Molly's face scrunched up in confusion at Sherlock's explanation. "Sentiment? For a c-cat? W-why is that dangerous?"
Sherlock's lips parted in surprise and then a frown furrowed his brow. Next thing Molly knew, she was spun away from him with her cell returned to her grasp. She peered down at her phone, the lock screen was still in place. Odd.
"I'm beginning to think your ocular degradation is willful, Hooper."
Molly followed Sherlock out of the kitchen. There was that reference to her vision again. A thread pulled at the back of her mind, it tugged at something very deep within the recesses of her subconscious. Something primal, yet familiar.
"Sherlock . . ."
"Maaaaoooow!"
Toby's mewl drowned out her voice. She watched in frustration as Sherlock bent and scooped up Toby who lovingly head-butted his chin. He stood up with her cat cradled against his shoulder. Toby's self-satisfied purring was as loud as a lorry engine with a knock.
"I would like to retire," Sherlock said simply. "I also require the assistance of your feline."
"Toby? Why?"
"He is a rather intelligent creature. Sometimes I would rather have Toby's help than that of the whole detective force in London."
Molly nodded absentmindedly. No one moved for several seconds. The whole situation was absurd, she realized. She had been completely displaced in her own home. Another moment passed before Sherlock cleared his throat.
"Ahem, ah, you had mentioned a need for some reconnaissance to ascertain your, erm, undergarment situation."
Molly cast her eyes down and groaned. Her mortification knew no bounds.
"I- um, yes. Excuse me."
She scurried past the pair of them down the narrow hall of her flat to her room. Although there had been a discussion at one point and they had agreed, she still did not completely understand why Sherlock preferred her room to the spare. They were, in fact, almost mirrors of each other with equal access to the bath at the end of the hall. Both contained a double bed beneath a lone drafty window but her room was of course, more cluttered. He had mentioned he preferred the space. However, there was only an extra width of foot or so but that could be completely negated if her additional furnishings were taken into account.
Just as she suspected, a pair of bright pink knickers adorned the top of a pile of soiled clothing next to her bed. She scooped the garments up, stuffed them into her laundry basket and closed the flap.
"Finished?" She heard from the doorway.
She spun around as Sherlock strolled into her room. He let go of Toby who bounced to the floor and then hopped up onto the top of his cat tower.
"I-ah, just let me change the bedding."
He waved his hand. "No need, I probably won't sleep."
Molly shook her head and proceeded to her wardrobe. Sherlock stepped quickly in front of her and held his hand against the doors.
"I said, no need."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Are you sure? You seemed to have an insatiable need one evening you were here."
That had, in fact, been the fateful night of Tom's impromptu bachelor party. Molly had allowed Sherlock to stay that night because Tom was supposed to be out until the wee hours of the morning and then crash at a hotel downtown. However, at three am Tom had let himself in and then climbed into bed with Sherlock. Hearing a commotion, Molly had rushed from the bathroom in nothing but one of her over sized university tees and a pair of pale blue lace panties. When she flicked the light on, Sherlock was on one side of the bed practically naked, just his hips swaddled with one of her bed sheets. Tom was opposite him, stripped down to his shorts.
Molly had just stood at the doorway with her hand covering her mouth. Her first instinct was to burst into laughter but she restrained herself.
"Tom, oh, bother! I can explain. It's not what it looks like."
Tom had turned his face towards her and teetered. She knew instantly he was sauced.
"Whaz go-o-ing on? Molly, are you two seerz-ly fucking? In front of my back? Seerz-ly?"
She looked to Sherlock for help with her denial but he was stone-faced. "N-no, of course not."
Tom stumbled around the bed towards Molly. Sherlock stepped in front of him.
"Why is heee naked then, in yer bed?"
Tom poked Sherlock in the chest. "Get out've my way, you big bloody git."
"No."
"Tom, he just stays here occasionally. It's fine, we're friends."
Tom scuttled with Sherlock then, his hands flailing as he tried to slap at him. In less than a millisecond, he was pinned to the mattress with his arm twisted behind his back. Sherlock replaced his arm with his knee to hold him down and readjusted his drooping sheet.
"If you value your limp spine at all, you will not move," Sherlock warned menacingly.
Tom stilled. "Friends, ha! You're freakz! Both of you, yer freakz. You deserve each-udder. I knew this wuzn't gonna work, Molly. I knew it. My boys knew it, they told me. No nice girl would do what you do. Cuttin' up corpses all day long. What kind've Mum would you be? Fucking cryptkeeper! Lemme up. Let me up!"
Molly's face had lost all its blood then. She could forgive Tom for his mistaken appraisal and even uttering some slurs in anger. This situation didn't look good no matter which way you cut it but she could not forgive him for those final words. One look at Sherlock and it was done. Tom was hauled off towards the entry to her flat and then shoved into the hall. Molly scooped his clothes and threw them at his feet.
"Actually, you're one hundred percent right, Tom. I am fucking Sherlock Holmes. I couldn't resist, you see. His cock is so much bigger than yours."
She slammed the door in the face of a dumbfounded Tom. Sherlock lifted one brow as she passed by him. She held up her hand.
"Not a word. I'm entitled to that."
Sherlock had only grinned. "I suppose it's better than you cheating on him with someone less endowed."
Molly snapped back to the present with a jolt. Sherlock stood before her but he had said something quite different. "What did you just say?"
"I said, I apologize for my part in your breakup with Tom. I am . . . sorry? . . . that your feelings were hurt."
She looked at him with a critical eye. He was (maybe) sorry for her hurt feelings but not for their breakup. She felt the tug of that thread again- the one trying to uncover an explanation for his behavior. The longer she looked at him, the more she noticed small signs. He was making a concerted effort to control his breathing, his chest rose and swelled with each draw of air. His lips were a hair's breadth apart. She shifted towards him. He flinched and held his breath. Normally, that would be her cue to back off but a small voice told her to repeat her experiment.
She stepped towards him again. He stood firm but dropped his chin down to get a better look. She was so close then she could see a lone fleck of amber in his left eye. His face softened until he looked rather boyish but his body remained on alert. She felt as if she were trying to approach Toby on a cat-nip bender. As carefully as she could, she stood up on her tip-toes until their faces were scant centimeters apart.
"I'm going to kiss you, Sherlock."
When he didn't swan away, she placed her hands on either side of his shoulders and pressed her mouth gently against his. His lips were deliciously supple and smooth and oh, so wickedly hot. She held back a moan. Emboldened, she parted her lips, felt a frisson of energy pulse along very one of her nerve fibers and then, needing more, moved them tentatively. When Sherlock didn't respond, she pulled back only to feel what she thought were his lips chasing after hers.
Then, in unison, both their cell phones jingled in response to incoming messages. They sprang apart. Sherlock stumbled back, tripping over a wayward shoe. He blinked at her a couple times then swallowed and retrieved his mobile.
"How fortuitous," he mumbled. "Mary Watson has gone into labor."