Disclaimer: If I owned Sherlock, Sherlock and Molly would have lots of really hot sex. And even more scenes together. Alas, I don't. But I'm still holding out hope for the sex.

Summary: Molly Hooper's relationship, or whatever it is…she still hasn't been able to find a proper name for it, with Sherlock Holmes started out with a favor. Flash forward years later and she wonders if he knows that this particular favor will kill her.

So…you know that M rating? It takes effect. Like now. Hope you all enjoy and any and all mistakes are mine and mine alone. Also, massive thank you to everyone who reviewed. Shout outs at the bottom. Also…don't hate me. LOVE YOU ALL.


Read this Truth

Part 4


She's the one doing the ignoring now. She wants to say that it's on purpose, that when he walks into one room, she leaves it for some sort of twisted vindication. That's not true though. She doesn't like ignoring him. Molly has never been good at ignoring him, but God help her, she's fantastic at it now.

Everything is still so raw for her. His hands, she's sure, have branded her and his lips are like phantom weight along her body. She aches for him. She wants to grab him and kiss him until they're both out of breath and until the other day has been erased from their minds. She knows it won't. She'll always remember it.

He used her. He uses her. And Molly can't even fault him for it because she lets him.

Molly does admit though, that she uses him too. There is a sort of protective safety about Sherlock that Molly likes. It could be his height, it could be the way his eyes seek her out and study every inch of her but Molly knows it's none of that. It's not his prominent cheekbones or his strong jaw, it's not the taunt muscles that line entire body (and Molly knows they're there, she's felt them), no, instead, it's his mind.

His beautifully dangerous mind. He's smarter than any person she's ever met. He's also crueler than any person she's ever met and she thinks (or she once thought, she's not sure what she thinks anymore) that he takes perverse pleasure in ripping someone's life apart. At spilling their deepest secrets and insecurities with no thought as to who is around them during his devastating deduction. (And they truly are devastating, Molly should know, she's been the main target plenty of times.)

So, she ignores him, not because she wants to be cruel (Molly doesn't have it in her to be cruel, at least not deliberately) but because she can't stand to look at him. Because if she does, she knows she'll break. She knows that he'll look at her imploringly and that he'll leave the spot on the loveseat next to him empty and she'll end up sitting next to him and everything will go back to normal.

But Molly doesn't want normal.

Molly just wants him.

(This curse is for both of them. There is no blessing in this.)


Sherlock isn't in the house and for once, Molly feels like she can breathe deeply without worrying that he'll come up behind her or God forbid try to touch her (because while Molly knows she's strong, she's not strong enough to deny him, not when she's needed him for so long.) She makes her way into the kitchen, makes something small to eat and follows the well-worn path to the bedroom. She grabs her mobile, lying flat on her back and dials a familiar number.

"Molly?" Her brother's voice is worried, angry and a little bit relieved. "It's almost been a month!"

"I've messaged you." Molly tells him softly. She knows its not enough.

"A message once a week telling me you're fine is not a message. It's platitude just to make sure I don't file a missing persons report."

"Well good thing you didn't." Molly says. He's silent on the other line and Molly knows he's gnawing on his bottom lip. "You didn't…did you?"

"I have no idea where you are! You don't answer my calls or my messages except for one a week. One. So, yes, I filed a bloody police report with that Lestrade man who I remember you mentioned a few times and I told him I was worried. And by the way, Scotland Yard really pisses me off." He takes a deep breath, "Molly, I'm worried about you."

"I'm fine." She lies. She never used to lie to her brother.

"You're lying!" He snaps. "Molly, I'm your brother, I've been with you your entire life, and you think I don't know when you're not fucking fine? Give me a little credit, Molls. What's going on? Where are you? Molly, come home. You're not happy. Please, Molly, we love you. I love you."

And because Molly is weak and obviously not as strong as she thought she was, tears leak from her eyes. "Do you love Katie?"

"What?" Her brother is confused. "What the hell kind of question is that?"

"Just answer it. Do you love Katie?"

"Of course I do. She's my wife. She's my partner. She's the mother of my unborn child and she's a mother to Sammy. She's…she's my other half."

"How did you know when you met her that you would love her?"

He laughs wearily. "I didn't. I actually hated her when I first met her. I thought she was a snob and pretentious."

"Then why did you fall in love with her?" Why do people fall in love? Molly wants to know this. Molly wants to know how one person can fall in love with another and have their entire life revolve around them. What makes one person more attractive than others, even if the said person makes the other miserable and reduces them to a weeping psychological mess?

He lets out a frustrated sigh and Molly knows that he's running a hand through his hair. "I didn't even realize I was in love with her until I saw some bloke chatting her up at a bar. God, Molls. You would have been ashamed of me. This raw feeling just overcame me and I wanted nothing more than to pound the shit out of this bloke and I was furious because she was responding and I had no idea what was happening because I had never felt like that before. Then he put his hand around her and she flinched and I snapped. Literally, punched the guy right in the nose."

She chokes out a laugh. "You never told me this. Why didn't you ever tell me this?"

"Because I didn't want you to think that I'm some possessive prat. I'm not proud of it but it just…happened. I didn't even know what the feeling was, it was just…you know that feeling we get whenever Sammy is hurt or he cries?" Oh God. Yes. It's a gut-wrenching feeling that feels like fire burning a path through their veins. "It was like that. That's how I knew." He clears his throat and sighs, "Molly, what's wrong? Please…please tell me."

"I shouldn't have come on this vacation." She admits to him, she sniffles and wipes at her face. "It hasn't done me any good. If anything it's made me worse and I can't…he's…everywhere."

Her brother is silent. "Sherlock? Are you talking about Sherlock Holmes?"

"Yes." She sobs. "Oh God. I love him. I love him and I don't want to love him because it hurts and I want it to stop hurting because I can't…I can't…not anymore."

"Oh, Molly." Her brother says softly. "It doesn't work like that."

"I know!" She bursts, "but I wish…I wish…I didn't feel so lost. So confused. So sad. He makes me sad. All the time. Every time. Always." She's talking about him in the present tense and she's thankful that her brother doesn't bring it up.

"Molly…I want to tell you that it will be better with time but time…it just makes it worse sometimes, yeah? But one day, you'll wake up and maybe you'll love him a little less than you once did."

That's a scary thought. She doesn't want to love him any less; she just wants him to love her a little more. Or feel something a little more for her. "What if I don't want that to happen?"

"Well then…I did tell you, you're a masochist, right?"

Molly blubbers, a sharp laugh erupting from her throat. "I am." She agrees. "For fuck's sake, I really truly am."

The Hooper siblings laugh until they start crying.


When she hangs up with her brother, she goes into the bathroom and splashes cold water on her face. She looks at herself in the mirror as she dries her face and she sighs. She looks like a mess. Her eyes are bloodshot and swollen, her cheeks are flushed and she looks tired.

(For her sake, she hopes Sherlock ends whatever this is with Sebastian Moran soon because all she wants is to go home and forget this God forsaken vacation ever happened. Maybe she'll delete it, just like she knows he probably will.)

She walks back into the room and jumps when she sees Sherlock seated on the edge of the bed. Oh. Oh. Her heart starts to speed up again and Molly knows in that moment that she'll never delete this. She'll never delete him or how the rings feel around her finger.

She wants to leave. She wants to scurry into the kitchen, the garden, the village, Switzerland. Anywhere that will put distance between them. But she doesn't. She's frozen in place, staring at him as he looks at her. He looks…wounded. Tired and Molly suddenly feels ashamed for her attitude over the past few days. Because no matter how horrible she's feeling, it probably doesn't compare to how he's feeling. He's been on the run for the past two and a half years, trying to protect them all (and yes, she thinks, that does include me too), he's spent the past two and a half years trying to clear his name and to finally be able to come back home and Molly is acting like a spoiled rotten little shit.

"Do I truly hurt you that much?" He asks, his baritone voice echoes throughout the room, even though it's softer than it normal is.

She wants to tell him no. She wants to tell him that she knows he doesn't mean it, that he can't help it, that it's who he is and she accepts him for it but she can't. So, instead, she tries for the truth. "Yes." She wonders how much of her conversation he heard and she's cursing herself for being so stupid.

They're silent for a few moments, both of them not saying anything and Molly sighs and moves to walk out of the room and into the kitchen, or the garden, or the village, or Switzerland. She can walk to Switzerland from here, can't she?

She doesn't get far, Sherlock reaches out and grabs her wrist, fingers firmly pressed against her pulse. She knows what he feels. Her blood is pumping furiously into her body.

"I hurt you, yet you still feel for me." He doesn't ask it as a question. Just an inquiry and his eyes are inquisitive, as if asking why. Why, Molly? Why put yourself through the trouble of loving me?

To which Molly will always answer, because I just do. "Yes." She breathes. "Always."

He walks closer to her, hand still clasped around her wrist. "Molly, I…" He trails off, unable to finish his sentence but Molly finds that he doesn't have to. With Sherlock, actions always speak louder. Molly's always known this and she thinks that's another reason why she loves him. He can use his words for cruelty but when it really counts, he'll show you your worth. He clears his throat and a small smile tugs across his lips. "You're wearing my shirt."

Am I? She looks down and realizes that yes, she is indeed, wearing one of his white button-down shirts. "Sorry." She says.

"Don't be." His fingers come up and unbutton the shirt, until it's open. She's not wearing a bra underneath the shirt, just a pair of black cotton panties. His soft, warm hands trails from her hips up her torso and his hands cup her breasts.

She gasps and arches towards him. And then she opens her eyes. "Sherlock." She needs to leave. She needs to walk away and out the door and never come back. She should leave. That would be the smart thing to do because Molly…Molly can't take any more heartbreak. She can't take it. She won't…she can't. "If we do this," she says, her voice is shaky, "I don't think…there's no going back."

His eyes widen and he nods. He looks unsure of himself and for once Molly thinks that he and she are on the same playing level.

She takes his hands off her breasts and clasps them in her own hands and then tugs him to the bed.

For the first time, Sherlock Holmes follows her.


It's in the middle of the day and she's not surprised that it's raining. The curtains are open and Molly wants to get up and close them, to shield them from any prying eyes but she finds that she can't. Partly because she doesn't want to but mainly because she really can't.

Sherlock is trailing his mouth down her body, placing open mouth kisses. His mouth latches onto her left nipple, sucking and biting and then switching to her right one. She's gasping and moaning and arching her back because this is happening. This isn't one of her dreams. And oh God, it feels glorious.

She whimpers when she feels his fingers, feather light over her panties and she grips his biceps when he pushes her panties aside and slides his index finger over her, swirling in her warmth. She thrusts her hip, trying to encourage him to go deeper but he pulls his fingers away. He lifts his face from her breasts and there's a smirk on his face and she can't help but laugh.

"Sherlock, please." She breathes.

He's still clothed and his shirt slides along her hardened nipples, causing an undeniable friction. "Please what, Molly?" He asks, his mouth close to hers. They're not kissing, just sharing the same breath.

"Well, for one. You can take off your clothes." And then touch me and never stop.

She struggles to get into a seated position, back against the headboard. She still has his shirt on, unbuttoned and spread apart and she watches as he sits back and takes off his shirt, trousers and pants.

He's beautiful. He's so beautiful. She thinks it should be a crime to be this beautiful. His body is littered from barely there scars and Molly thinks they make him even more beautiful. She knows now, why women call some men living Gods.

His fingers are in the waist of her panties and he pulls them down over her hips, thighs, legs, through her feet and tosses them on the floor, to join his pile of clothes. She goes to slip his shirt off of her but he stops her. "Leave it on." He says. His pupils are wide and black and he's looking at her with want and need, it leaves her breathless. She nods, hands reaching for him and pulling him to her, capturing his lips with hers.

He cups her face and kisses her deeply, arms around her waist and holding her in place. She can feel his erection against her thigh and she reaches down and grips him in her hand. He wrenches his mouth away from hers and places his forehead against hers, breath coming out in huffs and puffs as she applies more pressure and less pressure on his pulsing erection. He pulls her hand away from him and shakes his head at her. He kisses her lips, jaw, collarbone, breasts and trails down her stomach.

She's still in a seated position, with her back still against the headboard when his mouth latches onto her core. She lets out a small cry, thrusting her hips upwards. "Oh God. Sherlock." His eyes are open and staring at her, never letting go and Molly finds that she can't look away. Her knees are bent, feet firmly planted on the bed and she's spread open for him and he takes her. His tongue swirling into her depth and heat and she makes mewling noises when he adds a finger and then a second. She explodes, seeing starts when her sucks her small bundle of nerves and curls his finger just so. He laps her up and pulls his head away, eyes dark and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

She pulls him down and kisses him roughly, tasting herself on him.

"Condom." She rasps. "Please tell me there are condoms."

He reaches over to the bedside bureau and opens the drawer, pulling one from the drawer. She frowns and his cheeks flush. Molly doesn't push the subject. She just watches as he slips it on and then pulls her down until she's underneath him.

(God. She hopes he doesn't regret this later, she doesn't think she can take it if he does.)

He enters her with one solid thrust and her entire body stills. Her breath hitches, her heart stops. He takes a moment to suck in a deep breath and then he pumps his hips against hers. Molly can't help but moaning and gasping and she prays. Not to Gods who have never answered her prayers but to Sherlock. Just Sherlock. Always Sherlock. "Sherlock. Sherlock."

His hands hold her hips tightly enough to bruise but Molly doesn't care. She wraps her legs around his waist and her hands are in his hair, running down his back, clutching his arse trying to pull him deeper inside of her.

He's grunting and he's kissing her with intensity. He sucks at her neck and she whimpers as she feels a familiar burning sensation. "Molly. Molly. Molly." He repeats her name over and over again and she knows the way his thrusts are speeding up that he's close to the edge.

She slides one hand down their attached bodies and touches herself, she can hear him groan and one of his hands comes off her hip and grips her free left hand. Molly turns her face and sees their interlaced hands, their ring fingers clasped tightly to each other, mirroring one another.

"Sherlock." She pants and she turns her face back to him only to find him staring at the rings with wonderment and when he looks at her, he smiles, a full-blown smile that turns into an O and he stretches out against her and growls out her name. Molly shrieks as her orgasm slams against her not even seconds later.

They're both panting and staring at each other. He pulls out of her and rolls onto his back. Without hesitation, he pulls her towards him without saying a word and she rests her head atop his chest, where his heart lies and listens to it beat rapidly.

(It doesn't slow down.)


Molly wakes a few hours later to her body feel sore. She's naked and confused for a moment before it hits her. Oh. I just had sex with Sherlock and it was everything I thought it would be. She looks to her side and sees the space next to her empty.

She bites her lip and ignores the stinging in her eyes. She reaches for her panties, pulls them on and strips off his shirt and pulling one of her long jumpers on. She sits back down on the bed and takes a few deep breaths. She sees him come to stand in the doorway. He's fully dressed. She looks away.

"Moran has been spotted. He's here and I have to…Molly…I won't be long."

"It'll end then?" She asks softly. She's not just asking about his quest to bring down Jim's network. She's asking about this. About what just happened hours earlier.

He grabs her hand and pulls her towards him. "This…will not go back to the way it used to be. Do you understand me?"

She bites her lip and nods. Yes. She understands him. Kind of. Not really. She'll no doubt go over it while he's gone.

He leans down and kisses her softly on the lips.

And then he's gone.


She's in the kitchen, her back to the door when she hears it open. "Back already?" She calls out.

Sherlock doesn't answer and Molly turns around and lets out a small yelp as she takes in the man standing before her.

It's the same man who shared the awning with her. The tall blonde one, built like a house with dark eyes and dimples. "Hello Molly. I've heard a lot about you. Do you know who I am?"

She looks at him intently and then suddenly she's overcome with a memory.

"Who's he?" She asks Jim.

"Hmm?" Jim asks her, arms around her waist.

She gestures her head to his phone that vibrates with a picture of a blonde man with dark eyes and dimples. "Him. And shouldn't you answer it?"

"No. He can wait. And him, he's…well…he's Seb."

"Boyfriend?" She teases him and laughs when he kisses her deeply.

Jim runs a hand through his hair and shrugs. "He's the Watson to my Sherlock."

"That's…cute. You know, he's kind of cute."

Jim grins like the Cheshire cat. "You think? I'll be sure to introduce you two then."

Oh God. Oh God. Oh. God. "Seb." She breathes. His eyes hardened and she scrambles to correct herself. "Sebastian Moran."

"Jim spoke highly of you. He told me that I wasn't to kill you."

"Then why are you here?" She asks, her voice surprisingly strong even though she feels like her body is going to explode with nerves and fear.

He chuckles. "Oh. He said I wasn't to kill you. Not that I couldn't break you."

There's a pause and then lunges at her.

(Molly always knew that one of these days; one of Sherlock's favors would be the death of her.)


What a cliffie! You all hate me don't you? LOL. Hopefully you won't be in suspense too long. There's two more chappies after this guys. Two. More.

Also…sex scenes…not really my thing but I mean…hopefully it was good since I'm kind of blushing like mad right now.

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