Written for Juldooz on Tumblr!

Her headache was pounding on the door. Wait, that wasn't right. Molly Hooper slowly opened her eyes, adjusting to the sunshine now streaming through her blinds. She tossed on her dressing gown, and padded her way out of her bedroom. The knocking grew louder, making her headache worse.

"Hold on a moment!" she shouted hoarsely, her throat burning from the strain. Upon unchaining the door to open it, Molly found Sherlock Holmes on the other side of it.

"You look terrible," he remarked, taking in her current state. Molly's hair was in a frizzy knot on top of her head. Her eyes looked tired and her face was flushed. She raised an eyebrow at him. "I mean, you look beautiful as ever, but also very sick."

She knit her eyebrows together. He thought she was beautiful? Shaking the distracting thoughts from her head, Molly got right down to business. "I really can't help you today, Sherlock. I don't feel well, and—"

Sherlock quieted her when he leaned down to press his lips to her forehead. "You're burning up," he murmured. "Besides, I'm not here for me. I'm here for you."

It was then that Molly noticed the canvas shopping bag grasped in his left hand. "Come on in," she spoke softly. Sherlock followed behind her, shutting the door on his way through. He set the bag on her coffee table, motioning for her to sit on the sofa. "What's in the bag?"

A hint of a smile appeared on his face as he reached inside. "I brought you soup." He handed her a container of warm chicken noodle soup. She took it gingerly, smiling as a thank you. Sherlock pulled out a small pack of ginger ale and—

Molly gasped. "Princess Bride?" she asked incredulously, lifting the lid from the container.

"Yep," he replied. "I know it's a favourite of yours, but I'll let you in on a secret." Sherlock sat down beside her, leaning in closely. "Mycroft took me to see it when it released. I was eleven at the time. It's my favourite too."

She dipped her spoon in the soup and into her mouth, the warmth soothing her throat.

"Shall we watch it?" Sherlock asked, knowing full well what her answer would be. After starting the film, he settled in beside her, stealing glances as she consumed her soup.

Only forty-five minutes into the movie, and Molly was asleep, her head resting on his lap. She had been lying there since she finished her soup, and Sherlock had taken it upon himself to release her hair. The wonderful feeling of his fingers gently brushing through it had sent her straight to sleep. Sherlock continued to do so, lost in his thoughts—thoughts that centered on Molly.

He wasn't as oblivious to emotions as everyone else thought he was. Sherlock had known for quite some time that he felt something for her. He had struggled to pinpoint where she fit into his life. It only took him bit to realise it, because this was something he had never experienced or felt before. It was now plain as the upturned nose on her face. He was deeply in love with her.

Molly stirred against him, her eyes opening, greeting him sleepily. "I missed the rest of the movie didn't I?" He nodded in confirmation. "Can you bring me back to bed?"

Sherlock smiled, unable to help himself. "As you wish."