Changed to T for adult themes. Should have done so one chapter ago. Bare bodies, sexual intercourse and such. Even if hypothetical.
SammyKatz: Thank you for your first review. For sticking with me and for reviewing again and again! Sherlock is like a cat, isn't he? To get attention, he'd sit on John's laptop if he could... Meh, close enough :-p
LadyK1138: Second review :-) Seeing as this is my first fanfic (not ever, but in over 10 years and imho the first good one...), it pretty much is my second review ever. And not the only one, at that. Thanks for hanging around and indeed - go, Molly!
Renaissancebooklover108: I love it, when Sherlock gets slapped. Period. No really, he pretty much has it coming. Constantly. We might love him to bits, but he can be quite the pompous, arrogant ass. So yeah, he'll probably get slapped quite a bit in my fics. *evil laugh*
croony83: Thanks for your review. Every word fuels me, makes me happy, keeps me going! :-)
Anatomydoc: Fantastic! (Who else just heard Eccleston?) More is on its way. The weekend will be busy, but I have tons more floating in my head and it shouldn't be too hard, getting it 'on paper', so to speak.
Chapter 10
Where had he gone wrong?
Sherlock was standing in the middle of Molly's dark living room, clutching a blanket to his chest and blinking at the door behind him.
His deduction had been accurate. In his thoughts, he walked through Molly's bedroom, examined her bed from every angle and he found his analysis of the data on hand to be sound.
Then what had the slap been for? Why had she ordered him out of her room?
Mentally going back to his deduction, he shifted his attention to Molly. Before he had brought up Moriarty, she had seemed shy, almost intimidated. At the mention of his name, her expression had very quickly changed to one of contempt.
That had been her first negative reaction. But surely not enough to kick him out.
Moving on.
Her face had shown mostly contempt for the first part of his deduction. He had seen a hint of curiosity in her eyes, obviously she was interested in hearing his conclusions and the reasoning behind them.
The next change in her expression had occurred at his mention of sexual intercourse. A faint blush, followed by the straightening of her shoulders and a slight lift of her chin. Embarrassment and defiance. No, defiance in the face of embarrassment.
Why? She was hardly a virgin, the thought of sex should not leave her flustered. Only it did. So she was sexually inhibited. Of course she was - self-conscious with self-esteem issues - how could she not be. So his casual remark had left her embarrassed, which clearly she did not want him to see. Ergo defiance. Obviously.
Still not enough to slap him, though.
"Oh!" Sherlock's eyes widened. Yes, of course!
Dismay, guilt, yet more defiance, anger. An array of emotions had flashed over Molly's face at the mention of Jim. Listening to his further explanations, guilt and anger had mingled on her face. With every word, however, the guilt had disappeared, leaving only anger in its place.
When anger had prevailed, even at the mention of naked bodies - which based on previously acquired data should have elicited another bout of embarrassment - he should have known.
His remark of James Moriarty violating her had been the final straw. She had felt guilty after finding out, that he had used her. That she had let him use her, not seeing behind his facade.
Molly had nothing to be guilty or embarrassed about. At his very first meeting with Moriarty in the lab, even he - Sherlock - had not seen behind the mask that had been Jim from IT. If he hadn't seen it, nobody could have possibly expected Molly to do so, no matter how many hours she had spent with him. Molly was smart enough to know that.
Still, Sherlock had found ordinary people to often have their conscious mind say one thing and their unconscious something entirely different. Molly might know better, but it didn't make her feel better. The lack of physical relationship did not matter. Molly did, in fact, feel violated. For him to refer to it as such was equivalent to sticking a salt covered finger into an open wound and wiggle it about.
Even Sherlock could see now, that was not good. Maybe a bit more than not good. John had definitely rubbed off on him.
Also not good was the prospect of sleeping on the sofa. It would just not do.
Reluctantly, Sherlock turned around and knocked on the bedroom door. "Molly?"
No answer, just the noise of bare feet shuffling over carpet. "Molly, I..." I what? Sherlock sighed. He knew, what he had to say. Then, why did he not just come out and say it? It wasn't that hard.
Taking a deep breath, he began again. "Molly,..." I'm sorry.
He did not get a chance to say it, the door flew open and Molly stood in front of him, looking sad and tired. Both physically and emotionally tired.
"No, you're not." How did she...?
"You really don't want to sleep on the sofa, do you?" she chuckled. "Just... Nevermind." Leaving the door open, Molly turned away from him and walked to her side of the bed, facing the window.
Sherlock still stood in the doorframe, mind racing. Molly had definitely become more self-confident, more outspoken. No longer being held back by her own, previously almost paralyzing insecurity, she had become bolder and more observant. She had also become harder to manipulate. Yet she had left the door open for him, an unspoken invitation to sleep on the other side of her bed after all. Just like that. Why?
"I put a shirt on the bed for you. Should be your size. I prefer oversized shirts over nightgowns. Plenty where that came from." She lay down and pulled the covers over herself, still facing away from him. "You always get your way in the end. Might as well make it easy on myself." She tangled her legs around the covers in an unspoken demand. You've got your own blanket, this one's mine.
"You're not in your usual sleep attire." Sherlock noted, looking at the purple sweatpants she was wearing under her plain grey, oversized shirt.
He could see her body tense, before she pulled the covers up further, snuggling into them. "Yeah, I usually don't wear pants. That didn't seem appropriate tonight." She sighed. "Haven't got any for you, though. Just... stay under the blanket with your briefs."
Sherlock made his way to the empty side of the bed, closer to the armoire. He quickly disposed of his clothes, donning the plain shirt matching Molly's. He pulled the extra blanket she had given him earlier over himself, laying flat on his back, his head resting on the pillow, an alarming shade of red with little white flowers all over it. Hideous as it was in his opinion, he found it to be extremely comfortable.
He felt himself drifting off to sleep the moment his head touched the pillow. Already half asleep he muttered, just barely audible.
"Boxers."