A/N: Here's chapter 3, with all the same disclaimers and thanks! :)
During the remainder of the week Molly saw very little of Jimmy, but quite a lot of Sherlock. Enough that several of her friends and acquaintances took to lingering near her locker at the end of the day and between classes, just to 'chat', but really to gawk at Molly's new boyfriend.
Not that she proclaimed him as such; after all, they hadn't even been on a proper date yet! But she'd let him kiss her – twice – and not just out of gratitude, either. So far he'd walked her home twice, joined her in the library at lunch once when she was studying for their upcoming chemistry exam, and the rest of the time he'd simply shown up wherever she happened to be – including waiting for her outside the girl's loo once when she, in his words, 'took an exceptionally long time washing her hands'.
On Thursday afternoon she finally worked up the nerve to ask him if there was any particular reason he was being so attentive. The look he gave her said plain as day that she was being stupid, but she refused to let the apology she felt forming on her lips escape into actual words, just looked at him and waited for an answer.
He refused to meet her eyes. They were walking down the street that led to hers; he hadn't walked her from school this time, just met up with her when she was half-way down the previous block. When she gave an exasperated huff and stopped, refusing to go another step until he answered her, he finally seemed to understand how important this was to her.
"I don't understand why you want me to tell you something you already know," was his opening gambit as he took the four steps necessary to return him to her side. "Obviously Jimmy isn't just going to let things go."
"So you're, what, protectin' me?" she asked. "If he was gonna try somethin', wouldn't he have already done it by now?" In fact, it seemed Jimmy had gone out of his way to avoid her all week, no doubt believing he was 'punishing' her by his absence.
"He's a planner," Sherlock replied flatly, although his eyes flashed with sudden anger. Molly unconsciously took a step back, then forced herself to stay put, knowing the anger wasn't directed at her. "I can't say what he has planned, but it's something. He's just waiting for the right time."
She shivered in spite of the warmth of the day. She almost wished she hadn't said anything, but the old saying about ignorance being bliss was nothing but a load of shite. "So, yeah, then, protectin' me," she murmured, unable to keep the dejection from her voice. What in the world had made her think he was actually interested in her as a girl? He was just keeping an eye on her, waiting for Jimmy to make his move, like it was all some kind of game. Which it probably was, the way those two seemed to delight in getting in one another's faces. She should have realised that she was just a pawn to the two of them.
When she felt Sherlock take her hand in his, she looked down at their intertwined fingers than back up to his face, startled and unsure what he was doing. "Sher –?" she started to ask, only to fall silent as his lips covered hers.
She didn't allow the kiss to linger, much as she wanted it to; after all, they were practically in the middle of the pavement, and such goings on were bound to be reported to her mother if anyone they knew saw her kissing the English lad in broad daylight.
Sherlock had been the one to start the kiss of course, after first pulling her into the entrance to a narrow alley. It was closed off by a locked gate a few feet back, not nearly deep enough for the kiss but enough to at least get them off the pavement itself.
When Molly pulled out of the kiss – oh, that was almost painful, to stop doing something she very much enjoyed! – Sherlock gave her a hurt expression and moved as if to steal another one from her. With a giggle she put her hand up so that his lips landed on her palm instead, but the giggle turned to an indrawn hiss of mixed pleasure and surprise as he pressed his lips against her skin. She felt his tongue dart out as if to taste her, but before she could pull her hand away his had shot up to grasp her wrist, holding it in place. "Sherlock," she breathed, feeling her face flush…and feeling a spreading warmth rising up from her private parts at the blatant sexuality of the movement of his mouth against her hand.
When he finally allowed her to pull away and met her gaze, there was a very smug grin on his lips. She gaped at him for a long moment, then realised her hand was still upraised. Snatching it back to her chest, she struggled for something to say while he just stood there, grinning at her. "You…that was…Sherlock Holmes!" she finally hissed, eyes darting around the empty street as if expecting her mother and all the old bats from her neighbourhood to come marching up to her carrying signs declaring her a tramp. "You know I'm not that kind…"
"Of girl, of course I do," he finished for her, his grin not abating one whit. "But I'm that kind of boy, which you knew when you took up with me. But I'm not," he added, the grin finally vanishing as he met her eyes with a burning intensity that did nothing for her fluttering heart or heated blush, "like Jimmy Moriarty. I won't try to take anything from you you're not willing to give me. And I promise not to push you…much." With a return of the smug smirk, he took her hand in his and tugged her back to the pavement. "Come on, you don't want to be late getting home. Your mother will be worried."
Flustered and completely at a loss for words, Molly allowed him to walk her to the end of her block. He stole one quick kiss from her before releasing her hand and watching her the entire length of the block, until she reached the front step of her building. When she turned to give him one last look, however, he was gone.
Things continued in that manner – Sherlock teasing her whenever he thought he could get away with it, her protesting and knowing in her heart that she didn't really mean it – for the next couple of weeks. He even coaxed her into going on a couple of dates the few nights Molly's mother actually stayed home instead of going to the hospital – at least, he called them dates, although they were unlike any date Molly had ever been on before.
The first time he brought up to the top of the building where Mary's father worked, breaking in with ease and producing a key to the roof he claimed to have 'borrowed' from his older brother – about whom he said absolutely nothing else, no matter how much she tried to coax the information from him. Mary had said his name was 'Mycroft' – what odd names that family gave their lads! – but ultimately had admitted that she'd only met him once, when he came to her house to meet with her father for some kind of business deal.
Once they reached the roof and stepped out onto the cement surface, all thoughts of Sherlock's brother were driven by her mind by the breathtaking view to which she was treated. It was just gone dark, and she'd never seen the city where she'd lived her entire life from such a height. All the ugly, squalid bits of it were magically transformed into mysterious dark patches randomly lit as if by fairy lights rather than something as prosaic as electricity.
The second 'date' was even better, the best gift anyone had ever given her, ever.
He brought her to the hospital see her da.
She'd had no idea where they were going, as usual, on the back of, yes, Seb Moran's stolen motorbike. Sherlock had flat-out refused to return it when she asked him to, and Seb had been unable to prove that the other boy had taken it, although they'd nearly come to blows the few times they met up with one another after it went missing. One of these days, Molly had admonished Sherlock, Seb was going to catch him riding it and the fight that would ensue would most likely land one of them in the hospital.
"Yes," had been Sherlock's arrogant response, "but it won't be me." And Molly had been forced to drop the subject.
She still fretted over the tension between the three boys, still worried that Jimmy had something awful in mind for her and Sherlock, but as time passed and nothing happened, she found herself hoping that she and Sherlock were both wrong. That Jimmy had simply decided they weren't worth bothering with…
All thoughts of Jimmy and Seb vanished from her mind as their destination came into view; Molly gasped and tightened her grip around Sherlock's waist. He risked turning his head a bit to let her see his self-satisfied grin, and she leaned her head against his back, fighting down grateful tears. Yes, her mam had forbidden this visit and she'd been obedient to her mother's wishes, but now that they were here, she knew she wouldn't be able to tell Sherlock 'no'. Not when it was something she'd been aching for. For so very, very long.
Much later, she would come to recognise that as the moment when she fell deeply, hopelessly and irrevocably in love with him.
