"You're cold". She heard the voice before feeling his jacket wrap her shoulders.
"I thought you'd left. Thought you'd have found it boring." She smirked as she said this, yet to face him. "Either that Sherlock, or you'd got drunk and tried it on with someone". As soon as she said it, she regretted it. She wished she could have caught the words and forced them back as they left her mouth. Molly, drunk herself, felt Sherlock stiffen behind her. The atmosphere changed, yet her drunken words continued to vomit out her mouth.
"Because that's what you do! You lead on your friend, who'd taken you in when you had nobody, nowhere to go. You lead me on, though you know how I feel about you." She was angry now. She turned towards him, his jaw clenched and his eyes steeling. She struck him. It came from nowhere, just her own, pent up anger and frustration at his beautifully silent face.
He barely flinched and her hand instinctively to her mouth, catching her gasp. Molly ran. Molly ran home.
Slamming the door behind her, Molly was sobbing inconsolably. Her instincts kicked in and she went to the bathroom to run the bath. Looking at her face, now clown like from the rain that caught her and her tears that continued to spill down her face, she looked at her pitiful self and scowled. Fetching another glass of wine from the kitchen, Molly returned to the bathroom and threw off her clothes. Dipping herself in the hot water, it pleasantly scolded her skin. Her head rested on the cold tiles. She stayed like this for a few moments, until she could taste the sweet sweat on her upper lip, and feel the salty steaming her face like a mirror. Throwing back the rest of her wine, she pressed the cool glass against her forehead. Finally feeling calm, she heard the front door open and shut softly. Her eyes snapped open immediately, feeling the same nausea that accompanied any meeting with Sherlock Holmes.
Sherlock sat on the floor next to the bathroom door and heard Molly move around in the bathtub, water splashing against the marble sides. She spoke first, still in the tub after several minutes of deciding what the best thing to do was.
"I'm sorry for hitting you" she murmured.
Sherlock loosened his bowtie and took off his jacket and shoes. He need not reply before she spoke again.
"You make me so angry Sherlock. I thought we were friends.. But you make things so difficult. Always. always.." She drifted off and began again..
"I notice things about you Sherlock. You always leave a mouthful of coffee in your mug because you think it'll be too sweet in case you haven't stirred it properly. You smile when you think you've said something witty or clever that I don't know or understand. You're face was an epitome of heartbroken whenever I mentioned I'd seen John..." Tears were falling again from her face, whilst Sherlock listened intently, understanding what Molly was implicating.
She took in a sharpe breath; "You know I love you Sherlock, and you use it to your full power. You ask me for things at the morgue, you manipulate me into staying here when John's had enough of you, you manipulate me by flirting.." She felt her whole body blush as she flash-backed to last night. "I don't know how to feel around you anymore, you make me so nervous." She finished, sighing.
It was Sherlock's time to feel frustrated. Remaining silent throughout Molly's monologue, it was due time to input his own feelings.
"Molly Hooper, do you really believe I manipulate you? I fact don't answer that. When I came round last night I knew everything I was doing. I didn't know how to approach you.. When I saw you in my shirt..and those tiny boxer shorts.." He trailed off, trying not to dwell on that thought for too long. He had things to say.
"I've missed you, ever since I moved back to Baker Street. I miss waking up to hear you singing in the shower. I do notice you. I know you always get up five minutes before your alarm goes off, so you feel like you'll have a better day. I know you always wear a dress in Thursday's because you believe it's a lucky day." He tried to add, Christ knows why to the last one, he was behaving himself.
"I think I love you too Molly." It hung, pregnant in the air, for many, many minutes.
Molly had stopped moving in the bath, silence filled the apartment. Did I just hear that right? Did he say he loved me? She got out of the bath and wrapped a large bath towel around her slight frame and let her hair hang down, curling around her shoulders from the damp air. She opened the door and saw Sherlock leaning once again, against the door frame of her bathroom.
She cleared her throat and began, "I don't think I quite got that last thing". She looked through her eyelashes at his face, his beautiful face looking down lovingly at hers.
"Miss Hooper, I believe you know exactly what I said. And as I was going to say earlier, before you rather harshly slapped my face," his lips curled at the corners, his hands brushed up her wet arms, he leaned close to her face so he could feel her sweet, warm breath on his chin, "you look beautiful."
Their lips met, tentatively moving against each other, before his tongue traced her lips. Biting back his bottom lip, Molly's arms wrapped around his neck. Pressing her to his body, with ease he hitched her up around his waist and carried her back to the bed, tumbling down together with a chuckle. Unbuttoning his shirt and slipping it from his frame, Molly whispered, "Tell me again." Her lips worked their way round his neck, sucking and biting gently at his marble skin. Feeling the arousal building in his stomach, his arms enveloped her, "I love you Molly." Aware her hands were now unzipping his trousers and pulling them off with his boxers, he pressed against her, "God Molly.. I love you".
Smiling at his confession, the words on his lips like a prayer, his hands on her hips sinking into her skin. Pulling off her bath towel, they were both now naked on the bed, hands roaming and their kisses telling each other a thousand sonnets. Sherlock's hands were massaging her hair, he pressed against her, eager for them to close the gap between them, hungry for her taste in his mouth.
"Not yet, darling" she whispered in his ear, understanding his body immediately. They looked at each other and smiled, their heavy breathing settling eventually. They climbed under the duvet and held each other close. Sherlock looked into her eyes and saw happiness in them for the first time since he left. They both fell asleep in each others arms, their silence like a lullaby, yet promising passion when they awoke.