Molly watched as Sherrinford was tucked into a dark sedan with tinted windows outside Hooper's (defunct) Bakery. Mycroft and Sherlock flanked her on either side. Her hands hung loosely at her sides as a breeze stirred her hair. She didn't know how she should feel, she was a bit numb actually. He seemed so harmless whining about his back with a wad of tissue pressed against his face. She looked to Mycroft.
"What will you do with him?"
The car whisked Sherrinford away own the dark street.
Mycroft blinked slowly as he watched the sedan disappear and shrugged. "Mm, well, we'll start with a few questions. After that, I am not entirely sure. It will be out of my hands."
"Ridiculous," Sherlock muttered, "he should be given a lobotomy."
Mycroft sighed. "Oh, I don't believe he poses much of a threat in his present state. Besides, his health appears to be rapidly deteriorating. I am not certain we will have to do much of anything except wait out the clock. Rest assured, Dr. Hooper, he will be under twenty-four hour guard until that time."
Molly couldn't help but frown as her conscience was pricked. "S-so, you will not treat him?"
Sherlock made a sharp sound of disbelief. "My God, Molly, your compassion has no limits . . ."
Mycroft smiled and raised his brows. "Well, that's been apparent for an age. How else do you think she's managed to put up with you?"
Sherlock furrowed his brows and rolled his eyes in an exaggerated manner. "Oh, shut up, Mycroft."
Molly swallowed as she looked back and forth between the brothers. Even though they sparred, their manner was not caustic as it had been recently. Both seemed more at ease.
"Dr. Hooper," Mycroft said with a grim set to his face, "Sherrinford will be afforded the same respect as anyone in the custody of the British government. He will be cared for and probably better than he ought to be."
She nodded and wrinkled her nose. "I know it probably doesn't make a lot of sense for me to care at all, but my m-mother died of cancer. It was horrible. She s-suffered."
Molly looked down to the sidewalk and scuffed at a crack with her shoe.
"Pain has a way of equalizing us all," she murmured and raised her eyes. "He will regret things at the end w-when he realizes he's not so different from the rest of us."
Sherlock drew her to his side and kissed the top of her head. "You are too good, Molly."
Mycroft cleared his throat. "Well, shall we?"
He tapped his umbrella along the pavement as he sauntered towards his idling transport. He half turned and called back over his shoulder
"Coming?"
En route, Sherlock wasn't very forthcoming on his time spent with Sherrinford, but the few snippets he volunteered made Molly's blood boil. She had to bite her lip to keep from swearing. Soon the discussion turned to her diagnoses.
"Dr. Hooper deduced Sherrinford's malady, actually."
She raised her head from where she'd been resting it against Sherlock's arm.
"Oh, erm, well, I observed a few things during our interactions. He was never quite in control of his faculties. He would shake. He had headaches. His nose bled once. None of these things meant much on their own but then there was the Cyklokapron, um- the tranexamic acid. See, Myeloma is a cancer of the bone marrow, in its end stages platelet counts can be quite low. Patients are often prescribed tranexamic acid because they are susceptible to bleeding and it helps with blood clotting."
"That is why we just found the barest traces of it at the Watson's after he showed up," Mycroft added. "Do go on, Molly- I mean, Dr. Hooper."
She took a breath. "Right. Um, then there were the Leeds brothers and Mycroft's files. Everything kind of gelled. I mean, I think he was looking for a cure. From what I could tell, he first found patients with Myeloma, then set them up for treatments to see what might work such as dosing them with antibiotics. There have been some experimental trials involving other cancers where antibiotic treatments proved successful. That's not all he tried though. There were protein inhibitors, steroids, and well, the list goes on. Many of the people he exposed to these unnecessary treatments died from renal failure just like the Leeds because they too had kidneys weakened from the disease."
Sherlock cataloged the information silently. "Well done, Molly."
She looked up into his hooded eyes. "Truly?"
His fingers skimmed her chin. "Yes, truly. One more thing, though. How did you know I was a donor match for him?"
She suppressed a smile. "Well, part of his searches involved looking for a donor that matched a very specific profile and I, ahem . . .well, I know every characteristic of your blood by heart."
"How very romantic, Dr. Hooper," Mycroft said with a laugh.
Sherlock's lips twitched and he lowered his lashes. Molly felt her heart's pace increase. She could hardly contemplate everything that had gone on that evening, especially Sherlock's revelations. Weariness set in then and she yawned.
"Mm, sorry."
Sherlock squeezed her arm. "We should get you home."
"Ah, yes, well, you can rest easy at your flat tonight, my dear," Mycroft said.
Sherlock shook his head. "No, I meant Baker Street. She's coming home with me."
"Sherlock!" Molly protested.
"Er, well, I mean, if she agrees."
"Better," she mumbled and snuggled closer.
"Hmmf, don't even think of sleeping yet, Molly Hooper. We have a something yet to discuss."
Not two steps inside the darkened entry of Baker Street, Molly was spun at the bottom of the stairs and pressed against the hard form of Sherlock Holmes. He stared at her a moment, his eyes were fathomless, glittering orbs, before his head fell and his mouth claimed hers. His lips fed on hers greedily, almost desperately as if reassuring himself she was real. As ever, her insides turned into a puddle of quivering goo at his touch.
Her hands snaked around his solid body and she latched on to him. She felt on the edge of a cliff with the ground beneath her shifting. She teetered there, clinging to the last of her uncertainties, when she heard his words echo through her mind.
"You are so special . . ."
" . . . it meant giving up my life . . . giving up . . . you."
" . . . it was always about you."
So, she let go and she fell. Her body yielded and she clung to him as her only anchor to the real world. She heard him make a raspy sound in his throat as he inhaled a breath. Then his full lips sought hers again with a groan. She wrapped her arms around his neck and poured every last ounce of herself into him. It didn't matter that Sherrinford had never been all that large a threat to her man, having Sherlock in her embrace then was more of a relief than finding out he was alive after having been shot.
For the next while, they were a tangle of limbs as they clawed at each other. They only came up for air several minutes later and very much disheveled when the creak of Mrs. Hudson's door snapped them back to reality.
"Hmm, I thought I heard something. Tsk, tsk, really Sherlock. That's no way to treat a lady," Mrs. Hudson clucked.
Molly felt her face heat. She must look a wreck! Her statically charged hair stuck to everything. Her cardigan dangled from her cast, having got stuck there, while her tee shirt rode up to just under her bra. Sherlock fared no better. His pale blue shirt, missing several buttons, gaped open and hung loosely about his waist. Additional evidence of their shenanigans littered the immediate area. His Belstaff sagged over the stair railing and threatened to hit the floor. Both pairs of their shoes had been kicked off and strewn about the foyer.
"Apologies," Sherlock murmured. "We'll take it upstairs."
She nodded with bright, rounded eyes. "I should think so."
"Sorry about the disturbance, Mrs. Hudson," Molly added.
"Oh, it's fine. I just don't want to have to disinfect the entry," she twitched her brows. "I'm not a housekeeper, you know."
"Yes, of course."
Sherlock smiled secretly at Molly. He stole a quick kiss and let her go. Mrs. Hudson's voice followed them up the stairs after they had collected their things.
"Does this mean I'll be spared those God awful funeral refrains from your violin tonight, Sherlock?"
He half turned with a smirk on his face. "Yes, although, I can't guarantee it will be quiet."
Mrs. Hudson shook her head with a smile and looked away. "Right, well, I'll leave the tele on then."
Sherlock scooped Molly up into his arms as soon as the door to his flat closed behind them.
"I-I thought we needed to talk," she said with a nervous laugh.
His eyes constricted and traveled over her small form. His nose twitched.
"Later," he mumbled. "Right now, I have a much more pressing concern."
Her actual words faltered while her inner voice screamed, "Yeah, you do!"
Sherlock carried her to his bedroom. He laid her down gently on the bed, flicked on the bedside lamp and stood back up. He stared down at her with eyes dark and forbidding as he took his time first undoing one cuff on his shirt, then the other. She felt tingles wash through her abdomen from the concentrated look in his eyes. She knew they should be talking, sorting things out, and acting like grown-ups with real problems but . . . fuck it, she was excruciatingly aroused by the intensity in his eyes.
She licked her lips. "Just because we're about to, uh, ahem, you know. It doesn't mean you're completely off the hook, mister!" She said, quite a bit breathier than she intended.
He smirked as he slouched out of his shirt. His hand lingered on his belt clasp. Her eyes glanced anxiously to where it hovered and then back to his amused stare. His lids lowered lazily.
He winked. "Yes it does."
Molly suppressed a grin. He was so infuriating when he was right! With a chuckle, he continued to remove his trousers. She yanked off her cardigan and tee with a puff and threw them at him. Her pants followed. With a shake of his head, he kicked her clothing aside and joined her on the bed. When it dipped down she was rolled into the depression against him. Her body went into overdrive as he pulled her tightly to him and his hands mapped her flesh. Long, slender fingers explored her in reverence, trailing across her ribs and over her navel. They lingered on her belly for a few seconds, each digit a feather light point of contact as they strummed her sensitive skin.
She watched as Sherlock's curls fell over his face and partially obscured his profile. He dropped his head and kissed her shoulder. His hand slid to her hip and held her for a moment as his breathing strained. She reached up and wove her fingers into his hair.
"Sherlock?"
He inhaled a ragged breath. "Forgive me, Molly, I am having a moment."
She flipped to her side and faced him. "Are you okay?"
"I am very well, it's just . . . I am having trouble controlling my emotions. There is so much I want to say to you, but the words are all competing in my head. I don't know how to express them properly . . ."
She touched his face. "Don't speak then. Just show me."
He swallowed and nodded. His head descended again and his lips moved against hers gently, slightly moist and pliable. His pace was unhurried yet exhilarating all the same. The leisurely glide of his fingers over her skin around her waist and then down over her bum created a slow burn deep in her belly. His tongue ran over the seam her lips, seeking entry. She felt the soft, sandpaper-like feel of it slip into her mouth and coax hers to dance. With a moan, she opened her mouth fully and invited him in. God, the feel of it and the way he invaded her with his tongue felt like sex in her mouth. The juncture between her legs throbbed.
His cock twitched at her hip and stiffened as it engorged. She bucked her hips involuntarily. Her nerves were super-charged. Her insides clenched. Tingling sensations made her clit ache with need. She felt as if it had been an age since he'd touched her this way and he couldn't move fast enough. She let out a grumble of frustration.
Sherlock tucked her beneath him then. His heavy, heated body settled over hers and his cock pressed hard between her thighs. The light hair dusting his chest tickled her nipples which resulted in goose bumps popping up all over her body. He kissed her again at the same tortuous and unhurried pace. Their skin stuck together. She wriggled beneath him anxiously, loving his imprint. He moved his hips against hers in response.
"Patience," he mumbled against her lips.
She could feel the deep timber of his voice hum through her chest. God, it made her wet.
"Arg, an overrated virtue," she muttered.
He kissed the corner of her lips, earlobe, temple and then the tender flesh between her eyelid and her brow. "But it's always over too soon, Molly. I want time to commit every detail to memory."
She smoothed her hands down his muscular back, the bumps of his spine and over the taut curve of his arse as he continued to tease her with his lips. His body was absolute perfection, a masterpiece of genetic fortune. She wanted to savor him in return but he was testing the limits of her control.
She buried her hands in his soft hair, pulled his head up and mashed her mouth against his insistently. He responded to her urgency by grinding her hips again. His staff pulsed. It was impossibly hard. She wanted him inside her so badly.
"Please," she whispered.
"Do you want me?" He murmured.
"God, yes!"
He dipped his head and licked her nipple, then blew on it until it contracted into a tight bead. She writhed and clutched the sheets. He closed his warm, wet mouth over her other nipple and flicked his tongue back and forth.
He raised his head. "Do you need me?"
Her lips parted as she got lost in his eyes. "Yes."
He propped himself up on one elbow and reached down between her legs. His finger stroked between her folds and rubbed the sensitive point, making her senseless. Then he nudged her entrance with his member.
"Do you belong to me?" He growled.
She clutched his neck and buried her face in his collar. "Y-yes, always."
Inch by inch, he drove into her body. She heard him inhale sharply. He was harder than she'd ever felt him, it almost like having a velvet covered rod push into her body. She could feel every ridge and the catch of his head on her inner walls as he slowly thrust deeper. Soon he was buried so deep, she didn't know where he began and she ended. He felt deliciously foreign and so large that the way he stretched her walls bordered on painful. Then he drew out a little and somehow managed to embed himself even farther on his return. His hard thrust jolted her deep in her abdomen.
He stroked at a glacial pace, each time dragging in and out of her with deliberate, long penetrations. She cupped his bum with her hands. Her loins tightened every time he flexed beneath her fingers and invaded her again. She felt a knot of tension form, a twisting of her insides until she was so wound up she thought she would burst. She clenched around him and tilted her hips up. She needed just a little bit more for her release.
Sensing her need, Sherlock picked up his pace. He caught her fingers in his and held her hands up over her head. Over and over he drove into her body, jarring her insides until she was nearly breathless. A bright light formed behind her eyes and little sparks flew in every direction. The delicious ache between her legs intensified and she felt herself spinning out of control. Then, like a meteor breaking up in the atmosphere, she came apart with a heady cry. Her whole body convulsed, her legs shook and she clung to him.
Sherlock leaned his forehead on hers. She felt a trickle of his sweat slide down her temple. Then, with a few more quick thrusts, he stiffened and sucked in a breath.
"Molly . . . Christ . . . I am yours."
The release of his orgasm sent a tremor through his whole body. His hips jerked as he spent himself. Then he collapsed to the side and gathered her into his arms. Ragged breaths fanned the side of her head. She fiddled with the hair at his nape.
Her heart was overrun. Almost losing him only to regain him so splendidly caused tears of joy and relief to fill her eyes.
"Sherlock , I . . . I love you."
He hugged her closer. "Mm, would you say it again in a few minutes?"
She frowned. "What?!"
His lips brushed her forehead. "Oh, yes, well, it's just . . .I think I would like to hear it again . . . and again for that matter. If you would be so kind."
She gave him a small shove. "Jeesh! You are such a git."
She felt him smile against her face. "Possibly, but you love me anyways."
She sighed with a smile of her own. "Yes, I do."