Sherlolly Fanfiction - New Order

Chapter 7 - You've Laid Your Hands Upon Me


The next morning, Molly felt considerably better. She had slept extremely soundly. Her headache was still being warned off by the ibuprofen she had taken yesterday - she would need to take another dose with breakfast or coffee - or whatever Sherlock had in the morning.

She stretched out of bed and walked towards the door, catching her reflection in the mirror slightly and noticing that it would be a good idea to sort out her hair before she went to greet Sherlock.

After she looked what could be termed 'decent', she walked through to the kitchen, expecting to see a clean, awake, sparky and undeniably beautiful, Sherlock sipping at some coffee or on his laptop.

This was not the case.

At all.

What she found was a very rugged looking man in a loose grey t-shirt and stripy pajama bottoms. He was sitting at the table, with his head pressed on the table, shielded by one of his skinny, but muscular arms and the other was stretched out, lengthily, over to the other side, holding a cup of very strong black coffee.

The most crucial element of this was that he seemed to be asleep.

His chest moved up and down slowly and every now and then you could hear a light snore.

Molly chuckled very quietly to herself and closed the door to his bedroom. Slowly, slowly, slowly - SLAM!

The sleeping man's curly mop of a head flicked up and looked straight at Molly. The look on his face was something to behold.

Molly bit her lip and mouthed 'sorry' at Sherlock, who was now blinking very slowly.

Strands of hair were stuck to his face with - was that dribble? - and the rest of his hair was a mass of black, tangled, curls. She wondered how he even got to tame it in the mornings to look positively stroke-able for the rest of the day.

She moved over to the counter where the kettle was, switching it on, she quickly washed up two mugs and found the coffee, sugar and a bottle of milk.

She remembered how he liked it.

Black, two sugars.

In a couple of seconds, she had prized the old cup from Sherlock's hand and replaced it with a new, hot, mug of char.

"I thought you had cases to work on." Molly smirked, jokingly, taking the seat opposite him.

"Well...I...erm..-" Sherlock tried to string together a coherent explanation.

"-Its okay Sherlock. You can fall asleep if you want to." Molly laughed. This was ridiculous, she had never heard of someone trying to excuse themselves from being asleep.

He was so tired and slow and just unlike Sherlock Holmes at the moment that she partially wished he would sleep more often.

"Although, I would have chosen the sofa, opposed to the table - personally - but, each to their own." Molly smiled cheekily at the detective as he took the first sip of his coffee. He breathed in heavily and the spark in his eyes seemed to light.

After a couple of sips, Sherlock winced and pointed at his head, merely saying;

"Head. Ow."

Molly knew what he meant. Her's had started hurting as well.

"Ibuprofen?" She asked, standing up.

"Cupboard nearest the bedroom door, middle shelf, should be next to the first aid kit."

She followed his directions and then chucked a packet at him for him to down and kept one for herself.

He made a move for the sink and poured himself a glass of water. He needed a glass of water to down a couple of tablets.

Well, this was new.

Sherlock - 0 Molly - 1

Molly caught his eye and teasingly chucked back the tablets without the aid of H2O. However, she nearly choked when she got a full-length look at morning-Sherlock.

His hair was messy and stuck to his face in places, yes, but as she looked further down, it got better.

His grey top had been hitched up on his hipbone so that a little bit too much skin was exposed for Molly's own good. The shoulder of the top was low on one side so you could see his very prominent collar bone and as Sherlock turned around to place his cup back in the sink:

You could only imagine.

Molly could not think of anyone she had seen, male or female, real or celebrity, with such a perfect arse.

She felt an overwhelming urge to poke it to see whether it was real and would deflate and end up being just as flat and unattractive as everyone else's.

But she knew that it was, most likely, going to stay that shape and annoy the heck out of her until the day she died because a man had a better backside than she did.

Oh, well, life isn't fair, is it? She thought to herself as she realised she was boring her eyes into Sherlock's back and backside.

He turned round and Molly tried to regain her composure.

"Breakfast?" Sherlock spoke, voice still slightly filled with sleep.

"That-That would be nice." Molly replied, chewing on the inside of her mouth.

"I think we only have toast." Sherlock said, gliding to the appropriate cupboard, looking briefly back at Molly who was, for some reason, still standing in the middle of the kitchen. "Is that okay?"

"Y-yes." Molly took a sip of her coffee. "What do you have to put on it?" She asked, walking over to the cupboard where Sherlock was.

"Butter, Marmite, Marmalade, Eyeballs," He said, pulling each one of the jars out of the cupboard and setting them down on the counter - smirking at Molly when the cow's eyes were placed next to the Marmalade. "Jam, O-, Peanut Butter...Thats about it really...Oh! No, look, thats where I put my sheep's intestine!"

The pair giggled like the weird, science freaks that they were and waited for the toast to pop.

As soon as it did, Sherlock threw Molly her piece and a knife to start spreading her topping or part-of-an-animal onto her toast.

Sherlock opted for Jam.

He reached one of his arms around the back of Molly in an attempt to reach the jar, but, instead ended up trapping her.

She turned round with the buttery knife in one hand and was blushing and breathed quietly:

"Sherlock? What are you-"

But before Sherlock could understand what was happening, what he was doing or why he was doing it, he stopped Molly mid sentence and captured her mouth in a careful kiss. Well, it started out careful anyway.

He bought his hands to her waist and pressed himself against her. Molly's hands flew to around his neck.

"I think its best you take that knife out of your hand Miss Hooper." Sherlock murmured in her ear, just before he hoisted her onto the counter so he didn't have to bend down to kiss her. "Don't want you killing anyone else do we?" He laughed darkly as Molly haphazardly dropped the knife onto the floor, using her now free hand to work through Sherlock's knotty bed-hair.

Sherlock bit lightly on Molly's bottom lip and it caused her to sigh, sweetly into his ear.

"Molly Hooper. You can be positively libidinous sometimes."

Shit. Sherlock Holmes had just called Molly Hooper sexy. And he was kissing her. Properly. In his kitchen. While they were in their pyjamas. He smelt of coffee and sleep and toast and his hair was still stroke-able, even with about a million knots in it.

This was too perfect.

Thats why, as Molly kissed him back, properly, it just happened to stop.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU DOING?!"