I don't count.
We met through friends.
You always say such horrible things.
How dare you betray the trust of your friends.
You say it. Say it like you mean it.
I don't count…
…her eyes were slow to open. But she didn't need to open them. She felt him next to her.
He was breathing deeply…his arm was around her waist, his other hand was cupping the side of her face that was on the pillow…he had one leg bent in between hers…
They were pretty close, but not on top of one another.
She thought that his right hand must be asleep, for her head was heavy on it.
…Molly took note of her extremities…her left hand was gripping his wrist, her right was on the bed, and her legs were bent at the knee.
She opened her eyes now. They were both clothed. This was good, since she was worried momentarily that they had had sex. She wanted to remember that, and most of all, be ready when it happened.
Because she was certain now that it would.
Sherlock was still asleep, his mouth slightly open, and he held a soft snore.
She smiled.
Molly moved her legs…she wanted to get up. She lifted her head from the pillow…
…and he instantly opened his eyes.
She felt his fingertips move through her hair…
She smiled at him. "Morning," she said softly.
He appeared to be slightly confused, and started to move his leg from between hers. Molly moved in kind, pulling away…
His left hand took her right wrist. "Don't," he breathed.
"What is it?" she asked, a bit puzzled by his behavior.
"Stay…" he replied, and pulled her to his chest, laid on his back, and stroked Molly's hair. "I had a terrible dream," he began. "I dreamed that Euros blew your flat up, just as I had told you how I felt."
Her cheek was pressed against his chest, she could feel the low rumbling of his voice and the beat of his heart…
The motion of his fingers through her hair was lulling, and she closed her eyes.
"…I was so scared, Molly…" his voice was very soft. "I don't think I've ever felt that way…"
"What way?"
He cleared his throat and stopped his hand. "John has been in danger many times because of his association with me, and I've always responded the same way: guilty, a bit desperate…but in this dream, I felt…angry. Lost…and…something…"
She nodded, then propped herself up on her elbow. She smiled at him, as a look of wonder passed his visage. "I'm here," she said.
She watched him swallow and nod. "And so am I."
…and another look fell over him, and his demeanor altered somewhat.
"What?" she said, feeling as though something was happening…
His breath quickened, and he appeared to reach for her for a split second, but he stopped. "Nothing," and he got up. "I'll be just a minute," he said, and went to the loo.
Molly sat up fully and wondered if he was about to kiss her just then.
And then she wondered if she would have stopped him…
She turned and stood, put her dressing gown on, and went to the window. The last day there. It was sad…and she rather dreaded going home now.
…though she was off for three days afterwards. Perhaps she and Sherlock could…
She stopped. Of course they'd see one another. Just because they were leaving Derbyshire, didn't mean that any of this was going to change.
Because it wasn't. None of it would change.
She swallowed. There was nothing about this particular place that meant that Sherlock loved her. This wasn't the beginning and the end of their romantic attachment.
…but worry seeped into her cells anyway as she looked out into the garden.
And she decided that tomorrow, after they returned to London, she'd be ready to sleep with him.
Well, have intercourse.
Sex.
Whatever…
She smiled. Tomorrow night, she nodded. And she felt better instantly.
She heard him reenter and turned…he appeared to have taken a shower. "Did you bathe?" she smiled.
"I did. I…" he cleared his throat. "I felt compelled to."
"Oh."
His eyebrows went up. He smirked.
"Ohh…" she replied, and blushed.
"Yesss," he said, smiling more broadly. "Well…I'll go and change. Breakfast here or elsewhere?"
"What time is it?" she looked at the clock. It was already ten. She was sleeping a lot on this trip. "Let's go. What time does the house open for tours?"
He was looking at his phone. "Eleven."
"Perfect. I'll meet you downstairs in half an hour," and she went to the loo.
Molly got into the shower, thinking about the fact that Sherlock Holmes had just masturbated in this very place.
…and she was simultaneously embarrassed and aroused.
She washed, cleaned her teeth, and got dressed.
She applied a bit more makeup than was her custom, and even a bit of perfume. She felt sexy, and she wanted to display it.
Molly sat on her bed and took her journal out…she hadn't thought about it since the first day here.
She opened it, and took a pen out.
He loves me, and there's nothing else I need to know.
She looked at the words, and tapped the end of her pen to her lips. Yes. That was all she needed to know…
Just convincing enough, she thought, and put it back in the drawer, took a sweater and her bag and went downstairs.
She saw him standing by the front window, facing the street, hands in his coat pocket. She walked up to him. "Hi," she smiled.
"Ready?" he opened the door.
…and they walked out. "You ok?"
"Yep. Fine."
She looked at him as they went to the car. "Sure? You seem…"
He sighed, and appeared to be contemplating something…he unlocked the car.
"This is your car?" she looked at it. "It's a…"
"Aston Martin, and it's Mrs. Hudson's. I borrowed it."
"What…? I thought this was the owner's car," she got in.
"Nope. Mrs Hudson is away while 221B is fixed…so I'm using her car."
"What's wrong with 221B?"
"Didn't I tell you? It was blown up."
Molly's mouth hung agape. "Wha…?"
"Yes. Euros did that, too. So, I'm staying in Mrs Hudson's flat while she's away on holiday for the next six weeks. Which means…" he winked at Molly as he pulled into the street. "I get full use of this car."
"Wow."
"Indeed."
"So…what's wrong…?"
His air changed rapidly. "I need to go to Sherrinford tomorrow. Probably be there all day."
"Why?"
"It's about Euros. They aren't being terribly specific, but my parents are going, and so is Mycroft."
"Oh," she looked out of her window. "You don't want to go."
"No. I rather wanted to settle in…spend some time with you in London uninterrupted for a few days while we both ease back into work and life."
"Wow."
"What? Is that not good?"
She was looking at him, astonished. "No. It's…more than good, actually. It's amazing."
"Is it," it wasn't a question, and he smiled at her.
"Just lovely, Sherlock. I can't believe you'd want to do that."
"Well, to be fair, part of this included not getting out of bed all day, but…" he cleared his throat and side eyed her. "…that was just my interpretation."
"Oh my god," she laughed.
"Can I ask you something?"
"'Course."
"Were you in love with Tom?" he winced.
"You make that face every time you say his name."
"His name is equal parts repellant and torturous."
She looked away and blushed. "I…did. I was. For a bit."
"How long?"
"Until you came back. About…just under a year."
He nodded and rounded a bend. "What did you love about him?"
"He wasn't you."
"That's what you loved about him?" he responded, incredulously.
"Partly, ya."
"Not a very compelling reason."
"It was at the time, Sherlock. I was hurt and lonesome. I was scared of being alone for the rest of my life…" she looked out of the window as she said this. It was true. She had thought that she'd be alone forever, and the thought was terrifying.
And then she realized that, after Sherlock came back, that she would never be happy with Tom. Because he wasn't Sherlock.
"Wasn't there anything about him in particular that incited love?"
"He…he was very…kind. And attentive. And I thought that that was what I wanted. And he resembled you slightly, something that I didn't really notice until later, but I suppose that was a factor," she paused. "Why?"
"Well, I'm curious. And I never asked because I didn't want want to be…"
"An arse?"
He looked over. "Yes. I suppose that's fair."
She smiled. "I guess I could come up with something better. Gimme a mo'."
"It's heartening to learn that you need time to come up with reasons why you were in love with the man you were promised to marry," he smiled and accelerated. "Almost there."
She nodded and played with the hem of her sweater, thinking about Tom. "He…Tom…he was gentle. He cared about me…he loved me for me. I needed that."
"Yes."
They drove down a long lane toward Chatsworth House, and Molly watched as trees whizzed by.
…and the house emerged into view.
"Wow," she whispered.
It was magnificent by every estimation. Sherlock pulled into the carport behind the house and they got out.
There was a small crowd there already…nothing terribly large.
"I'll go see about tickets and I'll meet you in the main hall," Sherlock nodded and went in a side door.
Molly kicked at some gravel and put her hands in her pockets. She was ruminating on Tom, and why she had agreed to marry him.
…at the time, she honestly believed that it was because she was in love with him. They had fun, for the most part, together. She was attracted to him. Mostly.
He treated her well.
Perhaps that was the crux of it…and she smiled and nodded at some people as she passed them.
Nothing was intense with Tom. He was steady and reliable. Boring…
She stopped and looked out onto the small lake in front of her. He was…she swallowed. He was boring. And that, above all else, was what repelled her. He never spoke of anything interesting. He was moronic in his own way.
Nice just wasn't enough for her.
She recalled feeling self hatred when she ended it, convinced as she was that Sherlock was the catalyst. And though that wasn't entirely untrue, there was more to it than that. It was Tom himself.
And she felt somewhat better.
Molly smiled softly as she looked out at the tableau in front of her…
"…I hope that look is for me."
She turned and saw Sherlock looking at her intently. "No. It wasn't."
His face fell somewhat and he shrugged, walking up to her. "Well, despite that, I got our tickets. Tour is half past twelve, so we have some time to eat in the cafe."
"Good," she nodded. "Let's go." They turned and went into the grand place, Molly awestruck by the whole of it. "It's incredible that people live this way."
"Not really. What's incredible is that it's allowed and revered."
"Are you a communist?" she laughed as they sat at a table.
"Not at all. I'm apolitical, for the most part. But I have acquired a sense of fairness as I've aged, and there's nothing fair about this. It should be a museum only, and the Duke and Duchess of Derbyshire should be forced into the servant's house round back."
"I wouldn't say that too loudly, Sherlock. And you did just pay to see their house," Molly opened a menu.
"For your benefit, mostly," he glanced at his menu. "What do you reckon?"
"Mm…dunno. I'm hungry…"
"But not for food?" he said softly.
…and she looked up to find him smiling slightly. "Oh my god," she blushed.
He laughed. "What were you thinking of outside?" he went back to the page.
"Tom, mostly."
"Why were you thinking of him?" his eyes shot to hers.
"Well, because of your question, and then I was thinking about why I ended it…I had thought that it was mostly because of you…"
"It wasn't?"
She shook her head. "No…it was me. He was boring."
And a smile crept along his features. "Ah. Yes. Intolerable."
Molly nodded, smiled, and went back to the menu.
They finished a pleasant lunch and went to the hall for their tour. Molly was captivated enough by the art, the furniture, but grew tired of it after a while. There really is only so much finery one can reasonably withstand.
"Let's walk outside," she whispered to Sherlock.
"You done here?" he responded in kind.
"Yes. Aren't you?"
"Molly, I was finished before it began," and he took her hand with a wink and led her down a back staircase.
"Sherlock…are we supposed to be using this?" she looked around for employees.
"No," he answered, and led her out into the garden, breathing in deeply and dropping her hand. "There's a maze," he pointed in one direction. "There's a small farm," he pointed in another. "Some woods," he pointed to a far corner. "And of course, the formal garden with water features, statues and such," he looked at Molly. "What do you fancy?"
"What would you like to see?" she asked.
He looked around. "Don't care for animals much. None that aren't domestic, at any rate. The maze is likely so elementary it's absurd…that leaves woods and the formal garden."
"Woods, then," and Molly started in that direction, Sherlock right next to her, hands in his pockets. She looked at him. "Still thinking about tomorrow?"
"Mm…a bit…just curious that Mycroft is being so obtuse. And when I haven't a case on, I tend to perseverate," they entered the pine treed woods.
"I know what that's like," Molly walked along the soft floor, dark and quiet in the thick.
"Do you?"
"'Course I do. I have that type of personality," the trees grew apart some and deciduous trees began emerging. There were rhododendrons and some flowering shrubs along the way. Eventually, the woods grew apart and there was a rocky summit in front of them, a picturesque view emerged. They weren't that high up, but the scene stretched out for miles. They were along the very edge of the Peaks. "Wow," she breathed.
"Lovely," Sherlock observed.
"You don't say that much," Molly looked at him.
"What? That something is lovely?"
"No. I don't hear it."
"I appreciate beauty," he looked at her. "But, I suppose, I don't voice it often."
"Why?" and she looked again at the scene. "Doesn't anything move you enough to say it out loud?"
"Not frequently."
…and she felt him take her hand…Molly looked up at him…he was looking at her very intently…
"You're beautiful, Molly Hooper…" he whispered…and his hand moved to her cheek…her breath caught…he leaned toward her, and claimed her lips…
…very soft at first, he kissed her, and for the first time, really, she responded…and this encouraged him, for he opened her mouth, slid his tongue in, and turned her more toward him…both of his hands were at her neck now, and Molly's were grasping the sleeves of his coat…
…and it was slow, the kiss at first…exploratory and delicate…his thumbs were stroking her cheeks, and Molly was just holding on…
He pulled away for a moment, his eyes blazing as he looked at her, and then he leaned in again, this time, with heat…his kiss was urgent, deep, and with some frantic purpose…he leaned into her, and Molly held his shoulders…his hands began to roam her body, pulling her ever closer…
And his hands reached her hips, he guided her to a tree, and pressed her against it…Molly felt some desperation in his action, and he pulled her legs in a wrap around him…she ground against his arousal, and he groaned…
"Molly," he whispered in her mouth. "I need you…"
She pulled away at that, for she was suddenly keenly aware that they were about to have sex outside and on someone else's private property. "Sherlock…we can't…here…" she gasped.
"Why ever not?" he leaned his forehead against hers…bucked his hips into her core, obstructed by clothes though she was…
Molly moaned…catching her breath…"It isn't right…and I…I'd want it to be a bit more…"
He pulled away to look at her, his hands still on her bottom, her hands on his. "Comfortable?" he smiled.
"Well…ya," she shrugged.
He nodded, and lowered her to the ground. "Tonight, perhaps?"
"I…I was thinking about tomorrow…after we return."
"I'll be in Sherrinford."
"Into the night?"
He looked at the ground. "Can't say."
"Well…."
"Molly, what is the significance of waiting until we are home?" he looked at her with a confused look, not something she was accustomed to seeing.
"Ah…well…" she cleared her throat. "Silly, really…"
"Tell me," he took her hand, rubbing it gently with his thumb.
She couldn't look at him. "I suppose…I just have it in my head that when we leave, this might all just…" she shrugged. "Disappear…" she blushed.
"Why would you think that?"
"Dunno."
He took his hand back and lifted her chin. "I love you. That isn't changing."
"Hard to believe," she shrugged.
"I wish that I could do something to convince you…"
"You are, Sherlock. You really are," she smiled and put her palm on his cheek, then kissed him softly. She swallowed, pulling away. "Say it again."
"I love you," he whispered.
She smiled…"I love you, too."
"That's the first you've said it since…since…"
"I know. Thought you'd like to hear it," she replied, pulling away.
But he followed, and her back was against the tree again. "Say it again," he was looking at her mouth.
"I love you…"
He sighed, and kissed her neck. Her head went back as he caressed her softly, his hands ran up and down her torso…"Those words…" he mumbled.
"What?"
"They shall end me," and he went back to her mouth, kissing her soundly, then took her hand. "Let's go, Molly. We need to pack and such. Decide where we are sleeping…" he winked.
…and they left the woods, hand in hand.