thesecitystreets said: "Congratulations. You actually convinced me to sleep with you." Hehe :D
A/N: Rated a strong T for implied smexy times and Bad Words. Cause I really like making them both potty mouths!
"Congratulations. You actually convinced me to sleep with you."
Sherlock winced at the cold tone. Molly was still angry with him, clearly; he needed to do something to fix this before she threw him out of her bed and her flat and, indeed, her life. "Molly, it wasn't me using you, I promise," he said, meeting her gaze and nearly flinching at the fury and hurt he saw in her normally warm brown eyes. "It wasn't me trying to get back in your good graces after fucking up and using again, I swear."
"Then what was it, Sherlock? A pity fuck? Finally giving me something you know I've wanted for years? An apology for shacking up with that woman just for a case?"
"No!" Outraged he sat up, the sheet falling to his lap and barely covering his naked form. Molly sat up as well, but tugged the same sheet – flowered, all her sheets were either flowered or covered in cartoon animals – up so that it modestly covered her breasts. Breasts that he had covered with kisses and love bites only a few hours ago. Breasts that he had once fatuously and rather cuttingly implied were too small, when nothing could be further from the truth: those breasts were perfect, just like everything else about Molly Hooper.
Who was still glowering at him, waiting for him to explain. "It wasn't pity, for fuck's sake, or an apology for anything! I didn't sleep with Janine, no matter what lies she fed to the tabloids. I do have some concept of boundaries!"
"First I've noticed," Molly snapped, but he thought he detected a certain softening in both her voice and her body language.
Sherlock carefully reached over and put his hands on her shoulders. She didn't flinch away or push him off; encouraged, he pulled her into the circle of his arms and pressed a warm, loving kiss to her lips. "I didn't sleep with you to get anything from you, Molly, except the satisfaction of knowing I'd finally let myself have something I've wanted for years. Something I've not let myself have because of…well. Stupid reasons, actually," he admitted quietly. "A ridiculous belief that sentiment had no value, that caring wasn't an advantage, that sex was a distraction."
"So what changed?" Molly asked, just as quietly. Somehow they'd moved so that he was settled against the headboard of her bed while she was resting with her head on his shoulder in the circle of his embrace. "Why now?"
He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, giving himself time to really think before he answered her. "I have enemies, Molly. People who hate me and want to do me harm. Worse, they want to do the people I love harm. You know that; you helped me save John and Mrs. Hudson and Gavin…"
"Greg," she corrected him, and he heard a faint undercurrent of laughter in her voice.
"And Greg," he agreed, dropping a quick kiss on the top of her head. "Moriarty was the first to use my friends against me, then Magnussen, and that bastard Moran nearly killed you while I was busy chasing after false leads in the mistaken belief he was Moriarty back from the dead…who knows who'll pop up out of the woodwork next?"
"So this is just a one-off then? A good-bye before you push me away because your life is too dangerous for a relationship?"
This time there was no bitterness, no anger, just an overwhelming sadness in her voice that Sherlock couldn't bear to hear. "No," he said roughly, tilting her head up so she could see the determination in his gaze. "This is me saying that, if you still want me, Molly Hooper, you can have me. Because there will always be some threat, and if John is still willing to be my friend and Mrs. Hudson still lets me live at Baker Street – and if John and Mary are both willing to let me not only stand as their daughter's god-father but also spend time with her? Then if you'll have me, there's not an enemy of mine that could keep us apart no matter how hard they try. And if you don't think it's worth the risk…then at least we had this one time."
Molly's eyes had filled with tears, a sight he'd seen only once before, the day she'd helped him fake his death. Alarmed, he brushed the tears away with his thumbs, then peppered her with kisses in between mumbled apologies and promises to do whatever it took to keep her safe, even if that included giving her up.
"Over my dead body!" she exclaimed, seizing his head in both hands and snogging him breathless. "Sherlock, that was the most beautiful thing anyone's ever said to me. And if you're willing to put up with my bad jokes and hideous jumpers – don't lie, I know you hate them! – and my bad-tempered cat, then yes, of course you can have me!"
The rest of the morning was spent, not in conversation, but in each doing their best to show the other exactly how they felt. End result: two sore but sated new lovers determined never to let anyone keep them apart.
And no one ever did.
