The Sleepover 2

There was a woman in his bed. Again.

Sherlock Holmes was not sure how or why this situation kept happening to him. First there was The Woman, who had daringly let herself in while she was a wanted woman and made use of his shower before leaving herself in his bed for him to find, complete with dripping wet hair on his pillow. She'd swathed herself in his blue dressing gown and manipulated him into revealing a national secret. Oops.

Then there'd been Janine with whom he had feigned romance in order to gain entrance to her employers office. Janine, who had truly made herself at home in his flat, who pranced about the flat in whatever day old shirts he left about and kissed him and treated him as though he were her personal chair. This, Sherlock supposed it was all for the best as it did help him gain the access he needed to Magnussen (not that THAT had ended well) but it was effective. And Janine's means of revenge led to a slander campaign scandal across a number of tabloids. Whoops.

Which lead to the thought that troubled him most. It wasn't some case that had brought a woman to a bed. No, it was far more complex issue for tonight it was Molly Hooper availing herself of his bed. Not that she had exactly asked to stay. Most likely because the minx very well knew he would say no if he asked.

However, after she'd told him she was going to stay, she had

then politely(ish) asked where she could stay. She'd even asked before putting on his clothes, and that was only after he had asked had she need of anything. And somehow this felt... different. Different from the others who'd slept there and different still from all the nights he had spent at her flat.

She was right- Fundamentally there was nothing different about this situation from when he would overtake her room forcing her to that pathetic excuse of a bed in her guest room. And it's not like he wouldn't have taken her pathetic excuse of a bed she kept in there, had it not been an ancient Ikea futon. A Futon for God's sakes! How was he supposed to stretch out in something smaller then himself? Had it been a real bed he'd have happily slept on it. Obviously. It had nothing to do with the delicate scent of her that lingered on the sheets. Sherlock shifted, distracted momentarily by the remembrance of that undefinable something in her scent that was so calming to him. Shaking his head he refocused.

The nagging difference... It was the way he felt having Molly so near and in his bed. Molly was here, close and for an extended period of time the sole occupant of his bed. It was all so disconcerting. Was this how she had felt the first time he had flopped into her flat? Unsettled and unsure about what was happening and what he was supposed to be doing at this time?Was this a bit of turn around being fair play?

No doubt that it was earned. Molly very well followed his example by nearly insinuated that he wasn't even allowed in his bedroom, neatly claiming it for her own domain for the night with her dismissal. A clear page from his own book. One that she'd learned well it seemed, much to his chagrin.

Breathing in deeply Sherlock sat forward to place his elbows on the table while he braced his chin in his thinking pose. Before he could give the matter a deep thought he found that he was distracted by the sight of things left on the table before him. The materials they had used to experiment covered the table and his attention lagged on the duplicate sets of protective gear lying together. It had been enjoyable having Molly here to experiment with lately. Clearly she was comfortable around him once more which made a world of difference. After all, there was no fiancé to feel guilt from, no threat of the 'ghost' of Moriarty returning and he had reaffirmed his sobriety allowing no drugs to be anywhere near him for months. And now that the Watson's had given birth to their daughter it seemed that Molly and he were constantly finding reasons to be together. Meeting up at Bart's would lead to dinner and a walk. Calling in on Mary and John would lead to plans to get together the next day and soon it seemed that they spent a few nights a week together. They would even go out if it pertained to a case as Molly always did have excellent observational skills, it be a shame not to take advantage of her offer to help.

Curiously, it was easier than he had ever have thought the way that Molly Hooper fit into his life. She was so inherently different from himself. All brightness and joy where he was dark and cantankerous. The shadows seemed to soften not threaten as they did when he was alone. A yin to his yang. Sherlocks face scrunched up at the analogy his mind supplied but grudgingly acknowledged that it fit. In short he liked her being near.

Admittedly, once Molly convinced him to let her stay the thought occurred that she might share his bed with him and that he might have the opportunity to see if her scent was as comforting In person. Not in any untoward way, just... It might be nice. He liked being near her, he enjoyed the calmness of her presence. The thought had become even more appealing when she'd come out of the bath, nearly drowning in a pair of his pyjamas. Molly had looked so... Soft. Comfortable even.

Which was completely and utterly idiotic that he would be so effected by her dressed like that. It's not like he's never seen Molly in pyjamas before. He'd spent enough time at her flat, expected and less so to know that Molly always favored loose oversized sleepwear. That she always slept with her hair up and back as she wore it tonight. It wasn't like she had put on any pretense whilst sleeping there at his. No she was still Molly. Just Molly now drowning in HIS own loose clothing. And currently curled up in his covers let of his bed. Sherlock groaned softly imagining her curled up in his sheets.

Oh he was honest enough with himself to admit that he'd imagined her in his bed, however that had been under more fanciful circumstances. Ones where he'd be the one to lead her there and they'd share intimacies in the shadows of the room. And yet... The idea of her seeking simple rest in his bed wasn't wholly unpleasant. The situation of Molly in his bed, alone. That was the the bit that was bothersome. And dammit all to hell he wanted to be there too.

Leaning back on his chair he crossed his arms across his chest as he continued to glare toward the door. She was still awake, at least according to the light beneath its frame. He could still knock, could say...Yes, say what exactly Sherlock? Huffing, he stood from the chair. Tell her that you want to share the room you dolt. There was more than a fair chance that that doing so would only anger and frustrate her. Ask to sleep beside her and hold her? Because that sounds just like you. Or don't say anything, just do it! He walked toward the door before freezing and thinking it through. She might slap him, cut him out of her life and move to Timbuktu or Ohio or somewhere she was equally sure to never to see him again. Shaken, Sherlock stopped and turned to enter the bath instead. After a brief awkward moment he decided to relieve one of humans more tedious bodily needs then washed his hands and rinsed and his face before eyeing himself in the mirror. It didn't help. All he saw was the light coming on in from behind him in the mirror. His bed just on the other side of that wall. Staring at the light he pondered on.

While he'd been away he'd had it all planned out. Return to being Sherlock Holmes, and let Molly Hooper step into his life. She had proven her self time and time again. Even in more recent days she'd certainly proven that she was more than capable of handling him. However, a thin piece of metal and a speck of a glimmering rock and it was suddenly too late. Sherlock had missed his chance. It hadn't mattered how he'd longed for her smiles or her soft touches. Molly Hooper had promised her future to another. A choice he could well understand. Of course now that ring was long gone, as was the fool fiancé... If he knew what to do...

He was still staring at the mirror, water running free when the light went off in the room behind the panel of frosted glass door that lead into the bedroom. Another missed chance.

He turned the water off before cutting the bathrooms own light and strode slowly back towards the living room. Bypassing the experiment he choose his leather chair to flop into. Legs stretched forth for drummed the arms. This was it. The time for action and it was time to take the matter into his hands: this was his opportunity to show her just how much he wanted her to play a larger factor in his life. He was motivated to do so and he had motive. Now he just had to find the means to show her. A plan began to take hold in his mind. There would be several hours till she would wake. He could show her how appreciative he was for her. Yes, he had time, he could do this.

First though, it was time to clean the kitchen. Sherlock wrinkled his nose in distaste, but as his eye caught the bedroom door he reminded himself that Molly was unquestionably worth it. Standing to get to work he began to pick up as he worked out some other details of what to have ready for the morning ahead.

The only thing he was sure of was that he hoped that she never ventured upstairs and found that the guest bed was perfectly clean.

A/N

Apologies for taking so long. Its been a time for my family and has left me little to no mental capacity to write. One more Chapter to go in this mini adventure. I want to send a warm thank you to all of you who have favorite(d) or followed and a big squishy cuddle to all you wonderful commentators.

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Love and kittens,

Mistykins06