Sherlock's dark head lifted from Molly's chest and she found herself blushing as their eyes met. He propped himself up on an elbow and studied her through half-lidded eyes.
"You are still self-conscious, even now?" He observed.
Molly ran her tongue over her lips anxiously and nodded.
Sherlock looked down her naked form and then back up at her face. His hand followed where his gaze had been. Molly felt her insides quiver at his touch and the look of appreciation on his face.
"I am sorry," he murmured. "Perhaps if I had been able to temper my response somewhat, you would have a better understanding of how much I do, in fact, value your more appealing attributes."
She cleared her throat. "Such as?"
His hand slid up to curl around her breast. "Mm, well, these, of course. I must beg your forgiveness, I think I mistakenly said they were too small once."
Molly raked in a breath as his thumb pressed gently against her breast and rubbed slowly over her dark-rose colored nipple. He watched intently as it depressed and popped back up. He then leaned down and touched his tongue to a freckle on the curve of flesh beneath it. She felt a flush between her legs again.
"They are actually perfect," he said as he looked up from where he had tasted her skin.
Molly's blood rushed through her veins as his mouth moved upwards towards her nipple. She gasped as his lips first brushed it then opened and hovered a moment. Warm, damp breath puffed - once, twice . . .
"Sherlock, y-you're killing me."
He smiled. Then his mouth, wet and hot, captured the sensitive bud. Teeth gently pulled at her nipple. She practically levitated off the bed as her body convulsed and her clit pulsed. Oh, she was doing it again! Bad, bad, greedy, greedy, Molly! She had already tempted fate once. She needed to resist him this time.
"Aah, shit!" She cried as his fingers started stroking the sensitive bundle of nerves there.
She felt his body rumble against her as he growled with satisfaction.
"This part," he slid a finger into her, "fits me better than anything I've ever worn."
"O-okay, you have to stop!"
He laughed. "Do I?"
"Yes, oh, I don't want you to but we've done something really stupid."
Sherlock's movements ground to a stop. His face shuttered as he raised his head.
"We have?"
She swallowed. If she didn't know any better, she would say he was hurt by that remark.
"I don't mean to say – um- damn, it's just . . . we didn't use any protection."
He nodded slowly. "Molly, I assure you, I am clean. I just had a slew of negative tests recently . . ."
She shook her head. "I'm not worried about that. I, um, well I ran my own tests on your blood after the drugs thing. Oh, Christ, I am so sorry. I am not on any birth control."
Sherlock's hand slid to her belly. His head twitched and his eyes zipped back and forth as he thought about something. "But I have seen pills in your medicine cabinet."
She poked him. "Ooh, you really can't keep your nose out of anything, can you? You know what happens when you assume something, Sherlock? You make an ASS out of U and ME! I stopped taking them when I split with Tom. Oh, crap, I'm sorry. This is my fault though."
His thumb absentmindedly dipped into her belly button.
"No, it's mine as well. I did think about the need for a condom but calculated that it would only minimize the risk of pregnancy a further 0.1 percent if you were on the pill which seemed an insignificant statistic when compared to the larger 100 percent likelihood I would explode if I did not have you right then."
Molly sucked in some air. "You were doing math while we were getting it on?"
He dipped his head. "Ah, yes. Does that bother you?"
She groaned. "No, it's hot. Damn."
Sherlock rolled on top of her then. His eyes were dark, intense. She let out a stream of air.
"Don't worry, please, I will fix this. I can take emergency contraceptive."
He frowned. "Molly, it's your body. My feelings are irrelevant."
Molly pressed her lips together and nodded vigorously. Then she pulled his head down and kissed him before tears could spill from her eyes. He kissed her in return. She felt his cock stiffen against her stomach. A naughty little voice in her head started badgering her to spread her legs again and demand satisfaction.
"You're going to take Plan B anyways . . ."
As if reading her thoughts Sherlock lifted his head. "Statistically speaking, we are already screwed."
"Oh, you are trouble, Sherlock Holmes. Trouble, trouble, trouble . . ."
It was then his phone began to chime in his discarded clothing. He stared down at her for a second.
"I should probably get that."
"Yes, you should."
Sherlock retrieved his phone and sat on the edge of the bed as he read a message. His face blanched. He pushed his hair back from around his face.
"W-what is it?" Molly asked.
"Mary," he said flatly. "She's collapsed. They are on their way to the hospital."
Molly and Sherlock arrived at the hospital a half hour later to a clearly distraught John pacing the emergency room waiting area.
"John," Sherlock said anxiously. "John, what's happened?"
John was ashen, his hands trembled. "Oh, Christ, she fell down. She just handed me the baby and keeled over. I should have gotten there sooner but I stopped by the store first. I shouldn't have left her alone. I shouldn't have left . . ."
Sherlock placed his hand on John's shoulder. "John, you got her prompt attention. It probably wouldn't have mattered if you were there . . ."
John pounded his own chest. "I'm a doctor. I would have seen something. I'm a-a d-doctor!"
Molly stood by helplessly. "John, do you need anything? Can I help you? Where's Bethie?"
John clasped his hands together and blew into them. He closed his eyes a moment as he tried to calm himself.
"Anthea has her. She is waiting for my sister to come pick her up."
Sherlock looked at Molly with apprehension. "Anthea, interesting. I wonder how she's managing."
Molly smacked him covertly. "Shush."
"John Watson?" An older doctor approached them looking grim.
Molly's heart lurched in her chest. She knew that look. She had given that look. Her eyes flew to Sherlock. He shook his head as he read her face.
"No, impossible," he whispered.
John looked between them incredulously. His eyes flashed to the doctor and back to Sherlock.
"No," he breathed.
"Mr. Watson, will you come with me please."
"No, my wife. Please, t-tell me what's happened to my wife."
The doctor cast his eyes to the floor and coughed. "I think it would be better if you just follow me . . ."
"Tell me about my wife!"
The doctor removed his glasses and wiped sweat from his brow. "Mr. Watson, your wife suffered a cardiac arrest. We did everything we could but, ahem, um, I am sorry. She has- she has passed."
John stumbled then. Sherlock caught him under his arms. Molly raised a shaking hand to her mouth as tears stung her eyes.
"No! No! She is thirty six years old. She's healthy. That's impossible!"
Silence enveloped them all a moment. Then John let out a cry like nothing Molly had ever heard. She choked up.
"Oh, God, it's not possible!" He wailed. "It's not possible."
Molly didn't know what to do. Sherlock's face was waxen. He didn't look as if he could stand much longer himself as he clutched John about the chest. Molly tugged at his arm.
"Take John to the seats," she whispered.
They stumbled over to the benches and collapsed. John buried his head in his hands and sobbed. Sherlock's eyes were wet. His mouth hung open.
"John, I am so sorry," he rasped.
"I don't understand," John cried. "I don't understand. She was fine. She was perfect."
Sherlock clasped his shoulder again. He was at such a loss. "It's unusual, but not impossible."
John flung his shoulder off and stood up. He staggered back. His eyes were wild, incensed.
"Before today, she was fine. She was healthy. Then your brother shows up and she dies. This is your fault!"
Sherlock's head snapped back as if he were slapped. "John . . ."
"No! Shut your face! My wife is dead. She's dead for no fucking reason except the misfortune of knowing you. I'll never forgive you for this. Never!"