Okay, so I said 12 reviews and this chapter goes up right? Well I got 13 in two days, so I am sorry I'm late! Now, I'm in a rush so I can't really do shout outs, but I promise to do 'em all next chapter, so for now, I quick thank you to: magicstrikes(always the first reviewer!), Empress of Verace, MorbidbyDefault, RockingtheRedhead, sheipweir always, Mariel221B, booklover669, LaserGirl77, AdaYuki, Guest, Guest and Watersong77 for the thirteen reviews in TWO days.
To everyone else yet to read, or those who didn't have time to review, to the floaters, and even to anyone who reads this to laugh at my writing, thank you so much for even clicking on the link to read! Now you all know I don't own Sherlock.
ENJOY:
Right then, as John walked up to open the door, Sherlock really wished he hadn't accepted when Mary said she'd bring Molly over, to save time for Sherlock having to pick her up at her apartment. He would never admit it to anyone, ever, but Sherlock was- well Sherlock Holmes was feeling like a nervous wreck. Literally. His stomach was twisting and his stomach acids were crashing against the walls, alerting him of his lack of nutrition. Usually he'd ignore it, but now he could barely swallow the bitter bile that was creeping up the back of his throat.
And he could barely compute the overwhelming excitement that was washing over everything else.
He listened, but not really, as John and Mary greeted each other. Where was Molly? The couple left the apartment. Sherlock nodded half-heartedly at some last minute warning from John. Then he heard them say goodbye a second time. Footsteps clacked and stomped down the stairs, when a softer pair entered the room.
Molly spent the first few seconds looking around the room. The first thing he noticed were her hands. They were flying everywhere; flitting from the bangles on her wrist, to the hem of her dress, up to brushing her hair from her face. One thing that had always infuriated Sherlock about the pathologist was her need to cover herself in what he deemed to be a grandmother's drapes or pillow could never make accurate assumptions about anything- she probably did put on two and a half pounds rather than three when he questioned her during her time with...him.
But now? Now she was dressed, still conservative, but stylish, feminine, and she looked stunning. Maybe it was the simplicity of her clothes, or just the change in 'genre' she wore. John had said something earlier about no insults. Insults? Pfft. Anyone who'd insult Molly right then would either be blind, in denial, or outright jealous (honestly, the last choice would be more common than one would think). She was now looking at him, openly admiring him. Inwardly, he smirked; on the outside, he stepped forward and placed his hand on the small of her back guiding her to the door. He walked up to her, before bringing his right arm from behind his back. In his hand was a beautiful bouquet of assorted, aromatic flowers. Molly grinned widely, beautifully, he thought before mentally hitting himself, before giggling nervously and accepting.
"Shall we depart?" he asked. Molly giggled again slightly before nodding her head.
"Of course." she grinned, allowing Sherlock to lead her out the door.
Sherlock caught her look of surprise when they went up instead of down.
"Where are we-"
"You'll see Molly." They walked up two flights of stairs, to the highest storey in the building, in silence. Sherlock was contemplating her potential reactions. She would either love it, or be disappointed, according to his nephew and niece. His fingers were crossed that it would be the former. He walked her up another small ladder of steps and stopped her at the plain black door, once again taking in how adorable she looked with her face scrunched in confusion. He shook his head and brought himself back to reality. Time for the moment of truth.
What if it was too simple? Too boring? Too dull for her tastes? It definitely isn't extravagant. his mind couldn't help but wonder. Never mind, he told himself, it is too late now. As he took a deep breath and pushed open the door, he looked down at her face- he didn't want to miss a single reaction.
The detective watched as Molly's frown morphed into a small 'O' of surprise and disbelief, before turning into a gasp that transformed into a massive grin. He took note and hurriedly stored the way her face lit up and the disbelieving laugh that broke from her. Stepping upwards, she stood on the roof of 221 Baker Street. She took a slow spin of the area her grin growing wider. He silently thanked those children, before stepping out to join her, a small smile on his face. She stopped twirling around and grinned up at him, her eyes twinkling.
"Sherlock, this is beautiful!" she breathed.
"Mrs. Hudson's private garden."
"It's amazing Sherlock, truly amazing. I never knew Mrs. Hudson was so...talented!" he grinned this time. She was really loving this.
"Then let us truly start this date." he said holding his arm out to her. She laughed again and laced her arm through his, allowing him to lead her away.
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Molly honestly couldn't pick a single feeling out of the jumble of emotions in her head as she walked with Sherlock. It was all so surreal. If someone had walked up to her, all those years ago when Sherlock first pranced his still pompous arse into the morgue and told Molly she would be out on this outstanding evening, she would have been the first to check him into a mental hospital.
The grin on her face refused to falter, and truthfully, her cheeks was cramping (not that she cared). London was a loud, bustling, concrete jungle, but all that disappeared as they climbed up on that roof. The area was filled to the brim with plants and vines, a transparent giant greenhouse erected in the centre took up most of the space. The floor around the was covered with tubs and pots of flowering plants with a small area left bare to serve as a narrow path to get to and from the greenhouse and the entrance and around the plants themselves. There was an obvious border, though, so the edges of the wide, concrete roof was left dull and undecorated. She could see how well hidden the space was from wandering eyes below. She had always known Mrs. Hudson had something hidden inside that kind old landlady who put up with a man-child detective, but she never would have thought it was a talent as beautiful as this.
Sherlock led her through the transparent door and as it swung shut, all noise of traffic and night life was shut out completely. Apparently, Mrs. Hudson's greenhouse garden was soundproofed. The garden was a paradise for bees, flowers literally filled almost every square foot of the room. They were everywhere, growing calmly in pots or sweeping across the walls and roof of the room. The colours were bright, yet so comforting. Greens, oranges, yellows, reds, purples and blues greeted her side everywhere she turned. Looking around, she realised just how big the greenhouse actually was. 221 Baker Street stretched far back into an alley, so even though the width of the garden paradise was significantly narrow, it stretched on seemingly forever, and it's height was at least a good ten feet. She couldn't help but giggle when she thought of this as a scene from a sappy romance novel. She giggled and grinned even more when she realised that she was the heroine, and the man she had been in love with for the past few years was the sexy hero all women would've died for.
"Is anything the matter?" Sherlock asked, at her side, giving her a slightly worried glance. Molly smiled softly up at him.
"Of course not. We've barely started and-" Molly broke off, once again in disbelief that she was in a beautiful, private garden, on a date, with Sherlock-bloody-Holmes. I have to be dreaming. She clutched tighter to his arm, just to be sure.
"I assure you, this is not a dream." Sherlock grinned at her, chucking lowly. Molly glanced at him with surprise. Since when was he telepathic?
"You said your thoughts out loud Molly." he said plainly. A blush immediately erupted over the pathologists cheeks. Since when do I speak aloud? Her embarrassment was forgotten however, when Sherlock stopped them, in the centre of the beautiful secret garden.
A small, round white table-clothed table was laid out, with two covered plates on placemats across each other on it. A small candle sat in the middle of the table, already lit and melting. It was scented, Molly realised as she took in a much needed gulp of air. Ember...thank god it isn't Lavender.
"Ah yes, the candle. I was thinking of Lavender, but it was horribly cliche, and while I do know that a candlelit dinner is cliche, I wanted to at least make sure the smells weren't, so as to not bore you. Besides, Lavender is a ghastly scent." he said drawled plainly, smirking his usual smirk.
"Sherlock, I don't think anyone I've ever known has had a man who took them to a beautiful, almost secret garden, for a private dinner surrounded by beautiful flowers. Trust me, it is well beyond cliche, and while I wouldn't have minded something like dinner and a rom-com, this is absolutely...I wouldn't trade it in for the world. And yes, Lavender is disgusting. Ember is actually my favourite scent, but it isn't very well-known." Sherlock raised an eyebrow and smirked.
"Well then Molly, we have something in common, it seems."
Molly allowed herself to be walked to over to the table, where the man pulled her chair out for her and seated her before attending to himself. Molly was beginning to feel very light headed from all the chivalrous actions. Dammit Molly, control yourself! But then again, he's already so bloody smart and gorgeous and drop dead sexy, why does he have to be a gentleman too? Oh screw this, he's a gentleman for me. Oh god...I'm on a date with Sherlock Holmes. I am. On a DATE. With- okay Molly breathe.
Listening to her advice, for once, Molly took in a few calming breaths before looking up at Sherlock, who was staring back at her with an expression of very, very sexy amusement on his face. Molly really had to take the word 'sexy' and throw it out of her vocabulary. At least when she was in front of Sherlock. oh dear god no.
"Did I say anything out loud?"
"This time, only the first bit, and you then trailed off; of course, I could tell what you were thinking after. Why, is it a problem?"
"Oh lord- how much did you hear?"
"Enough to know that according to women, I am 'drop dead sexy'," he grinned "let's get started then shall we?"
Sherlock reached over to uncover the plates, widening the gap in his suit, leaving Molly staring greedily at his chest, covered by the form fitting marine blue shirt. Her eyes trailed over the sharp angles of his alabaster face, taking in the planes of his cheekbones, the shadows they made on his cheeks, the swirling colours of his psychedelic eyes. It was a while before she tore her gaze away, but it unfortunately locked itself on the curve of the pink Cupid's bow lips she loved so much. She almost gasped when the corner of those so very delectable lips twitched upwards into a very sexy smirk. Damn it, Molls, no more using the word 'sexy'!
"Seen enough?" he asked, his eyes twinkling at her.
oh god, he caught me totally perving him with my eyes thought Molly, mortified.
"Obviously." he said. He caught the expression on her face and rolled his eyes "You spoke aloud unintentionally again Molly. A new sign of your nervousness. I always knew there were a few things I never picked up."
Molly looked down, embarrassed but gasped (again- another annoyingly feminine thing she had to stop doing) as she saw the dish in front of her. Sat on her plate was a mound of perfectly (well, it looked perfect) cooked spaghetti surrounded with bits of scallop, squid and other assortments of freshly done seaweed and vegetables.
"Sherlock, did you-did you cook this yourself?"
"Yes, I did. Its not perfect, but I did follow a recipe and cooking is merely a form of chemistry with timing, besides- "
"Sherlock, its perfect." Molly cut him off, grinning at him warmly.
Sherlock smiled- not smirked, smiled- in reply and gestured at the food in front of him, "Bon appetite." he said softly, making Molly shiver involuntarily at his deep baritone.
She took her first bite.
Holy crap.
She moaned. Out loud. Sherlock glanced up, amused.
"I can presume that you like it then."
"Sherlock, how do you not eat when you cook so, so-" she struggled trying to find a word that could describe his amazing culinary skills.
"Good?" he offered.
"More than, Sherlock. This is- this is amazing!" she said.
"Glad to know it is to your expectations have been met." he said, once again smiling, involuntarily (or maybe voluntarily) sending another course of tingles down her spine.
They settled into a comfortable conversation between bites, talking about past cases and familiar places.
Towards the end of the meal, the conversation quietened to the small clanks of cutlery against plates as the two enjoyed their food. The pathologist spent most of her time watching the detective eat. He was undeniably brought up with amazing table manners. Besides, it was good to see him eat- it usually worried Molly when he'd walk into her morgue after a three day case looking like a handsome skeleton. Molly picked up her napkin and dabbed the end of her mouth when she finished, before setting it down, with the intention to restart the conversation. He eyes widened in surprise when she realised that the seat was empty. Her heart immediately thumped painfully as her brain began looking through the worst case scenarios.
Was I boring?
Does he not like me anymore? Did I do something wrong? Oh god, he probably came to his senses and-
A loud clearing of the throat cut through her daze of self pity and panic. Sherlock was beside her, extending a pale, graceful hand towards her. He was smirking softly at her.
"Your facial expressions made it clear of your panic, but, Molly, as I have said before, my...uh..." his smirk faltered as he said the next word before coming back into place "feelings for you are, well, stronger than I'd
like to imagine, so you have to understand that-" he leaned in closer, his breath hot against her blushing face and whispered "I'm not going anywhere, anytime soon. Unless, of course, you want me to." he leaned back up, smirking confidently at Molly's blushing face. He offered his hand once again, in a silent request for her to follow him. In a slight daze, Molly complied, and allowed herself to be whisked off by the ravishing detective.
They walked through the garden, hand in hand, for quite some time, enjoying the floral aroma of the many flowers and plants that surrounded them. The couple strolled in companionable silence, save for the few times Sherlock would explain an origin, or history of some of the plants. Molly leaned her head against his defined bicep, feeling and hearing his baritone resonate through his body.
"I never thought you would bother learning, or even remembering anything botanical." Molly commented after a while. Sherlock looked down at her.
"A case, three years back- woman who killed her victims at her flower store with poisons made from plants. I had to research." he said shrugging.
"But why not delete everything after?"
"You really enjoy asking questions when you aren't scared of me, aren't you?" he retorted, not tearing his gaze from her. Molly reddened again.
"Sorry I-"
"I find this side of you more enjoyable. Not so boring. I decided they would be of some importance- for example, the bouquet I bought for you today."
"Oh! I left it at the table! We should-"
"It's alright, we're going to back that way once the night is out anyway. Besides it isn't that far back." Molly nodded at the logic and smiled. She looked back out in front of her and gasped.
They were now in a small clearing, a small table with flutes and a bottle of champagne stood on it with a small stereo next to it. Sherlock walked up taking the flutes, handing one to Molly before sipping his own. Again, Molly let her mind wander around. It was attracted to the stereo that stood on the table. Stereos maent music, and music meant-
Dance. Uh oh.
"Sherlock, I-I-I don't, I don't dance," she stammered softly, looking up at Sherlock. He raise an eyebrow at her.
"Do you really think I didn't know that?" he said, walking closer, until they were barely a finger's width apart. He took her empty flute and placed it and his own back on the table before hitting a button on the stereo. Soft, dance-like music flowed through the speakers, diffusing through the room. He walked up to her again, and looked down into her eyes.
"Don't worry," he said softly, getting down on his knees. Molly looked incredulously. She watched in slight wonder as the detective unclasped the buckles on her boots, before looking up and silently asking her to take her feet out. Once bare-foot, Sherlock rose back up, after gently placing her shoes to the side, and dug his dress shoes under her feet. Being on his shoes forced their bodies close- close enough to feel each other's body heat radiating away. Once again, Sherlock leaned into the shell of Molly's ear.
"I won't let you fall."
He took her hands in his and moved them so that they gripped his waist. He let go and moved to do he same to her hips. He watched her as he took a small step forwards. She seemed to be scared, because she let out a small shreik and buried herself closer into him. Sherlock grinned softly, and held on tighter. There was a small gap between them that allowed him to see her expressions as she concentrated on not making a fool out of herself.
He didn't understand how he ever missed the was her brow furrowed softly, and the way she bit her lower lip when she was in quiet concentration. As he slowly spun both of them, her teeth lost their grip, and the bruised lip bounced out, now redder, and ever so slightly fuller. She didn't have thin lips for sure, but did it really matter?
No. he decided. Sherlock watched her hair rustle about softly, landing in front of her body, directly at the dip in her neckline, at the foot of her breasts. They set off a dark red hue in the dim lighting. She glanced up slightly, a look of curiosity and nervousness in her deep brown eyes. They weren't multicoloured, no hints of greens, greys or blues, but they held a deep light; a kindness, understanding and softness that caused something in Sherlock to tug painfully. As they looked at each other, Sherlock slowly came to terms that his feelings for Molly were definitely there to stay.
He smiled down at her at the thought. It was good, he decided, to not be in denial. Molly softly smiled back, and turned her head back down.
And so they danced. Well, technically, Sherlock took easy dance steps around the room with small graceful moves, while Molly rested her head against his chest, right above his heart, listening to the organ the detective was supposedly supposed to lack beat in time with his movements and the song that was playing in the dim background.
Her mind barely comprehended thoughts and logic as she took in his scent and the feel of his body in general. It was slightly scary that she felt so at home in the arms of the 'apparently' asexual man, but it was such a good feeling. She knew she wouldn't trade it for the world. Her face turned to nuzzle into the gap of his dress coat, where she felt the soft cotton of his shirt. She was surprised; Molly always though Sherlock to be the silk or satin type. Molly once again inhaled the scent of Sherlock's soft cologne mixed with the scent of him himself.
Her hands wound up at the elbows, trailing up his back to rest on the insides of his shoulder blades. Once again, she let the side of her head rest against his hard chest and glanced lazily around the room, taking in the colours and beauty. Beauty that would never match the man above her, but beauty nonetheless. Sherlock, who was glancing ahead initially, was now staring at the woman underneath him. Who would've thought I'd be dancing with Sherlock Holmes? Molly traced absent minded shapes and lines with her fingers, feeling the muscles that rippled beneath the shirt and skin.
After a while, Molly felt his hands, which were previously against the dip of the curve in her spine, slide lower to rest directly above her bum. She glanced up at him, to be taken aback by the soft, rather than piercing, gaze he was giving her. It was a split second change, but she caught it anyway- the soft content smile on his face and the...adoration? love? in his eyes. But then, it was back to the usual confident stare and grin. She had to admit, though, he looked so beautiful when he was soft like that.
"I think you'll be able to dance by yourself now," he said, before effortlessly picking her up by her waist and placing her on the floor directly in front of his shoes. Molly, nodded, lost for words and reached up to lace an arm around his long neck. Sherlock enveloped her right hand in his left and wrapped his free arm around her waist, pulling the slightly giddy pathologist closer.
"Just relax Molly, relax your muscles." he soothed. Molly's once tensed body immediately liquified, and once again, the couple spun around the area of the room. This time Sherlock spun her around and lifted her a few times, causing Molly to laugh and gasp as she was thrown and spun. The times in between the small tricks were spent in romantic silence. Each took turns staring at the other when the other wasn't looking, not being able to get enough. Molly couldn't rest her head again on him, and surprisingly, both were slightly uncomfortable from the loss of body contact. After one very exhausting and dizzying spin, Sherlock finally drew her in close to his chest, allowing her to once again listen to his heart beat. They waltzed around contently for a while- Molly listening to Sherlock's heartbeat with her hands laced behind his neck, her fingers playing with his black locks; Sherlock had one hand fanned, almost protectively over her lower back, the other playing with the ends of Molly's now very mused wavy hair while he rested his chin on the soft top of her head. Both listened as the new song playing reached it's climactic ending. Sherlock pulled back and grinned down and her.
"Whatever you do, don't let go. Understand?"
"Wha-?" Molly barely got her reply out before she found the world spinning around her again; she felt herself fall to the ground.
She gripped her clasped wrists tighter behind Sherlock's neck as she let out a small scream of surprise when Sherlock caught her waist as he dipped her. The ends of her hair was rested softly against the ground as she looked up, shocked and blushing, at Sherlock's grinning face. Both arms were laced around her body and his curls were now rested around his face. She let out a soft laugh, as she let her breathing calm, before smiling contentedly and raising her arm to brush away a stray curl that was resting over his forehead.
The silence was calm, save for the panting from the couple. He brought her back up to a standing position, but they still had their arms around each other, their bodies almost flush against each other.
Molly was stunned by how romantic and thoughtful this was, dancing in the moonlight in a garden on a roof, overlooking the city. Raising her head, she opened her mouth slightly to tell him, but he merely shook his head, eyes twinkling. Judging by his intelligence, he already 'read her mind', unless she spoke out loud again.
She looked into his eyes, taking in the swirling greys they were now. She could see tints of blue in the outer part of the irises and was surprised to see that the ring was gradually getting thinner and thinner. She vaguely saw that the miniscule gap between them was narrowing considerably as they grew closer and closer. Their lips were a mere inch apart and Molly could hear, feel and taste his erratic breathing mingling with hers. She would just have to move up an inch and she'd-
Sherlock pulled away, smirking to hide the obvious increase in heart rate and pupil dilating.
"I would love to continue what we are doing now, but, I still have one more thing to show you." Molly groaned, earning a slight chuckle from Sherlock as she was dragged through the rest of the garden and out the back door. The cold air instantly hit her and she shivered, but she was immediately blanketed on warmth as Sherlock wrapped his dress coat around her small frame. She slipped her hands through the sleeves and smiled softly up at him as he moved to stand behind her. She moved forwards, past the small jungle of plants, to the bare area of the roof. She walked into the space and leaned against the metal rails that stood at the end of it, protecting any clumsy visitors from a very far fall. Sherlock leaned forward, his stomach resting softly against her slightly protruding hip and bum and chest touching her back as his large hands came around from either side, enveloping Molly's from the cold on the rails.
The alley behind 221 Baker Street was old, smelly, dark and possibly very dangerous. Beyond that merely lay the not-so-pleasing view of factories, offices and condominiums built tall and firm next to rotting old apartments. So it was of course acceptable when Molly wondered out loud (by accident, of course) why they were out here staring at a quite unpleasant view when the view, and activity she had and was about to carry out, was a lot more satisfying.
The deep rumble of Sherlock's laughter resonated through Molly's body. She mentally slapped herself, hard, when she realised that she once again spoke out her thoughts. Something was really wrong with her that day.
"Wait and see Molly, I think you'll find this quite interesting to watch." he whispered from behind her.
His arms left her hands, making her disappointed at the loss, before snaking them around her waist as they faced the sky together. Suddenly, a searing noise rocketed through the night and exploded in the sky, red and purple sparks flying everywhere. Her eyes widened impossibly.
No way. Her thoughts were confirmed as another firework soared through sky, exploding, this time in a shower of greens and golds.
"How?" She asked, turning as another, blue this time, burst, illuminating the angles of Sherlock's face, and lighting up the colours in his eyes.
"When you are the only person in this world capable of seeing things others refuse too, many people owe you many favours. In this case, the manager of the construction going on in that abandoned building a few streets down."
Molly laughed excitedly when she saw another burst of light before turning back to Sherlock.
"You are the most brilliant and amazing man I have ever met, Sherlock Holmes."
"One has to be when the woman he is trying to impress deserves as much." he smiled down softly at Molly before turning back to the now very much lighted sky. Molly turned her head to look back and felt Sherlock nuzzle his chin onto the crook at the base of her neck. Smiling, she cocked her head to the left, leaning her head against his.
"Trust me Sherlock, I don't know about the deserving bit, but you've definitely impressed me."
"Molly Hooper, you deserve so much more than this- do not let anyone speak otherwise."
Astounded by the firmness in which he spoke his words, she turned around into the circle of his embrace. She looked up into his eyes and smiled. Again. Lips curving upwards, he whispered, "Molly, I am going to deduce you, is that alright?" Molly cocked her head slightly in confusion but nodded.
"Well let's see- eyes dilated" he said in mock seriousness, face inching closer "pulse increasing," he brought his hand up as he pressed his long fingers against the fluttering pulse point on her neck. Another firework exploded behind them, causing Molly to giggle.
"How many of those are there?" she asked.
"I don't know, I didn't count." Molly laughed at his answer.
"Okay then, finish your deduction- what is your conclusion?"
"My conclusion is that you, Molly Hooper, are aroused. Either by me, or, obviously, the fireworks- but I'd like to entertain the thought that the answer is, in fact, the former." he murmured, lips a hair's breadth away. They stood there, so close but too far, staring at each other in silence. They could feel the slight touch of each other's lips against their own, and it certainly wasn't enough. The deafening roar behind them fell on deaf ears.
"Molly, is it okay if I kiss you now?" he whispered softly against her ear, before ghosting his lips in a trail to the corner of her mouth, ever so slightly, before pulling away slightly. He looked into her eyes, both waiting for the other to make the move when Molly finally stood on her toes and pressed her lips against his. Sherlock's hands immediately tightened around her waist as Molly slipped her tongue through his lips. Taken aback by her boldness, Sherlock allowed her some minor control before leaning into the kiss and pushing her against the metal rails of the rooftop, but cradling her back from the hit with his arm. His free hand rose up to tangle around in the hair at the back of her head as he pushed her tongue out of his mouth, before pushing his own after her. She moaned as she felt the detective above her take control. The sound seemed to make the detective even more eager as he pushed down harder on her. As Sherlock dominated her mouth, Molly reached around with her arms- pushing them up and down the length of his back to tangling them in his soft mop of curls. An arm made its way downwards and untucked his shirt. Unknowingly, Molly allowed her hand to trail up the inside of her shirt and she moaned into the kiss as she felt the cool, hard, lean and defined torso. Sherlock groaned above her, the sound vibrating through her body, leaving her more flustered than she already was.
Running out of breath, the couple forced themselves apart. Sherlock reluctantly moved backwards, allowing Molly to stand up straight against the railings. As soon as she was, however, Sherlock moved back towards her, planting another kiss on her lips. It was meant to be a single kiss, but it seemed Molly didn't want it to be. She pushed herself upwards, using the base of the rails as as a step, into the kiss, when a light bursting through her closed eyelids distracted her. She opened her eyes and pulled away, body still facing Sherlock as the last, and grandest set of fireworks exploded brilliantly across the sky, lighting the darkness with bright reds, purples, greens and golds. Molly grinned at the spectacular view, the grin never faulting, even when the last few sparks dwindled of, leaving the night sky clear and silent.
Molly turned back to Sherlock, and kissed him again with every ounce of energy she had left. Molly gasped against the kiss as she was lifted up slightly by Sherlock. She took advantage of being in the air and wrapped her leg around his lean waist. He grunted in surprise but didn't falter as another leg made its way around him. He dominated the kiss completely, taking over the cavern of her mouth and probably filed away all the details it had to offer. Sherlock pulled Molly closer to him, groaning again when he felt her soft chest pressed against his. Molly moaned softly, raking her hands across his perfect skin, leaving small red lines across his neck. They were both running out of air and the last few seconds were the most feral. He ran his tongue against her teeth one last time before pulling back and retiring with one last chaste closed-mouth kiss. Sherlock leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Molly's, silent while they recuperated and got their heart rates as slow as they possibly could. Both still had their eyes shut. Sherlock cleared his throat and opened his eyes, taking in the flushed Molly.
"That was-"
"Shhh, I know." Molly murmured back, eyes still shut. Sherlock smirked at her confidence. Molly was still panting slightly, and Sherlock moved backwards so that she was resting slightly against the railings, to take away some of her weight from his arms. She rested her head against the crook of his neck and felt him breathing against her own. After awhile, she unlaced her legs and Sherlock let go of her arms. Upon reaching the floor, Molly straightened her dress (it had ridden up to almost her hips) and looked up as Sherlock, who was smoothing down his shirt, began to speak.
"Well, then it is best we get back, my couch, or bed, for that matter, is far more comfortable than that railing over there." Molly laughed, but sobered.
"Sherlock," she began seriously.
"You don't want to have sex." he stated plainly. Molly opened her mouth to speak, but he efficiently cut her off.
"No, don't. I know you don't want to say it because it makes you feel awkward and guilty, though I am not sure why. That's alright- you are a woman with morals, and I understand your refusal to not want to sleep with anyone after only the first date. However, that doesn't mean we couldn't do lesser activities of the same nature until you are ready." He finished, arching an eyebrow.
"Correct on all accounts. Thank you for understanding, Sherlock." she said softly. He smiled down at her and took her hand.
"Let's head down to the apartment, shall we? I believe we will have to wait for John and Mary to return, and I can think of a few ways to while away our time."
Laughing, Molly lead Sherlock back through the back door of the secret garden. Molly collected her shoes and then the bouquet at the dining area a few feet ahead. She took a good look at the flowers.
She recognised the small purple lilacs- not really flowers one would put in a bouquet, but the other flowers were unknown to her. They were small but had wide spanning petals, around five on each. They were all obviously of the same species, but the came in different, contrasting flowers: brilliant reds, pastel pinks, bright oranges and pale yellows. Each had a little antenna like structure sprouting from the middle. The ends were dotted with little yellow balls. If her memory and logic were serving correctly, that's where the pollen was made. For the life of her, she just couldn't tell what species they were.
"Sherlock, these are beautiful, but, what species are they?"
"Those are Hibiscus. There are generally found in warmer temperatures, so they are rare in London. Before you ask, that isn't the reason why I picked those out of any other type of flower for you."
"Then why did you pick them?"
"Every flower has it's meaning, and that's why I got these. No, I am not telling you- that is for you to find out." Sherlock smirked as she groaned.
"But I hate waiting." she whined.
"Well, it'll be much more boring for me to tell you anyway. Now let's head back down."
0o0o0o0o0
Back in 221B, Sherlock and Molly lounged casually on the couch, alternating between chatting, kissing and outright snogging. It was past midnight when John and Mary returned to the flat to see the two cuddled against the sofa, conversing quietly.
"Don't tease him about this. Then he'll stop whatever he's doing and Molly'll be sad. And if Molly's sad, I'll blame it on you. Understood?" Mary asked sternly.
"Yes ma'am." John mocked, fake saluting. He pecked his official-as-of-that-night girlfriend on the lips and walked off to his room. Mary smiled, and fired a silent text to Molly, before quietly leaving the room.
00o0o0o0o0o
"Oh, Mary's downstairs, I have to get going." Molly said as she read her message. Sherlock groaned inwardly. He didn't want her to go! Reluctantly, he stood up and followed Molly to the door. She shed off his dress coat and grabbed her own. Putting it on, she turned around to face him.
"Sherlock, I had my doubts on your intentions and if this was even going to work at first, but this turned out to be such a wonderful evening. I've never, in my life, had a man treat me in the way you had and every single part was beautiful and amaz-" she was cut of as Sherlock leaned down planting his lips on hers. She wrapped her arms loosely around his waist as he placed his around her small neck. It was a close-mouth chaste kiss. Breaking away, he looked at her, eyes glittering madly with mirth.
"You're rambling again Molly."
"Thank you for the best evening I've had since I was a child, Sherlock." she said.
"That's better." he said. Molly wrapping her arms softly around him. Something in his chest tugged painfully in him. He did the same, allowing himself to fall into the embrace.
"I wouldn't have been able to do it without the help of my new found niece and nephew. Thank them too." he muttered into her hair. He kissed her on the lips before she left and shut the door behind her. The detective sat on the couch to journey back to his Mind Palace. As a young adult, he swore to himself that he would never care, never love, that all emotion and feelings were a weakness and that there was no place for them he was to do what he was doing now.
But then, he realised that he was allowing them back into his life, slowly. From his protectiveness over John, his friendly tolerance with Lestrade, his motherly affection towards Mrs. Hudson, and of course, his new found, undecided feelings for Molly.
What did he feel for Molly? It wasn't love. It couldn't be love. To love was to destroy. Yet he knew that it was getting there, and it was getting there fast.
He sat for a while longer, trying to decide. His final conclusion was as such:
Emotions and feelings, if controlled, mutual, not for a lost cause and not too extreme could be used as an advantage socially and perhaps mentally. Feelings can only be used in private and social situations, but never professionally.
Confident with his answer, Sherlock closed the door to the growing room marked as 'feelings', and walked out of the psychological wing of the palace. Walking outwards, he turned into the 'living' wing, into the 'human' floor. Keeping to the 'not-annoying' side of corridor, he searched for the door marked 'Molly Hooper'. Once an old tattered spare room with only factual information, it was now a brightly coloured space, full of different, random, and sometimes even irrelevant information about the young pathologist. He sat down in the middle of the floor, and began filling the ever-growing space with the latest memories and facts of the past events of the day.
0o0o0o0o0o00
At home, dressed in her pyjamas on her bed, Molly switched on her laptop. She got home high and ecstatic. Mary had forced her to spill every last detail and both squealed in delight at the last bits. Molly looked over to Mary, who was now asleep next to her (Molly refused to allow her best friend to walk home alone at this hour in London) and smiled. She'd promise to tell her everything about her date with John the next day. Before turning back to the computer, she checked through her nightly list. Brushing teeth, check. Switching of lights, check. Slippers by bed, check. Clothes for tomo- wait, it's Sunday tomorrow! Feeding Toby, check. Satisfied, she turned back to the webpage she'd just clicked on. She read the list of flowers on the website.
Hibiscus she found. Clicking on the link, she read the paragraph dedicated to the flower:
In the Victorian Era, Hibiscus were passed around for the use of one meaning only, and it is still used today. To receive a Hibiscus flower from someone is a symbol showing that that person believes you to be a Delicate Beauty. The meaning comes from its bright colours and...
Molly stopped reading past that, her eyes staring at the phrase. Sherlock thinks I'm a delicate beauty? Grinning happily, Molly went back and found the link that said Lilac.
In Greek Mythology, the god Pan was captivated by the beauty of the forest nymph, Syringa- the lilac's botanical name. Frightened by him when he chased her through the forest she lived in, Syringa turned herself into the aromatic bush with the flowers we know as lilacs. In the language of flowers, the white lilac means youthful innocence...
Molly read the next bit and froze in shock and disbelief. She knew Sherlock wouldn't lie to her. He wasn't that cruel- but maybe it was a misunderstanding on his part, but then again- he's Sherlock Holmes. But that would make Molly...
Shaking her head, Molly switched of her laptop and set it on her bed stand before switching of her lamp. In the darkness, Molly cleared her head. She was not going to keep awake all night. Turning around and closing her eyes, she taught back through the events of the night. For now, she would deal with the sweet dreams of Sherlock and his sexy smirk and his searing kisses. Tomorrow, she would deal with the new information. However, the last coherent thought Molly had that night, was the meaning of purple lilacs in flower language:
To give a purple lilac is to show the receiver that he/she is a first love.
YAY! so I hope this date wasn't to boring for you guys, or to dull, or cliche, or whatever...I seriously hope it was an ok chapter though- my first time writing an actual sappy, romance-y, fluffy, chick flick, rom-com, sorta thing, so I hope for a first try I didn't burn it to the ground. But I have to say, when me editor (Grace- who helped me sooo much, thank you! I 3 you so much!) read the last bit, I think she either started laughing or got really angry because it was a cliffy, i dunno.
Anyway, enough rambling- hope you liked it. If you did- review?
If you didn't- flame me with your virtual flamethrowers; I'm an open goal!
The point is, Ash really loves reviews...
So review?
Hehe, thanks,
-Ash :)