Chapter 6

A few hours later, Molly lay curled on her side, facing a sleeping Sherlock Holmes, with a contented smile curving her lips. She loved watching him sleep, free to study the planes of his face, unobserved by the most observant man on the planet. He rolled his eyes in amusement whenever she told him he was beautiful, but he was, she thought, incredibly so. Her eyes traced the lines of his cheekbones, so sharp and defined, and down to his perfect cupid bow lips and strong jawline. They travelled further down to examine his exposed torso, their duvet just covering him from his hipbone. She sighed softly, thinking how magnificent his body was too. Long and lean, built for the bespoke wardrobe he preferred, but with a perfect musclature that was utterly deceptive in its strength. When he covered her with that body, sheathed deeply in her and thrusting, as he had just done again, well, she smiled to herself, his body was indeed 'transport' because it transported her to a different bloody realm.

He was strong in mind too. Genius abilities aside, he could withstand so much more then she ever could; including torture, judging from the scar tissue on his back. He prevaracated every time she asked him about it but, judging from the healing, it had happened only in the last year. He was a mass of contradictions too sometimes, she mused with a wry smile; he could tolerate torture, beatings and being shot without complaint, but whined incessantly to her and John if he caught a cold. He had the strength of mind and character of a great world leader, but could sulk and pout like a two year old if he didn't get his way.

He could, and would, make hard decisions, decisions that affected her too now, and that was something she was still adjusting to. She knew, because he'd told her quite honestly, that he had decided to leave her here in Quantico, incommunicado for six long and lonely weeks, even while knowing how truly terrible that had been for her, because there had been a minute percentage chance that Moran would trace her through him.

Since the beginning of their relationship, only a few short months ago, her underlying fear was that he would leave her, break up their relationship permanently, in order to keep her 'safe'. It still was, despite his reassurances. It was an outcome she was determined to prevent. It was why she had agreed to all of this, the protective custody, her exile, all of it, to prove to him that she could survive anything with him, but would only ever be half alive, without him. She watched with a smile as Sherlock moved a hand towards her, seeking her out even in his sleep, and she reached over to cover it gently with her own.

She groaned inwardly as she recalled her minor meltdown earlier. Seriously though, it was like being in a relationship with a bloody tornado sometimes, she thought. One minute she's in protective custody, months (almost) without seeing him, and wondering if he'll even get a chance to call her that day, and five minutes later she's straddling his lap, half naked, and he's kissing her breasts.

'Mr High Functioning Sociopath' had an incredible emotional perception where she was concerned however, and seemed to know exactly how she was feeling, and why, and more importantly, what to do and say to eradicate her worries. She smiled at his peaceful, sleeping face, trying to decide whether she loved their sexually intimate moments more than she loved how exquisitely tender he was with her, when that was what she needed more, and then she rolled her eyes at her own foolishness. She loved every damn thing about him, all of it, including watching him at rest. So she did exactly that. For an hour she lay beside him, holding his hand as he slept.

Sherlock slept until lunchtime and when he awakened he frowned momentarily because Molly wasn't in the bed beside him. He relaxed when he heard her humming in the kitchen. He showered quickly, and grabbing his holdall, he pulled out a change of clothes, dressing in the black jeans and black jumper. He joined her there swiftly, sliding his arms around her waist from behind and kissing into the side of her neck, eliciting a giggle from her as she leaned back into him. "Hello Molly." She turned around in his arms and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Hello yourself," she murmured as she coaxed his head down to kiss him. "Are you hungry? I'm making stew."

"So I see. I am a little, and that smells good." She looked up at him a little shyly.

"This is the first time I've ever cooked for you.."

"Nonsense Molly, you've often cooked for me."

"Fry-ups don't count Sherlock!"

"Oh!, that's blasphemy, Molly Hooper!" She laughed, hugging him to her and he joined in, and pulling out her hair tie, he ran his long fingers through her hair. "That's better," he growled into her ear and she rolled her eyes.

"I'm cooking Sherlock!"

"Correction. You've finished the preparations and it's simmering away in the pot," and she laughed again and dropped her hands, stilling as they reached his delectable arse. She nudged him back slightly.

"Are you wearing jeans?" He cocked a cheeky brow at her.

"Yep."

Molly grinned delightedly at him and, pushing him backwards, she walked around him, scrutinising him as he laughed at her. "Molly Hooper! You're incorrigible!" She wiggled her eyebrows comically at him and ran a slow index finger up his chest.

"This makes two fantasies, in the same day, and it isn't even my birthday!"

"Well, I thought you deserved a treat, darling," he responded teasingly and she roared with laughter. He chuckled deeply and then took her hands in his, turning the left one first to examine the Claddagh ring he'd given her in Dublin. He smiled lovingly at her and kissed it and then held her right hand out to examine her wrist. He held her palm up against his and said, "push my hand as hard as you can Molly." So she did and he nodded, satisfied. "That's very good Molly. It'll be back to full functionality in no time at all." He kissed the back of her hand and then tucked her hair behind her ear. "Would you like me to set the table?" She grinned happily at him. "What? What did I say?"

"Nothing, it's just, this is so normal, imagine that!, us being normal.."

"Take that back Molly Hooper!" he retorted, genuinely affronted, and she giggled and kissed him.

"Indulge me, Sherlock.." she murmured into his mouth, "I am well aware that we, my darling, are anything but 'normal', but, well, it's nice to stop and draw breath for a day or so." He grasped her face gently to look in her eyes as he asked her, concernedly, "is that what you want really Molly, something 'normal'?" and she shook her head emphatically.

"God no! I want you, only you, from the first moment I saw you. You know that." She laughed disparaging then, "'normal' would bore me to death now Sherlock. I just meant it's nice to have you all to myself. You realise that this is the first full day we've really been alone since we've got together? We had one night by ourselves, in that wonderful hotel in Dublin, and then all hell broke loose." Sherlock laughed ruefully.

"I suppose you do have a point at that. It won't be like this for us all the time Molly. I wouldn't like that very much at all." He sighed and started to pull out bowls and cutlery to set the table. "I'd prefer no alcohol for us right now, if that's alright?" She nodded pensively, and his eyes narrowed as he noticed her faraway look. He put glasses and cold bottled water on the table and then he turned off the heat under the simmering dish. "We'll just let that sit for a few minutes." Suddenly, he scooped her up, gripping her around her waist and under her knees and carried her into the living room. Molly gasped in surprise and laughed.

"Sherlock Holmes!" she exclaimed, "what are you doing?" Sherlock sat on the couch, pulling her onto his lap and then peered at her intensely.

"Putting something to rest, for once and for all," he replied firmly. Tapping her forehead with a long index finger he continued, "now tell me Molly, what's going on in there?," she went to shake her head in denial and he placed a gentle finger over her lips, "come on now Molly, you know that's pointless, and I'd prefer you to tell me."

"It's nothing Sherlock, it'll keep." He shook his head, studying her intently.

"Molly, with your profession, you know better than most that life can end very suddenly, accidently, medically, or violently, and at any time. It is very important to me, therefore, that you and I have no secrets, no worries or concerns that we withhold from each other, no matter what else is going on in our lives. Do you understand?" Molly sighed and looked away, deep in thought. She stood up and put some logs on the fire, trying to form the words. Then, turning back to him, she just admitted bluntly,

"I'm afraid you'll break us up someday when you perceive the threat to me to be too great because of our relationship." She took a deep breath, surprised at how nervous she was. He looked at her intently for long moments and then his eyes softened and a small smile played across his lips.

"I had thought I had addressed that fear in Ireland, but clearly, I did not. It's understandable, I suppose, considering how long I left you here, that you would feel insecure. It's unpleasant and corrosive Molly, insecurity, I know, because I worried incessantly that you would not forgive me for that abandonment, and that you'd finish it with me." Molly stared at him, open mouthed in shock.

"You did?" and he nodded. "But that's ridiculous Sherlock, I could never leave you." He leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, and hands joined under his chin, gazing at her.

"And yet you think that I can leave you?"

"That's different."

"How so?"

"You're stronger then me!" He smiled at her, shaking his head in disbelief.

"This from a woman who kept a vital, life-saving secret for two years, a woman who deals with grieving families every day and still remains upbeat and generally happy. The same woman who suffered a severe assault and then was exiled, and who used that time to improve herself physically and psychologically." He gazed at her proudly as she stood looking down intensely at him, and continued softly, "my woman." Molly's face lit up at that one, and smiling back at her, he continued.

"This is easily resolved actually, if you will just listen to me very clearly. I have no bloody intention of ever breaking us up, no matter what. I want to grow old with you, if we get to be that lucky. Molly, I absolutely refuse to propose to you in an FBI campus, so you'll just have to take my word for now that it is my intention to do just that, and imminently. Now can we let that be an end to my 'leaving you' nonsense, please?"

Molly's heart swelled with joy and she rushed towards him, jumping on him as he laughed and rolled her beneath him. Eyes glistening with happy tears; she held his face in her hands and replied firmly, "yes Sherlock," and he grinned and pulled her in for a deep kiss.

"Good," he said, then, "I'm afraid you're stuck with me Molly Hooper, so you'd better get used to it.." She giggled as she tugged his jumper up and ran her hands up and around his bloody gorgeous torso as she whispered in his ear,

"I'll try to cope, now, arms up Sherlock.." He burst out laughing.

"That's my line Molly!," he declared in mock protest as he duly obliged, pulling his jumper over his head. "I thought you were hungry? He inhaled sharply as she nipped and kissed at his chest. Working her way back up to his mouth she murmured,

"I never said that actually, if you recall," and she ran a firm hand over his jean clad buttocks, sighing happily. Sherlock groaned and nudged her with his hips, kissing her deeply again,

"That's right, you didn't did you?," he growled into her ear as he pulled off her sweatshirt. "Lets eat later, shall we?"

"Oh God yes!" She agreed breathlessly, and she pulled him back to her and pressed her mouth to his.