Welp, here's me, just saying how much I love that you're all loving this story. Honestly, I wasn't sure with the last chapter, how it would go over or something, but you all seemed to enjoy it...so that is good. :D
Once again, if you'll all turn your attention to the sign on the wall that says 'I DON'T OWN THIS'. Thank you.
Gluttony
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Gluttony: /glʌtənɪ/ n. 1. The act or practice of eating to excess.
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Molly had just finished scrubbing her hands, after spending nearly an hour dissecting Mr. Williams' body for his postmortem. The family had suspected foul play, and demanded an immediate autopsy be performed. However, Molly had barely needed to crack the man open to determine the actual cause of his demise. The large belly was her first clue. And when she finally broke open his ribcage to get to his organs, she was certain. 'Yup. Massive heart attack. One too many steaks for you, eh Mr. Williams?' Her mind joked. Molly had a slight chuckle at her own humor, when she was scared out of her wits.
"Only you would laugh during a man's postmortem, Molly." The low and distinct baritone cut through the chilled morgue air. She shook her head and laughed a bit as she turned around.
"I'm not the only one. You do it, too." She stated a bit proudly. Sherlock opened his mouth to argue, before clamming back up. She was right.
"Anyway," She spoke again, "I made you coffee, did you see my note?" She asked. Her voice was timid, almost shy, but kind all the same. Sherlock nodded his head.
"Yes, I did. Thank you. I was actually wanting another cup." He stated, holding out the empty Styrofoam for her to see. His internal John scolded him for his choice of words, so he added, "If it's not too much trouble." Molly smiled and shook her head.
"Oh no, not too much trouble at all. I'll go get some for you." She nodded, before leaving to fix his next cup for him. As she left, she missed the almost excited look his features held.
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John had finally tracked his best friend down, and discovered that he had been in the company of the meek pathologist of St. Bart's all day.
"Hey, I hope he's not been too rude. Are we still on for supper? I can...ya know, uninvite him, if it's easier on you." John had managed to pull her aside and out of earshot of the clever man.
"Oh no! He's fine. If anything, I think we need to keep him around tonight. He's been nice, surprisingly pleasant, even. Keeps asking me to make him coffee, instead of demanding it." Molly said with a hushed excitement, as she looked over at a focused Sherlock. John looked over as well, expecting a devious look to be in place on his friend's face. What he found instead, was almost more frightening. The man held a calm, almost serene, smile in place, as he sipped from a medium sized foam cup. John watched as his friend finished the drink, and set the empty cup on the counter top next to him. Without looking up, he spoke.
"Molly, could you make me some more coffee?" His voice sounded...sweet? Nice? And John could tell, it wasn't falsely kind either.
"Are...are you sure? That is your tenth cup, not including this morning's." Molly asked, a bit worried for the unusually peppy detective. John's eyebrows rose high on his forehead, looking from Molly to Sherlock. His mouth copied the number quietly, as his mind tried to fathom that amount of caffeine. He decided to step in and intervened.
"Actually, Sherlock, we need to go. I need your help cleaning the kitchen." He stated. At the detective's look of objection, John continued.
"It's either you help, or all your experiments go in the bin." John was secretly pleased at the wide and threatened glare he'd received from the tall and pale man.
"But I want more coffee." He protested quietly.
"Well, I'll make some more when we get home."
"No, I don't want your coffee, John. Only Molly's will do." Sherlock said with a grin, one that lit a fiery blush to the timid woman's cheeks as she looked away to hide her smile. John just rolled his eyes, and shoved his friend toward the door.
"Bye Molly. Thank you for the coffee." Came the bellowing voice, already halfway out the door. Molly giggled and waved to John as he followed suit.
"See you tonight." He said happily, exiting through the door of the lab.
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Molly had knocked on the door only once, before she was practically hauled inside by her friend, Mary Morstan.
"Oh, you're here! I'm so happy!" Mary exclaimed. Molly laughed as her already-tipsy friend hugged her closely. Molly saw the men move in from the kitchen.
"Ah, good. You're here. We can eat." Sherlock said in a pleasant tone. Everyone's eyes were wide at him.
"Oh, you know what I mean." He said in a sarcastic tone.
"They had chatted throughout supper, the flat filling with laughter from the girls as they regaled John and Sherlock with stories of their uni days. Sherlock idly nibbled on the food they'd prepared, but was more than happy to finish his wine quickly, readying the glass for more. No one had noticed as he poured himself another generous glass of wine. He sat back, content in observing the social scene and conversation between the other three.
However, by the time he had finished his sixth glass, Sherlock's attention had zeroed in Molly alone. It was when they had all gone to say goodnight, hours later, that anyone noticed the oddly relaxed and silent detective.
"Sherlock? How much wine did you have?" John asked. Sherlock looked at him with blurry and hazed vision.
"Um...si-ven. Sev'n." Was what had slurred from his lips. Mary bit back a giggle, while John sighed out in defeat. He turned to his girlfriend, and took her hand in his.
"Listen, Mary. I know we are going to, you know...tonight. But I can't leave him like this. He's been acting so strange lately, and I'm not sure what's wrong with him, but...leaving him in this state...no." John explained with a solemn expression.
"I can look after him." Molly offered up sweetly. John had a skeptical brow, but Molly simply chose to persist.
"Please, this is a very special night for you both. No sense in wasting all that planning, right?" Mary's smile beamed at John, who took several minutes before finally nodding in agreement.
"But if you need help, at all, please call." He added. Molly pushed them both for the door.
"Yes, alright. Now get out of here." She said with a laugh. Mary had quickly left through the main door of 221. Molly turned to see Sherlock staggering into the room.
"Alright, let's get you into bed, Mister 'Doesn't know when to quit'." She said as she walked over and lightly helped him keep his balance. They made their way back to his bedroom, where Molly turned on the light as she kept a hand on his arm. She carefully helped him out of his suit jacket, and turned him around to have him sit on the bed. She was not expecting him to be responsive at all. She certainly was not expecting him to suddenly lean down and sloppily catch her lips with his own. Molly squeaked out of surprise by his actions, while a drowsy Sherlock let out a moan of pure pleasure. After some effort, she pushed him away, causing him to fall back onto the bed in a dull thud. She bend down, untying his shoes and carefully removing them. His heavy legs were a bit tricky, as she hoisted them onto the mattress. She could hear him quietly mumbling something.
"What's that, Sherlock?" Molly asked.
"You...you're pret...beau-fl, really...don't know it, but y' are." His words were hopelessly slurred together, almost incoherently leaving his lips. However, Molly caught the gist of his statement, and blushed immediately.
"Just get some rest." She said as she made her way to leave. Suddenly, a hand snatched her wrist and pulled her. She fell onto his chest, and blushed as she looked up at his half closed eyes.
"Can you pet me?" He asked innocently. Molly's eyes went wide, as she looked side to side, seeking an answer from the room itself. It wasn't a moment later, when the drunk genius had her hand in his grasp, and began making it roughly 'pet' his head, running over the top of his curls. Molly caught on, and made him loosen his grip on her.
"Oh, o-okay, Sherlock." Molly stood up, and moved over to the other side of his large bed. She sat on the edge and toed her shoes off, before flipping her legs up onto the mattress beside his. Sherlock was immediately curling into her, his arms wrapping tightly around her middle. Just like a cat, he nudged his head against her hand, wordlessly begging for attention. Molly wove her fingers through his hair, her fingernails raking along his scalp lightly. He hummed out a low growl of approval, and relaxed further. As she ran her hands deeper into his curls, she hit a bump. Quite literally, a very hard, and large goose egg of a bump, somewhere on the back of the detective's head. He hissed in pain.
"Headache, Molly." Came the slurred snarl.
"I'm sorry." she said with a quiet tone. After a moment, she decided to ask.
"Did you hit your head or something?" She was answered with a dull snore, and a soft, albeit seductive, moan. Molly felt the blush creep onto her skin, as she had never heard any man make such a sound, much less this man. Soon, he was fast asleep, Molly not far behind in her own tracks of slumber.
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Well then, Let me explain. Lol. I wanted to write this chapter to be true with the definition of the word, but this is Sherlock Holmes we're talking about. He hardly eats, so it wouldn't make much sense to have him devour a dinner...but, the man DOES like his coffee...and well, everyone likes wine, right? Teehee. Anyway, SEE YOU NEXT CHAPTER! One sin left to go...;)