Here, the next chapter. The last one in fact. All my dear Readers - take it as a thank you for reading, liking and reviewing. Hope you enjoy!
It has been three weeks today, John Watson thought, pulling on a beige sweater and bending his back to look into the fridge and get a breakfast. It was hard to get used to, a change like this, to now find fresh food stuff in there instead of body parts. And even harder to think that if he only agreed to that, he would have a nice warm meal ready every morning; a result of Molly escaping idleness. She was granted a month off work now and was clearly excited to soon be back to the morgue, where she had specimens, autopsies and their examination.
John took out a banana and a few slices of cheese to make toasts (which weren't covered by must and good only for Sherlock to use in some strange experiment), just in time to see Sherlock entering the apartment.
'And where have you been?' He asked, not even looking up from the toaster. After a year he got well used to his random disappearances, which only would worry him if exceeded three days in a row. And sides, he had like five minutes to leave to make it to work, and Sarah would murder him if he came late again.
'Derbyshire.' He replied, shoving his coat off to land on the kitchen table which he successfully turned into an improvised lab. The coat ruined the ideal row of test-tubes that John has previously carefully arranged. 'You made me curious with the goats...'
'Oh.' John was almost swept off his feet, half-sitting on a cupboard (since there was obviously no room at the table) with his plate and coffee.
He would never suppose that a random question he asked Molly last week would really be taken that seriously. To a simple question what she'd like to do when done with the morgue, she sighed and expressed her wish of, in some twenty years, completing a year-long PCP course and then having a peaceful life as an ordinary doctor in the countryside in Derbyshire, where she grew up. When asked back, John realized he would find himself quite well in the role of a voluntary worker, in dog shelters or kindergartens, with writing articles for medic periodicals every now and then as the necessary income source. When he finally turned to Sherlock (who was 'busy' lying on the couch in his night robe, as usual), he got no response. When John suggested, in jokes, that he would make a perfect goat-keeper, he heard a hum. And so, now he was all astonishment to see he actually was taken seriously. And Derbyshire...?
'It's 15 past eight, John. You're late.'
John mumbled a swearword, with the last bite of his sandwich still in his mouth and ran outside, not having the opportunity to crack the shell under which Sherlock kept hiding his humanity. The shell was growing less and less thick recently, as he thought, stopping a taxi.
Molly was awake an hour later. She went downstairs, with her hair still a bit wet, dressed comfortably. As much as her crush on Sherlock still was there, she was now noticing that he is actually also just a human. Like, not just, of course. But, a human, just as her, after all. And he paid no attention to her anyway... Curious if she would still think so, knowing where he was gone for the night before.
'Ah, Molly. Perfect.' She heard him call when she opened the fridge to get milk for her tea. 'A bit of help would be marvelous. Could you come here, please?' He was staring at some microscope close-ups, which she saw on the screen to be of different colors in the range from light pinkyish peach to sand orange.
'Pass me my phone, please. Jacket.'
She was lately quite often asked to reach into a pocket of the very jacket he was wearing and take his phone out. As much as she could, she got used to it, but for the first time, the heat beaming from his body did drive her crazy. And purple. Now, she took the mobile and placed it by the microscope so that he could reach it and looked for a while, sipping tea, with her arms crossed over her breasts. Sherlock suddenly stood up and turned.
'And that you're here, it's good. You could make a good case study.' He took his mobile, turned the timer application on and then shocked her to lean down, turn on the timer and then, out of freaking nowhere, press his cold, yet surprisingly soft lips against hers. That obviously made her gasp and turn lobster-red instantly. He drew away in a second and, with a faint smile, looked at the timer and turned it off.
'Four point seventy three. Now that is a record.'
Molly winked twice, outraged.
'I beg you a pardon, Sherlock...?'
'Oh, isn't that obvious...? I'm investigating the relation of complexion type and the probability and visibility of blushing. You are a record.'
She cleared her throat, stepping back.
'And perhaps have you included how unfair that one was...?'
'I can't seem to figure what you mean, Molly.'
She lately even learned to give him a disapproving gaze of tiredness, which she willingly did right now.
'Just say, if it was John who kissed me, the result wouldn't be like that...' She murmured, turning away to the living room,where she wrapped the pillows and blankets on the couch more to look like there was no man sleeping on it only a few years ago. There came the distant ring of church bells, signifying it was Sunday, 4 p.m. and it was mass time. For Molly however it meant that she had only two hours until John was back from work, probably starving. When he had the opportunity, he would quite eagerly use it to test her cooking skills eating the meals she made for three weeks now. God, hadn't it been for the case solving every three or four days, Sherlock's nicotine patch amok and violin playing, the strangest laboratory equipment in the kitchen, a skull on the fireplace which the men (and even her, too) called Jack and Mrs Hudson's constant innuendos concerning John's and Sherlock 'intimate friendship', their coexistence would well seem a happy family life. Yeah, you can all go and laugh now.
'I'm off shopping, Sherlock. Be back in twenty.' Instead of an usual hum of confirmation, he asked her to buy gelatin. Whatever that had to do with the blushing, she shrugged and left. As much as she liked living with the two of them, she was quite tired with the idleness by now. The morgue at least included intriguing, shocking or disgustingly detailed autopsies once in a while...
She was surprised, how warmly all the people she thought didn't even know her welcomed her back at St Bart's. The first week really did much to make her feel significantly better about herself. Still, she still wasn't permitted to go back to her own place; surprisingly, this time it was rather Sherlock than John who opposed her leaving.
The routine was well on the way back. She enjoyed her work, Sherlock and John kept coming quite often. The only difference from before was that they sometimes went home together. Home. That was 221b for her now.
One day, after Sherlock was asleep for the first time in five days when she left for work (she couldn't resist taking five just to stare at the peace of his face, the gentle smile on the lips of a tired man who finally indulged in sleeping and the way his raven curls spread on the pillow. And then she had to run, having set the autopsy time for 9 a.m.
She was arranging the files in the computer when her phone buzzed, which stunned her. However big the changes in her life were, that thing of no one calling her remained quite the same.
None would get angry if you went home 2 hours earlier. Come, very important. Need you.
SH
The text said, which made Molly instantly lurid with panic. Sherlock only texted and called her three times. And each time he did, there was something dangerous going on. She quickly got the boss' permission and ran outside to get a cab to 221b.
She ran upstairs, panting heavily, her heartbeat rushing wild. She pulled the doorknob and was shocked to bump right into Sherlock's chest. Not giving her a second to speak, he placed his hands firmly on her shoulders and leaned to kiss her, which took her breath. After a second, he wasn't gone, so she decided to check if she was still alive. Her hand went to be placed on his forearm, when he slid his palms down to rest around her waist. She heard him sigh hoarse, when for a second, the drew his lips away. But then, she felt his body closer and closer, until the heat it beamed with made her stomach twist. And then, his arms wrapping tight around her, he pressed his lips against her again. With no idea of anything else to do, she slowly let her fingers climb up his chest to finally rest on his face.
And then something cracked. She gasped fiercely to sense his tongue sliding along her bottom lip, clenching her fingers in his curly hair and drowned in the heat of tasting him. Sensing him. Fully. Getting to him, breaking through the last layers of his defensive allure. And as much as curious that was, she still felt largely dominated by him as his hands were growing possessive.
'The urge I had to kiss you has never been that unbearable, Molly.' He panted, only parting their lips for half a second. When he led her a step back into the apartment, she smiled as much as she could without losing the connection. Her hands went, from his hair down to the open collar of his shirt.
'Oh, so it has been there before...?'
She felt his lips bend into a light smile as he sensed her hectic fingers dealing with his shirt's buttons. He himself found it rather easy to pull her t-shirt off.
'Obviously.' He muttered, leading her to lie down on the couch. 'Even a proper genius as me, am a man.'
'Oh, that's a surprise' She only made it to giggle for a second, when he hissed, struggling with her bra, as they stood up form the couch to switch to Sherlock's bed. After all, as much as Mrs Hudson would be happy, John could be largely off-tracked. He sent her an offended gaze and bit the tip of her nose as a punishment.
'You know, when I end up in bed, I would probably just stay there for the next twelve hours; the sleeplessness makes for that.' He muttered, finally having set all the zippers free.
'I won't deny I was only hoping for you to say that, Sherlock...' She replied, kissing his chin hungrily.
'Molly! Is Sherlock out again...?' Only forty minutes later, they heard the door slam and John calling. Molly, with her cheek pressed against Sherlock's chest, sent him an alarmed gaze. He only stroked her back soothingly and cleared his throat.
'Not really, John. I'm right here, in my bed'
'I hope you wouldn't mind it if I turned down the offer to join you- OH, DAMN!' Dr Watson exclaimed, his eyes going wide as he watched the scene. 'What on Earth are you doing?'
'If it's not obvious to you, you must indeed be a hopeless doctor, John.' Sherlock smirked, remaining perfectly calm in the highly embarassing situation. Molly buried her face in his arm.
'Come on, don't say you didn't see that coming.'
'Um, well...' John rose his hand to scratch the back of his head, confused. He eventually smiled in disbelief.
'So, you were serious about the goats in Derbyshire...?'
'Obviously.'