Four days after her release from hospital, Molly awoke in the soft sheets and comforting smell of Sherlock's bed. Their bed, as he referred to it, but Molly still saw it as his. She could not ever imagine leaving, though, not after all that had happened. Every time she closed her eyes, Molly still felt Tom's hands around her throat. She saw his twisted body slump to the carpeted stairs. She knew that adrenaline-fuelled hyper-awareness meant she could remember the incident in razor sharp detail, but that knowledge did not make the nightmares go aware or quash her fear. Sherlock did that. And thus she could not be away from Sherlock.
The man himself had taken a position in an armchair by the window, and was watching every movement as she stretched and ran her fingers through her long, rumpled hair. As much as Sherlock wanted Molly to stay with him forever, he did not want her to stay simply because she was now too scared to be alone. He was too prone to nightmares for sleep, and no one had attacked him. As he had done every morning for the last four days, he watched over her as she slept, then crawled into bed next to her when she woke.
She held up the duvet in invitation and he could feel her body heat all the way across the room. He slid under the covers, and Molly pressed close, running her hands up and down his arms and back to warm him. The cold had helped to keep him alert all night, but now she felt so comforting and soft. Sherlock ran his hands along Molly's hips and up her ribs, sweeping past her breasts on the first pass, but settling on them as he slowly moved his hands back down her body. Molly sighed happily and reached down for the hem of her t-shirt. Sherlock intercepted her hands and pulled the t-shirt over her head himself.
Sherlock ran his fingertips respectfully over the bruises on her shoulder and upper arms. He could still make out the fading marks of Tom's fingers where he had gripped Molly and pinned her to the wall. Sherlock kissed lightly along her neck, still bruised but no longer swollen or painful. Finally he nuzzled his nose against the remains of a bruise on her lower belly. This one troubled Sherlock the most because he recognised the primal level of his reaction to it. The mark had clearly been made by a man's fist, and Sherlock knew precisely why Tom had chosen to punch Molly with anger and force over her womb. It sickened him, almost more than the marks around her throat. It wrenched an acknowledgement out of Sherlock's subconscious: he wanted to impregnate Molly. It was a base instinct and he had spent the last four days wondering over that bruise and trying to deny his response to it. But there it was.
Molly noticed Sherlock once again lingering over that mark on her abdomen. His hands circled her belly and hips as he kissed along the edges of the bruise.
"Sherlock," she ran both hands through the dark curls hovering over her belly, "I'm okay. I don't entirely remember that happening. I… Sherlock… I wasn't pregnant. And it's just a nasty bruise, healing nicely, no harm…"
Her soothing monologue was cut off by Sherlock launching himself up and kissing her fiercely until she was out of breath and pushed him back.
"I know that you weren't pregnant," he finally answered, his voice holding back his anger. "But he didn't know that. Even the possibility…" Sherlock brought his hands up to her face, forcing her to look him in the eyes. His face took up the whole of her field of vision, and Molly searched his eyes, mesmerised. "Molly, I want you to be pregnant."
Molly startled and wriggled up in bed. Sherlock held onto her head, his hands still in her hair, rubbing gently at her scalp. "You what now?"
He moved to the side, sliding so that his body no longer pinned hers to the mattress. He dropped on hand from her hair and let it rest, deliberately lightly, on her hip.
"Molly, I want absolutely everything. I want you to live here, always, and no threat of you ever leaving again. I want to marry you – properly – in a way that you've actually consented to. And I want to put a baby in here," he shifted his hand from her hip to her belly, "I just, really do, want that. Desperately." He kissed her again, as though preparing to start the baby-making process right here right now. "I know you left because I was overwhelming you, and I know this is only likely to make that worse. But you nearly died – more than once – and I thought you dead, and this is what I want. All of you. Please."
Molly exhaled long and low. "Sherlock, this is your fear talking. I'm okay, I'll heal, Tom is dead, Moran is dead…"
Sherlock shook his head hard right to left. "No, this is not my fear talking. This is hope. And… love. Please believe me, Molly." He gazed directly into her eyes again. "It has taken all of my willpower not replace your birth control pills with placebos. I wouldn't," he quickly added, seeing the horror in her face, "I wouldn't, but I wanted to so badly that I could barely stop myself."
Sliding slightly further from him on the bed, Molly pressed her hand against Sherlock's bare chest. "You've moved me in, then you wanted to get married…"
"We are married," he corrected, slightly affronted.
Molly skipped over that, not about to be distracted into an argument on the legitimacy of their marriage. "Now you want a baby."
"If I did the whole Regent's Park rose garden/London philharmonic/grandmother's ring proposal now, would you still say no?" Sherlock locked one hand around her thigh and tugged her closer. "You told me that you'd say no. And you told me to communicate. I've been saying the same thing for weeks; you don't believe me, or you don't want me?"
Molly turned on her side and propped her head on her elbow to face him. He had asked her to marry him, several times now. He had been remarkably consistent. She traced his jawline with one finger and tilted her head to regard him more closely.
"You're being absolutely sincere, aren't you?" She gently nudged his forehead with hers. "You actually want to marry me. And have a child." Her voice cracked slightly on 'child'.
Sherlock kissed her again, his tongue immediately finding hers, then gently sucking her lower lip before releasing it. "Yes, that's what I've been saying." He leaned his head down beneath hers, kissing along her jaw and neck. "Also, I think maybe I want more than one child. In the interest of full disclosure."
Molly felt Sherlock wiping a tear away with his thumb before she realised that she was crying. He seemed satisfied that she had finished fighting him, and focussed his attention on nibbling down her neck towards her breasts. He licked hungrily around one areola before sucking her pink nipple into his mouth.
"I'd say yes now, and probably without the London philharmonic," she breathed out. "Though that would be a nice touch."
Without released her nipple, Sherlock reached across her body and pulled open the drawer of his bedside table. He rummaged about blindly through accumulated junk and pulled out what he'd been hunting for. He lifted his mouth from Molly's taut nipple and carefully placed a blue velvet box atop the same breast.
"Grandmother's ring. Resized to fit your left ring finger; I took the measurement while you were sleeping, the week after Moran…" he trailed off, suddenly intrigued by her other breast. Molly picked up the box in her left hand and rolled it between her fingers, as Sherlock bit down gently and was rewarded with a sharp intake of her breath and her hand on the back of his head, pulling him closer to her. His left hand stroked down her body and found the outline of her knickers. He pulled them steadily down her thighs and began caressing between her legs, urging them slightly further apart. He let his thumb brush just barely across clit, separating the soft folds of her sex to find her wet and warm and waiting for him.
Sherlock groaned as Molly began to make what he thought were the sweetest little noises. He picked up some of her arousal on his thumb, then trailed back to rub enticing circles over her clit. He increased the pressure as she started to moan more loudly, then slide his head down between her spread thighs.
Molly clutched the forgotten ring box in her fist, holding on now for leverage against the wicked motions the tip of his tongue made against her core. Her gasps grew higher in pitch and her breaths panted out. She ran her fingers through his hair and he brought one hand up to play with her breasts. With one nipple pinched between his fingers, Sherlock dragged his tongue and teeth across Molly's clit until she forced out his name in hitched breaths. As she came down from her high, Molly dragged his smug face back to hers, still clutching his head of dark hair in her hands as she kissed him. Sherlock settled between her thighs, spread wide to welcome him, and rubbed her wet sex luxuriously along his smooth, rigid erection.
He pulled his body back just enough to touch his tip to her entrance. "You realise that I'm throwing out your pills the moment we're done, right?" He moved lightly against her, not pushing in just yet, holding her satisfaction hostage to her acceptance.
"Maybe we should discuss this when we're not naked," Molly reasoned, her hips trying to cant upwards and take him in, but her pulled back just slightly more.
"Now seems the perfect moment to discuss my intentions," he grinned, grinding his erection against her clit and causing her to squirm under him.
"Whatever you'd like, Sherlock, anything at all," she sighed. "Just please… please…" Sherlock slid into her, just enough to rub the head of his cock over and over a place inside that drove her mad. She was slick with arousal and he rocked her into a slippery, building pleasure. Molly opened her thighs that bit wider and let him carry on. Her voice was chanting little else other than 'please' and 'more'. He thrust his full length into her then and carried on in long, rapid slides forward and back that thrust on and on. Sherlock lowered his face to the pulse in her neck and began to suck hard on her skin, her tightness and warmth and wonderful wetness threatening to undo him. When she let out a loud, high-pitched moan and clenched around him, he let himself go with a long, low growl.
Sherlock lifted his head from her pulse point and found her mouth, kissing her deeply and letting his eyes close in satisfaction and completion. Molly continued to catch her breath, little aftershocks of pleasure pulsing through her whenever he moved inside her, and he made no motion to leave. Instead, he rearranged himself on his elbows and opened his eyes to take in her hazy smile.
He lifted the velvet box out of her grip and flipped it open with the thumb of one hand, tugging the gold and diamond ring free with his fingers.
"Left hand, please, Molly," he demanded. She proffered it without a word, and he slipped the ring into place. They both admired it on her finger for a few moments, and he placed a kiss across the ring and her palm. "I love you, Molly Holmes." He kissed her again.
She smiled brilliantly and kissed him back. "I love you, too, Sherlock, so very much." She ran her left hand down his face and stroked her thumb along his jaw. "But I'm not now or ever changing my name."
He nodded and caught her hand for another series of kisses along her palm. "I can still to put the pills in the rubbish, right?"
Molly nodded this time. "No arguments from me on that." Sherlock collapsed next to her and finally fell asleep with his dark head on her breast, perfectly content that he'd won all the arguments that really mattered.
Not quite done yet... a bit more to come as soon as I can. Thanks again for the reviews and favourites and follows - you're brilliant, lovely readers!