she said, softly. She brushed some of the dark curls back from his forehead, and caressed his cheek. "You… you told me last night it had been years—"

"And never like this." His expression lightened. "You don't think it's… strange, then? Abnormal." He moved his hips again, and a suggestive smile tugged at his lips.

She couldn't help chuckling, and pulled him down for another kiss. However, before he could construe this as full speed ahead, she said, "But Sherlock…"

He stilled and drew back again. "Yes?"

She felt herself blushing, but had to say it. "I'm a little… sore. I do want to… again… but—"

"I see. I can be gentle, though," he said, coaxing – but with a hint of mischief, too.

o-o-o

Considerably later, Molly lay staring at the ceiling, her body still flushed and quivering, Sherlock's expensive Egyptian cotton sheets thoroughly rumpled beneath her – beneath them, for he was lying on his back, recovering right next to her – and her hair, which was no doubt the very definition of bed-head, strewn lavishly across his goose down pillows.

"Do you think Hudders will have heard that?" he asked, still somewhat breathless, but laughter in his voice in spite of it.

Molly gave an amused snort. "I daresay. I don't believe I will think of the word gentle in quite the same way ever again." She turned her head on the pillow to look over at him. "I assume you were telling me the truth when you said it had been years, but in that case… how on earth…?"

He rolled to face her, obviously pleased with himself. "Research, to some extent – John's laptop, and those romance novels you leave about your flat have always been convenient resources. But you are far too easy to deduce, dear heart. My darling Molly." He had moved to embrace her again as he uttered these endearments in that voice, and even now, after… after everything that had gone before… she felt a noticeable ache of desire.

But then, having trapped her there, he looked down at her quite seriously and said, "Marry me."

She could not help but stiffen. "Wh-what? Sherlock!"

He gave a sort of frown, though his eyes were still smiling. "Molly, I know you've been off the pill since you broke off your engagement to Tom—"

"I… you… my age—"

"Yes, you have reached the age when other forms of birth control are preferable – but you didn't think you'd need any of them, either. And here we are: quite possibly pregnant, since, if I remember correctly, this would be about day fifteen of your cycle—"

"How do you know that?" she exclaimed, outraged and blushing furiously.

"Please," he said with a roll of his eyes, "your mood swings alone—"

"My wh—"

He kissed her, which very possibly preserved his life. She squirmed beneath him, attempting to preserve her wrath, but he was so very persistent… and it was so very… enjoyable.

When she was (admittedly) thoroughly subdued, he pulled away very slightly and said, "Molly… my love… my darling pathologist, and lover… and friend… don't you want to? Haven't we wasted enough time?"

"That wasn't my fault," she said, pointedly.

He sighed. "I know that. And just think: you will be in a position to hold it over me for the rest of our lives if only you will say yes."

A swarm of objections rose in her brain, only to be dismissed as very minor in the scheme of things. And, in a Sherlockian sense, this proposal was eminently logical. "Very well," she said. And then her pique at his abrupt methods faded quite away and she added worriedly, "But are you sure?"

He opened his mouth, and she knew he was about to dismiss her concern with his typical insouciance. But then his expression changed to something far more serious and tender. "Yes, I'm sure," he said simply. After another kiss, he added, "Thank you for waiting for me."

There was a brief silence as they considered one another, contemplating this momentous, life-changing decision…

And then her stomach growled.

Her hope that he hadn't heard it was dashed immediately.

"Hungry?" He chuckled, eyes alight – an expression she ordinarily adored.

But she resisted its infectious quality and summoned a scowl. "You did promise me takeaway last night. I haven't eaten since this time yesterday."

"You had a packet of crisps. I saw it in the bin."

"A packet of crisps in twenty-four hours! Are you trying to starve me?"

"But wasn't it worth it?"

She opened her mouth. Closed it again. And couldn't help herself. "Oh my God, yes it was," she exclaimed, and kissed him again, and wrapped herself about him in a fierce hug. He laughed beneath the kiss, and then she was laughing, too, and, a minute or two later, they were still laughing as they faced each other on the pillows.

He said, "Let's shower and go out to brunch. The manager at the Landmark owes me a favor, I'll text him. And then we can go and shop for your engagement ring."

Her heart swelled with joy – but then plummeted slightly. "I'll have to go home first, I have to get some suitable clothing. And feed Toby."

"Oh, Toby," he groused with an eye-roll, but there was no real heat in it. "Yes, very well. But come shower with me, first."

o-o-o

Their sudden, all-consuming sexual liaison had thrown them into the deep end and no mistake. It was one thing to lose oneself in such ecstasy, and quite another to experience the more mundane domestic intimacies for the first time as a committed couple. Sherlock seemed boyishly unsure of himself, and she felt a bit awkward, too, in spite of the fact that not so many months had passed since she had helped him through his latest (and, as he had stated quite adamantly at the time, last) recovery from drug abuse. That had been different. She had served in the capacity of medical professional, as well as caretaker and friend.

Now, they were lovers.

And engaged to be married.

As he moved the soapy cloth over her breasts and down over her tummy (an utterly fatuous smile curving his lips, if only he'd known it), she could not help wondering if she was, indeed, pregnant. It was certainly possible. And at that thought… the awareness that their affection, and their shining new commitment might bring a new life into the world – a superb and possibly startling combination of Holmes and Hooper genes - such a wave of tenderness swept through her that tears stung, then filled her eyes.

Sherlock saw her lip tremble and his smile vanished. "What is it?"

"Nothing! I… what if I am pregnant?" She swiped the heel of her hand against the tears trickling down her cheek. "I might be, you know. You were right."

His smile was back. And growing. "We'll manage," he said, and dropping the soapy cloth, he drew her close and held her for a long time, his cheek against her wet hair as the warm water poured over them.

o-o-o

Toby was extremely vocal in expressing his opinion of her prolonged absence.

Molly laughed, and Sherlock, suppressing a grin, said, "Go change your clothes, I'll feed him. I know where everything is."

"I'll only be a few minutes," Molly assured him, trotting up the stairs as Sherlock bent and scooped up the cat to carry him into the kitchen.

When she came down again – in a few minutes, just as promised - she found her lover leaning against the kitchen counter, watching as her cat consumed what looked to be a whole tin of the posh wet food, the kibble dish sitting close by and already refilled.

"I've given him fresh water, too," Sherlock told her, looking up. And then his brows rose. "Where did you get that dress?"

"I've had it a while," she replied, smiling at the light in his eyes, vastly pleased that he seemed to approve. "It's an Alexander McQueen. I was lucky enough to find it in a second-hand shop – too rich for my blood, otherwise. I… I thought you might like it." The mini-dress was fitted and short-sleeved, with a flared skirt, and made of a smooth white material with an elaborate pattern of black scrollwork over all. She had felt, when she bought it (and not precisely dirt-cheap, either, in spite of the locale), that it would be perfect to wear if Sherlock ever asked her out – yes, even after all these years she had still lived in hope – since it would provide a pleasing contrast to the elegant simplicity of his dark, bespoke suits.

"I do like it," he said, and set his hands at her waist, bent (only slightly, since she was wearing heels), and kissed her. "You look beautiful."

"Then there's a pair of us," she said lightly, even as she blushed, her heart thumping.

He took her hand. "Come on, let's go eat so we can get back to more important things." And he actually waggled his brows at her.

o-o-o

They were in the cab, halfway to the Landmark (where seating at a secluded table and iced champagne awaited them), when the faint sound of a particular text alert issued from the pocket of Sherlock's coat.

They turned to each other in sudden dismay, and Sherlock blurted, "Lestrade! I forgot all about that."

"The Steed murder." Molly winced. "Maybe we should do dinner, instead?"

But a stubborn look swept over Sherlock's face. "No. We'll go now, it won't take long." And, after checking his mobile for the address, he leaned forward to give the cabbie their new direction.

o-o-o

Greg's face was the very picture of astonishment when they showed up, dressed to the nines and exchanging a loving glance as Sherlock handed Molly from the cab.

"What the… are you two off to a wedding or something?" Greg demanded.

"No, not at all," Sherlock said, rather haughtily as he straightened and smoothed his coat. But then he added, "Not yet, at least," and his lip twitched against a smile.

Molly blushed only a very little (she trusted) as she said, "Hello, Greg," just as she had the previous night... in another world.

Greg's eyes flew back and forth between them, a grin forming. "Bloody hell!" He said to Sherlock. "You finally got off your arse!"

Sherlock glared at him, but otherwise ignored this remark. "You won't mind Molly attending, will you? Her input might be valuable, and speed things along. The management of the Landmark is holding a table for us, and Molly is very hungry."

"That right?" Greg grinned. "No takeaway last night? Or tea this morning? Does Mrs. Hudson know what's been going on under her roof?"

Sherlock sniffed. "I doubt she cares what goes on as long as the place isn't blown up again."

Molly wrinkled her nose, feeling guilty. "We snuck past her door on the way out, but I believe she… um… suspects."

Sherlock looked a bit conflicted at what was, essentially, Molly's blatant admission of what precisely had been going on between them for the last fourteen hours, but finally gave it up and said to Greg, "We haven't told anyone, yet, really. It seems you're the first to know."

Greg's grin softened to something less teasing and much fonder. "Congratulations, you two. Lord, wait'll John hears."

"Not to mention our parents," Sherlock groaned. "But John's still in Tahiti, with that Gooseberry woman and her progeny."

"Rushbury!" Molly corrected. "And her little girls are the sweetest things! I met them and their mother when I was picking up Rosie from nursery one day."

But Sherlock was now looking thoughtful. "There's a ten hour time difference between London and Tahiti."

"So… two in the morning?" Greg mused. The grin appeared again.

Answered by Sherlock's.

"Sherlock, no!" Molly protested, but with as much laughter as disapprobation.

And, with that unholy Sherlockian gleam in his eye, Molly's beloved reached for his phone.

~.~