Across the coach from where Molly sat, Holmes twirled some incense he had swiped from the Clairmont residence between his fingers. Despite the tight wrinkle between his eyes as he stared down at the spinning stick, he was otherwise settled into his seat. His right ankle rested atop his left knee in a relaxed pose. His coat and blazer were unbuttoned and loosely parted to reveal his strong torso evident even beneath the layers of garb. Before she could look away, his eyes flicked up and she was ensnared.
"Ask your question," his deep voice seemed to increase the pressure in the cab.
She swallowed. He had the ability to leave her breathless with a lone, penetrating glance.
"Wh-Which one?"
His eyes constricted dangerously. "The most pressing, of course."
Molly smoothed her hands over her lap. Just moments ago, they had dropped the Watsons at their front door. Lestrade before that.The night had been hectic. Scotland Yard's finest had dealt with . He awaited a further examination the next day by her Uncle. The Clairmont women were told to remain at home. Everything was at odd ends. She should be exhausted but she had a strange energy. She and Holmes were, once again, alone in a carriage. However, Holmes had remained immersed in a bottomless pool of his own thoughts. She felt her belly quiver with insecurity. Perhaps his interest had waned. Perhaps all he had needed was a good mystery to dissipate whatever curiosity she held for him. She could not deny that she had hoped for that in some part, thinking it would be better for both of them, but her stomach churned with disappointment at that possibility.
She cleared her throat. "Wh-Where do w-we go from here?"
His fingers stilled and the rotation of the incense stopped. "Is that a logistical or a metaphorical enquiry?"
Heat flashed over her face. Truthfully, she was not sure.
"Erm, um, that is . . . I was just wondering . . ."
The harder she tried to calm herself, the hotter her flesh burned. He was not helping a wit! In the dim expanse of the hired coach, his face may as well have been one of the impassive marble busts he so resembled. She could not gauge his thoughts at all.
"Metaphorical then?" He murmured, the shadows cast deep grooves in his brow.
Molly rubbed her fingers together on her lap. Words refused to form on her lips. Her intestines writhed like a den of snakes. As if to add insult to injury, the carriage pitched and bounced over a rut in the road. She choked back a bit of nervy bile.
"Hooper," Holmes languidly uncrossed his legs and leaned towards her, "I have every intention of conveying you home this evening. So, you may put yourself at ease. We struck a bargain, remember? I promised you a life to lead. I have not yet delivered on my end of the arrangement so forgive me if I appear disinterested. I am, in fact, attempting to be a gentleman."
Molly touched her hands to her cheeks and cast her eyes to her feet. She was well past mortified.
"Unless . . . you do not want me to be?" His deep voice vibrated her to her toes.
She raised her eyes skittishly, alternately pausing until at last, she met his pointed stare. Her breaths quickened. He was no longer relaxed. He looked like a racing steed about to spring from his paddock.
"I – ah, . . . h-have you found a solution?" Her voice was small.
His cheek jumped. "Yes."
"I assume the menswear factors into that a-and n-not, erm, the other p-part," she said huskily.
He shook his head slowly. "I have no desire to see you attired in men's clothing, Hooper. In fact, I do not desire you to wear anything at all."
Her breath hitched. Sensation flooded her loins. The promise in his voice was enough to excite the secret place between her legs.
"Hah, o-oh."
An awkward silence ensued until she gathered her courage again.
"What are those suits meant to achieve?" She probed, too shy to offer an appropriately mischievous rebuttal.
"I am not going to tell you that until you are outfitted in one and I have brought you where you need to be. I do not want you to lose your nerve."
Her nose wrinkled. She was excited at the prospect of an adventure but a little wary of his scheme. She could not fault his logic, though. She could not imagine a willingness to participate in anything requiring a man's getup. He was probably right to withhold that information.
"Is this appointment already set then?"
He tapped the pads of his fingers together. "Yes, and I would look quite foolish if you were not to show."
Molly's hands shook as she formulated her next sentence. The evening's events had rearranged her priorities. Life was more fragile than she ever imagined, and opportunities easily stolen away by the ill will of others. It was in the fog of her altered reality as Holmes had cradled and carried her to safety that her thoughts had clarified. She did not want to wait for an indeterminate future. Holmes had been right about her request. She had asked the impossible. No one could secure her future but herself.
"Um, well . . . I would say that you have made good on your promises, Holmes. It is my turn to honor my commitments . . . "
His nostrils expanded as he sucked in an inhalation. A quick skitter of surprise and doubt traversed his features. His lips tremored and opened. Then he sat up.
"Hooper, I must tell you . . . your reciprocation is no longer required. Y-You can forget your obligations this instant. I . . . I will give you what you want and you do not need to be indebted to me. I made an abhorrent bargain to salvage my pride. I release you from this foolishness . . ."
Her chin went back. She squared her shoulders. The quivering in her fingers quelled.
"Oh, I do not think so, Sherlock Holmes! Whoever said that part of the deal was solely for you?"
His face turned away slightly even as his focus remained on her face. A spasm made his right lid pulsate before he was able to steel his features. Air lifted and lowered his chest.
"Do you . . . do you want to come with me to Baker Street? No deal? No promises? You would just come because you wanted . . . to . . . be with me?"
Molly gulped. That was it, the moment she irrevocably lost her heart to the infamous consulting detective. The moment he became more than just her Holmes.
"Yes, Sh-Sherlock, that is exactly what I want."
Their arrival to the Holmes' house was not what Molly expected. They did not waltz in through the front door. Instead, Molly found herself shivering in a shadowy, brick stairwell in the back lane behind 221B Baker Street as Holmes searched fruitlessly for his spare key. Spring, it seemed, had decided to regress and the air had almost an icy snap to it.
"Damn!" He muttered as he ran his fingers over the top of the door trim.
Molly's teeth chattered as she shifted back and forth on her feet. "D-Do not you have a key for your own home?"
He sputtered a sigh and leaned down to check under a reed mat in front of the door. "Yes, but the one I have is for the front door which has a different lock."
"S-So wh-why don't we go in th-through the f-f-front door?"
His eyes peaked up at her then skittered away. "Mrs. Hudson would surely catch us and harangue me within an inch of my life. Ah-ha! Here it is. Devious woman, she tucked it under the threshold!"
"Mrs. Hudson?"
He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "My housekeeper."
Molly snickered. "Are n-not you th-the master of your h-house, sir?"
Holmes rose to his feet until he towered over her. She straightened her back against the wall and tilted her head to look up at him. In the place of his eyes were nearly black voids. If not for a glint off his corneas as he dropped his chin, she would not even know he had eyes anymore.
"I assure you, Miss Hooper," his voice rumbled as he drew her forward by her wrist, "within the walls of this house I issue the commands."
She snorted.
"Just not on the d-d-doorstep?" Her teeth still clacked.
Holmes crooked a brow, spun like a matador out of his coat and next thing she knew, he had draped the heavy fabric around her small form. The Belstaff's length was so long, she could feel the hem of it drag across her toes through her boots. He secured it then tugged her into full contact with his form. Her belly tightened as his head dipped quickly, he nudged her nose upwards then paused with his lips just a whisper from hers.
"Regardless of my tendency to capitulate to Mrs. Hudson, Hooper, I expect complete submission from you."
Molly's sex tightened at the possessive timber of his voice. She knew she should rebuke him for demanding obedience but instead she felt a wicked little thrill vibrate her limbs. Truthfully, she wanted nothing more than to submit to his domination.
"Wh-What would you like me to do first?" She whispered.
His breaths pulsed hot and heavy against her lips. The chill she had felt moments ago was all but gone.
"Lick your lips," he growled.
Molly flicked out her tongue and ran it over her top and then bottom lip. Before she could retract it, Holmes jerked the lapels of his jacket and her mouth crashed into his. He groaned and began kissing her like a man starved. A large hand dropped to her lower back and more firmly pressed her against him. His fingers tensed and then kneaded her back. She felt incredibly small beneath him and a bit overwhelmed by the passion of his kiss but moved her lips in tune with his anyway. There was something decadent and addictive about the firm yet supple feel of his flesh. She felt as if she clung to a ledge by her toes. Her choice seemed like no choice at all. Yes, back was a steady, boring, surefooted path. Yet, forwards was an abyss from which she did not know if she would rise. All she could think of was stepping from her perch and falling.
"Mm, this will not do," Holmes lifted his head. "I should get you inside before I strip this coat back off of you again."
She fanned her face as he unlocked the black door and then led her inside into a darkened kitchen. She could have been anywhere, she didn't care at all to memorize any details. Her gaze was fixed on her detective's handsome face. She was completely absorbed by the expansion of his chest with every breath he took and the ticks in his expression as he ruminated. If she didn't know any better, she would think he was nervous.
"Do you need anything before we go upstairs, Hooper?" He squeezed her hand. "A refreshment of some sort?"
Molly shook her head. "No."
He nodded and drew her backwards towards a stairwell that led up into darkness. She allowed herself to be pulled into the passage even though her knees shook with nervous anticipation. Her focus remained fixated on his face. His unwavering gaze gave her courage.
"Are you ready, Molly Hooper?" He murmured.
She gulped down a flurry of anxious butterflies. "Yes, Sherlock, please, take me . . . t-to your chambers."
