Chapter 28

After breakfast, Sherlock and Molly wandered down into the town to purchase some clothing for her. They discovered a large leisurewear clothing store on the seafront. Although it mainly catered for outerwear on the frequently wet and windy peninsula jutting out into the Atlantic Ocean, they also had a good selection of indoor clothing and underwear too; much to Molly's relief. Sherlock observed Molly with enraptured amusement as she flitted excitedly from one rack to the next, making her selections. She'd hold something up against herself and ask him his opinion, but he'd just smile noncommittedly at her, and so she'd roll her eyes and continue her search. He spotted a burnt- orange zippered fitted top and picked out one in her size, holding it open for her.

"I love this colour on you Molly; try it on?" She smiled at him and slipped her arms through the sleeves. He 'accidently' stroked her jawline as she turned to face him, and just like that, her pulse accelerated and a soft blush appeared on her cheeks. Sherlock smirked smugly, and gripping the front panels of the garment, he slowly tugged her closer to him. He locked his eyes on her as he slowly closed the zipper, then glanced deliberately and lingeringly at her lips, before raising his eyes again to hers. Molly's colour heightened and she licked her lips involuntarily, eliciting a low growl from Sherlock, as he bent his head to claim them. Molly sank into his kiss, gripping the lapels of his coat tightly. He nibbled coaxingly on her bottom lip, and she moaned quietly and opened her mouth for him to explore, which he did thoroughly, only stopping because of a loud wolf-whistle from a group of schoolboys and the resulting muffled giggle from Molly.

He lifted his head and studied her face, stroking her now scarlet cheeks. "I like this colour on you too, Dr Hooper, he drawled, and then released her and stood back to examine her outfit. He ran his hands behind her neck and lifted her long silky hair out from behind the jacket. Smiling broadly, he encased her in his arms again and turned her gently to face the floor length shop mirror, resting his hands on her slim hips. She placed her hands over his, entwining their fingers, swinging their arms out wide to examine the top. She nodded her approval shyly at his reflection in the mirror.

"Good," he told her, "I like it too, we'll add it to the bundle."

Gazing at him through the reflecting glass, Molly swallowed a lump in her throat, her big doe eyes brimming and glistening with the extent of her emotions. Sherlock leaned his arms and shoulders back around her, taking her arms with him in his hands so she was effectively embracing herself with his arms and hers. Tilting his head down to her ear, he nibbled at it and then kissed her racing pulse point.

"Christ, Molly," he groaned quietly into her ear, "what are you doing to me? I cannot keep my hands off you." She turned her face into his neck.

"Then, don't," she whispered in response. He grinned at her as he released her.

"It's a bit of a nuisance Molly, but I believe Ireland has similar 'public decency' laws to the UK," he said comically, as he tugged her over to the till, with a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

"You obviously haven't been to Temple Bar after closing time, Sir," the salesman deadpanned, as he rang up their purchases. Sherlock looked at him for a split second and then laughed heartily and wrapped his arm around Molly again as he passed over his card. He turned and looked earnestly at her.

"I really like it here, Molly."

She looked quizzically at him.

"Oh, don't get me wrong, I'd never leave London permanently, but what would you think of us buying a house here somewhere in the countryside, perhaps close to Aoife's house? We'd have to put up with Mycroft, but, on the plus side, Michael lives in Wicklow too."

Molly rolled her eyes and tapped him gently in the chest. "Oh give over, you love Mycroft, and you know it. As for a house…," she paused in thought, and her whole face lit up with happiness, "Oh my God, Sherlock!" he grinned back at her.

"That's settled then. I'll get right on it, maybe consult with Aoife." As he took their bagged purchases from the smiling salesman, the man looked at the credit card and looked up excitedly.

"Oh, you're Sherlock Holmes! I thought I recognised you. Do you have your violin with you?" Sherlock looked quizzically at him. It was highly unusual for someone to refer to his musical prowess and not his detective work. He scanned the younger man, who appeared a little enamoured with him, truth be told.

"Bodhrán?" he said, referring to the ancient Irish hand held drum, so intrinsic to the Celtic musical sound. The young assistant's eyes widened in surprise and then he nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes Sir, actually, there's a session on in O'Flaherty's Pub this evening from eight, if you'd both like to come? It's an open mike and anything goes." Sherlock's eyes gleamed. "That sounds delightful. Thank you, we'll be there, and we'll bring our friends too. Good day," he called over his shoulder, taking Molly's hand in one of his and hauling all of her shopping bags in the other as he held the door of the shop open with his foot for two ladies entering, his bold eyes glinted down at her.

"Now Molly, where were we? Ah yes, I was discussing getting you back to the hotel and ravishing you..."

Molly gasped in mortification as two elderly women stared at him and then at her, with startled eyes, and then one of them peeled with laughter.

"Get him back to that hotel quick, girl, or we'll have to sort him out for you!"

Molly blushed and then snorted laughing as he gripped her hand tighter.

"Leave it with me, ladies!" She replied. She fancied she saw a faint blush across his cheeks and giggled loudly as he tugged her impatiently along the narrow footpath. "You're blushing!" she exclaimed, in complete delight.

"I most certainly am not!" he vehemently denied, and she laughed harder.

"Oh Sherlock," she sighed as she gasped for breath, and then took his hand in hers as they continued along the route back to the hotel, "what am I to do with a man that can command the attention of an entire room by the simple fact of him having entered it?" He squeezed her hand gently and replied,

"You just continue to keep me honest, Molly, and always remember that although I may 'command' it, you are the one that illuminates a room whenever you're in it, and my eyes will be only ever be seeking you out."

Molly beamed with joy and then he smirked as he noted something else making her eyes glint. He laughed as she hugged his arm with her tiny hand, his claddagh ring glinting on the small hand that kept a firm and determined hold on his large one, all the way back to their room. They didn't say much on the rest of the walk, but the tension between them mounted, as it was wont to do when they were alone. Sherlock's thumb gently stroked the centre of her palm, because he knew exactly what effect that had on her. It was the greatest of games, he thought, the seduction of Molly Hooper, and one he never seemed to tire of. He hardened in anticipation of their coming together again and tugged her firmly to his side.

Molly felt anticipation burning through her. She couldn't believe how much she always wanted Sherlock; was always ready for him, especially lately. When they weren't making love, she was almost always thinking about it; a fact which of course, he was well aware of. He just had to give her 'that look' and she was ready to fall into his arms. She had never responded to any previous lover like she did with him, she thought, and she couldn't even comprehend being without him now; she didn't want to.

As he swept her into his arms in the lift to their room, she wondered briefly if he intended to propose to her soon. He had intimated as much in Virginia but there had been no mention of it since. Her last coherent thought was that she would dearly love to be his wife. He licked and kissed along her jawline and she shuddered and gripped him tightly by his shoulders. As the lift door opened he swept her, literally, off her feet and into his arms as he shouldered the door of their room open. He set her down on their bed and smiled enigmatically at her.

"You're thinking too loudly Molly, it's very distracting. I'm taking your clothes off now."

Heat pooled at her centre at his throaty words and she gasped as he slowly began undressing her, kissing every inch of skin he exposed. She sighed out his name and he grinned as he made his way back up her body until he reached her lips again. She slipped her tongue inside his mouth and she loved the shudder she felt running through him. Her hand strayed down to his prominent erection and she rubbed the long length of him through the fabric that contained it. Sherlock groaned and stilled her wayward hand with his. He yanked the rest of their clothing away and covered her body with his. He inched slowly inside her wet folds and she sighed and moaned as he buried himself deeply inside her.

She wrapped her legs tightly around him as he began slow, firm thrusts inside her, bringing her close to completion before stopping and drawing out the torture for her. She raked her nails down his back and pleaded with him to go faster. "Please Sherlock!" she moaned and he stilled, increasing her torment.

"Please what, Molly?" he drawled and she nipped his neck in revenge. He chuckled deeply.

"Patience, darling," he whispered, but she thrust up into him and ran her tongue along his broad neck, sucking hard at his pulse point and marking him there. He leaned up on his arms, so he could push deeper, finally relenting and giving her what they both wanted, as he thrust hard and fast into her in perfectly synchronised rhythm with her bodies motion. She called out his name as she convulsed around him and he exploded with pleasure inside her, pulsing over and over into her core. He sank down onto her body as she wrapped her arms and legs tightly around him, his weight almost crushing her, but she didn't care and gripped him as he made to move off her. She stroked and kissed him and murmured her love to him as he began to fall asleep in her arms. Molly felt totally at peace as she curled around him and nodded off herself.

Later that afternoon, both couples spent a leisurely and pleasant afternoon just walking the small town, exploring its myriad of artisan craft shops. They stopped at their leisure in the comfy café's with home baked cakes and pastries and smiling, friendly staff; all of whom made a welcome fuss of them as they recognised Aoife and then the others by default. Mycroft could hardly keep his eyes off his beautiful Irish woman and she frequently caught him and smiled knowingly, and licked her lips subconsciously, making his groin clench tightly, which he steadfastly ignored. He wanted to drag her back to bed but he had things to do.

He spent some time on his phone, organising the cliff-top ceremony for her brother for the next morning. He secretly contacted her parents, and closest friends, all of whom were very touched and assured him that they would not miss it. Their hotel was on board for a private lunch afterwards, and the local Parish Priest was very happy to perform the ceremony for them. He told Mycroft that he'd been a young curate at the time of Oisin Quinn's death on the peninsula cliffs and remembered it very well. He reminisced with Mycroft that it was very unfortunate that everyone considered the death of the young man as a tragic suicide; refusing to listen to his grief stricken twin; refusing to consider that it may have been a murder committed by another child. It had just seemed too farfetched. They knew better now. He commented that it would give a sense of atonement to the locals, to have the ceremony on the cliffs, because they now felt that they had maligned the young man by the coroner's verdict at the time. Mycroft ended the call, satisfied that things would be in order for the morning.

The two couples decided to stop off for a drink in one of the rustic and ancient pubs before they set back to the hotel, and they had just settled down into a snug with their drinks when a grinning Michael burst through the door, proclaiming loudly "Where's the English?" to the amusement of the barman who nodded in their direction. Sherlock burst into a smile and jumped up to greet his friend; stopping dead when he realised he was about to embrace him. Michael laughed boisterously and ignoring his hesitation, grabbed him in a bear hug. Sherlock features relaxed into a broad grin and he hugged him back, slapping his shoulders too. Aoife and Molly smiled conspiratorially at each other before Aoife jumped up to hug her close friend. Michael scanned her features and nodded, as if satisfied, and then turned and shook Mycroft's hand. An entire language passed between the two men in what wasn't said. Michael was a man slow to trust but he was beginning to fully trust Mycroft Holmes where Aoife was concerned. Mycroft Holmes, he thought, might just be worthy of her, because he was aware of his plans for the morning.

The hours flew by and soon they were collecting their violins from Michael's car and settling into O'Flaherty's Bar; ordering the freshly caught seafood for dinner and tucking in as the resident Irish musicians tuned up and the bar began to fill. By 20:00 it was packed, and their party appeared to be the centre of interest. Sherlock raised en enquiring brow at Michael. "They're here to hear us play Sherlock," he explained. "I'm an unbeaten Irish champion fiddle player; and you're Sherlock Holmes, the famous genius detective and violin player; and you're English. You really think the locals are going to stay home?" Sherlock rolled his eyes and laughed and then looked thoughtfully at his friend.

"Let's not compete tonight, Michael. Let's you and I duet, and raise the roof." Michael went to protest, because he was a born competitor, but stopped short at the wisdom in his friends eyes.

"Perfect harmony, English?"

"Exactly, mó chara."

Molly looked to Aoife for translation, and gulped as she saw Aoife's eyes watering. Aoife reached over and took her hand.

"It means 'my friend'." She said softly, and nobody teased her for the quiver in her voice. Sherlock stood, his violin in one hand, and reached a long arm towards Michael with the other, pulling him out of his seat.

"Shall we?"

Michael nodded, picked up his violin and the two walked across the floor to the band. The room fell silent and then the clamoring began, as the two discussed their musical choices with the other musicians. They tuned up for a few minutes and then the two men rose in unison, standing side by side with violins under chin, and the room fell silent. I very female wolf-whistle broke that silence and the room erupted with laughter. Sherlock and Michael turned to look at each other, grinned, and began to play.