Part Four

His lips were parted.

His mouth was poised to speak.

But more so he was trying not to laugh. Laugh at the whirlwind that was his wife as she tore about their bedroom.

"Where the hell is my shoe? Sherlock stop staring at me and help me look for it! You didn't steal it to perform experiments on it did you?" She was standing at the edge of their bed, hands on her hips, waiting for an answer.

"What? No! No I did not! I promised that I wouldn't do any experiments on your things!" He sat up reaching out to grab her.

"Oh no you don't! You made me late for work the passed three days! I'm not letting that happen again!"

He leaned back into his pillow, pouting.

"Find yourself a case, you ridiculous man! I know your inbox is bursting. AHA!" She found her shoe and slipped it on.

"Trivial," he spat out. "Your body is far more fascinating than any case. I do like discovering the reactions I can get out of you when I touch you in certain places, in certain ways."

Molly simply shook her head. "Incorrigible."

He pouted again when she kissed him quickly and hurried out of his grasp. He had hoped that he had convinced her to stay.

An hour later he found himself a case; a case that required him to go to the morgue at Bart's. Perhaps he was a little too pleased by this fact. Molly was filling out forms when he strolled in. She was not surprised by his presence for he had sent her a text beforehand, her face lit up at the sight of him.

"Hi!" she said cheerily.

He smiled at her, but her expression changed slightly when she saw that Detective Inspector Lestrade and Sergeant Donovan had come in behind him.

"Oh! Hello Greg, Sally."

After they said their hellos, Molly turned to Sherlock. "You want to see Mr. Chekhov, correct?"

"Yes. His wife is rather distraught and convinced that he was murdered and did not die of a heart attack. I believe that this is true, and that she is in fact the murderer."

Sgt. Donovan crossed her arms over her chest and let out a loud huff. "Oh come off it Freak! The spouse can't be the guilty party every time!"

Sherlock was never one to visibly wince, but Molly could always see what others did not. She slammed down the files she had been sifting through, causing everyone to jump. She spun around so that she was facing Sally, her eyes filled with rage. "Will you please stop calling my husband rude names?"

Sally's mouth dropped open, as did Lestrade's.

"Hu-husband?" Sally spluttered. "You two are married? To each other?" She threw her hands up in the air. "The world has gone mad!" Turning on her heel she hurried out of the morgue.

Lestrade hadn't moved, and his mouth was still hanging open. "Well … I … congratulations?"

Sherlock hadn't taken his eyes off of Molly. He took a step towards her. "Lestrade." He took another step. "I would highly recommend leaving now, unless you wish to see me kissing my wife."

Lestrade started to back away. "Right uhh … talk to you later. Molly." With that said, he too was gone.

Sherlock moved to hold her face in his hands. "You defended me."

She reached up and placed her hands over his. "Yes. Of course I did."

"I love you, Molly Holmes."

Her eyes widened. It was the first time he had ever spoken those words. She hadn't ever expected him to. She didn't need him to. She knew that he did. "I love you too."

He pressed his lips to hers and it was the slowest and sweetest kiss he had ever given her. But she wanted more. Slipping her hands into his hair she deepened the kiss. He groaned into her mouth as he pressed his body into hers, causing her to bump into the autopsy table.

"Sherlock, this is highly inappropriate!"

"Since when is it inappropriate for a husband to kiss his wife?" he groused.

"When they're in a morgue!" she stated firmly.

He sniffed. "Fine! Then let me take you home where the setting will be more appropriate.'' His hands were on either side of her now, palms pressed into the table, locking her in.

"Sherlock, I'm working! I can't just leave! And you're working too! What about your case?"

"Solved it. I told you, it was the wife!"

He leaned down to kiss her again, but Molly shook her head.

"No."

He reared back, looking affronted. "No? No! You're not supposed to be able to resist me!"

She laughed at his exasperated expression.

"My abilities are slipping! You've ruined me!" He started to pout.

"There will be none of that!" She quickly ducked under his arm, stepping away from him.

"Don't you have an office?" he enquired.

"Yes."

He smiled, clasping his hands behind his back. "Well … can't we?"

"NO!"

He pouted again. "Why not?"

"Because I'm supposed to be working!"

"Just once?"

"NO."

He put on his best puppy-dog expression. "Please?"

"Sherlock!"

He moved so that he had her pressed up against the table again. She placed her hands on his chest, trying to hold him back.

"I know your office door has a lock on it. And that it is no where near anyone else's," he said to her in a low tone.

She chewed her bottom lip. Damn him for knowing exactly what his voice did to her! "You really are the most insufferable man," she grumbled out.

He smiled smugly. "I did warn you!" Then his eyes widened slightly. "Is that – is that a yes?"

She nodded her head before pulling him in for a passionate kiss. Her hands started wandering and he felt as if his brain was starting to short-circuit. "Molly…"

She seemed to have forgotten the idea of her office. As much as he wanted her, needed her, he didn't exactly like the fact that anyone could walk in on them at any moment. He gently pushed her, pulling her hands away.

"Office. Now," he gasped out.

She nodded again, taking his hand in hers and leading him out of the morgue. What a sight the pair of them would be if anyone had come walking down the hall! It wasn't every day that you saw Sherlock Holmes being led, practically dragged, by a very determined looking Molly.

They reached her office and she slammed the door shut behind them, locking it. He smirked at her, loving the fact that he worked her up as much as she worked up him. She nudged him towards her desk, the backs of his knees bumping into it.

"You have a half an hour, Mr. Holmes."

"Half an hour? That's it?"

She began to unbutton her blouse. "Yes. So let's get started."