Hello again. So here's the next chapter. I hope it's up to snuff and doesn't disappoint. I apologize for how jumpy it is, I just sometimes find myself going 'wait, wait, wait! I can totally explain this better from Sherlock's POV!'. Anyways, I wanted to thank you all, for the sheer amount of positive feedback was overwhelming. So thank you, and enjoy. :)
She found her hand creeping, yet again to that spot on her brow. Closing her eyes, she found she could imagine he was there with her, pressing his perfect lips where she touched. Molly opened her eyes again and tried to shake the thoughts from her head. Snap out of it. She'd been doing this same thing off and on all day. She'd reach up to where Sherlock had kissed her forehead, before she even realized what she was doing, and then scolded herself for being so silly.
Sherlock Holmes didn't care about her. He never did and he never would. Sure, she 'counted', but what did that even mean? Molly wasn't sure anymore. But she did know one thing. Sherlock Holmes didn't care.
But then why had he kissed her brow to wake her? He could have just shaken her awake, or dropped a book on the table like he had John. So why did he go with the incredibly gentle and surprisingly sweet approach? Had he been apologizing for the way he had acted last night? Had she been so daft as to miss that? Is that why he left in such a hurry? Was it because she hadn't acknowledged said apology?
Molly Hooper had more questions than she had answers. But she knew one thing for sure. Sherlock Holmes didn't care. Not about her.
So, when Sherlock came into the lab later that day, she couldn't help but gape at him over the paperwork she was doing. He hadn't entered in his usual way. There were no coats whipping into view, no orders barked, no John. Instead, Sherlock had entered somewhat timidly, almost hesitant. He'd turned and closed the door lightly, rather than banging it shut, before facing her. His hands were held firmly behind his back and he looked as though he were struggling to build a sentence.
"…Molly… I wanted to apologize."
After removing his coat and hanging it on its hook, Sherlock sat in his familiar chair watching as John started to rummage for food.
"I thought you said this foot needed to be binned Sherlock." John called over to him, bent over and inspecting the contents of the fridge.
"I said it could be binned, not that it needed to be."
"Which is your way of saying, John bin the foot. Because god knows you're not going to bloody do it." He sighed as he closed the door of the fridge. "Do you want take-away then?"
"Not hungry." Sherlock folded his fingers in front of him as he stared off in thought, resting his lips lightly against his index fingers.
"Sherlock, you haven't eaten in three days. You need to eat something."
"I don't eat when I'm working."
This caused John to pause in the process of pulling his jacket back on. "I thought you said the case was solved."
"It is."
"So…" He took the time to zip his jacket while he thought about that. "So you've got another one then? Did Lestrade give it to you when you went to the Yard?"
Sherlock didn't answer. Instead, he just sat there and closed his eyes.
Molly Hooper.
There it was again. That blow to the stomach sort of sensation. Something didn't feel right. He couldn't push the feeling that he'd done something wrong.
He'd woken her up hadn't he? Granted, it had taken a moment for him to decide not to drop a book on her table. He knew she wouldn't appreciate being woken like that and it would only make her even more irritated with him than she already was. So, he'd settled on a different approach, an idea popping into his head. He'd leaned down and kissed her brow, muttering into her ear. It was the way his mother had woken him up on early mornings. A hand running through his curls and her soft voice rising him from sleep. She hadn't done that with Mycroft. He'd asked him once when they were children, but he was more often than not already awake before anyone else in the house had even stirred. It had just been for Sherlock then. Something that was just his. He hadn't thought about that when he'd decided to wake Molly in this way. He'd just thought it would be a lovely way to wake after the completely horrible night she'd had.
And there it was. Yet again the soft pain had settled in his stomach. He was the reason Molly had had a completely horrible night. He wasn't even sure why'd he'd texted her to go to the hospital. It wasn't as if he'd needed her for anything. Was it that he'd brought her there for the sole purpose of having his pathologist there while he worked? It was true that he often worked his visits around her schedule, or rather, hacked into the hospital's computers and changed her schedule to fit his needs better. But did that mean he had grown… attached to having her there with him? Not that they ever really spoke. Most of the time they worked in silence, or he did while she made futile attempts at conversation. But had he really texted her just so that she would be there? For no other reason than being there?
Sherlock's eyes snapped open and he dropped his hands to the arms of his chair. As he looked up, he saw the half empty take-away boxes on the kitchen table and heard the shower running. Sherlock stood from his chair, glancing at his watch. He grabbed his coat from the hook and pulled it on as he made his way out of the flat and downstairs where he hailed a cab.
"St. Bart's Hospital."
"S-sorry?" Molly had heard him fine enough, but she just couldn't believe that those words had come out of his mouth. Sherlock Holmes' mouth.
"An apology. It's what one does when they've wronged somebody. So, Molly Hooper, I would like to apologize. You were right, it was wrong of me to have woken you in the middle of the night like that." He tilted his head down slightly as he finished. There was no fake smile on his face, nor had he come close enough to do something as ridiculous, but still incredibly effective, as brushing an imaginary piece of hair from her face (which he had in fact done twice now, both times wanting her to wheel out a body she'd already done the paper work on). He looked at her with a face that held little outward emotion. Something she liked to call 'working Sherlock'. Did that mean this was a genuine apology? Or was he just buttering her up for a request.
"Um well… yes thank you Sherlock." She bit her lip as she continued to think, her eyes focusing on the harsh bruising on his cheekbone that stood out against his pale skin. That's when a thought crossed her mind. "If you don't mind my asking… did John put you up to this? Or…?" This wasn't usually Sherlock's area, realizing when he'd upset people.
Sherlock's brow furrowed in confusion, his eyes narrowing slightly.
"John?" What did he have to do with this? He'd left him in the shower at the flat, not even telling him he was leaving. They'd barely spoken all day in fact. Oh! Oh of course. That would be what Molly would think. "Actually no. Funnily enough, I managed to figure this one out on my own."
She blushed slightly and smiled up at him. "Well er… you caught me just in time. I was about to clear up and go home."
"Yes I know. I'd have been here a bit earlier but the traffic was dreadful." A small smile crept onto his face.
Molly giggled, her hand quickly flying to her mouth to stop herself, causing her face to turn an even deeper red. His eyes accidentally locked onto hers as she looked up at him again and he found he couldn't tear them away.
"I…hope you didn't get into any trouble today. I don't know if anybody saw you sleeping before I woke you up."
"Oh um… nobody's said anything to me… but I suppose it would serve me right if I do… I shouldn't have been sleeping."
Sherlock shook his head, not taking his eyes off hers. "It's my fault if anybody did notice. You wouldn't have been sleeping if I hadn't dragged you out of bed in the first place."
"I suppose that's true." He hadn't noticed when his feet had started to move, but he know found himself standing a lot closer to Molly. Definitely within arm's reach now. A small smile splayed on her lips and she raised her hand to his cheek. Sherlock hissed as her skin touched his sending a fast burn through his nerves. "I'm sorry!" She squeaked, quickly pulling her hand back at the hiss.
"No, no. It's fine. It just.. well it hurts quite a bit actually."
"Has John looked at it?" She slowly raised her hand again, this time carefully placing it against the battered skin, causing Sherlock's eyes to blink for a longer time than usual.
"No. I've been working. He hasn't had the chance." It was true. The space between now and the moment it had happened, John had either been sleeping or Sherlock had been busy. John knew better than to disturb him when he was thinking, otherwise he ran the risk of being sulked at for a week in punishment.
"Do you mind if I take a look then?" She looked away from his cheek and back into his eyes and he swore he could feel the warmth emanating from them.
For some strange reason, his voice came out a little bit heavier than normal. "Not at all. You are a doctor after all."
Molly finished placing the butterfly closure over the cut on his cheek. "So… are you going to tell me what happened? I mean you don't have to or anything, I was just wondering…" She turned away from him and busied herself with cleaning up the first aid kit as she started to ramble, her cheeks burning.
Sherlock's voice came from behind her on the stool he was sitting. "There's not much to tell. The man we were chasing took me by surprise. He was also wearing a rather large ring on his middle finger which obviously added to the abrasion. Although I'd guess that John's retelling of the events would be a great deal more comical, considering he was barely able to contain himself both in the moment and when it was mentioned earlier."
She turned back to him and nodded a bit. "Right." He was sitting with one leg bent for his foot to rest on the ring around the stool and was leaning back against the lab table with his elbows, his shirt pulling tight across his chest. How could those damn buttons keep from popping off? It was a mystery even the greatest of scientists would be unable to find an answer to. "Well nothing's broken and it shouldn't scar."
"Yes I know." He looked bored now. He'd been surprisingly still while she cleaned and patched up his cut. Knowing how Sherlock could be, she half expected him to be like a little kid who couldn't sit still. But he hadn't been. He'd sat very still in fact, with his eyes curiously watching her face as she worked. He was still watching her. Her every movement. Except now he seemed a lot more casual about it with the way he was almost laying back on the table. She turned away from him again and set to tidying the papers she'd been working on when he had come in.
"So I think I'm just going to pack up and go home… like I said before." She disappeared into the morgue office to deposit the files and to take a break from his ever seeing gaze. Taking a deep breath to brace herself for his scrutiny yet again, she turned back to the open door and nearly screamed. Sherlock was standing at the door, leaning against one side of the door frame with his hands tucked into his trouser pockets. "Um…hello."
Sherlock tilted his head a bit and his brow furrowed in the cute way it did when he didn't understand something. "…hello."
"Did you um… need something from in here?" She glanced around the office trying to see if there was anything he would want that would bring him here.
"No."
Now it was her turn to be confused. What on earth was he doing in the office if he didn't need anything? She bit her lip and awkwardly slid her hands into the pockets of her lab coat. Sherlock must have read her awkwardness and pushed his body off of the door frame. "Listen… Molly. I have this sort of… hunch… that if John were here, he'd tell me to thank you. So… thank you. You didn't have to patch me up, especially after what I put you through last night." He looked awkward himself now, his hands still in his trouser pockets.
"Oh no, you don't need to thank me." Her hand had come out of her pocket to quickly wave off his thanks. Why was she waving it off? Sherlock never thanked her. For anything. Why was she so ready to dismiss it when he did? Her wave was little help in her head, but it was less help in itself since it ended up knocking a cup full of pens to the floor.
If she wasn't blushing before, she definitely was as she quickly got to the floor to collect the pens before they rolled underneath cupboards. She stretched out her arm to grab a particularly evasive pen, but was a second too late, her fingers brushing against somebody else's hand. Looking up, she found herself staring into Sherlock's eyes, not for the first time that day. He'd actually got down on the floor to help her clean up the mess. Did Sherlock clean? She doubted it. Her hand jerked slightly as she felt him touch it, her eyes ripping themselves away from his eyes to see what was happening. Sherlock had taken her hand and turned it so that the palm was facing up before gently pressing the pen into it and curling her fingers over the implement.
She felt like an idiot, just sitting there staring at the pen in her hand. She felt like she would have sat there for hours if something hadn't directed her attention elsewhere. That something was once again Sherlock's hand. However, this time, it was sliding across her cheek to cup the side of her face and brought her eyes back to his. "I said… Thank you." He gave her a look that basically said 'If you'd let me thank you, we wouldn't be on the ground right now.' and made her face burn even hotter. She gave him a small nod, not trusting herself with words. Sherlock's face warmed up a bit, but his hand was still cupping the side of her face and -oh god, was his thumb moving across her cheek?
For a long time after, Molly wasn't ever sure if what happened next had actually happened or if it had been an extremely realistic dream. Sherlock leaned towards her, a somewhat determined look on his face, and softly pressed his lips against hers. It wasn't just a light peck, nor was it a passionate kiss. Sherlock's lips moved her own gently but surely before he pulled away and stood up, leaving the office in a flash. When Molly heard the door of the lab click shut a short time after, she collapsed to a sitting position on the floor, her fingers brushing against her lips and her mouth slightly open.
