When I first started writing this story, I solely did it for myself. I was going through a really hard time and this was a nice little way to distract me from my real-life drama. Every word, every sentence, holds a lot of significance to me. And now I know why pain can sometimes help you create something wonderful. Not that I like being in pain, lol. But it did help me create this story. And now, to know there are wonderful humans around the world who seem to enjoy this story just as much as I do is a true blessing. So thank you. Thank you for coming along. For encouraging me. For liking my weird take on Molly and Sherlock.

While the last chapter did cause me to cackle like a loon, this one did the opposite. It made me weep, sigh, ache and lament for love.

I wanted to show Molly as someone who fought back, who will love you, but who will still put your sorry arse in place should the need arise. I hope I delivered on that promise. This is primarily a Molly POV story. But Sherlock somehow ended up having his POV as well. After the Sherrinford incident, I just couldn't see him affirming his feelings to her immediately. Sherlock knows and feels emotions. But romantic sentiments must have had him confounded. He would have tried his best to stay indifferent. I couldn't see that happening unless something profound happened. This is why I added the engagement bit. Just to scare our poor man.

Anyway, this chapter is pretty long. So many things are happening and I hope you enjoy this.

xx,

Tumbleweed_professor

MOLLY

Molly wanted to sprint through it. She wanted to let the madness consume her; let the primitive need dictate the terms. With shaking hands, she tried to pry the shirt off his shoulder, but Sherlock simply clasped her wrists with his hands and stalled her motion. With their joint hands trapped between them, he took her mouth again. Languidly. As though they both had all the time in the world. If the speed for earlier made her come alive, this slow intense kiss simply bared her soul and left her incapacitated. He broke away first and rested his brows against her and the quiet gesture touched her.

"Your bedroom feels like a furnace," he hummed against her cheek. Molly blinked bemusedly before she registered his words.

"Maybe we are just overdressed," she managed to say in a low throaty voice.

He pulled back a little and she saw the way his eyes lit up with mild humor. Gently, he turned her around until her back fit snugly into his chest. Molly jerked hard against him when she saw their reflection in the mirror that sat on the vanity table. She turned crimson upon seeing it. Feebly, she closed her eyes and attempted to turn away.

"Don't. Don't look away," Sherlock murmured huskily and it sent another shocking wave of desire crashing inside her. The smooth caramel of his voice was soft but authoritative. Powerless against his words, she saw them come together in the looking glass.

With infuriating patience, he moved her hair to one side and pressed kisses to the nape of her neck all the while his hands methodically slid the dressing gown past her shoulders. Molly shivered when the flimsy material finally pooled at her feet. Overcome with shyness, she desperately tried to cover herself.

"Stop. You are beautiful, Molly."

Molly felt her throat ache. He had been brutally honest with her in the past. But this? It felt more than that. Heartfelt. Earnest. And for once, she truly believed him. Love careened within her and she brought her hands up to stroke his face. He kissed her palms lightly while his hands never stopped wandering over her body.

Sherlock didn't seize his leisurely control. He continued to feast on her collar bone and Molly silently gave into it. She let him have this. Have her.

Her skin warmed and trembled when he skimmed one finger between her naked breasts, and when his hands moved over to cup them, she sobbed out his name, as bright pleasure sliced her in half. She wanted to turn in his arms, give him more of what he was freely taking from her. She wanted to see him lose control. And when she tried to, he tightened his hold on her and his hand roamed further down her body. Transfixed, Molly could only stare. She was naked and flushed, while he was still dressed, and the sight darkly thrilled her. His touch left a trail of goosebumps on her skin and she floundered, but that didn't impede his ministrations... And when he finally found her core, hot and wet, he shuddered behind her and Molly felt both their composure snap. He stroked her. Sharp and demanding. Once. Twice. She bowed back. Her eyes met his in the mirror and she was unable to stop the onslaught of sensations from assailing her until her swift cry of release caught them both by surprise. Sherlock made an animalistic noise as he sank his teeth into her skin while his fingers still danced over her most intimate places seductively. Molly felt her knees buckle, and if he didn't have his arms locked around her, she knew she would have slid to the floor into a mass of quaking flesh.

Before she could find her bearing, Sherlock spun her around and crushed his mouth to hers. Molly tasted his desperation, his hunger, and her belly convulsed answeringly. She hoisted herself up and fastened her legs around his waist. Her lips met his again and again. Softer. Deeper. Until both of them were demented and lost. Dreamily, she felt him move towards the bed and lay her down, pillowing her between the mattress and him. His lips and tongue glided across her face, her neck, her breasts until she was out of breath and tossing in a vortex of unrestrained passion.

Her hands moved under his shirt, seeking his flesh. His warmth. She caressed his well-toned muscles and she felt his self-restraint slip. Fall. And when she finally dipped her fingers beneath his trousers, she saw his eyes turn black. Dangerous. Power, like nothing she had ever known before, tore through her, unfettering the last of her shackles. She rolled him over and pressed a kiss to the hollow of his hips, and reveled when his body vibrated helplessly under her.

Watching him watch her, she undid his trousers; watching him watch her she closed her hands around his hot flesh until a keening sound escaped his lips and hers curved in response. She brushed her thumb over the tip and felt him undulate beneath her and when she finally took him in her mouth, he surrendered himself to her.

"Molly-"

He gasped and tugged on her hair as she mercilessly sent him over and over to the pitching edge of insanity, and when she didn't stop, Sherlock caught her arms and forcefully dragged her back up, until she was lying next to him. His breath came out in violent pants as he assessed her with savage eyes. He caught her bottom lip with his thumb and index finger and gave it a warning squeeze before he kissed her again. The taste of him sent her head spinning; salt, heat, a man possessed. He nipped at her throat as his lips streaked down her body. But when he paused to press a quiet kiss over her heart, her eyes pricked. She sensed herself recklessly drowning in love. She felt its exquisite weight drench her; swallow her. And when his ardent mouth finally found her center, she saw stars explode to life behind her blurry eyes. The intensity of her orgasm left her shattered, and she went silent and limp in his arms.

Pliant and a little buzzed, she watched Sherlock loom over her. The pulsing heat burned the space between her thighs as she looked at him with beseeching eyes. Wordlessly, she tried to convey her wish. Sherlock's eyes stayed on her face as he filled her, his movement slow and calculating. And when he fully buried himself inside her, Molly's eyes rolled back into her skull.

This. This, at last, felt right.

He moved in and out of her in a purposeful manner as he bent his head to lave one distended nipple. Molly moaned, coming unhinged. She framed his face in her hands and brought his lips back to hers and hoped he understood what this meant to her. To them. His languorous momentum changed to a frenzied blur when he read the simple sincerity on her face. Emotions saturated his chiseled features as he propelled her through another violent crest, and when he followed her with his own scorching climax, she caught the soundless words that echoed across her neck and let her heart wallow in its heady afterglow.

Molly stared up at the ceiling and tried her best to fight off a smile. She was sore everywhere, but she found that to be strangely compelling. Her heart galloped steadily and her mouth kept insisting on grinning like a Cheshire cat. She pulled the covers over her breasts and heard Sherlock's ragged breaths coming from her right side. She gave him a covert look. He was lying on his stomach and the sheets were tangled around his hips but the rest of him was impressively naked. When did he lose his shirt? And oh god, was that a hickey on his shoulder? Did she do that? She blushed furiously. He had his face buried in her hair and an arm was slung loosely over her waist. But it was his hair, the tousled sexy imperfection of it, that had her smothering a hysterical laugh that bubbled up her throat. Liquid heat bloomed in her belly again and she clamped her thighs together. She just had him, how could she want him again? This soon?

"Stop gloating, Molly. It's unbecoming of you," he muttered into her shoulder.

A giggle escaped her lips. Appalled, she clapped a hand over her mouth which only made her giggle more. Tears of mirth sprang to her eyes as she helplessly gave into it. Her body shook in delight and Sherlock opened one eye to glare at her. But her infectious laughter got the best of him and his lips curved into a reluctant smile.

"I'm sorry," she hiccuped after a few minutes. " I don't know why I'm laughing." She turned her face to nuzzle his head. He smelled like smoke and sin.

"It's a perfectly natural response when something cathartic happens. It's either that or crying. And I think I'd take the former any day."

Molly snorted.

"Trust you to analyze something after mind-bending sex."

"It's what I do, Doctor."

Molly smiled. Yes. That's exactly what he'd do, wouldn't he?

Idly she looked at the thin watery sunlight that filtered through the window blinds. The beams caught the dust particles that floated lazily in the air, their destination unknown. She watched them swirl, making random patterns in the empty space and let her mind drift. Molly was no stranger to sex. She enjoyed it just as much as the next person. She always looked at it as a form of stress relief. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Well… As cliché as it sounded, she now understood why sex was a whole lot better when it meant something. She felt like a giddy teenager, and for once she allowed herself to savor that simple joy. The kind of unadulterated happiness that can only come when something enormous shifts inside you. She snuggled deeper into the covers as she hovered somewhere between wakefulness and sleep when she heard Sherlock say,

"How did you know about Harriet and Victor?"

Molly lurched and her cheeks burned with embarrassment once again. Dammit, she had hoped he would have forgotten about that. She looked at him from under her lashes. Sherlock's face was still concealed in her hair but she could see a muscle working on his right cheek.

"The person who precedes the AA meeting happens to be my Uni classmate's husband. He is a recovering alcoholic himself. Apparently, he recognized you. I know they are not supposed to discuss anything outside of their group, but…" she trailed away giving him another furtive glance. Sherlock didn't move an inch. "I met her a few months back passingly. One thing led to another and we found ourselves chatting over a cup of coffee…'' Molly knew she was rambling. She winced and sped up her unnecessary backstory. "Well, anyway, you are a famous detective and she just wouldn't stop talking about you. She wasn't aware that I knew you. I swear I didn't tell anyone and I asked her not to repeat it to anyone else."

Molly held her breath. She was slowly but steadily turning the color of a ripe tomato and she could almost feel the steam rising off her face. Sherlock turned to look at her. His face detached, cool.

"And Victor?"

Well, fuck… fuck… fuck…

"Okay, that I found out by accident," she blurted out defensively. "I felt really sorry for this young boy and it broke my heart. And Aas much as I hated what happened to us, I truly felt awful about this. No one deserves to die that way, especially not an innocent child." She glanced at him again and was startled to find him watching her steadily. Her pulse quickened. " After you and his family gave him a proper burial, I just decided to visit his grave one random Tuesday. It was my day off… Anyway… I saw you there with your violin and I didn't want to intrude... so I left immediately. I came back a couple of weeks later, and you were there again… So I switched my schedule to a different day after that."

Sherlock didn't say anything for a long time and she intentionally avoided looking at him.

"You visit Victor's grave?"

"Not all the time. I'm not a stalker. I just go there sometimes to keep him company. I know it's weird and um…" she forcefully stopped herself from blathering more. Vaguely, she wondered if he could feel the mortifying heat that was radiating from her.

"And how did you know about his parents?" he asked her in a quiet voice.

Molly wanted to pull the covers over her head and vanish. Why won't he let this go?

"That was just a blind hunch," she muttered abashedly and struggled not to fidget. She simply had the feeling that he would visit them, because… well… She just knew. She opened her mouth to justify her excuse, but only let out a squeak of surprise when Sherlock hauled her over so that she lay on top of him. And before she could say more, his mouth caught hers in a heated kiss. Molly's heart thundered, as lust replaced confusion. Her fingers automatically entwined in his hair when he just as rudely broke away and plopped her back on the bed again.

"What was that for?" she asked him. She felt a little sucker-punched.

He raked his fingers through his hair and his eyes gleamed in the hazy morning light. Molly recognized the look on his face at once. He was not angry with her but was rather moved by what she'd done, and her heart, if anything, stumbled at that sight.

"I don't know. I don't know what you are doing to me."

Sherlock found his discarded trousers and yanked them back on. His shoulder muscles were bunched together and tension rolled off him in waves. He jumped to his feet and started to pace back and forth in agitation. He pulled out a cigarette from his trouser pocket but didn't light it up. He simply twirled it between his fingers like a baton. She sighed. Of course. She pulled the sheets over her and leaned on the headboard.

Molly watched despair and affection feud silently on his face as his mouth struggled to get the words out. So she decided to help him out a little.

"I know this won't work," she murmured and saw him whip his head around to stare at her. She didn't wait for him to acknowledge her statement. "I know this won't work. Not because of the reasons you have in your head, but because of the one reason you resolutely laid out. You don't want this. And even if I convince you to be with me, you'll fight it till the end. You will always find ways to end it."

"You can always see me," Sherlock agreed roughly.

Molly gave a light laugh.

"Yes, and it's quite the blessing in disguise."

"Molly, we can't-" he stopped for a second and furrowed his brows. "Just look at you. You are the definition of what I'm not. I can't let this happen. Relationships are not my area of expertise. More than that, I could never deliberately put you in harm's way. I have enemies, I know people who would like to cause a great deal of suffering. Eurus almost had you killed and that was even before-"

"That's because she knew," she dismissed his concern flatly.

Sherlock crushed the cigarette in his hand and said distractedly, "What?"

"Eurus," Molly started but hesitated. "I… I didn't make the connection until you told me about the coffin plate." She gave him a feeble smile but he only gaped at her. Wait. Did he not know?

"You didn't know?" Sherlock's face only morphed into intense bewilderment. Molly blew out a frustrated breath and her ears warmed uncomfortably. Had she deduced something that Sherlock Holmes hadn't?

"Sherlock, hypothetically speaking, if I'm dead, I'm not going to be able to choose what I want my coffin to say. That responsibility falls on my family and friends. And I'm not that much of a narcissist to have my own coffin say I love myself. This can only mean that the person who chose those words couldn't have been me, it had to be someone else. I think it was meant to be symbolic. Like an epitaph. It was vivisection, but not in the way you would have hoped. She didn't care if the words came out of my mouth, she only wanted to see if it came from yours. I wasn't her test subject, you were."

Sherlock's eyes widened and he looked at her unblinkingly. His bare chest kept distracting her, the sinewy muscles rippled and knotted as he flexed his arms restlessly and Molly was having a hard time looking away. She bunched the sheets tightly in her hands until her knuckles turned white. After a few painful seconds, he bonelessly sank into the chair by the bedroom window.

"Why didn't you tell me this back then?"

"I thought you knew and I assumed you wanted to do nothing about it. Besides, you were so formal and clipped when you told me and I was done being caught in a crossfire between you and your family," Molly exclaimed annoyedly. She suddenly wished she wasn't stark naked to be having this conversation and a desperate part of her wanted to take him again until there was nothing left to say.

"How could she have possibly known that? How could she have known you wouldn't give in without pushing back?"

"I don't know. She is your sister. You Holmes siblings do enjoy a touch of drama, so you tell me!"

Sherlock's lips parted in shock and his hands fell to his side in a defeated manner. A tense moment passed before he mumbled,

"Well… Fuck me."

Molly's mouth dropped. A peal of shocked laughter burst out of her.

"I don't think I've ever heard you use that word."

"It does look like the day for honest revelations. Sentiments, sex, swear words."

Molly turned pink. She wanted to go over to him, kiss that frown away, assure him. Instead, she let him have his space and watched the quiet distress come back into his eyes. Sherlock leaned forward and steepled his fingers.

"Molly, I would never be able to provide normalcy. My life-" he let out an angry noise. "I can't do my job while worrying about your safety. I can't put you in danger. You mean so much to me. And the idea of you getting hurt because I couldn't keep you safe terrifies me. It's only going to hinder and possibly-"

"I know," she said, and when Sherlock shook his head, she interrupted softly. "I know you can't let this happen. But just hear me out. You have it in your head that I want a normal life. While it does hold its appeal, nothing about my life is normal. For starters, my clients are already dead." She saw his lips unwillingly twitch at this and the sight warmed her heavy heart. "And for another, I tried normal and didn't like it all that much. And as far as my safety is concerned, I think your sister blew my cover a long time back, so there's pretty much nothing we can do about it. So if I die… Well, let's just hope that I don't." Sherlock glowered darkly at her, but she only lifted her shoulders and asked, "Would my death affect you any less if we didn't have sex?"

Sherlock grappled to retaliate but Molly continued on calmly, even as her heart thudded painfully against her ribs.

"So I have a counter proposal for you. Why don't we take it one step at a time? We will keep it simple. We don't label this. We don't throw the four-letter word around like confetti. We still work together. We still hang out together, but with just one minor adjustment. I'm putting sex on the table. I like sex. And if this morning was any indication, so do you. And before you tell me that sex is for the mundane and mortal, remember, I just had you. No one can fake being that good at it and tell me otherwise."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

"Did you just compliment and insult me in the same sentence?"

When Molly only shrugged again, he plowed on,

"That is simply counterintuitive. You say you would be okay now, you say you don't want a relationship now, but I know you would grow to resent this, resent me," he sounded tortured and her heart went out to him.

Molly wrapped the sheets tightly around her and shuffled over to him. Keeping her eyes on his face, she knelt in front of him. Sherlock gave her a careful look. His eyes, the perfect mix of green and blue, watched her guardedly. She removed his fingers from beneath his chin and cupped his face in her hands.

"I had more than a decade to resent you, and I could have left you anytime I wanted. But I didn't. I think we both are consenting adults who can have and enjoy sex. And if and when we decide it no longer works for us, we can both walk away from this. No harm. No foul. No one gets hurt." She gave his chin a soft squeeze. Overwhelming love kneaded her bruised and fragile heart, but she knew he needed patience and trust a little bit more just now.

Sherlock frowned again.

"Have you been watching terrible telly with Mrs. Hudson again? This sounds very much like a plot you might find in it."

Molly bit back a chuckle.

"Hey, not all are terrible!"

"Real relationships often don't work like that, Molly," he said seriously, his face unyielding.

"You just said relationships are not your area of expertise, so how would you know?" Molly countered steadily.

Sherlock squinted at her. After a few seconds, he simply scowled and said,

"Aren't you clever?"

Molly laughed easily and gave him a chaste kiss.

"You don't have to give me an answer right this minute. Take your time. Either way, I'll be okay. We'll be okay." She gave his cheeks one last squeeze before she pushed herself up. Slowly she turned around to leave when his hands shot out to grab her waist. She waited, breathlessly.

"You can't just give me an ultimatum and walk away."

"It wasn't an ultimatum, Sherlock."

"No it wasn't," he admitted. "But it did feel like reverse psychology."

Molly felt the beginnings of a smile threaten her face. She turned to face him again. Sherlock gave her a shrewd look.

"It did, didn't it? Well… why don't I just leave you to your deductions then, detective?"

Sherlock snarled as his grip tightened on her like a vice.

"This is not a game, Molly. You could get seriously hurt."

"Hmmm… I could… But if I were you, I'd be more concerned for myself," she said as she leaned closer to him. She felt the sheets slip past her breasts and Sherlock's eyes flickered over her body once. His detective's face was on and he barely even acknowledged her nakedness. He arched one eyebrow elegantly.

"Should I expect you to distract me with sex every time I try to rationalize this with you?" he asked her crossly.

Molly grinned.

"Is it working?"

Sherlock removed his hands from her waist and folded his arms across his chest stubbornly. But Molly didn't let his aloofness deter her, not when she had seen what she needed to see in his eyes. She shrugged delicately and leaned over him, making sure to touch his body with hers, and heard him hiss under his breath. She hid a smile as she grabbed her phone from the desk behind him.

"Well, I guess I was wrong," she said airily as she once again tucked herself inside the sheets. "I'm going to grab something to eat, but if you want to leave, then-" she waved towards the bedroom door. She stepped back from him and moved towards the door but Sherlock beat her to it by a second. He jerked her close and in a move that was too debonair, had her across his lap, straddling him. His mouth closed over hers in a hot demanding kiss that left her head reeling and caused her toes to curl. The phone dropped to the floor with a loud clatter, and before the murky cloud of uncertainty could taint the moment, she took him inside her. Sherlock's eyes flashed blind. His visceral reaction empowered her as his fingers threaded through her hair and he reared up to assault her mouth again.

"You are going to be the death of me, Hooper," he rumbled into the curve of her neck when she started to move her hips.

"Then I promise to take you to heaven first, Holmes," she gasped, as his lips came back to claim hers once more.

Sherlock and Molly still have a long way to go. They are nowhere near perfect, but life is not all about perfection, is it? Our sweet couple has so much to figure out. So much to deal with. And I know they will, in their own effed-up manner. This could potentially be the end and I so want to pull a Mofftist on this and leave it up for interpretation. I do have a sort of epilogue that is loosely written, but if you guys feel like I should leave this alone, then I shall. If not, let me know. I'll work a little diligently to have that up as well. Thank you for all the love! Truly meant the world to me. I appreciate every candid comment, every heartfelt kudos, every small click that took you to my story. Thank you for coming with me on this journey!

xx