A/N: So something weird has happened to my formatting but I'll just leave what I've post as in – don't want to delete the nice comments (thank you!)
Midnight the same night
Sherlock was almost ready to affect a prison break by the time he heard keys in the door. Rushing over to it, he grabbed Molly by the shoulders.
"What is it? What happened? I've been going mad. Are you alright?"
Before she could get more than a squeak out, he drew her in close and hugged her as if it were an everyday occurrence. It was over almost immediately. Holding her at arms length, his eyes roved over her, looking for clues. Molly knew if she waited long enough, he'd have the whole thing figured out on his own.
"Moriarty's back. He killed a man, got someone to start a post-mortem and planted my hair at the scene. I was held in the police station for a few hours until John went to my flat and found a note left for me that made it clear Moriarty was involved."
"What note? Tell me exactly."
"It was written in lipstick on my shower door and said "I won't leave you off the list this time" – I didn't see it. John cleaned it off once they had samples and photographed it."
"You need to get your locks changed. What sort of lipstick?"
Molly put her hand on Sherlock's arm.
"No, it's ok. John thought of that and has already done it. I've got my new keys right here."
Sherlock seemed satisfied with this aspect.
"What about the lipstick?"
"I don't know. I'll find out for you. Look, I brought us some late dinner. I haven't eaten either."
"What? Oh leave mine there. I don't need anything, not now there's a case to solve."
"Sherlock! You can't do anything about this. You're dead, remember?"
"Yes, but clearly the point of being dead is negated if Moriarty is still threatening my friends and you."
"Why am I in a separate category?"
"Huh?"
"You said "my friends and you". Am I not your friend?"
"Apparently not."
"What does that mean?!"
Her chin was raised defiantly. The change in Molly was obvious. There had been a time when this kind of loaded conversation would have had her nervous, stuttering and blushing, but after all they had been through since the Fall, she was a stronger woman and much better prepared to deal with Sherlock.
"I don't know, but if your ex-boyfriend has upgraded you, perhaps I should reconsider things too."
"Don't give me that crap. Just admit it. You care about me. You just hugged me, for god's sake! You never do that."
Sherlock looked uncomfortable. "I hugged you before."
"Once, after you'd faked your own death and needed comfort doesn't count. And I started that one."
"It counted to me…"
"Oh. Wait. Is this some weird Stockholm Syndrome thing?"
"No! I do have feelings, you know. That was mean. You're not my jailor."
"Sorry – it's just very weird to hear you admit that, Sherlock. You've previously looked down on us mere mortals with our emotional feelings towards others."
"Well, I've had a lot of time to think in here. I was really worried this evening when you didn't come. You've been my only real contact with the world for so long now. Maybe I will have that dinner," adding, almost as an afterthought, "Will you stay here with me tonight?"
"Absolutely, my flat needs a night alone. Moriarty was in my bathroom. Who knows what else he did?"
"Fine. You can have the couch."
"Rubbish – while you get a whole double-bed to yourself. I don't think so! I've brought pyjamas…we can share the bed."
And that was how Molly and Sherlock found themselves sleeping in the same bed. They both changed in separate rooms. It was all very platonic but once they were actually in the bed, it didn't take long for Molly to scoot over and cuddle into Sherlock. He didn't even mind. Much.
*o***o*
Molly awoke to the sound of her mobile ringing. It was out in the living room. Attempting to move, she realised that Sherlock's arms were wrapped around her.
OH.
No wonder she slept so soundly. This hugging thing seemed to be escalating. As much as she wanted to stay cuddled up with him for, well, forever, it wasn't a good idea to leave her phone unanswered after the events of the previous few days. Molly broke free of his arms, waking him as she did, and got out of the bed. The phone had stopped ringing by the time she got to it. John had left a voicemail.
"Hi Molly. It's John. I'm just checking in with you after last night. Hope you slept ok. I'll call into you at work later for a chat. Bye."
If only he knew how she had slept…
Sherlock emerged from the bedroom rubbing his eyes. His ubiquitous blue dressing gown already back in place. He mumbled something about coffee and made for the kitchen.
"That was John, checking up on me." She followed him into the kitchen, glad she had the morning off work and didn't need to rush away. Wearing the same clothes as the night before would be to raise an eyebrow on the kindest of people.
The smell of the percolating coffee had restored Sherlock's power of speech.
"John wouldn't notice something like that."
Damn him, can he always read my mind? Out loud, she added, "Actually, you're wrong. Most people are attuned to that kind of thing but usually because they suspect it means juicy gossip."
"I don't understand."
"Wearing yesterday's clothes means you slept somewhere away from home unexpectedly. What's the most likely reason for that, Sherlock?"
He looked pensive.
"Oh I see. You're talking about drunken sex with random strangers."
"Well, the drunk part isn't always a given. It might just be unplanned. For example, someone who saw me arrive after midnight last night and leave this morning could reasonably conclude that I'd scored the agoraphobic violinist who lives here."
"Ordinary people would conclude that but I wouldn't."
"Well, you know the truth obviously."
"No, I mean, even if I were just seeing you in the corridor, I could tell."
"How?" Molly did love to hear how he deduced these things.
"Well, for a start, you don't look tired, so you've obviously had a good night's sleep, rather than a debauched night of passion."
Molly giggled at such a ridiculous phrase.
"Secondly, you brought sleeping attire, which you would not have bothered with in the other scenario."
"No one could tell the contents of my bag…that's cheating, Sherlock," she interrupted.
"Quiet, I'm not finished."
"Hmm, now what else? Oh yes, you'd have swollen or chapped lips…possibly some lovebites…and a self-satisfied grin," he concluded.
"All of those things could be explained away by other reasons."
"I don't think people fall down on their neck very often!" he laughed at his own joke.
"Well, whatever you think, I'm in no hurry to test out your theories. The last thing we need is John getting ideas," Molly shuddered at the notion.
"Maybe it's time for my resurrection. Moriarty clearly knows I'm alive – everyone else may as well too."
"Do not even go there! I haven't spent all this time trying to keep you alive and worrying only to have you expose the secret now. Let Moriarty graffiti my shower…if that's the worst that happens, I can deal."
"That's the problem though. It's far from the worst that could happen. I'm not letting him get to you."
"It's sweet of you to be so concerned, Sherlock, but I'm still getting dressed now and heading home. I'll call in tomorrow."
"But we have no way of contacting each other in an emergency."
"He'll hardly try anything again so soon. I'll arrange to see John and spend the evening with him, if that will make you feel better."
"I feel fine! But that is acceptable. I'm going to spend the day planning my return."
Molly shrugged – he was a grown man, even if he didn't always behave that way, and she couldn't stop him. She took her coffee back to the bedroom and dressed in yesterday's clothes, smiling as she imagined John's reaction if he knew she'd shared a bed with Sherlock.
When she returned, he was sitting in a chair, idly strumming his violin in full-on thinking mode.
"Sherlock, I'm off now."
She didn't anticipate any answer, so was surprised to find him stand up and hug her again. This hug lasted longer and had just the right amount of squeeze for someone as tiny as Molly. Even more unexpected was the whisper of "be careful" into her hair. She pulled away, confusion evident in her eyes, wisely deciding not to speak and left before she could change her mind. Sherlock stood there just as perplexed. Today's thoughts would involve more than planning his return.