Chapter 10
The evening wore on and the atmosphere was easy and relaxed, filled with banter, gentle teasing and laughter. Their friends were relieved and happy to witness the reunion of Sherlock and Molly and those emotions spilled over into the room. The nature of her departure from Ireland, and their forced separation, had upset each one of them. With the exception of the McBrides, the people gathered in Molly's temporary home had been privy to the blossoming of Molly and Sherlock's relationship in Ireland. To have their friends' happiness shattered so suddenly and unexpectedly was difficult for all of them. Therefore, if Molly found it difficult to take her eyes off Sherlock for more than a minute at a time, or if Sherlock kept her glued to his side, pouting immediately (and pretty spectacularly) if she moved too far away from him for any reason, they held their tongues and smiled knowingly and indulgently at each other.
The ones who knew Sherlock the longest, Mycroft and John, were particularly taken by how tactile he was being with her. It was, they said to each other quietly, as if he had to keep touching her to reassure himself that she was really there. He would cover her hand with his, or grip her knee, or run his fingers swiftly across her back or shoulders, anything to physically confirm her presence beside him. Molly was not much better. She'd squeeze his hand, or link his arm, or stroke his back, as she conversed and laughed with her friends. Mycroft observed it all and worried, once again, for his brother, knowing that the loss of Molly would end him.
Pouring drinks from the kitchen, he watched his brother's animated face and easy smile, so unusual for him given the number of people in the room, and especially considering how uncomfortable he could be at social gatherings. He frowned worriedly and vowed again to protect the two of them with every resource at his disposal. He felt Aoife's calming presence approach behind him and then her arms wrap around his waist."Hello there," she murmured into his back. He put the bottle of whiskey down and turned to smile at her, placing his hands on her hips and pulling her flush against him. He ran a hand through her glossy auburn hair, tucking an errand strand behind her ear, and smiled in satisfaction as he felt her pulse leap under his fingers.
"Hello beautiful," he responded gently, and sharp green eyes glistened up at him.
"I saw that frown, Mycroft Holmes. You really must stop worrying now, darling," she said, running her hands up his arms, "Sherlock's fine; they're both fine. That's the most I've seen him smile since he won the play off with Michael, just before everything went to hell." She ran a hand tenderly across his cheek and continued. "He's just asked if he can take her back to my house in Wicklow. It's a great idea and I'm kind of flattered, to tell you the truth. It's what they need most now, to spend some time alone together. My security can keep a discreet eye on them. Although, you know Mycroft, from what I've seen and know about Sherlock, he can take care of himself and Molly." She paused, stroking his shoulders absentmindedly, and then grinned happily at him. "I'm really glad that they still love the house. I was afraid, after all that happened there, that they'd never want to return to Ireland, but happily, that's not the case at all."
Mycroft studied the stunning woman in front of him and realised that she was right, that Sherlock was more than capable of protecting himself and Molly and they badly needed to just spend some time alone together as a couple after all that they had been through. He felt a pang of guilt, as he held Aoife firmly by the waist, that her own plans to be with him had been so side-lined. Worse then that, he thought, he had neglected her, neglected them, caught up as he had been in the mammoth effort to capture Moran.
She had moved to London, at his request, to spend some time with him, and since then they'd spent all of their time working to help Sherlock. She had not once complained to him about it, on the contrary, she had been nothing but supportive and useful. It couldn't have been avoided, with Molly being in such a precarious position, and Sherlock so miserable, but now he could and should focus on Aoife. She deserved it, she deserved better. He mentally flashed through his diary for the next week or so and decided to shift things around and spend the time with her, like he'd promised her he would when they got together. She'd been remarkably patient, very concerned about Sherlock and Molly herself, but it was time for them to be with each other properly now too.
"You're absolutely right Aoife. I'm taking a week off, as and from now. Where in the world would you like to go?" Aoife beamed with delight and threw her arms around his neck, squinting her eyes thoughtfully as she speculated. Then she laughed and shook her head.
"London, Mycroft! I want you to show me your London." He laughed as he tilted his head to kiss her.
"It would be my pleasure, Ms Quinn." Aoife kissed him back with gusto, and hugged his neck. Then she whispered seductively in his ear,
"I can guarantee you that, Mr Holmes." He laughed, and turned to kiss her again, when Sherlock's gravelly baritone rumbled through the living room and into the kitchen.
"Unhand that poor woman, brother mine, and come in here. Michael is going to play for us now, are you not, Michael?" Mycroft, Michael and Aoife spluttered with laughter in unison at the sheer audacity of that comment. Michael grinned at him.
"Alright then Sherlock, since you've asked so nicely." He smirked pointedly at Molly, glancing at her hand which was, at that very moment, lightly stroking Sherlock's thigh. "Maybe you'll accompany me if Molly can release you for a little while?" Molly blushed furiously and attempted to remove her hand but Sherlock was having none of it. His hand snapped down to cover hers and keep it on his leg.
"Certainly Michael, but I don't play the violin with my thigh so Molly's hand is fine where it is, thank you." Molly gasped and blushed red in embarrassment, hiding her face in his shoulder as the entire room laughed uproariously at his comment. Sherlock looked at them all curiously, nose wrinkled in confusion. "What? I'm serious!" John wiped a tear from his eyes as he tried to answer.
"Yeah, we know mate, that's what's so funny!" Sherlock rolled his eyes, trying to subdue a reluctant smirk, and wrapping a protective arm around Molly's waist, he plonked a kiss on her head as she continued to hide her face. He laughed and nudged her gently.
"You can come out now Molly..." but she shook her head, the tip of her ear a delightful shade of pink, making him laugh even more. "Don't mind him Molly. Have I told you about him and the lovely Garda O'Brien?" Michael quickly grabbed his violin up and began to play, the two men smirking at each other. As the opening notes of 'The Long and Winding Road' floated through the room though, Molly quickly spun around and beamed at Michael, snaking an arm across Sherlock's waist and tucking herself under his arm. He had chosen to play the song that Sherlock had dedicated to her, played for her, on their last night in Ireland, right before they'd been parted from each other. Sherlock tilted his head and nodded slightly in acknowledgement at Michael. He may have taken an extra deep breath as he held her to him, but if Molly noticed, she wasn't going to let on.
Michael had a real gift for the instrument, Sherlock thought. Not for nothing was he the Irish champion fiddle player for five years. The friends listened in rapt silence to the evocative music. As the song drew to a close Molly tilted her head up to look at him, big doe eyes brimming with emotion, and he had to kiss her then, public displays of affection bedamned. She kissed him back and then giggled at the exaggerated groans in the room.
"Oh shut up the lot of you, I've just got him back!" She laughingly protested. Then Aoife got to her feet. "Quite right too, let them be, the lot of you. Actually, I would like to raise a toast to you both, especially to you Molly." She raised her glass and everyone followed suit as the couple smiled happily. "Slán abhaile Molly, agus sláinte. Welcome home Molly, and good health to you." The friends clinked glasses, and when Michael echoed "sláinte," the rest of the group repeated it with gusto and drank from their glasses.
Michael played an assortment of pieces and Sherlock accompanied him on occasion while the friends conversed. Aoife made sure to update Molly on the 221B refurbishment and promised to email her photo's and updates while she was with Sherlock in Ireland. The lab, she said, was pretty much agreed but she'd need her input on the new kitchen and interiors. Molly frowned in concern.
"Oh Aoife, I'm sorry, I'll have to talk with Sherlock. He so loves Baker Street the way it is. I don't want to change it or make it unrecognisable to him. I've never lived there so it would be strange for me to make decisions around the interior design." Aoife agreed and reassured her that the place could be redocorated entirely in sympathy to its current 'eclatic' look, utilising all of the original fixtures and fittings. Nothing would be done without their say so, except what had already been agreed with Sherlock, she promised, much to Molly's relief.
Aoife and Mycroft were the first to leave, as she was piloting them home herself the next morning she wasn't having alcohol and needed to be rested for the trip. Noticing Molly's stifled yawns, the others soon followed, bidding them goodnight and arranging to reunite on the runway in the morning. John and Mary hugged them both as they left, perhaps a little more tightly than usual, much to Sherlock's chagrin, and Molly giggled at his reaction as he finally closed the front door behind them. He rolled his eyes in mock exasperation and then, leaning languidly back against it, he folded his arms and raised a cocky brow at Molly.
"Alone at last, Dr Hooper," he purred at her and she felt his deep voice reverberate through her, all the way down to her toes. She inhaled sharply and sucked in her bottom lip, nipping it with her teeth as she gazed up at him, in a gesture that would forever be his Molly's, and always make his heart beat a little faster. He held a hand, rather commandingly, out to her and she couldn't help it, she rushed into his arms, heart racing and welling up with emotion.
He grabbed her tightly and then cupped her face firmly with his hands, smirking possessively at her before tilting his head and capturing her mouth, and she gasped and grabbed the front of his shirt tightly in her fists, opening her mouth to let him in. And in he went, hot and demanding and she groaned and slumped against him, hanging on for dear life and responding desperately to him. Every part of her reacted intensely to him and she ached with the need to have him. Eventually he pulled his mouth from hers, sucked in oxygen in rapid heated breaths, and reigned hard hot kisses down the side of her neck, nipping slightly at her clavicle.
"Sherlock.." she pleaded and he tugged her head back to look at her, her hair entwined tightly in his long fingers.
"Exactly how tired are you?" he all but growled at her. She shook her head rapidly in response.
"I'm not!" she gasped out, and without another word he reached down and gripping the hem of her dress with both hands, lifted it straight over her head and threw it on the floor.
"Good, glad to hear it," and her knees almost buckled from under her, "because I've wanted you for hours," he said, as he caught hold of her and swept her up in his arms. Molly wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders as he strode determinedly into the bedroom with her, and as she moaned into his neck, she responded,
"You can have me; you can always have me Sherlock."
Sherlock froze for just a second and then tossing her on the bed, he watched her as she pulled off her blue satin bra. He gripped her hips firmly and tugged her matching knickers down her legs, seeing how ready she was for him. He made short work of his own clothes and gripping her by her ankles he pulled her towards him as she wrapped them around his hips. "Please Sherlock, now, please!" He leaned down over her, sliding his hands under her shoulder blades and lifting her, raising her breasts up to him. As he claimed her hard nipple with his mouth, sucking it fiercely, he shifted his hips and thrust firmly into her over and over until she fell apart under him. As her body clenched him even more tightly he groaned out her name, resting his forehead on hers as he released inside her. Finally he answered her.
"And you will always have me, Molly. Always." He pulled her up the bed with him and wrapped her tightly in his arms, throwing the duvet over the two of them. "Sleep now my love, and when you wake in the morning, we leave for Ireland." Molly lay her head on his chest and wrapping her arms around him, she sighed happily and closed her eyes to sleep, soothed by his hand stroking her hair.