You wanted the next chapter early and so it shall be. I'll post again on Monday as well. Thank you all for your comments and reviews you've no idea how encouraging they are, keep sending them in. xx
Chapter 7
As his mouth met hers he felt as though his whole body was exhaling. He sank into her no longer aware of anything around them just the feel of her mouth against his own. She opened up to him and he tilted his head letting the kiss naturally deepen. His arms moved around her with one hand behind her head pulling her up to him and he felt her own hands wrapping around his back and one sinking into his hair.
He had never known a kiss like it. It consumed his senses; he could feel every part of her as she touched and moved against him; her scent was in his system drugging him; the taste of her mixed with the tequila and the salt and the lime was heady and intoxicating. He felt her fingernail scrape against his scalp and he let out an involuntary groan and he felt her stiffen slightly.
Just then someone slapped him on his back and as he broke away from the kiss, breathing heavily and looking at Molly who seemed unwilling to catch his eye. He heard Vic telling him he'd lost the competition but not to mind he'd given them all a show they wouldn't forget.
'Welcome to the Garrick my friend, long may your membership continue. Drinks, bar tend, and make them expensive!'
He put his arm around Sherlock who was aware of Molly being helped down off the bar behind him by Tom who then came over and shook his hand. 'Well played man, and damn you all the girls here have suddenly switched allegiance after that kiss. I see I'll have to up my game.'
As the glass of champagne was thrust into his hand Sherlock was sure he ought to stop, his limit having been well and truly reached and surpassed, but he was beyond caring. The night suddenly seemed more fun, the people more engaging and Molly sexier than he'd ever known her to be before.
SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH
As he started to come too the next day all Sherlock was aware of was a pounding headache and a worrying feeling that he might actually throw up. He groaned and rolled over in his bed wishing the curtains were closed better than they were as the light escaping through them seemed far too bright. He knew he ought to get up and at least try to find water and some aspirin but he couldn't seem to find the will to do it. Maybe he could call John or Mrs Hudson and get them to bring it to him but that would mean finding his jacket.
He stretched; letting his arm slide across the cool sheets and then his eyes opened with a snap. He swallowed heavily and lifted his head to see what had impeded his hand, hoping and praying that it wasn't what he thought it was. It was!
'Shit!' He pulled his hand away as though he'd been burnt. What the hell was Molly Hooper doing in his bed?
He sat up and wiped a hand across his face focusing on his breathing as a wave of nausea washed over him. At least he was somewhat dressed, he still had on his shirt, though it was unbuttoned, and his shorts though his jacket and trousers were missing. He looked around his room as his eyes started to acclimatise and saw them tossed onto the chair by his chest of drawers. He noticed Molly's jacket and trousers were also there.
He needed to escape, he needed to think.
He slid out of the bed and shed his shirt before grabbing his blue dressing gown and exiting the bedroom.
'Morning Sherlock, I take it it was a late night. You do know it's nearly mid-day don't you?'
Sherlock blinked a little, feeling disoriented once again, how much had he had to drink?
He grunted at John and made his way into the bathroom. With any luck by the time he'd showered John would have made him some coffee.
He took some aspirin before brushing his teeth and as he stood under the water he tried to remember how Molly might have ended up in his bed. He remembered everything that had happened at the art show, arriving at the Garrick and the surreal tequila contest but things after those events started to blur. He had vague memories of him and Molly sat with a group, he had his arm around her shoulders and he was reciting some of his cases to what he'd thought was a rapt crowd but now he suspected was an equally drunken one.
He groaned as he remembered kissing Molly in the cab on the way home but that was about it.
As he got out of the shower he had to sit for a moment on the edge of the bath tub waiting for the sick feeling to pass again. He pondered whether he wouldn't just be better off throwing up and getting it out if his system but couldn't bring himself to exacerbate it.
He dressed in the pyjama bottoms and t shirt still hung up on the door from the day before and again donned his dressing gown and then went out to face John.
John smiled broadly when he saw him but thankfully pointed towards the cup of coffee and toast waiting for him on the kitchen side.
'You looked like you needed that. So, what the hell happened to you last night? I have to say I didn't appreciate the drunken call at two in the morning and neither did Mary.'
'I...I called you.' Sherlock felt ill again but this time it wasn't from the alcohol but from the fear of not knowing what he had done.
'I thought you might not remember.'
Sherlock hated having to ask but John was clearly waiting for him to do just that.
He took a deep breath. 'Go on, I can see you're dying to tell me. What did I say?'
John tipped his head to one side and raised his eyebrows. 'Well, I have to say it was a bit garbled even for you. Something about the best night of your life and you'd made an amazing realisation. You wanted me to be the first to know it.'
Sherlock closed his eyes and tried not to wince at John's words. 'And what exactly was my realisation?'
There was a pause and he opened his eyes back up to see John was struggling not to laugh. 'Well, that was the oddest thing. You said you'd never realised love was so powerful or important. You wanted Mary and I to know that you loved us.'
Sherlock groaned. 'Oh God.'
'So what or should I say who made you realise love was so great?'
Sherlock shifted uncomfortably wondering whether it might have had something to do with the fact that Molly was lying in his bed. He really didn't want to have to admit that to John and he was starting to release that maybe he needed to get rid of John before she woke up.
It was at that exact moment that his bedroom door cracked open and the person in question emerged wearing the shirt that he'd only recently discarded.
Even in his hung over and disgruntled state he had to admit that she was a sight to behold. Her hair was loose and disheveled and the shirt hung off her small frame and fell to her mid-thighs. Her legs were toned and slim and he could just make out her black underwear underneath the white shirt. He was conscious that his heart rate had increased at the sight and that his mouth felt dry and his skin tingly. But he was pulled from his reverie by John who seemed to do a comic double-take at the sight of Molly coming out of his best mate's bedroom.
Molly blushed at the sight of the two of them before putting her hand up in a silent greeting and scurrying into the bathroom.
John turned back to face Sherlock and Sherlock doubted he had ever seen his friend so shocked.
'Do you want to tell me what's going on here?'
Sherlock narrowed his eyes and felt defensive over his lack of knowledge. He hated to be on the back foot. It almost never happened to him.
'I would have thought that were obvious John, Molly slept over last night. It was late and...and...'
John's head reared back a little. 'So, what? You thought she might as well sleep in your bed. Are you two together now...and I mean in a sexual way Sherlock so don't try being pedantic over my language.'
'God no of course not, what do you take me for? I've always been more than clear about my feelings on relationships.'
'Yes well that was before you made drunken calls to me extolling the benefits of love and before you had Molly Hooper having sleep overs with you. Did you have sex with her last night? because so help me God you'd better not be using her like that. She deserves better from you and you know it. Well?'
'I...I...'
John slumped back into his seat. 'You did, didn't you?'
'No...I..I don't know John. I don't know, I can't remember.'
John shook his head in disbelief. He was silent for so long that Sherlock was almost tempted to ask him what he was thinking. He could read everything about John in that moment, everything except the one thing he wanted to know and that was what his friend was thinking.
John took a deep breath and started to stand. 'I need to go.'
'What? Why?'
'Because you two need to sort this out and you don't need me getting in the way. Just...just remember what she's done for you in the past Sherlock. If you have no intention of being in a relationship with her just be honest with her...she deserves the truth from you.'
With that he stood and grabbing his jacket he left the flat.
Sherlock sat in silence a moment wondering what he wanted to say. His instinct was to run away and avoid all contact but John was right he needed to sort this out and more than anything he needed to know what they'd done.
He stood and made his way over to the kettle. He needed another coffee and suspected Molly would need one as well.
As he was pouring them out he heard the bathroom door unlock and Molly exiting. He glanced around to see she was wrapped in one of his towels with her hair up in another. She hesitated when she saw him and smiled shyly. 'Morning.'
He nodded his head in acknowledgement and pointed unnecessarily at the cups next to him. 'I've..um..made you a coffee.'
'OK! I'll just get dressed then I'll be out in a minute.'
She closed his bedroom door behind her and he picked the coffees up and carried them over to the chairs as he waited for her to come back out. He couldn't help but feel some confusion. As his headache cleared and some of his memories came into sharper focus he realised one thing that he hadn't before; he was attracted to Molly Hooper...he had feelings for her. Question was did he want to do anything about them?
So come on my little detectives...did they or didn't they do the dirty?
