Music for a dead man Chapter 11: Just a kiss, a sherlock fanfic

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. I also, sadly, don't own John, nor Molly or any of the characters portrayed either in Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's works or in Moffat / Gatiss' amazing adaptation of Sherlock for the BBC, which, by the way, this fic is based on. This is the result of too much free time and addiction to sadness.

For a richer experience, I advise you to listen to the songs which the chapters will be named after, preferably at the time when the lyrics are shown.

Also, this is my first fanfiction ever of any kind. I also am not a native english speaker, so forgive me if I make any mistakes and feel free to correct me at any time. Your attention and consideration is deeply appreciated.

Sidenote: Hi there! Woot, an update! And much sooner this time! You weren't quite expecting it so early, right? Well, it so happened that this chapter almost was written by itself. It was soooo easy to do it, you have no idea. Makes Zombie seem like a nightmare. The next one will be harder and, consequently, will take longer for me to write it. I'll do my best to finish it as soon as I can. So, have you found out anything about the easter eggs yet? No? I haven't seen anybody saying anything about it. I'll give you a few clues then. There are, in total, three easter eggs. One of them has to do with Mycroft's fake name. It is a reference to one of the greatest children's book ever written, and it was written by a german guy. The second easter egg is still about Mycroft's fake name and is also a reference to a franchise of books – and in my opinion the best franchise ever written in the history of ever – only this time you will only be able to understand it if you consider his fake name is an anagram. The third easter egg is a reference to a game. That game is beyond amazing and a very famous franchise by Nintendo. The main theme of that specific game is a mask. If you type the game's name on google you will find a stunning video that will confirm whether your suspicions are right or not. Wow, guess I gave away too much! If you know the answers, tell me! Either comment, e-mail me ( ) or send me and ask on tumblr ( .com). And remember, the first person to get all the easter eggs will get an A4 size Sherlock drawing done by me free of charge! Yes, I will ship it anywhere in the world! Now, I hope you like this chapter. Yay, finally some Sherlolly action! That's what you were waiting for, right? So…I hope you enjoy it! And thank you ALL for reading! And please leave your thoughts in the comment box!

Music for a dead man

Chapter 11: Just a kiss

It was the fourteenth of July. Thursday. Oh boy. Why is it not Friday yet?, Molly thought, I can't wait to go home. Actually, I can't wait for the weekend. What time is it?

Molly was at Bart's. She was working an extra two hours tonight. Her work colleague didn't show up so she had extra work. There was so much work to do, but hopefully she would finish it soon. This time it wasn't with corpses, really; since Sherlock had supposedly died, the number of dead bodies left to her for analysis had dramatically dropped. Molly was actually at the lab, working with tissue samples. It's been almost three full days since Sherlock departed to Russia and there was no sign of him. Not a call, not even a text message, nothing. Molly was starting to worry. Was he alright? Did he get himself in real trouble? Well, Mycroft was with him, so that was a good thing, right? Right? She searched for her phone, only to remember that she forgot it at home.

Molly took a quick look outside the window. It was snowing. Actually, it has been snowing since the very day Sherlock left. Molly wondered if nature was mocking her somehow. She decided to leave her car home and get the tube to go to Bart's. It certainly wouldn't be as comfortable as her car, but considering the amount of snow on the streets she decided it wasn't worth driving: she would have to put chains on her wheels and be extra careful and even might not have been able to drive through certain streets. There was snow everywhere. It was like London was all covered in white, which certainly could be all beautiful and romantic, if only things were different. Getting her attention back to her work, she was happy to realize the results were almost ready and then she could go home. Molly then decided to get a hot cup of coffee.

Molly went downstairs, straight to the coffee machine. There was a clock on the wall just above the machine. Almost nine. She just had to work fifteen minutes more. Hallelujah, she thought. The halls were somewhat empty; most of the hospital staff who worked in the lab floor had already gone. As she waited for her coffee, Molly could swear she saw something out of the corner of her eye.

"You are being a fool", said Putin.

"Am I? I'm fighting for my land, for the right to have a nation where I could live happily. Is that too much to ask?", Dyachenko replied.

"Russia is your homeland! Our homeland! What you are doing is treason against the –"

"Against the nation, yeah, whatever. If that is so, what do you call all the bloodshed, all the deaths of our people? Hmm…what's the name again? Oh, that's it, GENOCIDE!", she growled the last word.

Putin swallowed hard, saying nothing. Dyanchenko smiled victoriously.

"We don't want much, you know that. It's just a teensy tiny part of Russia's territory. What harm could it do to you?"

"What harm could it do indeed, Russia bowing to a handful of people", he spat sarcastically.

"We just want what is ours", she replied angrily.

"THERE IS NO OURS. THERE IS JUST WHAT IS! RUSSIA AND CHECHEN ARE ONE!"

At that moment a gigantic fist hit Putin's cheekbones.

"Keep it down. You are talking to a lady", said a 6'7" man, walking away.

"And YOU are talking to the president, you BIG PILE OF SHIT!", Putin spat back.

The man stopped and turned around, going for another round. Dyanchenko stopped him with a hand gesture.

"It's alright, Dom. It's alright", she said.

He stopped and turned away, leaving them.

"And you, sir, were the president of Russia, as in, is not anymore", she continued, "do I have to retell your options again? Very well, here we go: one, you go there and officially announce Chechen as an independent country and we make sure you get away alive to never be seen in this land again, or two, you don't help us, die, and we get what we want anyways. That's not so hard to understand, now, is it?"

"Forget it."

Dyachenko sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Come on, now, don't be so difficult", a male's voice cut in. He was slowly making his way to Dyachenko's side. His face couldn't quite be seen, for it was all dark except for a single lamp hanging on the ceiling just above Putin's head. Despite that, he could easily recognize the man without really having to look at him.

"Dmitry", Putin said simply and then chuckled, "of course. These rats could not have done this without help. What did they promise you? Money?"

"They promised me nothing. Her highness, however…", the Prime Minister trailed off suggestively.

Putin frowned. Then it all hit him. Romanova. Seeing the realization in his eyes, Dmitry stepped forward so Putin could see him fully.

"Yes. We are like pals now, me and Romanova. Want to hear the full story?", Dmitry said, pulling a nearby chair to sit in front of the very stunned president.

"Very well, here we go…"

John was home now. For the first time in a while, he felt like he could be happy again. And that, of course, didn't go unnoticed.

"Wow. Who is she? Tell me everything!", Harry said, doing little jumps all the way from the sofa to the door and giving John a big hug.

"Whoa, easy there, Harry", John said with a small laugh, clearly amused by his sister's enthusiasm, and hugged her back.

"Kettle's just boiled. And I made your favorites! Here, have a sit, eat and tell me everything!", she said, still very enthusiastically, dragging him to the coffee table by the sofa.

"There is no girl, Harry", John replied, rolling his eyes and desperately trying to hide his amusement.

Harry then stopped and turned around with a curious look in her eyes.

"Oh. I see. Is it a boy, then?"

At that point, John couldn't stop himself from laughing his ass off.

"What? What is so funny?"

"Nothing, uh…just nothing. Alright, alright, I'll tell you", he replied a couple minutes later after he was able to recompose himself.

"Yay!", she replied, clearly happy.

John sat down and served himself of tea and a toast with some raspberry jam. He took a bite of it, swallowed slowly, allowing him some time to think. Harry had a big pair of puppy eyes on him, expectantly waiting for him to talk.

"Her name is Mary."

The next sound came from Harry's mouth and it was very close to a dying whale's shriek.

"We met at the hospital", he continued, now smiling openly.

"Is she pretty?"

"Yes, she is."

Another shriek.

"Harry, would you please stop with the shrieks?", he asked, laughing.

"Oh. Okay. Sorry! It's just that I'm so happy for you, brother!"

"Thank you", he said, genuinely grateful.

"…Is that it? Oh, come on, tell me more!", Harry said when a couple minutes passed.

"That's it, Harry. Mary just started working as the head nurse at Charing Cross' this week. We've been getting along well, she seems to be a very nice woman."

Harry was visibly disappointed.

"What? No shag? Nothing? Where the hell is the John I know?"

"It's…not like that, Harry. She seems to be a very nice woman but we don't know each other very well."

"Oh. I see. What's holding you back, though?"

Silence.

"Can I help?", she tried again.

John sighed and decided that it was best to answer.

"Getting closer means to open up. She knows who I am, who I…lived with. I'm not ready to just talk about it."

Harry didn't know what to say. She thought carefully before speaking.

"But…you can't let that hinder your happiness anymore, John. You will have to let him go, eventually…You deserve to be happy, sweetheart."

John was obstinately looking at his tea mug with a frown on his face.

"Yes…you are right. But I just…"

Harry watched him expectantly.

"Goodnight, Harry. Thank you for the tea", he thanked her with a sad smile.

"Goodnight, John. Sleep well", she said, not being able to hide the sadness in her voice.

"For God's sake, Molly, pick. IT. UP!", Sherlock said angrily. It was about the tenth time he tried to call her, to warn her to stay locked somewhere safe, anywhere but home. He had just arrived at Heathrow Airport and hastily made his way to the nearest cab. Having no better option at the moment, Sherlock sent a text message. He just hoped she could see it in time.

Molly was very close to her flat now. The night was very, very cold, so cold indeed her coat and all other fabric layers she had on her were barely doing their job of keeping her warm. She thought that taking the subway and walking a few hundred yards home wouldn't be so hard. Just around the corner now. She could see the street was empty. It wasn't that late in the night, but clearly the frightful weather had scared people away. They were all curled under their blankets or having hot beverage in some pub. And she would go back to Toby, have a hot shower and watch some sad movie that mirrored her spirits before going to sleep. She wondered, yet again, where Sherlock was, and if he was alright. Was it cold in Russia right now? She hoped not. If it was this cold in London, she didn't want to think how could it could be in Russia right now.

Finally. Molly opened the door and took a flight of stairs. She opened the door to her flat.

"Oh, boy. Finally!"

Toby went to her, purring and meowing all the way.

"Oh, baby, I missed you too. Are you hungry? You must be. Here, let me give you something to eat."

Molly put her coat in the coat rack, put some cat food in Toby's bowl and then proceeded to put her things down in the living room. She caught sight of her phone on the coffee table.

"Oh, there you are", she said to herself.

Browsing through the missing calls, she froze. Ten missed calls. All of them from Sherlock. Oh my God. Why so many? Is he alright? What happened?, she thought. Then there was a text message. She opened it.

Don't go home. Go anywhere but home, it's not safe. Watch your back. –SH

Molly started to tremble.

"Oh my God", she whispered, trying to control her shaking limbers and call Sherlock. When she was about to put her phone on her ear, she saw a blur out of the corner of her eye.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, miss Hooper."

And then she saw him. With a maniac grin and a gun in his hand, pointing at her.

"Put it down, will you?", asked Moran.

Sherlock paid the cabbie and stood outside Molly's flat. He observed and tried to deduce everything he could. He knew Molly was at home as Mycroft gave him the heads up. Good thing about having surveillance cameras throughout the city.

He saw footprints. They were visibly fresh, one of them belonging to a woman and the other one to a man. The one that belonged to the man indicated he had a bulky size, at least six feet. Sherlock knew Molly didn't have any male neighbors with bulky constitution, so it was clear that the footprint belonged to a stranger.

Sherlock opened the door and got inside. He examined the walls and the stairs, but saw no indications of violence. Which means he either got inside before she got home or after she got home. Now, if it was after, he would most probably have forced the door, which would get the attention of neighbors and put him in high profile. No, Moran knew exactly where she lived and what time she would get home. He simply got ahead of her, picked the lock to the door and waited.

That means she's his hostage by now, Sherlock thought as he slowly stepped upstairs. He went through the hallway as silently as he could and stopped just outside Molly's door. He noticed it wasn't locked. Then, deliberately, slowly, Sherlock opened the door.

He immediately saw Molly sitting on the sofa with a very distressed look on her face. She had dried tears on her cheeks and her hands were shaking. Molly looked back at him, with a look of despair but also relief. Sherlock stepped forward and closed the door behind him. He scanned the flat, but saw nothing he wasn't expecting to see.

"Evening, Holmes", said a male voice, "don't be shy now, come closer."

As Sherlock walked closer to Molly, he could see Moran sitting on an armchair, gun pointing at Molly and his feet on the coffee table.

"So we finally meet, then. Let me introduce myself officially. My name is Sebastian Moran. I used to be a soldier, a – "

"A colonel", Sherlock interrupted, "yes, I know. The name's Sherlock Holmes. But you know that already."

"Oh yes, that and a lot more", Moran replied with a grin.

"What do you want, Moran?"

"I want you dead", he said simply, now pointing the gun to Sherlock.

Molly was about to move and say something, but Sherlock anticipated her reaction and intervened, looking fiercely at Moran.

"No, Molly. Don't. Stay where you are, don't try to move. You'll be fine."

Molly didn't reply, but obeyed nonetheless. She was worried about what Sherlock had just said. He said she would be fine, but he never said anything about him being ok as well. What could that mean? Was he really thinking about taking Moran's offer?

Moran got up, still pointing his gun at Sherlock. He squinted a little and then smile.

"Oh. She means that much to you, doesn't she? Well then, in this case, I should kill her too", he said, pointing his gun at Molly again.

Sherlock was very angry. So angry in fact, he could barely contain his emotions. It was all there for everyone to see: a murder look, his jaw locked tightly, his heart beating fast, his hands into fists on the sides of his body. And yet, he knew he could not react. A hasty reaction could easily mean Molly's death. Sherlock would have to wait for a breach, for a split second chance to turn the table.

"You assume too much", Sherlock replied, as calmly as he could, though his anger could be easily felt on his voice.

"Do I? Well, I think you are bluffing, Holmes."

At that moment, Moran's phone started to ring. Moran rolled his eyes and impatiently answered it.

"Yes, what is it? Hm. I see. Hold them as much as you can", he said, and then hung up.

"Oh well, your brother has just crashed our party. How mean is that? He's no fun at all!"

"Tell me about it", Sherlock answered sarcastically.

There was a moment of tension in the room. And then, a loud bang somewhere outside. Gun shot. And it was in this precise moment that everything happened, where Moran made a huge mistake. He looked in the direction of the shot and as soon as he did, he realized he shouldn't have done that. By the time he looked at Sherlock again, the detective was almost on his throat. Instinctively, Moran pulled the trigger.

Not a second after Mycroft shoot one of Moran's men, another gunshot could be heard. It came from Molly's flat.

Oh no, he thought.

"Make haste! Go!", Mycroft ordered his men to surround the flat.

Not a minute later, everyone was out of their flats. People hurriedly came rushing outside, afraid of the gunshot they just heard.

Sherlock was fighting Moran for the gun. They were choking each other, punching and elbowing each other and with one swift movement, Sherlock was able to tackle him down. Moran fell on the coffee table and his gun flew from his hand and landed somewhere in the kitchen. Molly quickly made her way out of the mess and kicked the gun under the refrigerator. Toby was desperate and fiercely displayed his displeasure, running from the living room and hiding somewhere in Molly's room.

The coffee table, as expected, didn't endure the blow and broke. Sherlock was about to deliver a strong blow, when Moran quickly rolled out of his range, picking up one of the table's legs and using it as a stick. It had a sharp edge and he continually tried to thrust it at Sherlock, who was trying his best to evade the continuing attacks.

Molly felt helpless. She couldn't do anything to help Sherlock now. Her knees were trembling and she was unable to even walk straight.

Sherlock ducked and counter-attacked with an elbow blow, from down to up, hitting Moran's jaw with massive strength. Moran fell backwards, dizzy. Sherlock plunged at him and started punching his face, but Moran managed to recover quickly enough to tackle Sherlock over and hit him hard on his left shoulder.

Sherlock let out a cry of pain as he fell on the floor. Moran was about to hit him again, when the door burst open and a half dozen men came inside.

"Drop the weapon! Hands behind your head, NOW!", one of them commanded.

Moran turned around and rushed to Molly's room, where could be heard glass shattering. The men, totally stunned, for they were definitely not expecting that reaction, rushed to the room, only to find it empty. As soon as they peeked outside the window – or at least what used to be a window and now is mostly a framed hole on the wall – they could see more fighting and struggling. Moran was running down the street with the police on his neck, opening fire at him. Some other police men, though, started firing against the police itself, obviously trying to help Moran. It was a distraction that allowed Moran to do a hasted retreat. And then, before anyone could realize what the hell was happening, Moran was out of sight.

Sherlock was lying on the floor, panting. He tried to sit, supporting his back on the side of the armchair. He had his eyes tightly shut, trying to fight back the pain. He could hear some ruckus and glass shattering.

And there he goes, Sherlock thought.

He now felt someone blocking the light and, opening his eyes, saw Molly. She bent down on both knees to look at him.

"Oh, God…I'm so sorry, Sherlock. I'm so sorry…", she said, trying to fight back her tears.

Sherlock couldn't help but smile. She was unharmed, after all.

"It's alright, Molly. I'm fine."

"No, you're not. You are bleeding, Sherlock!"

Now that she mentioned it, Sherlock did feel his left shoulder hurting like hell. Taking a look at it, surely enough, it was bleeding. He had been shot.

"Let me take a look at it", she said, trying to calm down and pull herself together.

Molly lifted his coat just enough to see where the bullet had hit him. His shirt was tore on his shoulder and on further inspection, she let out a sigh of relief.

"The bullet has just grazed your shoulder. You'll be fine soon enough, no permanent consequences", she said, trying her best to sound cheery, but failing to contain her tears.

"Come on, Molly. Don't cry. We are fine", Sherlock tried to calm her down with the softest voice he could manage. She was looking down, for some reason embarrassed to look at him.

"I'm sorry, it was my fault. I shouldn't have forgotten my phone at home…", she said between sobs, "I'm so useless, and now you are hurt, I'm so –"

"Will you please stop it?", Sherlock said, putting his index finger on her lips to silence her, "but do bring your phone with you next time, will you?"

Molly nodded.

"Good", he said, wiping her tears off her face with his right hand.

He then looked at her, deep in her eyes, and smiled. He didn't know why, he just smiled. Maybe it was because she was safe, at least for now, and for some reason that brought him huge relief.

"Aham", a man behind them cleared his throat, clearly trying to make them acknowledge his presence.

"Oh. Mycroft", Sherlock said.

"The next time you go in the direction of your certain death, would you mind telling me in advance? You wouldn't believe how hard it was to get all these men here in time", he said with a reprimanding tone.

"That wasn't really on my mind, to tell you the truth", Sherlock replied.

Mycroft looked at him and then at Molly.

"No, I believe it really wasn't", he said, smirking, replying to Sherlock but looking at Molly.

Molly was starting to feel a bit uncomfortable.

"Um…can I ask what was this all about, exactly?", she asked Mycroft.

"Oh, you sure can, but I'll leave that to Sherlock", Mycroft said.

"Found the gun, sir!", a man spoke from the kitchen.

"Good. We are leaving now."

"What about him, sir?", asked another man, hesitantly.

"Miss Hooper here is more than qualified to take care of such injuries. Unless she doesn't want to", Mycroft said, turning to Molly for an answer.

"Oh. No, it's alright. I have everything I need, I can do it", she replied to the men.

"It's settled then. Have a good night miss Hooper. Night, brother", Mycroft said, closing the door behind him, but not before making his men put the hazardous broken pieces of wood and glass in the flat away to avoid accidents.

There was complete silence.

Sherlock decided to get up. Seeing as he was struggling with the effort, Molly promptly helped him to get on his feet.

"Thank you. I, uh, should change these", Sherlock said, pointing to his own clothes.

"Oh. Ok. Um…do you want some tea?"

"Yes, please."

Sherlock retreated to his room, grabbed a few clothes and then proceeded to the bathroom to take a hot, relaxing shower.

Molly, on the other hand, used the few minutes she had alone to let all the recent events sink in. She was nearly killed. And then Sherlock was very nearly killed. Then Moran ran away and now Sherlock is injured and Molly has to stitch him up and how the hell a simple physician got herself wrapped up in such a mess?

Molly sighed and tried to organize her thoughts. Alright, first things first. Step one, boil the kettle. Step two, get whatever we need. She fetched her pharmacy box to get everything she needed: stitch thread, anesthetic, gauze, alcohol, antiseptic, and brand new needles. Step three, disinfect hands. Done.

Sherlock got out of the bathroom. His hair was damp, but dry enough not to drip water on his shoulders. The wound was much clearer now, and much less ugly looking. He had his chest bare and the button of his trousers undone. He silently made his way to the living room. Shivering a little bit, he lit the fire and sat on the sofa on the spot closest to the fireplace.

Molly turned off the fire and put the kettle on a tray. She then got another clean tray, put all the utensils she was going to need on it and walked to Sherlock's side on the sofa. He looked tired. And yet, there was something else. His look, his gaze…there was tiredness there, but there was also something else that Molly couldn't quite name.

As she got close to him, it finally struck her: his naked chest, his trousers with its button undone and him, sprawled on the sofa in a nearly sloppy way. He was gorgeous. She never saw him like this, which made all his beauty strike her even harder.

"Um…Sherlock, can you sit straight? It will be easier for both of us if you do it", she asked, after contemplating his figure for a whole minute, without realizing she was doing so.

Sherlock didn't say anything, but straightened himself up. Molly then put the tray on the armchair closest to the fire and started disinfecting the wound. Sherlock let out a low hiss, clearly in pain, but didn't protest further. Molly was watching him and trying to be as gentle as she could. She then put some anesthetic and went to the kitchen to get them some tea while its effect kicked in.

Molly handed Sherlock a mug of tea and sat by his side. He sipped once and, seeing that he liked how it tasted, took a larger gulp. He was silent. Too silent. He hadn't spoke once since he showered. Molly then tried to say something, anything, because this silence was making her feel uncomfortable.

"Um…thank you, Sherlock. For saving me. I never expected this mess would happen. I'm so sorry…"

He finally looked at her and smiled shyly.

"You are welcome, Molly", and then redirected his attention to his tea.

She smiled in return, and did the same. They were silent for a few minutes and when they finished with their tea, Molly proceeded to disinfect her hands again and start to stitch him up.

"This is going to hurt a bit, but it's needed. I'll do it as fast as I can so it will be over soon", she said. He just nodded.

Molly placed herself behind his left shoulder and started to sow. She could feel his warm skin under her fingertips and tried her best not to shiver at the contact. This was the closest she ever got to him, even though it was because of an unfortunate event. Sherlock glanced at her sideways every once in a while. There was absolute silence, only the noise of the fire snapping every now and then. After a few minutes she was done with the stitching part, so she proceeded to put some antiseptic and gauze, finishing with a "try not to move your left arm too roughly for at least a couple days, ok?"

"Ok", he answered.

"I'll, uh…put these in place", she said, pointing to the needles and gauze and everything else.

Sherlock watched her every movement. She put everything back in the pharmacy box and then put the box in the cupboard. Sherlock sensed she was about to turn around and so averted his eyes, looking at the floor instead. There was some fierce battle inside him. When did he allow himself such emotions? It was so much he was feeling overwhelmed. And why? Why?

His distress could be easily read on his face. Sherlock was not able to hold back anymore, and Molly could see through him. She slowly took a couple steps forward, putting herself in his field of vision again.

"Sherlock? What is it?", she asked softly.

Her voice seemed to wake him from his own thoughts. At first he looked at her with a surprised face, like he didn't acknowledge her close presence before. Then he swallowed hard and looked down at the floor again. When Molly was about to speak again, he slowly got up, and it hurt more than he thought it would but it wasn't nearly as bad as his first time in Molly's flat, just after the fall.

Sherlock locked eyes with Molly. He was dead serious and his eyes were slightly watered. He wasn't crying, but he surely was having a huge battle with his own emotions. The reason to all this was slowly sinking in for him. It was similar to the Hound of the Baskerville case, except now he wasn't scared of what he first perceived as a monster. Nevertheless, he felt fear. When he read Moran's note he at once understood that, in some level, he had underestimated the man and consequently put Molly's life in danger.

He feared he could've lost Molly. Now, when that thought came to his mind again, it took all the strength he had not to shudder. It was just something he could not bear. It was too strong. For some reason, as much as it would have hurt him to lose Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson and John on that fateful day, the thought of losing Molly just a few hours ago made him feel sick to his stomach. No, just no. And as much as he wanted it not to happen, making him feel vulnerable, he could not do anything about it. This was against his will. Contrary to what he believed, he couldn't rule his feelings.

Still overloaded with emotion, Sherlock slowly took a couple steps forward, closing the distance between them. They were about five inches apart. Molly started to hyperventilate. Her pupils dilated, her pulse quickened. She was scared and couldn't help but think, What does that mean? What does he want? What do I do? Oh God, my knees are turning into jello…

He looked at her in the eyes with an intensity he didn't know he could conceive. Then, his gaze softened and he gave her a small smile. Molly, on the other hand, was so scared and shocked with his reaction she wasn't moving or blinking or breathing at all.

Slowly, Sherlock wrapped his arms around Molly, pulling her to him in a firm yet very tender, intimate embrace. He felt the warmth of her body against his which served as an assurance that they were alright now. That Molly was alright now. He rested his right cheek on her right temple and let out a long sigh of relief.

Sherlock didn't know what to do. He had never found himself before in such a situation. The best to do, he figured, was to just not think too much about it. To try to just…do whatever he felt was right, and not what he thought was right. That experience itself was giving him mixed feelings.

Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side, he thought, however, I can't deny I have them, whatever they are, for much longer.

He allowed himself to close his eyes and just try to enjoy the moment, no questions asked.

Molly was very much confused. She felt like her heart – and also the time, now that she was at it – had stopped. She was experiencing so many feelings it seemed her brain had just glitched and she had ceased to show any reaction whatsoever and instead just stood there, jaw hanging open and wide-eyed. Sherlock had unconsciously and very discreetly started rocking side to side now, and that seemed to trigger Molly's brain into working again.

Molly felt like her heart started to beat again. So fast in fact, she was having trouble to breathe now. She blinked furiously, letting all that had just happened sink in. Molly finally responded, hugging him back. She wrapped her arms around him, touching his bare back, and rested her forehead on his chest. She could feel his breathing and his heartbeat slowly becoming steadier. Molly was scared: she never expected Sherlock would ever do something like this, let alone do it to her. At the same time, she was also happy and feeling so good she felt she could fly. The tension between them had dropped dramatically and they were comfortable with each other as it was right now.

"I thought I had lost you", Sherlock confessed, with a somewhat hoarse voice.

"I…", Molly tried.

"I'm sorry", they said in unison.

They were silent. Sherlock moved his right hand from her back to the nape of her neck, caressing her hair. Molly unconsciously responded, caressing his back.

Slowly, Sherlock pulled away just enough to look her in the eyes again, smiling shyly as he did so. Molly was feeling drawn to him. Those eyes…those hypnotic eyes. His cheekbones, his lips…

Before Molly could make her brain catch up with her actions, she kissed him. She felt his warm lips on hers and felt his breathing, and how it went from steady to none to erratic in what seemed to be a split second. And then, like three seconds later, her eyes snapped open and her brain finally caught up with her actions. She pulled back abruptly and had a mortified expression on her face.

Oh. My. God. What did I just do? Oh no no NO, this was a mistake. What am I going to do? What is he going to do?, her thoughts were racing a thousand miles per hour.

"Oh. Sherlock…I'm sorry! I didn't mean to…I shouldn't have! I – "

Molly was interrupted by Sherlock, who said nothing, but held his hand up and slowly took a couple steps in her direction. Sherlock was actually surprised. Not surprised that Molly kissed him; no, he knew she had feelings for him and understood it was easy to give in to feelings and desires. He was surprised of what Molly's action triggered inside him. He was initially shocked, but then he felt like some fire inside him ignited and started to burn uncontrollably. For all he cared, that kiss didn't last nearly long enough.

Just a Kiss (by Lady Antebellum)

Lyin' here with you so close to me
It's hard to fight these feelings
When it feels so hard to breathe
I'm caught up in this moment
Caught up in your smile

Sherlock cupped her cheeks in both of his hands. He then lowered his head just enough for their lips to meet again.

And then, just like a minute ago, he felt that fire again: a warmth growing in the pit of his stomach and spreading, going through his spine all the way up to his head. Sherlock was having a very non-Sherlock moment. He had, at least for that sublime moment, wrapped his logical, deduce-everything mind of his in a box and shipped it all the way to Fuck-This island.

I've never opened up to anyone
So hard to hold back when I'm holding you in my arms
We don't need to rush this
Let's just take it slow

Just a kiss on your lips in the moonlight
Just a touch in the fire burning so bright
And I don't want to mess this thing up
I don't want to push too far
Just a shot in the dark that you just might
Be the one I've been waiting for my whole life
So baby I'm alright, with just a kiss goodnight

Molly was so contented and overwhelmed with emotions she was, in fact, very enthusiastic to respond. Their kiss started to intensify, their breathing getting shallower by the second. She couldn't believe it – this was actually happening.

Sherlock was now being led solely by what he would call his primal instincts. Molly was so ecstatic Sherlock had to take a couple steps backwards to maintain his balance – which actually had the opposite effect. He tripped on what seemed to be a wrinkle on the carpet and a few cushions that were scattered on the floor, probably a consequence of tonight's wrestling.

They fell and Sherlock almost hit the floor, which would be very painful, if not for the sofa that was in the way. He fell with his back on it and Molly crashed on his chest.

That, though, didn't stop them. He made himself comfortable and Molly did the same, intertwining her legs with his and kissing him passionately.

I know that if we give this a little time
It will only bring us closer to the love we wanna find
It's never felt so real
No, it's never felt so right

Sherlock allowed himself a few liberties, like caressing Molly's waistline and stroking her back, while Molly did the same with his neck and chest.

To Molly, this felt like a dream. Actually, she was almost positive it was a dream, so she would have to pinch herself as soon as she got the chance.

Just a kiss on your lips in the moonlight
Just a touch in the fire burning so bright
And I don't want to mess this thing up
I don't wanna push too far
Just a shot in the dark that you just might
Be the one I've been waiting for my whole life
So baby I'm alright, with just a kiss goodnight

Sherlock abruptly pulled away, just enough for him to breathe. He was panting. Actually, she was panting as well, but hasn't really realized it until now.

No I don't wanna say goodnight
I know it's time to leave
But you'll be in my dreams
Tonight
Tonight
Tonight

"Don't be", Sherlock said.

"What?", Molly frowned in confusion.

"You said you were sorry…for kissing me", he explained.

"Oh", her eyes lit up with understanding, "oh…kay, then", she answered.

Now that they were not engaged in such activity anymore, their breathing coming to normal levels, they were just enjoying the company of each other. Or at least Molly was. She couldn't possibly know what Sherlock was thinking: this never, ever happened to them, except in her dreams.

Noticing she was growing uncomfortable, Sherlock cupped her cheek in his right hand and smiled. It was a small, shy smile, but it was of a great significance to her. However, it wasn't enough to make him feel more relaxed and less self-conscious of his actions.

"So…", she tried, "what happened there in Russia, exactly?"

"We failed, but not completely, it seems. We managed to find out what he was exactly up to and where and when that would happen, but we failed to get there in time. It's all a mess now, and Putin has been kidnapped."

"Oh my God. How exactly did that happen?"

"Well, there's this huge plan to take Putin out of the way and not only Moran, Dyanchenko and Romanova were involved. Russia's Prime Minister was in as well. To put it shortly, Romanova planned all this with the Prime Minister. While she was responsible to put someone in charge of the operation, his job was to make sure they would have enough weaponry. That's how Moran got Dyachenko to help him assemble and train their militia. We couldn't foresee, however, how solid and fast their intelligence work would be. It's like they had all of Moscow covered and watched. That's why we couldn't make it in time. When we got there, they were already gone."

"But…why didn't you stay there? He's still missing, isn't he?"

"He is…but I'm pretty sure he will be found soon enough. Moran's militia might be strong and smart, but they are nothing compared to Russia's army. And I didn't stay because I knew he was coming for you. He made that very clear."

Sherlock held her closer with a stronger embrace than before. That didn't go unnoticed by Molly, who blushed a little at his actions. He then continued.

"We have to watch our backs. Moran probably has as much unofficial access to information as I do. Mycroft put the whole MI-5, and apparently the MI-6 now, too, behind him. Interpol is also on his tracks and now even the SVR, former KGB, is after him. But, if I'm right, which, by the way, I usually am, none of that is going to help much. He's got infiltrated subordinates everywhere. He's very much like Moriarty now. He acts but doesn't leave much behind for us to work with. Unless he wants to."

They were silent, contemplating the complicated situation they found themselves in now.

"I…see. Then what do we do now?", she asked.

"Now…we rest."

Molly nodded and tried to get up but Sherlock held her tighter, preventing her to move, and looked at her. She smiled and, understanding what he meant, relaxed and just stayed there, lying with him – or, more specifically, on him – as she easily drifted to sleep.

Sherlock, however, spent a good hour or two contemplating her sleeping figure and thinking about this night's events. What would happen from now on? He didn't want to hurt Molly, but he knew he wasn't the settle down, marry, have kids kind of man. However, he could picture himself with her. She was smart, caring and, most of all, his companion from now on. Would it work?

"Goodnight, Molly", he said, kissing her forehead and giving up thinking about it and drifting to sleep as well, too tired and hurt to be able to think of anything else for much longer.

Oh, let's do this right
With just a kiss goodnight
With a kiss goodnight
Kiss goodnight

Footnote: So! Do you like it? Dislike it? I felt this was very out of character because, well, this is not much like Sherlock anyways. Sherlolly itself is out of character, but I'll try to balance their relationship. Anyways, I had much, much fun writing this and I hope you had just as much fun as I had reading it. I'm going to eat something now, it's lunch time here…see you on the next chapter! :D