"Good morning," Sherlock's deep baritone sounded. His voice always sent thrills through her, warming her from head to toe. Before she had a chance to respond, he pressed his lips to her cheek, lingering much longer than he ever had the last two times he had done it. Molly couldn't help but be confused no matter how much she enjoyed his affection. This wasn't how he normally acted on a case. In fact, he seemed relaxed rather than the excitable, tightly wound version of himself when he was on the cusp of capturing a murderer.
"Morning," she mumbled back. And damn it, she couldn't help but smile at him. He was grinning like a fool in love—well, if he was in love, she thought. Sherlock had to keep himself reigned in until tonight, but he wanted nothing more than to snog her silly. His heart was racing just from waking up next to her. Molly noticed his eyes flick down to her lips and the tension was so thick, you could slice it with a knife. But all was broken when a knock sounded on the door. Room service.
Though the moment had been broken—a moment Molly was sure she'd never have again—they enjoyed a lovely breakfast together. Whatever this case was, Sherlock was acting as if he weren't on one at all. It perplexed her so much that it was written on her face and he knew she had figured something out.
"Go on, Molly, I know you have questions," Sherlock encouraged her.
"Are we even here on a case, Sherlock?" she asked.
"Yes," he answered.
"What kind of case?" she questioned.
"Not the criminal type," he provided. "I won't divulge more than that. All will be made clear later."
"So, you're not going to tell me why you went shopping last night?" she teased.
"That's for me to know and for you to find out," he grinned cheekily.
"Well, whatever it is that you have planned, thank you for bringing me with you," she told him.
"Molly, Molly, Molly, I'm disappointed. Seeing and not observing? You're better than that." There was amusement in his tone.
"This was planned with me in mind," she stated.
"That's my girl," he smirked. Oh, how she wished she truly was his girl. In a way, she always would be. Maybe he felt the need to make up for what happened at Sherrinford. Of course, if that were the case, Molly wouldn't have him ever be sorry for saving her, no matter how heart-wrenching it had been. She knew he loved her in his own way. She also knew he never acted on it because he was scared. And to be honest, Molly was scared too. What they had in terms of friendship was so very important to her and to him. A relationship of the romantic nature could mess everything up if it ended badly. Molly would rather he be in her life as only her best friend than as nothing at all.
"You're thinking quite loudly," he remarked. "You're worried." Molly opened her mouth to reply, but he stopped her before one word was uttered. "I don't want you to worry about a thing, Molly. This is supposed to be a weekend of being carefree; a weekend of just having fun." She nearly gasped when his hand held hers. "Do you trust me?"
"Of course I do," she replied without any hesitance.
"Then you know I wouldn't ever plan something you wouldn't enjoy," he assured her. And she did know that. A part of her felt he was trying to convey something important. She knew she was right when he spoke again. "It's time to stop being scared." Sherlock said it not just for her benefit, but for his own. He would not allow fear to keep him from the woman he loved; not anymore. No more would it control him.
