Disclaimer: Soooo not mine.

Author's Note: I love love love hearing from all y'all! The amount of emotions in the reviews makes my heart all a-flutter! Please, keep on reviewing! You make my day!


She took his breath away.

Molly was straddling him, naked and perfect, permeating every sense he possessed. She was riding him slowly, balancing herself by putting her hands on his chest, her head thrown back as she moaned in ecstasy. She was so beautiful in her passion, and she felt so good enveloping him, riding him and gasping his name. He couldn't help himself, lifting his torso off the bed to lick her nipples, suckling her.

Her fingers felt unbelievable in his hair as she held him against her chest, and the taste of her was intoxicating, revitalizing. He'd been dead, deprived of life, deprived of sanity without her touch, without the taste of her skin, without her moans filling his ears. "Molly," he groaned, making her shiver because the tip of her breast was still in his mouth, his hot breath…his words making her clench around him, pulling him deeper, tighter inside her. "Molly you're my life," he told her on a gasp, "you're my everything. I don't know why I ever thought I could live without you."

She pulled back to look at him, cupping his face in the palms of her hands as she rode him, "you don't live without me Sherlock, you die," she told him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and hugging him against her body, "you can't survive without me. You can't live without me, and you're an idiot for thinking you could."

Sherlock woke up to find himself with his face buried in his pillow, his sheets tangled around his hips and effectively humping his mattress as he dreamt of Molly. Angry that he'd woken up, he flipped himself on his back, licking his lips and practically tasting her enchanting skin.

God, he missed her.

But as John had happily pointed out, whatever torture she put him through, whatever hell she saw fit to create for him, was well deserved. And Sherlock was bound to agree.

He sat up, needing to be with Molly so much that he found his mind wandering to the secret stash of cigarettes he'd hidden in John's old room. Or better yet, calling Wiggins for a distraction.

Growling in frustration he vaulted out of bed, stomping to the kitchen to find his tea already prepared and waiting for him. He sipped it angrily, sitting at the kitchen counter and reading his texts from John.

He went through his morning ritual, calling her twice and not leaving a voicemail, his fingers flying over the keyboard of his phone as he typed out today's text message:

Good morning…Can't wait to see you at our goddaughter's party

I love you.

-SH

He reread it five times, hoping to chisel away at her resolve with the reminder that they shared a goddaughter.

Today would be the second in person attempt at contact with Molly. The first having been the day before, when she'd refused to talk to him, forcing him to leave the flat around midnight because he knew she'd needed her sleep. He'd sulked out, his insides tied in Gordian knots of shame and worry.

What if this was it? What if Molly Hooper could never forgive him? What if she refused to accept his excuses this time, his shortcomings, and decided to hold everything he was against him?

She would be in the right, he knew that. All the heartbreak he'd brought into her life, all the grief, all the broken promises…he didn't deserve her.

But he couldn't live without her either.

He didn't remember whether he'd been sober when he'd made the decision, or even if he'd been fully conscious at the time, but he did distinctly remember knowing that he would kill himself if Molly didn't take him back. He had given himself a year to prove to her that he could change, that he would keep his promises…that he'd become worthy of her.

But life was nothing without her love, without her smile brightening up his darkest days.

It was a tad dramatic, even for him, to decided he'd die rather than live without her love but as he sat in his empty kitchen, looking around the mess of it all, the unfinished experiments, the newspapers and books littering every surface…it wasn't worth the fight if Molly wasn't there to share it all with him.

His life was an undeniable source of darkness, the cases he dealt with, the people he encountered, the situations he became a part of…they all seemed manageable when Molly was around him, when she could crack a terrible joke in a morgue. Her endless ability to stay optimistic, grudgingly so at times, still helped him cope with it all. Because Molly was there, and she would always have a smile for him.

His life belonged to her and her alone…if she didn't claim it then what was it worth?

But without that smile…John's voice floated in his mind, Mary's teasing smile accompanying it. "Drama queen."

He would get his second attempt at Molly today, at John and Mary's house, where they would be gathering to celebrate Rosie's second birthday. He knew for sure that Molly would be there for their goddaughter, and he planned on making a very careful bid to draw her towards him, to prove to her that he had changed.

Of course, he was worried that he really hadn't changed, that he would revert back to his old terrible ways and hurt the love of his life with his dishonesty...But this was love, and apparently, it meant taking blind risks. He looked at himself in the mirror as he got dressed, acknowledging that at least he looked healthy on the outside, having gained some weight back and followed the strict diet that John had put him on. His eyes were clear as was his skin, the track marks on his forearm almost completely disappeared.

He looked like the shadow of someone worthy of Dr. Molly Hooper.

The object of his thoughts walked up to the house and was greeted by a chorus of welcomes and hugs from everyone she passed by. John's hug was the longest and tightest, bussing her on the cheek, "I'm so happy to see you," he told her with a grin, taking the gift from her hands.

"Where's the birthday girl?" she asked, following him to the yard where most of the celebration was happening. It was all decorated in bright colors and streamers, balloons everywhere, and children of all ages running amok.

John pointed her gaze to one corner of the yard where her goddaughter was perched on Sherlock's shoulders, being chased by a gaggle of children who were all no more than 3 or 4 years old. He was laughing, his face transformed into unreserved joy and delight as he tried to zig zag through the yard, as if trying to lose the kids training behind him. Rosie was giggling uncontrollably, her fingers clutching Sherlock's hair for balance and probably tugging painfully at his locks, but he didn't seem to mind.

"I've always had the theory that Sherlock Holmes is a child in a man's body, and turns out I'm right," John laughed, watching the kids with Sherlock.

"Rosie does adore him," was all Molly could let herself say, again overwhelmed by the need to break something. She wanted to say something about him managing to stay sober for Rosie's birthday party but she refrained herself.

"You," John cleared his throat, dressed in jeans and a grayish blue top, looking like the father that every single mother watched out of the corner of her eyes at the playground. There was in fact a young mother standing just a few feet in front of them, that had not stopped staring at him since he and Molly had walked outside, "you don't mind him being here, do you?"

"Oh my God," Molly instantly felt ashamed of herself, of the position she'd put John in. She gripped his arm, unaware that the single mother looked slightly offended that she was touching him, "no, God no I don't mind him being here! Of course, I don't! He's her godfather, he's meant to be here. I mean, look at how much they enjoy each other! It's adorable!"

"Thank you," he kissed her cheek again with a smile, a brotherly kiss that still fluttered the feathers of the young mother next to them.

Molly walked back inside, finding Harry Watson and Mrs. Hudson busy in the kitchen with a few other women, helping get everything read for the quick lunch they would be having. She tried to help at least, but Mrs. Hudson forced her to sit down at the kitchen counter, sipping a mimosa that was mostly orange juice, and chat with the women.

They finally meandered outside, joining the others as the children screamed and yelled, giggling and having such a wonderful time that the cloud was lifted even from Molly's heart. In the midst of the children, the biggest kid of them all was enjoying himself even more, having removed his coat in favor of just his deep purple shirt with his sleeves rolled up. Harry immediately found an empty chair for Molly, having been told by her brother that she was still susceptible to exhaustion. The women came to stand around her now, talking amongst themselves as Molly tried to keep herself from joining the kids.

"I love that dress!" one of the women commented, and it took her a minute to realize that she was being addressed, "very modest!" there was something undeniably nasty in the woman's tone that struck Molly.

She suddenly became aware that all the other women were wearing summer dresses or tops that showed off their chest, perhaps not low cut enough to be sleazy but they weren't buttoned up the way Molly was. The dress she'd chosen had a collar that buttoned up all the way to her chest, leaving everything to the imagination. She kept looking down, checking to see if her skin was showing at all.

Momentarily speechless, Mrs. Hudson came to her rescue, "it suits you dear," she assured Molly with a hand on her shoulder, "it fits a woman of your position, one of the leading pathologists in London you know. Scotland Yard doesn't make a move without her. And Sherlock Holmes," she pointed at him, "trusts her word more than anyone else's."

The woman instantly quieted down, murmuring something about getting more punch and walked away. "Ignore her," Janine Hawkins advised, sitting in the empty chair next to her. Molly squirmed in her chair, more self-conscious now as the beautiful, black haired woman leaned towards her. Her make-up was flawless, her hair artfully curled, wearing a tank top that showed off her toned skin, and short shorts that extenuated her toned, tanned legs. Molly surreptitiously tucked her legs under the chair, wrapping her arms around her middle to hide her torso, fiddling with her short hair. "She's bitter, her husband just left her for his secretary, who happens to be older than her."

"Ouch," Harry commented, sitting in a comfortably masculine pose.

Sherlock chose that moment to walk over to them, "hello," he smiled, hugging Janine briefly, kissing her cheek although his eyes never left Molly. He nodded at Harry and knelt in front of Molly, "you look beautiful," he told her, as if he had known she was feeling insecure, sitting between the two women that were so comfortable in their own skin. But this was Sherlock, and he never missed anything. Her body language had probably given her away instantly.

"Hello Sherlock," she tried to make her smile as genuine as possibly, ignoring the way he balanced himself in the crouched position by holding on to her ankles. There was something intimate and familiar with the way he touched her, as if they were still together.

"Haven't seen you in a while Sherl," Janine commented slyly, "you don't call, you don't write."

"I just read the interview you did for The Sun," he told her, "just a few days ago, claiming you'd found some compromising pictures we'd taken together. I thought you were done getting your revenge after buying your cottage in, where was it? Sussex?"

"I need a new car," she grinned mischievously and Molly wanted to bolt. She remembered seeing Janine at the wedding, feeling insanely jealous of the tall, exotic beauty that had eventually warmed Sherlock's bed. Of course, Molly had been engaged to Tom but still, her heart never stopped aching for Sherlock.

"Ah," Sherlock nodded, and she tried to ignore the fact that he was rubbing her ankle with his thumb, "what model are you thinking?"

"With the money The Sun is paying me, I can afford a Mercedes," her laughter was musical, infectious even because Harry chuckled too. Molly tried to smile, but she knew it looked as fake as it felt.

She needed him to stop touching her.

So, she moved her legs out of his reach, taking petty satisfaction in the way he swayed. She took her phone out of her dress's secret pockets, and started checking her emails like she had something important that could be in there. Of course, Sherlock didn't move. Just kept kneeling in front of her legs as he talked to Harry and Janine.

Finally, Harry asked the question that Molly had been hoping would get answered, "are there pictures?"

"God no!" Janine laughed, "but they didn't care. Just gave them enough dirty details that they bought the story without asking for the photos. I told them I'm holding them as collateral."

Slightly relieved and angry beyond comprehension, Molly excused herself under the pretext of using the restroom, and ended up sitting in the quiet living room, looking at the picture of Mary John kept on the end table.

Oh, how she missed her friend, how she missed her companionship, her solid advice and unfailing honesty.


Author's Note: I need to know how many of you were about to mutiny in beginning with Molly and Sherlock in bed, ha? Ha? Did I get ya?