A/N: Hooray, posting a bit early! Now the bad news: I've been ill and I'm a bit behind, so this week I'll be posting Monday and Thursday only. I have to get THE chapter written and send it to the contest winner early as promised, and lots is going on. Just remember I only want to give all of you my very best! Thank you again and again for all the reviews, please keep them up, they mean a lot to me.
In today's chapter: Molly introspection, wine, a song and, yes, leaving for THE dinner date!
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Molly stood in the middle of her living room and stared at the clock.
She'd been doing that off and on for the past half hour.
Sherlock was going to be there in fifteen minutes.
To take her to dinner.
Then back to her flat.
To take her to bed.
Or would she take him to bed? He was a virgin, so she wasn't sure exactly. Go to bed together? Have sex? Intercourse? Shag? Coitus? Make love? Do it? None of those terms seemed right. She was a scientist who had no good term for a biological act.
Because it wasn't just a biological act. Not to her. And despite his normally stoic disposition, she didn't think it was to Sherlock, either. Why else would he have decided to be with her, if he didn't have feelings for her? If all he wanted was physical release, there were street corners in London where that could be arranged. A man like Sherlock Holmes didn't casually indulge.
Her flat was spotless. Not that it was normally a mess. But it was extra clean and neat. She'd put fresh sheets on the bed, a few candles on the dresser. And cliché though it might be, she'd burned a CD of all her favorite romantic songs and had it ready and waiting for the touch of a button in the small stereo in her bedroom. She didn't allow Toby in her bedroom, as she'd always wanted one room to stay fur-free, so that was fine. And Toby had been bathed and brushed at a groomer's, so he was clean, if a bit irked.
She'd taken extra care with her shaving and nail trimming. He seemed to like her hair down, though he'd not specifically said, so she'd been wearing it down outside Bart's. She'd bought a new dress, a simple black crepe sheath with wide shoulder straps and a slightly flared hem. She hadn't wanted to be cliché with her underwear, so instead of black she'd bought a lacy bra and hipster set in a blue that nearly matched his eyes. No slip, no hose, black shiny shoes with a simple one-inch wedge heel. Rose-scented soap, no makeup save lipstick.
Molly felt nice and thought she looked pretty, and hoped that he did too.
She was nervous. More nervous than she'd been in a long time.
She wasn't a virgin, but it wasn't like she'd slept with 100 men. She was a doctor, she knew all about anatomy and biology. But this was Sherlock, whom she loved more than anything, and it would be his first time and she was scared of it being awful for him. She wanted so badly for it to be perfect. But how could it be, when she wasn't?
She sighed. It was hard, even now, for her not to think of herself in a negative light at times. No matter that she'd seen Sherlock almost every day in the past week, or that she was his girlfriend, or that she'd given him what seemed to have been a mind-shattering blow job. She wasn't a piece of lettuce in bed, but she was no sex kitten oozing come hither appeal, either. And it was a bit late for her to get help with that, as he'd be arriving in 10 minutes.
Wine. Yes, that would help.
She poured a glass and gulped it down, sighing as the after burn of alcohol warmed her. It would be fine. She was his first, right? So she would by default be the best!
Oh, God. That didn't help much.
Right. She had eight minutes. Enough time for another glass of wine, a song to calm her nerves more, and to reapply her lipstick.
She grabbed her iPod, poured more wine, and charged into her bathroom.
Sherlock was five minutes early, but he knew Molly wouldn't mind. He took a deep breath and rang the bell.
She didn't answer.
He frowned and rang again.
No answer.
He began to feel worried. This wasn't like Molly. What if she was ill, or hurt?
He waited one more minute, then picked her lock and strode in. "Molly?"
There was no response. Now truly fearful he started to charge through the flat when suddenly he heard her in the lavatory.
She was singing.
He dropped his small overnight bag and stopped as though spelled, listening to her.
When the rain is blowing in your face, When the evening shadows and the stars appear, I know you haven't made your mind up yet, I'd go hungry; I'd go black and blue, The storms are raging on the rolling sea I could make you happy, make your dreams come true.
And the whole world is on your case,
I could offer you a warm embrace
To make you feel my love.
And there is no one there to dry your tears,
I could hold you for a million years
To make you feel my love.
But I would never do you wrong.
I've known it from the moment that we met,
No doubt in my mind where you belong.
I'd go crawling down the avenue.
No, there's nothing that I wouldn't do
To make you feel my love.
And on the highway of regret.
Though winds of change are blowing wild and free,
You ain't seen nothing like me yet.
Nothing that I wouldn't do.
Go to the ends of the Earth for you,
To make you feel my love.
To make you feel my love.
Molly emerged from the bathroom, glass of wine in one hand…
And shrieked and dropped it when she saw Sherlock standing in her living room.
For a long moment they stared at each other, Sherlock pleased and amused, Molly mortified and confused.
Sherlock broke the silence first.
"White vinegar, soap, warm water, two hand towels, and quickly, Molly."
She was too stunned to ask any questions, just got him what he asked for and watched as he methodically began to clean the carpet. Thankfully the glass hadn't broken, and he handed it to her with a small smile.
Molly watched him work and sighed.
"How long had you been standing there?"
Sherlock looked up from blotting the stain. "You didn't ask me how I got in, or why."
She shrugged. "You picked the lock: you probably got worried when I didn't come to the door. Aren't those the sort of stupid questions you hate?"
"Yes. Which is why I am rather pleased that you didn't ask them."
Molly shrugged again. "Three years, I've known you. I've learned a few things."
He smiled again, a real smile this time. "So you have."
He continued working on the carpet until he was satisfied with it, then stood and handed her the towels and vinegar and soap.
"Thank you," she said faintly, going to the kitchen to put things away. As she headed for her laundry hamper she heard him say:
"Long enough to hear you sing."
Molly sighed again. "I was afraid of that." She dumped the towels in and came back down the hall.
He frowned. "Why? You have a beautiful voice."
"Well, thank you, but it just… I thought I was alone. It's a bit embarrassing, being caught doing something when you think you're by yourself."
Sherlock looked thoughtful, then nodded. "I am sorry. I should have knocked on the lavatory door. But… I wanted to listen to you." He looked down.
Molly smiled. "That… makes me happy."
He looked back up. "You're not angry, then?"
She shook her head. "You were worried and you didn't mean any harm."
He looked at her closely, and for all the world he suddenly seemed shy. Then he slowly moved against her and kissed her.
She stood still, trying to remember how to breathe. This was the first real kiss that he had initiated since their first one. When it was over they stared at each other, breathless and hearts beating erratically.
He looked into her eyes, long, cool fingers brushing slowly over her cheek. "You look beautiful, you know."
Molly smiled again. He was wearing the damned purple shirt and grey slacks, and all she wanted was to put him on a plate with a sprig of parsley and eat him. "So do you."
He quirked an eyebrow at her, fingers moving down to squeeze one of her hands. "Well. Shall we go to dinner?"
There it was again, that something in his voice she couldn't identify. He seemed to enjoy saying things like 'dinner' and 'hungry' and she wasn't sure why, but it was definitely sexual, and she definitely liked it.
"Yes. I'm hungry."
"So am I."
"Make You Feel My Love," by Bob Dylan, copyright 1997 Columbia Records, performed by Adele, 2008, XL Recordings
