Molly peeled the lid off a Tupperware container and stared anxiously down at the contents. Two dozen cheerful pink cupcakes decorated with a mound of swirled buttercream beckoned for a bite.
"Oh, Molly, these are lovely!" Mary Watson exclaimed.
Molly smiled. "Well, I thought I should ruin your diet! I can't believe how good you look, it's only been six weeks since you gave birth."
"Oh, go on! I've got my Spanx on, that's all. When I let it hang out, I still look like I'm three months along."
Molly laughed faintly. It was lovely to see Mary and John so happy and their wee one, Miss Elizabeth Shirley Watson, was a real life doll but Molly was in fact, putting on a brave face. Truth be told, she was dying a little with each passing moment. Any second, Sherlock Holmes would arrive at the Watson's baby shower with some gift that was certain to be ridiculously expensive and terribly sentimental, not that Molly resented the dear little angel anything. What drove daggers through Molly's heart was witnessing the depth of affection Sherlock seemed to be able to generate for others in his circle.
He had told her once that she counted but she was beginning to questions his metrics. What did it mean to Sherlock Holmes to "count" a person? In the six weeks since she had kissed him, he had virtually disappeared from her life. He had to know what that would mean to her but instead of manning-up and explaining that he wasn't interested, he just pulled a bloody Reichenbach Fall. On her!
"What's wrong, love? You alright?" Mary's voice cut though her thoughts.
Molly shook her head. "Oh, sorry, Mary. Never mind me, I was thinking about work. Please, tell me about you. How are things going?"
Mary sighed as she busied herself removing the wrap from some plates of assorted appetizers. "I can't lie. It's not all been great. I'm knackered. Bethie doesn't sleep more than a few hours at a time. I tried and tried but the breastfeeding didn't work out and now I'm back on birth control which hasn't helped my moods at all. Oh, but listen to me. It's actually all been strangely worth it. I-mm, ahem, I never thought I deserved this kind of life, Molly."
Tears glistened in Mary's eyes. Molly threw her arms around her friend and squeezed her tightly.
"You do deserve it, Mary. Never doubt that."
Mary nodded when Molly released her from their embrace. "Thank-you, you're one of the good ones, Molly Hooper. If you ever need anyone knocked off, let me know!"
Molly pressed her lips together. "Um, thanks, but I'm good on that front."
Mary picked up a couple of the trays. "Alright, I should get some of this food out before John has a sugar crash. Coming?"
"Be right along, I'll just put these cupcakes on a platter."
Mary winked and left Molly in her small kitchen. Molly set to work arranging her carefully constructed cupcakes on an oval serving plate. She desperately wanted to leave but could not come up with a reasonable explanation for her departure. Sherlock would surely pick it apart in her absence and she would offend the Watsons. Then again, to hell with Sherlock! Maybe he wouldn't even notice she was absent.
Molly fished her phone from her pocket. One faux emergency autopsy coming up! She grabbed the tray of cupcakes and headed out to the living room. Once she set the tray down with the rest of the food, she plastered a fretful look on her face, waggled her phone and made her excuses to Mary and John. When she had kissed Elizabeth on her downy forehead and escaped out the front door of their apartment, she finally took a deep breath. She couldn't stop a tear from escaping her brimming lids, though. Angrily, she wiped it away.
Then, she felt like her feet were on fire. She glanced at her watch. She needed to get out of there and quick. While Sherlock was always fashionably late to these kind of engagements, he could be counted on to be exactly twenty-two minutes in arrears which meant she had about one minute to spare. She ran past the elevators and slammed through the door into the stairwell. Panting, she leaned back against it to regain her faculties. Once her breathing returned to an even pace, she started down the dimly lit stairs at a more leisurely pace.
Halfway to the first landing, the creaking groan of a door somewhere far below echoed up the stairwell. Molly's heart started racing. She was in a near panic. She wanted to believe Sherlock would take the elevator. Her steps slowed and she plodded down the stairs as if she had moccasins on her feet. Then, somehow she just knew it was him! She turned back, then forwards again, then back once more. She didn't know what to do but she knew if she tried to run, she would find herself face down on the carpeted stairs.
So, she waited. She freakin' waited, shaking on the second landing as she heard deliberate footfalls ascend towards her location. She practiced an air of disdain and distorted her face into several expressions until she settled on something that felt like aloofness. Yes, cool, calm Molly.
"Crap, he'll see through me in an instant."
Yet, she waited still and sure enough, Sherlock stepped into view. As if he sensed her presence, his face tilted up and their gazes locked. Seconds later, he towered over her on the landing, a vision of flawlessness. His sculpted cheekbones, dark curls, and pale eyes drove her mad. She wanted to slap the hotness off him.
"Sherlock," she acknowledged.
"Molly," he said in return.
An awkward silence ensued. Molly's face twisted into a frown. She placed her hands over her mouth. She could no longer bear pretending that she was okay.
"Oh, oh . . . goddamnit! Fuck this!"
She made a move to brush by him but his hands shot out and grabbed her by her upper arms. Her gaze lifted. His lips formed words, but he did not speak. He looked away with a half-shake of his head then she felt his hands compress on her arms. He shook her once gently as his hands tightened on her arms.
"You are making this impossible, Molly."
She chewed her bottom lip. "I am? Me? You have some nerve, Sherlock."
Sherlock closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, he looked lost. His uncertain demeanor reminded her of how he'd acted the time he asked for her help faking his death. She would have done anything for him then. She realized in that moment, looking up into his naked vulnerability, that she still would. She also knew, something needed to change.
Her voice sounded small when she spoke. "What do you need?"
"Molly," he growled.
He jerked her forward until their chests met and she felt his chin make the barest contact with the hair at the side of her head.
Molly cleared her throat. She had to stop this, whatever it was.
"I never ask for anything, Sherlock, never."
She felt the hairs against her face move with his breath.
"That is not entirely . . . accurate," he murmured.
Molly clenched her hands into fists. "I don't – never mind, whatever - I need you to do something for me now."
"Molly . . ."
"I need you to leave me alone."
Sherlock's hands alternated clenching and unclenching on her arms. "No."
Molly's mouth fell open. "Wh-what?"
His hands finally relented their grasp. Then she felt them trail across her shoulders, slide up her neck and at last, cup her chin. Sherlock gazed down at her, his eyes narrowed and concentrated on her face.
"It's too late for that, Molly, much too late. John told me a story recently about a soldier and a stray, but he got it wrong. He thought you were the dog . . ."
Molly stuck her lips out. "Wait a minute, John called me a dog?"
"Erm, no, not quite-"
"Not quite? What does that mean!?"
Sherlock let out a noisy breath. "Do be quiet, Hooper!"
He rubbed a thumb over her lip. "I have tried to stay away from you. I have tried but I cannot delude myself anymore . . . I have forgotten how to survive without you, Molly."
Then, something happened that Molly never could have guessed in her wildest dreams. Sherlock's lips descended on hers so forcefully that her head was bent back. She was stunned a moment until he relented and began coaxing her mouth open. When she felt the first touch of his tongue over the seam of her lips, fireworks streamed through her body and exploded deep in the recesses of her belly. She succumbed to the overwhelming sensation of it all and melted against his hard body. She couldn't believe she was kissing - properly kissing -Sherlock Holmes. An intense rush at the realization of this caused her legs to buckle and he was forced to catch her up against him.
"I am sorr-"
Before he could finish, she launched herself at him, burying her hands in his silky hair. He clutched her tightly to him, lifted her up and then walked her backwards until she was pressed up against the wall. His lips parted from hers a moment. He stared down at her, mouth open as puffs of hot air heated her face.
"There are things I want to do, Molly, be we cannot right now. Please, erm, stop . . . wiggling. The friction is unbearable."
Molly's breath caught. "Oh, oh! God, Sherlock. Sorry."
He let her down but his hold on her waist remained. "Come with me upstairs? You know how much I dislike people. I need you."
Molly touched his face. She wasn't sure she was in a dream or not but she didn't want it to end.
"Yes, of course."