This fic has been a long time in the writing. It was inspired by just how hot Benedict looked as Wallace in the short film Little Favour and I've been meaning to write something about Sherlock turning up bloodied and beaten on Molly's doorstep for ages…years even.
Anyway, the good news is it's finally here. Just two chapters so no great investment needed. I hope you like it.
Chapter 1
It was a repeated hammering on the door that woke Molly up. She'd been deep in sleep, and as such she felt groggy as she grabbed at her dressing gown, dragging it on, as she made her way to the door. on legs that still felt shaky and half asleep.
The hammering started again and Molly hurried her step, worrying that it would wake up her neighbours. 'OK, OK, I'm coming.'
She flung the door open ready to berate whoever was behind it, only to find Sherlock slumped against the wall. He looked exhausted, and worse than that, he was covered in blood. It looked like it had mostly come from a nasty gash on his forehead, but he had another by his jaw, along with various other nasty looking injuries.
'Oh my God! Sherlock, what the hell happened?'
She reached forward and took his arm, looping it over her shoulder, so she could support him as he made his way into her flat. Already her mind was on finding her phone and calling an ambulance.
'Don't.'
The word was said in a slightly slurred voice, no doubt impeded by the cut on his lip.
'Don't what?'
'Don't call an ambulance. That is what you were planning to do, isn't it?'
She nodded her head. 'Of course, look at the state of you. You need x-rays…proper medical help.'
'Yes, which is why I'm here. John's out of town, so you'll have to do.'
'Oh, thanks very much. Say it like you mean it!'
As soon as she said that she winced; the words, too similar to those she'd said in that phone call, the one his sister had forced on them. That had been the last time they'd spoken, over two weeks ago, and even though John had been around to explain everything, there had been no sign of Sherlock. Molly had heard through the grapevine that he'd been helping his family, but she had no idea how he'd managed to end up in this state.
He grunted and huffed as she manoeuvred him onto the settee in her small front room, and when he sat down he looked up at her. As he did she noticed that the left was bloodshot and starting to bruise; she wondered if she'd need to check his vision somehow.
'I apologise Molly. I assumed you wouldn't want to see me; that you would have preferred me to go to John for assistance.'
She frowned as she made her way into the kitchen, her mind working out what she needed; firstly, to run a bowl of hot water, and then to find some clothes and her first aid kit.
'Why would you think I wouldn't want to see you?'
He gestured with a hand whose knuckles were scraped and bloody.
'After what my sister put you through, I figured you'd want nothing more to do with me.'
He sounded sad, resigned even, and Molly felt a tug on her heart strings. Would she never stop loving this man?
Carefully she carried the bowl through and placed it onto the coffee table, then she helped him to remove his coat, jacket and shirt. There was blood smeared over both jacket and coat, along with his shirt. The latter she had no doubt would be binned, but she hoped dry cleaners would be able to sort out the former.
She tried not to get too distracted by the sight of his chest as he sat there half naked. Thankfully, the blood on his shirt all seemed to be from his facial injuries. Apart from a red patch on the right of his rib cage there was no other visible damage.
Tentatively she touched the bruise where it sat just under his heart. He flinched briefly, but quickly assured her that it was superficial and there were no broken ribs.
She gave him a wan smile, dipped a cloth into the water, and then sat down beside him on the settee. Ever so gently she started to dab at the blood on his forehead.
As she did she picked up their conversation again. 'Sherlock, I don't blame you for what happened. From what John said you went through some hideous stuff yourself. If anything, I'm grateful that you cared enough to try to save me.'
His hand closed over her wrist stilling her movements. As she met his gaze she found he was staring at her intently.
'Of course I care Molly; I hope you never thought otherwise. If you ever did, then I'm sorry.'
She felt a lump of emotion in her throat, and all she could do was nod in response. It seemed wiser to change the subject.
'So, what happened tonight then? How did you manage to get yourself so beat up?'
He smiled ruefully. 'Would it help if I said that the other guys fared worse?'
'Guys? Sherlock, you went up against more than one?'
He chuckled. 'Yes Molly, I do do that sometimes. I calculated their abilities, knew that I'd be able to better them, and I did.'
'Not without damage to yourself though.'
Molly had placed a couple of steri-stitches onto the cut on his forehead and then moved down to wipe the blood from around his eye. She was acutely conscious of him watching her as she did, one eye red from a burst blood vessel, and she knew she was probably blushing.
'Damage to me doesn't matter, so long as the case is resolved.'
She shook her head. 'Of course it matters Sherlock.' She paused and tried to keep her emotions under control, but her voice still shook when she spoke. 'You matter?'
'Why?'
She frowned and looked at him, her hand stilling. 'What do you mean… why?'
'Why do I matter Molly? Why have I ever mattered to you?'
She sat back, feeling confused.
'I don't know, you just do.'
He waited and she went on. 'You're a good person Sherlock. I know you don't like to think of yourself like that but you are. Sometimes you do the wrong thing but it's always for the right reasons. You need friendship and love and care just as much as the rest of us… maybe more so.'
'Why do you say that?'
'Because you think you don't deserve it.'
There was a silence between them for a few moments. Then Molly busied herself cleaning the cloth, watching the violent red of his blood swirling in the water, turning it pink. She'd need to get a fresh bowl soon.
His eye looked worse than it was and she had him hold a cold cloth on it whilst she moved to the gash on his jaw. This wound was deeper and had caused a lot of the bleeding. She wondered if it wouldn't scar as she added the last of the steri-stitches; she'd need to get herself a new box.
Finally, she concentrated her efforts on his lips; those full lips, topped with a sharply defined Cupid's bow. How she longed to be able to kiss them?
She knew her actions had slowed as she traced the cloth around his mouth and over his chin.
'Do it?'
'What?'
'I said do it. You want to kiss me, and I have no objections.'
Shock hit her, and she dragged her gaze away from his lips and back to his eyes.
'Did you hit your head in the fight?'
At that he chuckled, and then winced as it pulled on the stitches she had just placed on his jaw.
'No Molly, I didn't hit my head. I have no concussion or confusion of any kind. But I do want you to kiss me.'
'Why? Is it just because you know I want to? I don't need you taking pity on me, or doing something out of some kind of misplaced gratitude.
He raised an eyebrow. 'Really Molly, does any of that sound like me?'
She shook her head. 'I…I suppose not. So, why would you want me to kiss you?'
'How about we stop talking and just do it?'
He moved one hand to cup her face, and all of a sudden he was so much closer. His eyes searching her face, moving down to her lips, and Molly felt her heart beat quickening in anticipation.
She stayed as she was, letting him close the distance between them, until their noses were ever so lightly sliding against each other.
'God, you're beautiful Molly.'
Then his mouth met hers and she closed her eyes, feeling the soft brush of his lips against hers. It had her starting in shock that he'd actually done it, but before she could gather her thoughts he kissed her again and this time it was more insistent. His mouth pressed against her own until she opened hers with a moan, and then they were truly kissing.
Molly wanted to lose herself in it, but her mind was just screaming Why is he doing this? Why? Why?
It didn't take long for Sherlock to realise that something was wrong and he pulled back.
'Molly, stop overthinking, it's distracting.'
'I can't help it. Why are you kissing me?'
He rolled his eyes and smiled, his thumb caressing her cheek. 'Why do you think? Because I want to.'
He started to lean back in but Molly put her hand on his chest. Feeling the warmth of his skin, the solid reality of him, had lust and arousal starting to rise up inside her. Part of her wondered why she was querying this so much. Surely she should just take whatever he had to offer and worry about it in the morning… but deep down she knew she was worth more than that. She wasn't just a plaything for him to pick up and put down, she deserved more than that.
He huffed and seemed to give in. 'Molly, perhaps I should have led with this, but I meant every word in that phone call. I may not have realised it before, but as soon as I said those words I knew they were true, that it's always been true.'
Her breath caught in her throat at him mirroring what she'd said about her own feelings, but she still needed him to spell it out.
'If you meant it, then say it again.'
'Molly, I'll say it as many times as you need me to. I love you and not just that, I need you, I desire you. Now, will you kiss me?'
Molly searched his face looking for any sign of deception or lie, but she couldn't see any. All she could see was Sherlock, beaten and bloodied, but still so damn gorgeous and downright sexy; looking at her with such emotion in his eyes that it had her heart melting and her hands reaching for him.
This time as they kissed there was no hesitation. Sherlock shifted closer, dominating the kiss and Molly clung to his shoulders. He had one hand holding her jaw and the other went to her waist, sliding against the soft satin of her night dress.
As his mouth moved against her own her mind and heart felt as if they were soaring. He loved her. He'd told her that he loved her. Lust and love and desire all swirled together creating a storm of overwhelming feeling inside her body. She leant back on the settee, pulling him with her, until she felt his weight resting on her, between her open legs.
The hand that had been on her waist moved to cover her breast, and she arched into his touch, even as her mind reeled in shock at how fast things were moving between them.
She felt him shudder as he touched her, and then he groaned as he rocked his hips in a simulation of sex. Molly felt lust surging through her body, but it scared her as much as it excited her and she pulled away. She just needed some air.
Sherlock's mouth moved to her neck and Molly found herself moaning as he sucked her skin into his mouth. She hated being marked normally, but for the first time in her life she wanted it; she wanted Sherlock to mark her, to claim her as his. It felt almost animalistic, and she wove her hand through his hair holding him to her.
Slowly he worked his way down, and as he kissed her chest his hand dragged at the gown and strap on her shoulder, pulling the material down until her breast was exposed.
'You have no idea what this scrap of an outfit has been doing to me Molly.'
It was only as he said that that she remembered what she was wearing. A baby pink satin slip with soft lace at the v neck with a sheer, black gown over the top. She'd been that sleepy when he'd first awoken her that she hadn't even considered what she was wearing.
She pulled her arm free of the material, and then watched, wide eyed, as his lips closed over her nipple. She swore there would never be a more erotic a sight than this one.
As he bit down, his teeth scraping over her breast her eyes closed and she brought her knees up to his hips. She wanted him… more than she ever had before… she wanted him.
So, they're on the verge of consummating their relationship already so it seems like a god place to stop…leave you wanting more so you'll come back for part 2. I'll post again soon but let me know if you'd like a bloodied Sherlock as well xx
