Idiot

"Wha- what was that for?"

Parted lips, laboured breathing, flushed cheeks, dilated pupils; all the physical responses he expected, but the emotional response to said action was unexpected, "I – I apologise," he said with furrowed brows, making his escape, as the damage was done.

Sherlock threw himself into a taxi; roughly opening the buttons of his shirt, for air seemed difficult to digest, as he felt the furious beatings of his heart. He ignored the flutter, the blood flow, and the shot of pain.

It was easy to ignore.

After all, he'd been doing it for years.


She is bent over the paperwork, brown eyes narrowed to read out the small font, her stance relaxed, until she snaps into an upright position at the creak of the door.

Gaping mouth, pink spots in cheek, "Oh," she said, "Hello."

"Molly – lovely to see you – have you gotten the test results for a Mr Maxwell?" he said – smile wide, and a general air of nice.

"Um – actually-," she starts, and her eyes are anxious. He sees the faint flicker in the brown, the turn towards the exact spot where he –

"A child's life is on stake here – I do think that's more important than – a lunch date? After all it will most likely be a disappointing one anyway," he said, adding a swift "Thank you."

He doesn't wait for her to agree, he only views the crinkle between her brows, dismissing the small mumble from her lips, and let's her walk off to fetch the results, "What was that for?"

The coat is halfway off when he sees John with crossed arms, "Sorry?" He forgot he was there for a second, and he finds himself swallowing at the choice of words his flatmate uses.

"Christ – fine, right - just go on then," said John with a loud sigh.

"No, John – do tell – since obviously it takes precedence over this?"

Raised brows, and a pursed mouth – are soon followed by, "She's your friend."

"I'm well aware."

"Do you think you could try to be a bit nicer?"

"I am nice."

"No, you bloody well aren't."

"Fine."

"Ok, good."

She returns with the papers, hands them to him silently, "Thank you, Molly."

"You're welcome-," she said drawing back. Regularly she'd hover, ask if she's needed, but her back is displaying itself instead.

"I apologise if I upset you," he said rather hurriedly, and she wheels around at that.

"I didn't mind – I mean I don't mind," she said with wide eyes at her mistake, as John stands puzzled in the background, "And I wasn't…there is no date."

"Oh," he said, releasing breath he did not know he kept, directing his eyes to the papers, pretending he doesn't need a minute to recover – "Why are you wearing lipstick?" His mouth leaps before him, and he watches her faintly smile, making the shade on her lips even more glaringly obvious by the flash of teeth.

John snorts in the background, giving him a warning look, while Molly clutches her hands slightly, "I just – I felt like it," she said, "…I should go, then."

"Stay."


Her hair is parted to the side, there's still a shade of rose to her lips, but it is her own, "Finished then?" she said, rubbing at her eye, soon attempting to disguise her yawn.

"Yes, thank you," he said, "You should go home, Molly."

"Oh, I'm alright," and with that exclamation she yawns wider, soon dissolving into a bout of overtired giggles.

There's a sudden itching inside of him at the sound, he lets his eyes fly above her head, "If you want, I can help."

"I can manage," she said, "It's all right – I'm -," and then she stops talking, her mouth rounding up, as she stares at him, apparently at a loss.

He lets his eyes go to her lips briefly, forcing them on her eyes instead, "If you want?"

"Ok," she said in a much brighter voice.

He holds up the door to the lab, letting her pass, as she releases another yawn, her eyes skirting towards him distractedly.


It's an unknown sensation - the weight of her head on his chest, the softness of her cheek pressed against his shirt, as he feels her softly breathe at his side. His large hand is tangled into her smaller one, and he feels the tiny surge of pleasure drift inside him, untangling the contents, and dissolving the hurt, "Sherlock?" she said with a small voice.

He makes a throaty noise in assent, as he marvels over the softness of her hands, "You're an idiot," she said, and he feels the wide smile into his chest.

Sherlock laughs, neither is he able to stop.