Chapter VII
This is a longer chapter. Let's put John back in the mix and some old-fashioned anticipation. The rest of the chapters will be up fairly quickly, my lovely beta is working on them now. There's 3 more to come.
The day passed comfortably. They got Chinese takeaway, sat on the couch and watched television. They argued about the merits of ways to conduct autopsies. Molly won that one. They argued about telling John. Sherlock won that one. There was a lot more kissing. He was an eager pupil, though most of his brain was embarrassed to admit it even privately. His long dormant libido strutted around the mind palace crowing, I like this, and then promptly shut up in a proper teenage huff as Molly kissed him a final goodnight and they went to separate bedrooms. Sherlock actually found himself considering sorting out his frustration, and then promptly got over it.
The next morning, Molly was due to return to work, so she was up and dressed early. Sherlock joined her for coffee and found her giddy.
"Good morning, sweetheart." she tried out the pet name.
"No. No pet names. Can't bear it."
Still the same man then.
"Ok. Well, I must get off to work." She bent for a kiss but he evaded it and stared.
"Wait, you're happy."
"Oh well-observed, Mr Detective!"
Sherlock made an irritated gesture.
"No, you miss my point, as usual. I'm supposed to be dead. You can't waltz into the morgue, flushed with happiness. Even ordinary people will notice. You're bound to talk to someone like Lestrade or John. What will they think?"
"They certainly won't think "Sherlock's finally seen sense and done the right thing by Molly", you twit! But you're right, I'll be suitably morose by the time I get to work." She tried again for a kiss and was rewarded by a serious effort. Sherlock pulled her down, put his hand into her hair and let go. Kissing was an unexpected head rush.
"What am I going to do all day here by myself?"
Molly stood up and ruffled his hair.
"Not my problem, darling."
"No pet names!"
An hour later, Molly arrived at work. There was a single post-mortem to do and she got straight to it. As she worked, she couldn't help thinking of her house guest – it was way too soon to be calling him a boyfriend. He might well get cold feet and shut her out again. Despite that, she sang while she worked. She wasn't a great singer but her patient didn't seem to mind! The door swung open and John Watson backed his way in carrying a large cardboard box.
"John! What are you doing here?"
He still looked terrible: his face was drawn, bags under his eyes, he clearly hadn't slept much.
"Were you just singing?"
"Er, well, yes, I often do when I work…" Molly could feel her cheeks go red.
"I actually thought you would be still off work" he said.
"Yes, needed to take my mind off him. Couldn't do that at home." Molly thought that's even true! "Ahem, what's in the box?"
"It's a pile of lab equipment Sherlock nicked from here. I don't need it at the flat so…" his voice trailed off. Molly felt guilty all over again.
"That's kind of you to return it. You're not already sorting through his stuff, are you?"
"Oh, not really, Mycroft came and packed up a lot of things, but this was all in the kitchen, and I felt like cleaning. There were rats in the freezer, Molly. What do you think he was doing with them?" John's voice caught and he leaned heavily against the lab bench as he started to cry. Horrified, Molly hurried over to him and put her arms around him.
"John, it's going to be ok. I know it doesn't seem like it now but it will. His name will be cleared."
"How? There's no one left to do it. Moriarty was so fucking clever – why did this have to be the one Sherlock couldn't solve?" John didn't disguise the anger in his voice.
"Come on, we'll go get some tea. Have you talked to your sister?"
"Yes, she wants me to go stay with her for a few days."
"I think that's an excellent idea. We all need family at times like this."
Unaware, as always, of the pain he was causing, Sherlock looked at the list he had typed. It was headed "Questions for Molly". He thought a systematic approach was best. He read it over once more, mentally editorialising them.
How many boyfriends have you had? Three, plus 4 other lovers.
Do you prefer the right or left side of the bed? The dip in the middle indicates she normally sleeps in the centre.
Do you expect me to:
go out on dates would crime solving count?
meet your family please say no
buy you presents I might enjoy that
Detail all your erogenous zones. This would just save time.
What sexual positions do you prefer? ?
They had known each other for over 2 years now, so she would understand that when he was on a case, she just would not see him. He hoped it wasn't going to affect their working relationship. If anything, it should be improved now that she doesn't stutter or get embarrassed as much around me.
After he printed the list out for her, Sherlock surfed the internet, checking in with several sites to see what news there was of himself and Moriarty. Logging into one of his many email addresses, he left a draft message for one of his trusted homeless network asking them to monitor the various assassins, who so far, it seemed, had stood down their activities.
Molly packed up for the day. She was physically and mentally exhausted. The effort and strain of dealing with poor John was almost more than she could handle. Twice she'd nearly told him everything. Picking up a pizza on the way, she headed for home. When she arrived home, Sherlock was coming out of his room. She dropped her bag and put the pizza on the hall table.
"Oh I'm so glad to be home." She quickly crossed the distance between them and put her arms around him, holding him gently, and put her head on his shoulder. Sherlock put his arms around her waist.
"So you saw John then."
"How do you know?"
Sherlock just looked at her.
"You've been crying and tried to fix your make-up but didn't actually bring any with you to work, so you made do with water, which wasn't very effective. You've also been biting your lower lip, which you do when you lie. You smell of his aftershave, so clearly you were hugging him for some time. Shall I go on?"
"You are amazing." Molly reached up and kissed him softly on the mouth. Surprised by how much he'd been waiting for this, Sherlock bent down to her and moaned slightly. He pushed her coat off her shoulders, and pulled her towards the couch. Molly couldn't help smiling at the fervent look on his face. Literally, never, never in a million years would I have expected him to make that face at me.
He lay down on the couch, his legs hanging off the end.
"Lie on top of me." he ordered.
"Sherlock, no, I'll hurt you, and I've brought pizza. You might never eat but I like to several times a day." He looked all hurt. Molly knelt beside the couch and cupped his cheek in her hand. Intending to kiss him quickly once more, she soon realised his arms had trapped her in position.
"Let's eat, and afterwards, you can tell me how your resurrection plan is going."
Pizza was eaten.
"By the way, I didn't realise all the lab equipment in Baker St belonged to St Barts! How long have you been nicking stuff?"
"Hmm? Since before you came to work there, but almost all of it is since you did. You were easy to distract." Sherlock smiled at the memory of how one compliment netted him a microscope. Best to keep that one to myself… "I'll have to start all over again once I come back to life."
"And I'll be on the alert now. One tiny compliment won't work so well. You'll have to level up."
"Dr Hooper! Are you implying that I will have to deal in sexual favours to get laboratory equipment?"
Molly grinned. "Oh yes. That's exactly what I mean!"
He laughed and promptly whimpered in pain.
"How are your ribs today? Take off your shirt and let me see."
Sherlock unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off painfully.
"Can you lie on the floor? You'll be more comfy." He acquiesced. Molly placed a cushion underneath his head. Her fingers began to softly test the area around the broken ribs. Sherlock winced in pain. The bruising was purple still but no worse.
"Well, it's only been two days. They're no worse, which is great. You were very lucky to get away with no internal injuries from these ribs. You do still need to be careful."
He tilted his head to look up at her.
"They really hurt. Can't you do anything to make me feel better?" His hand stroked up and down her thigh, as she knelt beside him.
Is he actually suggesting what I think he's suggesting?
Molly wanted nothing more than to give it to him and for second time that day, she found extreme willpower was required. This time she'd give in a little first. Lying down beside him on his good side, she rested one leg on top of his and leaned her head in her hand, so she was looking down over him.
"Hi. This is a weird angle. You're always looking down on me, physically, I mean, though come to think of it, often metaphorically too. That wasn't nice you know. They say we're always cruel to the ones we care about. You're lucky that I forgave you every time. You didn't deserve it." She surprised even herself with this speech. She'd opened her mouth to say something sweet. Sherlock looked kind of shocked.
"I am sorry. Do you know you're one of the few people I actually apologise to? I don't care what most people think but you are different. You count. I'd make it up to you right now if I wasn't in so much pain. You've awakened something in me that I've been ignoring a long time. Sex is funny. When you're not having it, you think "oh it's fine" and once there's even the vaguest chance of it, it's all you can think of. I've been stuck in this flat all day and it's all I can think of. Are you absolutely sure…"
He didn't get to finish his sentence. Molly cut him off with a passionate kiss. She curled her whole body into him and he responded in kind. Half dragging her on top of him, she could feel that he really wasn't lying about wanting her.
"You know, it doesn't seem fair. I keep having to take my clothes off in front of you, and you stay covered up." He smiled almost wickedly.
Still a bit out of breath, Molly sat up, straddling his hips. Sherlock groaned at the pressure. She took off her jumper, a faintly ridiculous woollen affair with a ski pattern around the neck. Underneath she wore a pink camisole which hugged her skin. She pulled this off too, leaving only a quite ordinary bra, also pink. Sherlock tried to sit up and fell back in a spasm of pain.
"I told you so." She shook her head at him. Reluctantly, she got up off him. "I'll get you some strong painkillers. Maybe you need to lie down."
"I already am. The pain's not that bad."
"Liar! Look, we'll just have to wait. There's no rush. A bit of anticipation never killed anyone. Besides, there's nothing stopping you relieving yourself." He responded with a grunt of frustration.
Looking back over her shoulder, she smiled "that's what I'm going to do."
Somehow, that didn't make Sherlock feel any better.
