Soft tapping noise. A yellow light. A scent of freshly washed sheets. A soft pillow, softer than usual. A pencil scratching on paper. Tapping noise again.
Molly yawned, covering her mouth with her hand, and slowly opened her eyes. The first thing that she saw was a white ceiling, followed by dark blue walls covered with pictures and a large wardrobe. She turned her head slightly and saw Sherlock lying on his stomach on his large bed, sketching something in a notebook. He raised his eyes from the paper and met her eyes.
"Morning," he greeted and lowered his head back to the work at hand.
Molly nodded sleepily from the mattress on the floor and massaged her right shoulder, which had gone stiff because she had slept on it. Pushing the blanket off, she rose and with another big yawn she grabbed her clothes and cosmetics bag and went across Sherlock's room to his bathroom.
After she had cleared herself up, she went back, folded her blanket neatly and put her pajamas, which were actually just a vest and a pair of shorts, under the pillow.
After thinking for a moment what to do next, she sat on the bed next to Sherlock and tried to peek over his shoulder to see what he was so intensely drawing. Before she could even see a glimpse, Sherlock had closed his notebook with a snap.
"I can't see?" Molly pouted.
Sherlock rose and put the sketch in his desk drawer. "Nope," he said, popping the 'p'.
Molly's smile dropped. "Oh."
Sherlock stood for a moment, uncertain. "Let's go down. Mummy is probably waiting for us. She's an early riser." He walked to the door and opened it, tapping his bare foot on the floor.
Molly followed him and they went downstairs to the kitchen, where Violet was indeed waiting for them, table prepared with a pile of pancakes and a bowl in the centre, filled with large chocolate eggs.
"Happy Easter, dears! I hope you slept well, Molly love!" Mrs. Holmes asked immediately when she saw her, being the polite host she was.
"I did! Thank you," she replied. "Happy Easter!"
The three of them sat behind the kitchen table and Violet put a plate in front of both of them. They ate the pancakes in a comfortable silence, chewing on them slowly, savouring the magnificent flavour.
After wiping their fingers, Mrs. Holmes started handing out the huge chocolate eggs.
"That one is for you, Sherlock. And this is yours, Molly dear," she said.
Sherlock's egg was dark blue with bronze stars and Molly's was a yellow one with bumblebees. The boy seemed to be indifferent, but the ladies saw through his suppressed smile. His mouth twitched a little as he thanked his mummy, eyes sparkling.
Molly was overjoyed about her egg. It was cute and colourful, just as she liked things. It was a pity to eat them, but in the end, they had destroyed them.
That day wasn't so bright and sunny anymore, but it was still warm. A few lonely rays of light peeked out between the clouds, so that the weather didn't look gloomy and dark, but rather nice.
Molly and Sherlock helped Mrs. Holmes clean up after breakfast and then descended back to Sherlock's room, so that he could show her his research, that they had been too tired to look at last night, after eating dinner and both of them reading their books before going to bed.
Now they were both sitting on Sherlock's bed, parchments and photos surrounding them, delved deep in the information. Sherlock explained Molly what facts he had searched out and how he found what was their cause and how to prevent them or to use them in his advantage.
Molly was extremely interested in everything he said, listening the boy's deep resonating voice almost devotedly, swallowing his every word, asking questions now and then if she didn't understand or if she wanted to know more.
The reason why Sherlock was such a good friend with her was that she was very intelligent. She never complained about him or his erratic behaviour, she didn't annoy him with stupidity like others and she was observant, sometimes seeing things that even slipped from under Sherlock's attention. And even though she was a bit clumsy, she was also very elegant in her own way. He sometimes caught himself looking at her swift wand movements and her skills in making potions, cutting and stirring with extreme precision.
Sherlock's explanations were lively - very few people were genuinely interested in what he did. John was undoubtedly his best friend, but it was very often that he couldn't follow Sherlock's train of thought and the reasons behind some of his actions. That's why he searched out the company of Molly. She wasn't one to blindly follow out of loyalty, but instead helped him to reason and then carry out the actions himself. He just found it more helpful.
That was why he had entrusted her with the knowledge of his personal wishes and dreams. He knew that she would understand them and support him, giving valuable tips and even helping to carry them out.
He had told her about his dream of becoming a consulting detective and she had been enraptured by the idea. The thought of creating a whole new profession to fit his wishes seemed brilliant to her, because with a mind as wide as Sherlock's, the society's boundaries wouldn't have let him evolve and would have kept him stuck in one place, driving him crazy.
So Sherlock knew that Molly was someone who showed genuine interest in what he did, which made him quite eager to show her his discoveries. He knew that although her mind would sometimes wonder into far-off places, she would always return to his track of thought.
At the moment he could see her watching his mouth, not particularly listening to him talking about his theory of splinches in different body areas and how they were connected to the time, place and way of apparating. Molly's consistent staring made him blush, but he elected to ignore it instead of snapping at her, because he knew that she wasn't thinking about what she was doing.
After some time she snapped out of it, Sherlock noticing her eyes that turned straight to her lap and her small dreamy smile, which made him smirk.
The day went by fast and nicely. Sherlock and Molly had cleaned Artemis's personal owlery, that Sherlock's father had built for her when she had just been a huge ball of down. It had been filled with bones of both small and big animals. Being the huge hunter she was, she had shown off to them, flying over their heads, dropping the mostly eaten corpses to their feet.
It was good that they weren't so easily bothered by dead bodies or the work would have taken a lot longer.
In the evening when they were getting ready to go to sleep, Molly went to the bathroom to prepare for bed. She washed her face and put on the cream that she had bought from Madam Primpernelle's Beautifying Potions shop in Diagon Alley. Mary had recommended it to her and she continued to use it even now, when her skin was in perfect condition and not struggling with acne.
Molly brushed her teeth and combed her long hair, letting it down for the night so it flowed like a curtain down her back. When she proceeded to change into her nightwear, she discovered that she had left her shorts under the pillow.
"Oh great," Molly muttered, put on her vest and grabbed her bag and clothes.
She slowly breathed in. When she opened the bathroom door, she saw that Sherlock was drawing in his notebook again. Molly carefully sneaked in the room, closing the door behind her.
Hearing the squeak of the floorboards, Sherlock lifted his gaze. The first thing he saw were a pair of slim and pale legs, then some lacy underwear and then the profusely blushing face of Molly. His eyes wondered down again as he took in the magnificent view. He may have been inexperienced and not interested, but he was still a man and right now, when he could see so much of something he had dreamed about, he couldn't tear his gaze away.
Molly could feel her body temperature rising under Sherlock's observant eyes. When she saw that he was not going to stop looking, she threw the bundle of clothes at his face. He shook himself out of it and took the jeans, shirt and her matching lacy bra out of his face, holding the bra up with one finger hooked under the strap, smirking.
Molly blushed even deeper and grabbed the clothes back, immediately diving beneath her sheets on the mattress. After some wiggling she got her shorts on and turned her face back towards the bed, cheeks still pink.
Sherlock had closed his notebook and put it away, so now he was lying in the middle of his double-bed, facing Molly.
They just looked at each other for some time, both knowing how they felt about it. That it wasn't just friendship that was between them. They both were attracted to each other both romantically and sexually and they guessed and hoped that it was returned. They were inexperienced, neither had had a partner in their life, and they didn't know how to proceed. So for the moment, they just looked at each other until sleep claimed them, hoping that tomorrow will bring some clearance between them.