Chapter 13
Disclaimer: Life decided to be extremely mean, so I don't own anyone you recognise...I know, it's a shame :(
Okay, so I don't blame you for hating me. I've lost count of how many weeks it's been and I feel awful. I've had exams, coursework, and some personal stuff going on, but other than that I have no other excuses. I hope this chapter makes up for it, but I highly doubt it. Like always, please read and review (the reviews make me smile) I really hope you don't find this chapter cheesy or cringe-worthy, but I apolojise if you do. Enjoy :D
"St Barts? What are we here for?" Molly asked, as the cab came to a stop outside the hospital. She wore a white vest and floral skirt, a long, black cardigan keeping her warm under her thick coat.
"Sherlock asked if we could pick up some body parts. He'll be staying home through the next week, so we'll need something to keep him occupied," John explained.
They paid the driver and got out of the vehicle, walking side by side to the entrance of the hospital. When they entered, John followed the pathologist silently to the morgue with smug smirk pulling at his lips. It was when Molly pushed open the door and froze that the doctor grinned wholeheartedly.
The entire room was filled with candles. They lined along the tables and floor, giving the lab a soft and romantic brightness. One table was covered in an expensive dinner cloth, and plates and cutlery had been placed on top with a bottle of wine. They stood with another candle, its flame dancing to the time of the beautiful orchestral piece playing subtly in the background. What drew Molly's attention, however, was not the candles, or the dinner, or the music; but the remarkable man stood in the middle.
He wore his usual attire, though his hair had been combed and he appeared to be nervous, which was rare for the detective. Molly turned around to see John's reaction, but found an empty space behind her. She laughed to herself, before taking a step towards the man before her.
"The lab?" She enquired,
"It was where we first met, and where I have come to know the magnificent person that is Molly Hooper. I found this setting quite appropriate for our first date."
The pathologist smiled and took another step forward.
"Sherlock, this is…" She struggled for the right word, "wonderful."
He advanced towards her and helped her remove her coat. Molly couldn't help but feel smug as she felt his eyes wander her body.
"You look beautiful, by the way," The detective stated, hanging up her coat before making his way back to the table.
He pulled out a stool, motioning for her to sit. Settling into his own chair, they started their meals. Conversation came easily; they spoke about their ambitions and childhoods, their family and friends, but both took extreme interest in hearing about the other's work.
The pathologist, who didn't spend much time with relationships anyway, found that most dates were over when she mentioned her uncommon career choice. She was pleased to notice that Sherlock not only saw no problem in her job, but was fascinated by it. They exchanged stories of abnormal cadavers and remarkable crimes, laughing at the story of the Buckingham Palace visit.
Their knees occasionally brushed under the table, sending tiny sparks through their thrilled bodies. It was nearing eleven when Molly took a look at the clock. Sherlock followed her gaze, and they both sighed at how fast the time had passed. Noticing that their fingers had been intertwined the entire time, neither made any attempt to remove them, but they simultaneously stared down at their empty dessert plates with flushed necks. After a moment, Sherlock raised his head and spoke softly.
"Baker street?"
The other nodded and they grabbed their coats, leaving a lab of candles and dirty dishes for Stamford to clean. He owed the detective a favour. The cab ride home was filled with comfortable silence, the pathologist leaning into Sherlock's side as their fingers were once again entangled.
When they entered 221b, the couple removed their coats and collapsed onto the sofa. Sherlock inwardly thanked his flatmate a million times for going to bed early.
"So, how did I do?" Sherlock queried anxiously.
"It was brilliant, Sherlock. I feel like the luckiest girl on the planet," She answered, amused at his immediate grin, "However, you didn't have to go to all this trouble."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm not the queen. Sherlock, it doesn't matter where we are, what we're doing, or why we're there. All I want is to be there with you. We could of stayed in with a Chinese and Doctor Who on the telly for all I care."
The detective locked his eyes onto hers for a moment before answering.
"I love you so bloody much, Molly Hooper."
She started to giggle, but was interrupted when Sherlock's lips crushed themselves against hers.
The kiss was different from the others, as the pair were no longer built up with nerves. It was passionate, and soon became heated. It wasn't long before the detective was hovering above Molly on the sofa, their jackets removed - an inevitable fate of their other clothing.
"Sherlock?" Molly murmured against his lips.
"Hmm?"
"I don't sleep with guys on the first date."
This made him pause whilst attempting to remove her vest. He appeared thoughtful for a minute, before smirking down at the woman beneath him.
"Well, technically yesterday was our first date, even if it did go horribly wrong. And if you count all the other times we have spent together, such as at the morgue, and at John's pointless social get-togethers, then this would be far from our first date, wouldn't it?"
The pathologist didn't give him an answer, but Sherlock decided he didn't need one as she pushed him gently off her, removed herself from the sofa and taking his hand, lead him to his room.