Just a short, fluffy one-shot based on a Tumblr prompt. I hope you enjoy it, as I rather like this one. Also, thank you again to everyone who has followed, favorited, and reviewed! You make me eager to write more.
On another note, self promotion time! I have started a multi-chapter story titled All In, and I would love for you to check it out if you haven't already. :)
Molly rushed into 221B, frantically searching for her husband. She had been out of the country at a pathology conference when she had received a call from John Watson, detailing the aftermath of Sherlock's latest case. He assured her that the detective would be fine, but that Sherlock needed her, even if he would not admit so out loud. She had left the conference in the middle of the keynote address, hurrying to the airport where Mycroft had a plane waiting to bring her back to London.
She found Sherlock huddled in a chair by the window, knees drawn up to his chest as he observed the people on the street below. She quietly walked over to him, gently placing a hand on his arm. His hand came up to cover hers, but he did not turn around to look at her. His feet fell to the floor, his body curling slightly into her touch. She stepped around the chair, stifling her gasp when she gazed upon his face.
A bandage covered the left side of his face, concealing the majority of the deep cut that marred his skin. According to John, the detective would be scarred permanently, the image in the mirror a constant reminder that he had almost failed. He had nearly let a murderer escape. Molly's heart ached as she stared at her husband.
"Sherlock…" she started, unsure how to proceed. She understood his vanity and the high significance he placed on his appearance, but did not know how to console him.
"Molly, please go. I do not wish for you to see me like this."
"Love, it really isn't that bad. Here, let me –"
"No!" He pulled away from her, shifting away from the tenderness in her eyes. "I am hideous! How could anyone love someone like me? How could you?" His voice broke on the last syllable, betraying his fear of being abandoned once again.
She sank down, kneeling between his legs, and gripped his face in her hands, twisting his head towards her. "Sherlock! Sherlock, look at me. I love you. All of you, from your magnificent brain to your childish antics. It makes no matter to me what you look like."
"Really?" She saw the hope in his eyes and smiled at him.
"Of course, Sherlock. Did you honestly think I would throw away seven years of my life because of one little scar? I'm a bit offended you think so little of me."
He laughed, and Molly's heart warmed at the sound. "You deserve so much better, Molly. Whatever did I do to be worthy of your affections?"
"You aren't. But, lucky for you, I fell in love with you and not some other bloke. So can you please stop brooding, thinking I am going to leave you?"
His brilliant smile lit up the dark room, and he leaned forward to kiss her. He poured all of his feelings and insecurities into that simple brush of lips, and Molly reciprocated whole-heartedly. The couple lost themselves in each other for a moment, relishing the comfort and security they found there. When they finally parted, both were breathing heavily, and Molly recognized the hungry look in her husband's eyes. She gave him a seductive smile of her own, standing up and pulling him towards the bedroom.
"Besides, I've always had a thing for a man with battle scars."
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