Chapter 11

Molly was still half asleep when she heard the distant sound of rain falling. Staying in bed when it's raining outside was one of the little pleasures of life she cherished. Her eyes still closed, she remembered that she was not working today, so she could stay as long as she wished. Then, memories of the previous night started coming back and this time she woke up with a start. She had sex with Sherlock Holmes. And not just once. She considered for a moment that it might the product of her imagination, but her body told her it had been real.

She rolled on the other side of bed and had a second shock when she realised that he was still there. She would have though he was the type to leave before dawn, but instead he was staring at some non-existent point on the ceiling. She wondered about what to do. Morning-afters could always be awkward, and with his highly whimsical personality she really didn't know what to expect.

She passed a hand before his eyes. He blinked and turned to her.

"What are you thinking?" she murmured.

"That your upstair neighbor has lost his job but forgot to inform his wife, who by the way is cheating on him."

"You never stop, do you?" she said with a smile. She got closer and gave him a gentle kiss on the lips.

"So, still thinking about changing your locks?"

"Hum… I don't know", she said teasingly.

"What, I didn't convince you?". He looked half-amused, half-irritated.

She couldn't help giggling. So the great Sherlock Holmes was insecure about his performances in bed?

She gave me another kiss. "No, I'm very much convinced. Actually you did clear up the rumors, you know?"

"Like what?"

"Well, some people say that you're not interested… in sex. Or that you're gay."

"People say a lot of things. But I thought you had a thing for gay men?" he said with a grin.

"Oh please don't start with it…"

"You didn't do anything with him right?"

She shook her head and looked away.

"Alright, let's no speak of… wait what is this?"

There was a red mark on his on his forearm, the color was striking against his white skin.

"You scratched me!" he exclaimed, "Look there's another one here! I didn't know I had to deal with a tigress…"

"Oh god… Well it's your fault! Anyway, I'll make it up to you. Are you hungry?"

"Not hungry, no. But there's something else you could take care of."

"I don't know what you're talking about" she said with false innocence.

"Well let me show you…"

They kissed again, this time with more passion, but were soon interrupted by a beeping sound. It was his phone. Molly hoped that he would ignore it, but he extended his arm to catch it on the bedside table. He read the text message and his expression suddenly changed.

"I've got to go", he said quickly. Before she had the time to say anything, he was already getting out of bed and collecting his clothes.

"Nothing bad ?"

"No, it's the hospital there seem to have been some developments overnight. Hum… I'll let you know, ok?"

"Ok."

And there he was gone. Molly stayed in bed for a moment, trying to collect her thoughts. Part of her was still in complete bliss from the night. But she also knew that this was only a fleeting moment of happiness. John would go better, life would go on with new cases for him, and new bodies to examine for her. And everybody would do as if nothing had happened at all. But for now, she was perfectly happy. It was 9AM, she could still go back to sleep for a while and she was certain her dreams would be sweet.

^/^

Life was sometimes full of surprises.

Yes, John did go better. The doctors finally decided his state allowed to wake him up. Hopefully he didn't suffer any permanent damages, but he still had a long way to go to recover completely.

Sherlock was still visiting him every day, with a renewed enthusiasm. Even if he would deny it, he had talked to John a great deal while he was still unconscious. But now that his friend was able to answer back, even weakly, he was unstoppable. He told him about the research he had been doing on Moriarty's background, the dead ends it had led him to and the future investigations that were waiting for them. The nurses had to ask him to calm down, because he was tiring the patient.

But most of all, he was still paying regular visits to Molly.

This had become some sort of routine. He would leave the hospital in the end of the afternoon, make a stop at Baker Street and then show up at her flat. When she was working late, she would generally find him spread over the sofa in front of tv (his taste in the matter were quite surprising) or making research on his computer. He had stopped fighting with Toby who had adopted him completely and was often sitting on his lap.

He was keeping her updated about John's progresses. She asked to come with him one day at the hospital. He agreed but insisted that she made no mention of their little "arrangement". She wasn't surprised but couldn't help being a bit disappointed. She knew she had little to expect from him. He never expressed any sentiment or romantic inclinations. He was certainly no boyfriend, more an intrusive temporary roommate with who she was sleeping.

During those two weeks, Molly learnt a lot about Sherlock. She realised that he was not a god, but a real man made of flesh and bone. He was pathologically messy, had a dry but great sense of humor and wore contact lenses for myopia.

She would generally cook for him. And even if he was always complaining about her obsession to "feed him up", she noticed that he was eating more regularly. A few extra pounds wouldn't hurt anyway… He took her out to the restaurant a few times. On his good days he could actually be a gentleman and open up doors, but they never hold hands.

Between the sheets he was acting his usual self: impatient, bossy, egoistic but also utterly brilliant. He was also a bit of a dirty talker which surprised her because he usually never swore. She didn't dislike it though because his voice made everything sound highly erotic. He was quite vain, and although he pretended to attach no importance to people's opinion, was not insensible to compliments.

Mornings were the only time where he could be a bit tender. He would let her rest her head on his chest while he was absently running his hand though her hair. She was a good listener and managed to have him talk a little about his past. Some subjects, however, remained unspoken like the scars she couldn't help noticing on his arms.

He was certainly imperfect and no prince charming like he had used to think.

And yet… the more time they were spending together, the more her former schoolgirl crush was turning into something different, something worse, love.