Her chin held slightly higher than normal, Molly took a few confident strides into the cottage. She felt strong, commanding. She rather liked this side of herself.
It was when her feet slid out from under her did she realize she might have been too hasty in being proud of the new her. Her sensible heels skidded on something slick and she flailed wildly, searching for some kind of purchase, as she inevitably fell backward.
Thankfully something caught her before she embarrassed herself. Then the relief left her. It wasn't "something" that had caught her. It was someone.
"Really, Molly, you should look where you're stepping." Sherlock's arms were wrapped around her waist and his breath was warm on her ear. This was a type of closeness she had never experienced, in reality at least, and it made her want to rage against the heavens because her heart beat faster, her palms began to sweat, and her stomach fluttered. She wouldn't put it past Sherlock to notice these things. If he did, he'd think he'd have an advantage over her. That all he had to do was touch the base of her neck or smile at her in a certain way and she'd be putty in his hands. This was true, of course, but she needed to assert a certain amount of control if she was going to make it out of this cottage with her heart intact.
He helped her stand and she cursed whatever it was that had made her slip.
He waved eloquent fingers towards the floor. "I was upset about not getting a decent cup of coffee. I'm sure you heard that part of the one-sided conversation out there. Even a child could figure out that there could potentially be an angrily discarded cup of coffee somewhere in the house and that one should be careful when stepping inside."
Molly's hands turned into fists as he sidestepped the puddle of coffee and disappeared into a room on the right.
She fell against the wall next to her and looked up at the ceiling, praying for patience.
His voice echoed out of the room, "If you're really staying, Molly, would you like some coffee?"
She was stunned, to say the least. Was Sherlock Holmes actually suggesting that he would make coffee for her, make her feel comfortable?
Her head rolled toward the doorway he'd gone into and it startled her when he stuck only his head out to look at her with eyebrows raised and a questioning glimmer in his eyes.
"That would be lovely, Sherlock," she said on a sigh.
"I agree," he said and a genuine smile took over his mouth. "I'll have it black, two sugars as you remember, I'm sure."