Here it is: Chapter 3! Thank you to everyone who has read the story, reviewed it, subscribed, etc. I appreciate it so very much. Keep the reviews coming. It won't be peaches and cream forever.
Chapter 3: Nightmares and Confessions
Molly held him for a while, watching Sherlock sleep before gently extricating herself from his grasp and covering him up with blankets from the floor, being careful not to wake him (the bed still wasn't made). She wandered through the kitchen and the living room, picking up the stained sheets from the night before and that morning, throwing them in the washing machine. Molly stood over the appliance and leaned against it, letting out a sigh. Now what...? she thought to herself, thinking about the sleeping form of the world's only consulting detective, back from the grave, curled up on her bed.
It didn't take long, his dreams swirling in random patterns before coalescing into him on the roof of the hospital, facing Moriarty, only this time, the madman had Molly in his grasp. Three snipers, three bullets, but now there was a consulting criminal with a handgun, threatening Sherlock's only salvation. "No, don't do this-"
She turned as she heard Sherlock mutter something in his sleep. She remembered him saying something about nightmares and made her way into the bedroom cautiously.
The psychopath was going to do it, kill her and make him watch, then force him to see the others die before shoving him over the edge to the unforgiving pavement below. Sherlock saw Molly's face, her eyes. She whispered three words before Jim pulled the trigger. "NO!"
She watched him jackknife into a sitting position, screaming "NO!" and she ran to his side. "Sherlock! Sherlock, wake up! You're dreaming," she said, taking him by the shoulders. He was shaking, crying, gasping for air, not quite awake yet, red blood filling his vision as he panted "No, no, no" over and over. Not knowing what else to do, she gathered him into her arms. "Shhh...I'm here, I'm here...I've got you," she murmured, rocking him as he shook and cried. The dream cleared after a few agonizing moments, and he could feel arms around him. "Molly." She was alive. "Alive, oh god, alive."
"Yes, I'm alive. I'm here," she repeated, stroking his hair away from his face where it was plastered to his forehead with cold sweat. She placed one of his hands on her wrist, allowing him to feel her pulse there, to solidify reality and chase away the nightmare. A second pulse, not his, god that helped more than anything else. His breathing slowed, and his grip tightened slightly on her wrist, making sure she was solid.
"I've got you," she said, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "You're all right. You're safe."
He nodded, finding his voice. "We should go out, go shopping or something, I'm sure Mycroft slipped me a credit card with my clothes. I hate the trust fund, but I'm grateful now I suppose. Get some things for me, food for you..." Anything to get out of the dream, to free himself from Jim's hold. Molly sighed, glad that he was awake. "All right, let me get my shoes and purse," she said, slowly rising; she went to leave, but he still had her tight in his grasp.
"Kiss me. The pulse isn't quite enough and Moriarty-" he grimaced at the name "-I just need something."
She froze at the name 'Moriarty'...the man featured prominently in her nightmares as well, knowing what she knew now, knowing that she'd let him into her home. She sat back down on the bed and kissed the shaking detective on the mouth, soft and gentle, breathing him in. His grip on her wrist relaxed as he pulled her close, deepening the kiss for a few moments before breaking it, breathing deep. "Thank you."
"Any time," she gasped, her brain reeling slightly from the kiss. She finally got up and went to get her things, putting her hair up in its usual ponytail.
"Leave it down. Sorry-it looks better down." Sherlock rose and grabbed his socks and shoes, pulling them on. She quirked an eyebrow but removed the elastic from her hair, allowing it to tumble over her shoulders, slightly wavy since it had air-dried. She waited for him by the door. He grabbed his card from the bag and his coat from the sitting room. "Ready."
"Right. Well...Allons-y," she said, flinging open the door and walking out, being sure to lock it behind him as they left. They perused the shops for hours, getting more clothes for him and some toiletries so he didn't have to smell like roses every time he showered. She picked up some groceries and window-shopped a bit. He bought his cologne, picking shirts in colors he could tell she liked, mostly darker ones and jewel tones. They almost held hands a few times while walking, and he smiled when she stopped to look in the window of a jewelry store. As the sun started to sink in the sky, she looked up at him. "Ready to call it a day and head back?" she asked, both of their arms laden with the fruits of their labor.
He nodded. "I'll meet you back there, just need to get something I forgot. I'll be-home-soon"
She raised an eyebrow and looked at him warily. "All right...I'll take your things...home, then?" she asked. Then something hit her. Home. He had said home and meant back to her flat. She tried to fight down the grin she felt rising to the surface and almost managed to, but it shone through. He kissed her cheek gently. "Go, won't take a minute." He waited until she was out of sight before heading back to get the one thing he'd forgotten. She fairly skipped away, feeling the happiest she'd felt in...years, actually. She made it to the flat and started putting away the things, humming to herself, a grin as large as she could make spread out across her face.
He made it back half an hour later, knocking on the door. "It's me."
She opened the door and beamed at him. "You're back..." she said softly, moving aside so he could come inside. She'd made dinner, a quick meal that she was proud of with a good wine breathing on the counter.
"You sound slightly surprised." The pocket of his jacket felt heavy as he draped his coat over a chair and turned around to kiss her. She kissed him back. "I...I was afraid that I'd made the whole thing up, or that...that you left again," she admitted. She wasn't proud of this, this doubt she had.
"I would tell you," he said, glancing at the food. "You made dinner."
"Yes, I have," she said, quirking an eyebrow. He was stating the obvious, which was...new. "I didn't know if you'd be hungry or not, though."
"A bit, I think. No wine for me though, just water."
She nodded and got it for him, sitting down at the small table and pouring a glass of wine for herself. It was a red wine, tart on her tongue, the alcohol setting a nice slow burn down her throat. She waited for him to sit. He took his seat, sipping the water thirstily and smiling at her. "Thank you for this. It's very kind of you"
She smiled and flushed, looking down at her plate. "It's really nothing," she murmured as she started to eat. They ate in silence for a bit before he cleared his throat. "I-I have something for you."
She tilted her head. "Oh?" she queried. Again, this was new. He reached in the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small box. "Here."
Her eyebrows shot into her hairline as she stared at the small box. It was clearly a jewelry box and she lifted it carefully, feeling faint.
"I think it'll suit you."
She gingerly opened the box and nearly dropped it. Nestled in it were the sapphire star earrings that she had been admiring in the window. "Oh my god...Sherlock..." she breathed, her eyes wide.
"I'm glad you like them."
She gave a faint laugh. "Like them? I... Sherlock, they're beautiful," she said, taking them out and putting them in her ears. They looked perfect as he had known they would. "You were admiring them and clearly weren't going to get them yourself. I don't really know how to repay all of your kindness, and they seemed to be the perfect thing."
She smiled at him. "You don't have to repay me...you're here, you're safe. That's all I need," she said softly, taking his hand with hers. He played with her hand, stroking it, fascinated before looking up at her, stunned once more by her, well, her beauty. "Come here," he whispered. She stood, moving trance-like towards him, her eyes never leaving his.
He pulled her down on his knee, leaning forward and kissing each ear where the earrings were before taking her mouth in his, kissing her deeply, almost drinking the residual wine from her lips. She wound her arms around his neck as he kissed her, moving her fingers up into his hair and pressing herself to him. His hands were on her back, pulling her close as they snogged; Sherlock finally broke for air. "Bed," he murmured softly.
She didn't argue with him. Grinning wickedly, she stood, trailing her fingers slowly out of his hair and down his face, letting her fingertips linger on his jaw before she turned towards the bedroom. He could still feel her fingers on his face ever after they'd left. Sherlock followed her, shutting the door and switching out the light, the last rays of sun shining through the windows.
Molly could see him through the half-light of the bedroom as she started unbuttoning her blouse and slid it off her shoulders, allowing it to land on the floor in a whisper of discarded cloth. Sherlock's fingers danced over her skin as he kissed her again before undoing his own shirt. She breathed him in as he stripped himself, and she worked on undoing the confines of her own clothes as well until she was bare before him, clad in nothing but her own skin and the sapphires that winked in her ears.
His trousers and pants were next; he stopped just long enough to toe off his shoes, and then he matched her, bare skin almost glowing in the dim light. She merely stared at him. "God, you are so...you're so beautiful," she whispered, her eyes roving up and down him as she traced the lines of his collarbones with her hands.
"I'm really not, but I'm glad you think so."
Both her eyebrows went up again. "You're not? Sherlock, you seriously need to look in the mirror some time. You have the body of a Greek god, your skin is like marble, and your eyes...oh my God, your eyes," she said, at a loss for words.
"You flatter me...what about my eyes?"
"I could drown in them," she said softly, blushing at her prose. He slowly leaned down until he was staring into her own eyes, foreheads gently touching. "Really?"
"Yes," she said, breathless.
He smiled and kissed her, tongue exploring her mouth as his hand cupped her face. The feel of his tongue in her mouth set her blood on fire and she pressed herself to him again, feeling the line of his body against hers. His other hand went to the small of her back, pressing her closer as their tongues danced. She moaned into his mouth; everything was oversensitive as if she were running on overdrive.
He pulled them both down on the bed, soon straddling her as they kissed. She arched up into him, breath sobbing in her throat as she ran her fingernails down his back. He growled softly, rocking harder, soon stroking her with his arousal, the kisses growing more urgent. She shuddered as he rocked against her, rubbing his manhood up against her folds but not entering her yet. She whimpered as he kissed her; she needed him, craved for him to be inside of her. Lips moving to her neck, Sherlock slowly pressed into her, moaning at the sensation.
Her breath left her in a rush as he slowly seated himself within her, her muscles stretching around him. "Ah...ah!" she cried out softly, pressing her head back into the pillows, twisting her hands in the sheets.
"You all right?" He couldn't help feeling slightly panicked.
"Oh my god, yes," she said, her eyes glazed over with desire for him. She had to slowly count from one to one hundred to keep herself in control; otherwise, she would have climaxed in an instant, and she wanted this to last.
He kissed her, moving slowly, hands in fists to keep himself in check, to keep himself from having it end. Their lovemaking was languid, like they were both dipped in honey, moving slowly but sweetly. She experimentally clenched around him, holding him tight within her, as tight as she could. He gasped, breathing stuttering as she tightened around him. "Oh god...Molly." It wasn't the desperate fire from before; if anything, the slow burn was even more intense. She smiled and purred and did it again, moving down him as she did. Everything was dragging and almost lazy, but the heat of them both was furious.
His toes curled as she met his thrusts, his body burning and sweat beading on his brow. He lowered his lips to her collarbone, sucking gently and making her gasp. It surprised her into bucking up fast, taking him to the hilt inside of her. He shuddered, almost coming right then. "I'm close," he panted, lips still on her collarbone She nodded, "Me too," she said. She bucked against him once more, and he hit that one spot deep inside her that made her vision go white and made her scream his name as she went over the edge and came in a blaze.
She clenched around him and he was lost, the stars he saw a deep blue with white and silver sparkles, his thrusting erratic until he collapsed. He fell on top of her, both of them sweaty and panting. She held him close and felt his heartbeat galloping through the skin of his chest, against hers. "Oh my God" she breathed. "That was... intense."
He nodded. "Far more so than the others, a most intriguing comparison."
She made a small noise of agreement. They lay there quietly for a while until her stomach growled. She blushed crimson. "Ah...sorry. We were eating before this and, well..." she said, embarrassed.
He chuckled, kissing her a few times. "Got a bit distracted, sorry." He rose and helped her up, handing her the bathrobe from her closet as he picked up his own from his bag. They went and ate, clad in bathrobes, still sweaty from each other. When they'd finished, Molly brought the dishes to the sink and began washing them, humming softly.
"What song is that? I'm afraid my musical knowledge outside of the classical is rather lacking."
She blushed. "An old Scottish tune," she said.
"How does it go?"
She sighed and smiled before restarting, singing so he can hear. "Now westlin' winds and slaughtering guns bring autumn's pleasant weather. The moorcock springs on whirring wings, among the blooming heather. Now waving grain wild o'er the plain delights the weary farmer; the moon shines bright while I rove at night to muse upon my charmer." (1)
He came up behind her, hands sliding around her waist as he pressed a kiss to her neck. "You have a lovely voice."
She leaned back into him. "As do you. I didn't know you could sing," she said, recalling earlier that day when they had had their own call-and-response session.
"Forced into lessons as a boy, never forgot the technique."
She smiled. "Well...it's beautiful. Like the rest of you," she added cheekily.
"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow. Thinking for a moment, he began to sing, an old Latin chant he'd been forced to learn. "To you before the close of day, Creator of all things we pray, that, in your constant clemency, our guard and keeper you will be." (2)
She could feel the vibration of it through her back, his voice raised in song that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. "Oh..." she gasped, forgetting to breathe. He continued to hum the tune into her neck, swaying gently.
She stopped what she was doing and really listened, feeling a shiver that ran up and down her spine, her eyes closed in rapture. A sudden thought zinged through her and let what was in her hands slowly drop back into the sink: a mental image of Sherlock singing to an infant (theirs, a child, their child, their baby) flashing at her. She swallowed hard and forced it back down. Too much, too much and too fast. Sherlock was very clear that he was married to his work.
The tune morphed once more, the music coming more easily and readily than it ever had before, the chants melting together until he came upon a very simple tune, one he could vaguely remember his mother singing to him. Scottish. Wild Mountain Thyme, he finally named in his head.
There was that image in her head again; soft light and soft music and soft infant noises. No...this wasn't fair, to either of them.
Changing, ever changing, music held such sway over him; it was one of the reasons he loved his violin. The Scottish Ballad quickly became Simple Gifts, then the tune of Beethoven's Pathetique, then snippets of Vivaldi, everything whirling together in his mind as he stood there.
She paled, a realization suddenly bursting into her head. They had made love four times now, each time without protection, each time ending with him coming inside her. Oh...oh God. What if she...? She swallowed hard. He felt her stiffen. "Are you all right?"
She let out a breath. She needed to tell him. If...if she is...then he has to know. "Sherlock...we...we've made love without protection. I...I could be pregnant..." she said, feeling somewhat faint. She wouldn't be surprised in the slightest if he got dressed and ran, never speaking to her or seeing her again.
He stiffened slightly; in all of his observations and musings, this had never occurred to him, never been a problem. "It will be a few days before that even is possible," he whispered, brain kicking into gear, examining everything.
"Only a few days for it to be possible to detect. I...I could be...right now," she said. She was scared; again, the thought came to mind. What if he left? What if he walked out? What would she do if she was...? How would she support herself and a child?
"Shhhhh," he whispered, holding her tighter, his own terrors about parenthood finally revealing themselves. Him, a father, would he be any good? Could it work? Mycroft would hunt him down if he left her, there was no doubt in his mind about that, but could he do it? Actually raise a child?
She took one, two, three deep breaths to calm herself. She leaned her head back into his shoulder. Breathe, Molly. Unconsciously, her hands moved down to cup her belly. His hands came around to rest on hers, trying hard to comfort himself as much as her.
The rest of the night was almost eerily quiet; both of them had a lot on their minds. When they finally went to bed and snuggled under clean sheets, Molly lay awake for a long time, staring into the darkness before sleep finally claimed her. The nightmares didn't return, and Sherlock even found himself drifting off fast, sleep claiming him as he held Molly's hand.
oOoOo
As her lover slept peacefully beside her, Molly found herself in the teeth of a nightmare, the nightmare that had haunted her sleep every night since she helped Sherlock fake his death three years ago. She was in the morgue at Bart's and he was on the slab, broken and bruised and bloody, his limbs sticking at odd angles, his ribs and skull shattered, his eyes glazed over in death. She whimpered and cried, tears falling down her face, thick and fast. "No...no please," she begged.
Sherlock heard her speak, pulling him up out of his own sleep. He saw the tears, her hand clasping his so tight it hut, her words stabbing him. "Molly, Molly, wake up, wake up, love." He didn't register the pet name as it crossed his lips, too concerned with pulling her from the dream.
The dream shifted and now Moriarty was there on the rooftop of Bart's as she watched him shove Sherlock off the edge. Before he fell, though, he reached for her and she ran to him, but wasn't fast enough. Just as she was about to reach him, her fingertips brushing his, he was gone and there was a sickening wet crack as he hit the pavement.
Her eyes flew open and she gasped, sitting up, sweating, shaking. "SHERLOCK!" she screamed, hands out, reaching, detective caught her, pulling her close and holding her tight against him as she sobbed. He could guess what her dream was about. "I'm here. I'm alive." He slipped her hand against his chest, pressing it to his heart. "I'm not going anywhere, love, I promised. Shhhh, it's all right, let it go, it's just a dream."
She trembled against him, still half-asleep, her hand pressed to his heartbeat as she gasped for air, soaking his sleep shirt with tears. "Moriarty...rooftop...couldn't reach you...I'm sorry..." she whimpered brokenly. His breathing stopped, her nightmare so close to his from before; Moriarty haunted both of them it would seem, even in death. "But you did. I'm here, love."
Slightly more awake now, she clutched him to her, his heartbeat reassuring her. She reached up and cupped his face with both her hands, feeling the warmth of his skin, his breath ghosting over her fingers. She let out a steadying breath. "You're here..." she said, leaning her head into his chest. He kissed her palms gently, holding her head to him. "Yes, yes I'm here, love, I'm not leaving again."
She took another steadying breath. "I love you..." she whispered, listening to his heart beat.
"I love you too." Sherlock held her until she relaxed, sleeping again. He lay Molly down and wrapped his arm around her stomach, pressing her back to his chest and drifting off again.
oOoOo
She finally slept, long and deep and dreamless. Molly woke up the next morning with Sherlock's arm still wrapped around her, feeling him breathe evenly in sleep, and contentment coursed through her. She closed her eyes and relished it, knowing that he was there beside her. He felt her heartbeat speed up and it woke him, the infinitesimal change like an alarm. He squeezed her gently. "Morning."
She smiled; his voice was deep and rough from sleep. "Morning, love," she said, rolling over to face him and wrapping her arms around him in turn. She pressed a kiss to his sternum and nuzzled into him.
"Sleep better, love?" He heard it this time, the pet name, as he kissed the top of her head. She blinked at the word, another new thing to add to the list. "Mm...much," she said, cuddling closer.
"Good." He wrapped as much of her as he could with his limbs, breathing in her scent: flowers and sleep.
Molly buried her nose into him, taking in his scent: spice, like before, and sleep...and she loved it. She purred happily, enjoying the smell and the warmth and the feel of him against her. Sherlock chuckled softly, her nose tickling a bit, rubbing her back gently. She sighed and smiled. Her nightmares were blanched by the light of the sun streaming in through the window and the sound and the smell and the feel of Sherlock beside her. Finally, although she didn't want to, she forced herself to get up. She stretched, making little noises in the back of her throat as she loosened her muscles and stood. He watched her, still unwilling to move, amazed that he had slept so much in the past few days. "Are you all right?"
She looked at him. "Hmm? Yes, I'm fine," she said.
"Good." He stood and made the bed, rifling through his bag for a clean pair of pants before getting dressed. She stripped her pajamas off and dressed herself, then padded out into the kitchen to make coffee. Sherlock unpacked while Molly made coffee, laying his things out on the bed until he could ask about closets and drawers and such before heading to the kitchen.
She hummed as she moved around the kitchen, clattering around. He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, smiling as he watched her. She didn't know he was there yet, and there was something more relaxed in her movements than when she was aware of him. He saw the spring in her step, recognized the smile on her lips, but the music, the music was the chant he'd hummed to her the night before.
She started to sing, trying to recall the lyrics in Latin (and failing miserably). He laughed, adding his voice to help. "Te lucis ante terminum, Rerum creator poscimus, Ut solita clementia, Sis praesul ad custodium," his rich baritone swelling in the room. (3)
She started at the sound of his voice, then looked at him, her face alight with joy and awe. The hair on the back of her neck stood up and she shivered with pleasure at the sound. He finished the song, never taking his eyes off her, every emotion clear and strong on her face and in her eyes. She let out a breath she didn't remember holding. "I...my God," she said, giving a small shudder, beaming. His voice did...interesting things to her.
"What is it?" he asked, striding into the room and embracing her. She held him tightly. "You. Just...you." she said simply. "You amaze me."
"What about me amazes you?"
"Everything. Your mind, your voice, your touch," she replied.
"My voice?"
She bit her lip and nodded. "It's like...oh...I don't know...a...a jaguar trapped in a cello," she said; it was the first thing that came to mind. He burst out laughing, hugging her tighter. "So, low and growling but with a very distinct echo pattern?" He grinned at her, spinning a little on the spot.
"Something like that," she said, laughing a bit.
"And my mind. What about that?" He wanted to know everything she was thinking.
"Your mind is...is brilliant. It's amazing! You can deduce anything and figure anything out in seconds and it astounds me," she said.
"And my touch?"
She shivered. "Your touch undoes me," she said quietly.
He kissed the top of her head again and reluctantly let go before something happened as it seemed to do in those moments. "Coffee, black with two sugars if you don't mind," he said. She chuckled, remembering their banter in the days gone by.
He took the coffee once she filled his mug, sipping it slowly as he leaned against the kitchen counter, his mind landing on their discussion the night before. "If you're worried about getting pregnant, we should probably purchase contraceptives."
"Ah...right..." she said, nearly choking on her own coffee, swallowing fast. That was going to be an interesting (and embarrassing) trip to the chemists'.
"Something wrong?" He watched, making sure she didn't choke, his fingers tightening on his own cup slightly.
She flushed. "No, I'm just a ninny," she said, chuckling slightly.
"Hardly. I take it that is an uncomfortable subject for you"
"Well, not...not really. It's just...something I'm not used to doing," she said.
"Would it be easier if I went with you?"
"Oh...if you like," she says. In fact, yes, it would be.
"All right then." He got his coat and scarf, waiting for her by the door.
The walk to the chemists' was short, and she went right over to the little case where the condoms were sold, her face bright red. She picked out the ones that looked like they would work for him (large...good God) and went to pay. She heard a step behind her and turned; it wasn't Sherlock...he was a few aisles over looking at the tabloids. This man was shorter and a little stockier. He leered at her. "Hullo, luv...need some help breaking those in?" he said, winking; Molly flushed an even darker red, trying to speak.
Sherlock glanced up as he heard Molly stutter. He saw the other man standing far too close, eyes deducing the rest. He strode over to them, hand landing very tightly on the man's shoulder. "You should step away. Now."
She flushed as Sherlock came to her aid. "Whatchu on about, mate? Not like she's yours," the other man said, his voice strident. Sherlock's grip tightened. "I think you'll find she is, you vermin, and if you know what's good for you, you'll stay away from her or you may just meet with an unfortunate accident. Now. Get. Away. From. Her."
The man shrugged his hand off and stalked away, muttering sulkily. Molly felt her heart flutter. "Ah... thank you," she said softly, blushing.
Sherlock glanced at her, his gaze softening but still fairly cold. "Of course." He took the condoms from her and paid, not blushing once as the cashier tried to flirt with him. Now it was Molly's turn to have her hackles raised. "Thank you for your help. We'll make good use of these," she said, blatantly taking Sherlock's arm, her tone icy. Sherlock glanced at her and back to the girl behind the register, the meaning behind her words finally clicking. "Ah," he said, letting Molly lead him away. "Well, that was less than pleasant."
She sighed. "Tell me about it. That...usually doesn't happen. I guess we're just unlucky today," she said, chuckling slightly.
"Or both look available. We-we aren't, correct? We're, I think the phrase is 'together,' yes?"
Her breath caught in her throat. "Ah... only if you want to be," she said. He took her hand, stopping on the sidewalk and kissing the back of it. "I think I would like that."
She could feel her entire body flush at his courtly gesture. "Oh, I know I like that," she murmured, hoping he wouldn't catch what she said. His lips twitched slightly, kissing her hand again, feeling his body start to heat up. "We should get you home-us home."
She nodded, leading him...home. As soon as the door to her flat closed, she just...looked at him. The pathologist could hardly believe he was here and that they were together. Her lips curled into a smile as she watched him hang up his coat; she walked up to him and wrapped her arms around him, resting her forehead on his broad back. He smiled, holding her hands where they came to rest on his stomach, starting to hum. She shivered lightly as she felt the vibration of his voice through his back and she pressed herself closer to him. "Hmm...you're good to cuddle with," she murmured absently.
"Interesting." He continued humming, swaying them side to side as he had done the night before. She laid light kisses along his spine, swaying with him, taking in his scent.
"May I have this dance, Molly Hooper?"
She started. "Oh! Yes, you may, Sherlock Holmes," she said. Then she bit her lip. "I'm warning you, though, I'm horribly clumsy. I apologize in advance for any of your toes that I may crush," she said.
"I think I can lead," he murmured, spinning and taking her hands, placing one on his shoulder and holding the other, his free hand going to her waist. Looking into her eyes, he smiled, picking a folk song from his childhood (Wild Mountain Thyme) and singing softly, slowly dancing with her. She felt her heartbeat speed up as he placed her hand on his shoulder, holding her other one, then moving a hand to her waist. They danced slowly to the sound of his music, and she was cautious of where her feet were to avoid any accidents. She nestled into him, listening to his heartbeat and the sound of his voice as it thrummed through her.
"Will you go, lassie, go, and we'll all go together to pull wild mountain thyme all around the bloomin' heather," he sang, drawing her close as she rested against him. She shivered lightly as his rich baritone voice wove itself around her, making her feel safe and secure and winding its way around her heart as well. He finished the song, the music transitioning to their chant, his arms wrapping around her as they turned.
She gasped as he moved from the folk tune to the chant he sang for her, pressing herself closer, winding herself around him. A soft "Oh.." escaped her, and she felt the hair on her arms and the back of her neck stand up. He smiled, knowing how much that piece affected her, the tune falling easily from his lips, hands rubbing circles on her back. Another shudder ran through her as he began rubbing her back. "Not fair," she panted softly. "You don't play fair..."
"What do you mean?" He raised an eyebrow. She looked up at him, her eyes half-glazed over. "You know what that does to me," she said simply.
Oh, yes, Your touch undoes me. "Well then," he purred, leaning down to kiss her. She moaned softly, her fingers winding their way through his dark curls and pulling him to her. He pressed her closer as his tongue explored her mouth, gently stroking the roof of it and eliciting a delicious moan. Her eyes rolled back into her head as his tongue worked its way into her mouth, exploring with ease. She broke so she could get a breath of air, panting already, before going right back in and kissing her way up his jaw, running the tip of her tongue along the whorl of his ear. He shuddered, whimpering softly, unable to move. "God, Molly," he breathed.
She chuckled lightly, giving his earlobe a nip before moving her way down his neck to lightly scrape her teeth where his pulse was strongest. He crushed her against him, pulling her off her feet and wrapping her legs around his waist, hands stroking her hair. She clutched at his shoulders before dragging her nails down his back, softly at first, then in earnest. He growled in her ear, nipping it before kissing her passionately again. "I need you-more of you."
"Then you need to put me down so I can give you what you need," she said, breathless. She loved this: driving him wild, knowing that she drove him wild; the feeling of power was heady.
He grinned, kissing her as he lowered her to the ground, making sure she had her balance before letting go. She smirked as she backed a little ways away from him. She started to slowly undo the buttons of her blouse, one by one, before letting the cloth of her shirt drop off of her arms. She toed off her shoes and bent at the waist to take off her socks, then undid the button and zip of her jeans, slowly wiggling them off her hips. She was soon left in only her pants and her bra. "I think you can help me with these," she said softly, one corner of her mouth quirking up into a smirk. He swallowed, heat rising to his face as he followed suit but only managed to unbutton his shirt halfway. "I think I may need a hand."
She slunk over to where he was standing, pressing soft kisses to the exposed skin shown by his half-open shirt. She bent down, undoing one button with her teeth, then another, then a third. This continued until his shirt was all the way open and his abdomen exposed. She kissed the skin around his navel before sitting back on her heels. "Need any more help?" she asked, looking up at him, surreptitiously eyeing the bulge in his trousers. His breathing was ragged, eyes hooded with desire. In a flash, he was just in his pants, the rest of his clothes in a heap on the floor. Pulling Molly close, Sherlock kissed her deeply. "Do what you want with me."
She smirked. Slowly, she unclasped her bra and let it fall away. Then she pressed against him and slid down his body before kneeling before him. She slid his pants down until he could kick them off and took the tip of his manhood into her mouth, brushing it with her tongue before slowly moving down his length.
His whole body shuddered, his hands resting on her head. "Oh Christ, Molly," he moaned, her mouth hot and wet against him, the sensation almost overwhelming. He could feel his mind starting to short circuit and relax. She worked his length until she could sense he was at the brink then released him from the clinging grip of her mouth. She was fairly dripping as she slid her pants off. "Bed. Now," she growled, grabbing the package of condoms from their bag. The detective and the pathologist made it to the bed in record time. Molly started opening the box, but she stopped and grinned wickedly. "But first...your turn," she said, trailing her hand to her sex. She could hardly believe how...assertive she was being. This was a new experience for the shy, uncertain woman.
He'd been gripping her head so tightly that when she pulled off, he whimpered, extremely hard, barely able to comprehend her words as she dragged him to her room. He eyed her before climbing onto the bed, kissing his way down her chest until he reached her sex, kissing it gently, stroking it with his fingertips, glancing up at her to make sure he was doing it right She gasped and shuddered as he was gentle with her. "Harder..." she panted.
He pressed harder, fingers rubbing more forcefully as he kissed and licked, tasting her so intensely. She bucked her hips up into his mouth, her hands fisting themselves into his curls as she pulled slightly, her breath sobbing in her throat. All of a sudden, surprising herself, she came, clenching around his fingers, throbbing into his mouth and against his tongue. She cried his name, brokenly. He gasped, surprised, tasting her juice. He had done that. "Interesting," he whispered, stroking her trembling legs gently.
She panted as her body tremored with the aftershocks. "God..." she breathed, staring up at the ceiling.
"Was that good?"
"That was fantastic." she said. She saw him, still hard. "Oh, it looks like you have something that still needs to be taken care of," she said, smirking. She opened the box of condoms, taking out one of the foil-wrapped squares. "Do you know how to put one on?" she asked him. He nodded, fumbling with it slightly before rolling it on, then groaning as he sheathed himself within her.
"Nnnh...oh, yes..." she gasped as he pressed himself inside of her. She bucked her hips once, twice, three times against him, gently. His moans dropped lower as his voice went to a mere growl. "You sure? You okay?"
She shivered as his voice dropped to a rumbling growl that she was able to feel inside of her. "Oh God, yes..." she panted. Jaguar trapped in a cello, indeed. He didn't take long to establish a fast rhythm, groaning and panting, already close, the buildup almost more than he could stand.
He set a hard pace and it wasn't long before she felt herself building up to a second peak. This one was more intense than the first and she soon lost herself, digging her fingernails into his back, leaving red trails as she dragged them down, crying his name; a prayer, a plea, an exaltation. He ground his teeth as his name was on her lips, such a heavenly sound. He pounded into her, crying her name when he finally came, pulling out as he went soft.
She heard him cry her name and it made that primal part in the back of her head howl with glee. Mine she thought, holding him close as he pulled out of her and disposed of the condom. He pulled her close to him after cleaning up. "God, Molly, that-you-it was-"
She raised an eyebrow. "Yes?" she said simply, gently teasing him. He stopped, taking a breath to find the words, not used to being speechless. "Amazing."
She leaned in and kissed him, tasting herself on his tongue and lips. "So were you, love," she said after she broke it, resting her forehead on his. He felt so drowsy and content. "Just five minutes," he murmured, shutting his eyes.
She smiled and rubbed his back as he fell asleep, pulling the covers up around them both as the sweat dried on their skin. No nightmares, his sleep blissful and dreamless save for the music, the music in his head, his heart, surrounding him. She hummed one of the songs he'd sung to her (Wild Mountain Thyme) as he slept, encasing him in a full-body embrace, his head resting on her breast.
He could hear the words in his mind, trying to sing along but unable, surprisingly content to let the music soothe him, but he started to wake when it changed, the chant leading him back to consciousness. A smile tugged at his lips as he came around, finally able to hum along. She could feel him smile into her skin and the vibration of his voice as it joined hers. She stops. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," she says quietly.
"No, I don't mind," he murmured, nuzzling against her gently, letting the warmth keep him calm. She ran her fingers through his hair, tracing the outline of his ear and trailing her fingertips down the back of his neck. The movement was almost absent-minded as she drew intricate patterns on his marble skin. He shivered, pressing closer. "That's wonderful," he whispered, kissing her chest.
She hummed in pleasure as he kissesd her chest, right above her heart. She continued with her pattern-drawing, the doodles forming slowly into words; 'Love', 'Peace', 'Joy', 'Contentment'. Then she started tracing poetry, changing it slightly to fit him: 'He walks in beauty, like the night...'
He read the words on his skin, each one making his chest grow warm until she started to recite and trace simultaneously. He felt his eyes prick with happy tears as he recited back, "A mind at peace with all below, a heart whose love is innocent..." (4)
She smiled. "I should have figured you'd know Byron," she said.
"Of course, school requirement." He thought for a moment, sifting through the things he had deemed worthy of remembrance, never having an excuse until now to use them. He settled on a poem, the words more intriguing before than the intent behind them; of course, now the intent mattered more than anything.
"O my luve's like a red, red rose.
That's newly sprung in June;
O my luve's like a melodie
That's sweetly play'd in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will love thee still, my Dear,
Till a'the seas gang dry." (5)
She flushed in pleasure, certain that she resembled a rose now with the blood pooling under her skin. She held him tightly to her, taking in his scent. The moment felt half-real, almost too idyllic to be true: Lovers reciting poetry to each other as they shared afterglow kisses, tangled up in each other's limbs, sweating each other's sweat, breathing each other's air.
"My Rose," he whispered, pressing kisses to her chest before brushing one against her lips. She had to swallow hard and blink away sudden tears. "My dearest love," she whispered back, kissing him softly. He felt his heart constrict, the kiss suddenly salty. He wrapped Molly in his arms, continuing to kiss her slowly and gently. Their slow kisses were soft and sweet, designed not to inflame but to endear, to strengthen the new bond they had. She cupped his face in her hands, brushing her thumbs along his cheekbones, feeling her heart beat for him. Only for him.
"I love you," he whispered into her mouth, stroking her hands with his, squeezing gently.
"I love you," she whispered back. "I love you," she whispered again, pouring her soul into the words. No flowery sayings, no elaborations, nothing to embellish it. Just the stark truth, the truth she had known since he had asked her to help him three years ago.
"I never want to leave you."
Molly's breath left her in a sudden rush. She searched his eyes and his face and saw that he meant it. "Then stay," she murmured, feeling her heart stutter then sing out for him.
"I think I shall...if you want me...if you'll have me"
"Yes," she whispered, kissing his forehead. "Yes," she said, kissing both of his eyes and his cheeks. "Yes," she said, kissing his mouth, burning and sweet and accepting. "Always, Sherlock. Always."
Sherlock was crying now: joy, relief, love, acceptance. "You are the first, truly the first, to love me Molly." He kissed her back, his body on fire. She knew she was crying as well; she wiped his tears away with kisses. She breathed him in. "Thank you for letting me," she said.
He let her touch and kiss him, merely taking solace in her presence and feel and smell, every single caress She sighed deeply. "If I died now, I'd die happy," she murmured, holding him close. His hands held a bit tighter at that. "I think I'd be happy too if I were to die now, but not-not if-not without you."
She held him tighter as well. "Don't fret, love...I'm not going anywhere," she said, resting her head against his. He relaxed into her, molding his body to hers. "Don't let me go."
"Never," she breathed. Soon, she was lulled to sleep by his heartbeat and his breathing and his warmth.
(1)- "Now Westlin' Winds" by Robert Burns
(2)- Vespera (Te Lucis)- a common chant done in a Compline servise
(3)- The Latin translation of the English from Vespera (number 2)
(4)- She Walks in Beauty by Lord Byron
(5)- A Red, Red Rose by Robert Burns