30 Days (Kind of) to Fall in Love
The prompt is inspired by ericandy's 30 day OTP challenge on Tumblr.
Disclaimer: If I owned Sherlock Holmes, the rest of the world would never see him Not mine.
2. Cuddling
Sherlock was broken, or so John Watson thought. For three days, he had maintained an ever-constant vigil on the couch of 221 B. John was unable to get Sherlock to explain what in the world had happened to cause this shutdown, but he was beginning to get concerned. The man had not eaten and more than likely hadn't slept for those three days. Before Sherlock had begun this fit, he had finished a case, complained about being bored until John had kicked him out of the flat, and then been away for a little less than an hour, only to return in this funk. Lestrade had called twice with a possible case for them, but nothing was able to rouse the man.
Then, on the afternoon of the third day, almost exactly the same time as he had left before, Sherlock sprung up from the couch, showered, and left without a word to John. Deciding to follow him, just to ensure his safety, John followed him as left Baker Street. Instead of taking a cab, Sherlock walked, and walked, and walked. John was about ready to call it quits and hail a cab back home when Sherlock finally stopped at an apartment building near Bart's. Waiting for him to go in, John made his way up to the directory and saw Molly Hooper's name on the list. Realization dawned on John that the reason for Sherlock's issues and fit were because of his pathologist, as he had taken to calling her. John smiled and hailed a cab, hoping that the detective didn't mess everything up.
Molly was startled by the knock at her door. She set down her large glass of wine and plate of Chinese that she had just been settling into and went to answer it. Without thinking, she opened the door to see Sherlock outside her door. She hadn't contacted him and had heard nothing from him since the other night, but she silently prayed that he wasn't here to rub things in or, even worse, to outright reject her. As long has he didn't do that, there was always hope for her. "Sherlock?" she asked, not letting him.
Standing up impossibly straighter, he spoke. "We need to talk."
"Um, okay," Molly mumbled, allowing him in. "Did you want some food? It doesn't look like you've eaten in a few days. Hard case?"
Sherlock let out a small laugh. "I suppose you could say that he answered," sitting down next to where she had placed her food on the table in front of the couch. Molly brought him over a plate of food, wondering if perhaps he just wanted to forget the other night had ever happened, and she was almost alright with that. Of course she would always want him, but if he couldn't be her lover, she would settle for him as her friend. She sat down next to him and resumed eating her dinner.
"So, what was the case about?" she asked, trying to get him engaged in something that she knew he would have little trouble speaking on for quite a while.
"You, as it were," he replied, focusing on his food and not on the look of shock that graced Molly's face.
"What do you mean, 'me?'"
"I mean that I thought about what you said the other night and, while it took me some time, I came to a conclusion."
"A, a conclusion, as to what, exactly?" Molly was becoming more and more nervous as this went on. Her fear of rejection seized her heart and she felt her insides clench in the fear that she may be rejected by the man she loved so well.
"I believe that we should begin dating. For as long as we have known each other, it is customary to go on varied outings with the person you are attracted to, correct?" he said, finally looking at her with a glint of mischief in his eyes. He knew that Molly would be worried about his reaction from the other night, but he had not intentions of hurting his pathologist.
Molly's heart was doing an entire gymnastics' routine. Sherlock Holmes was not only attracted to her, but also wanted to date her! "I do believe that is what people do," she answered him, unable to contain a giant smile off of her face.
"Shall we start tonight," Sherlock asked.
"Um, I suppose we could. But, we're already eating and you've already come over, so there's no real point in going out. We could watch a film after we're done eating, I guess," Molly offered.
"That sounds perfectly acceptable." The two went back to eating their dinner, occasionally sneaking glances at the other. After they had finished, Molly cleared their plates and went to pick out a film. She was fairly certain that Sherlock hadn't seen most of the ones that she owned and felt no fear of putting in something that he had already seen. As she sat back down on the couch next to Sherlock, she felt his arm go around her shoulders and pull her into him. This was a development that she hadn't seen coming, but was not at all opposed to.
After a few moments of shifting while the previews played, they ended up with Sherlock in the corner of the couch with Molly leaning heavily against him and his arm draped around her. In addition to this, he had taken her hand and was playing with it absent mindedly. As The Princess Bride started playing, Sherlock made no comment on her choice of movie and even found himself enjoying it, at least a little bit. The inclusion of pirates was what gave it a not terrible rating according to Sherlock.
Sherlock looked down at the woman cuddled beside him as the credits began to play. Molly had fallen asleep right before the fire swamp and was sleeping soundly against his chest. Instead of feeling disgusted by the small mark of spit that she had left on his shirt, he felt a sense of endearment toward the woman. If she could love him through his cruelties, his inadequacies, his failures, then there was no reason that he couldn't do the same through her habits and quirks.
He gently eased his sleeping pathologist into his arms and made his way to her bedroom. He knew that if she slept on the couch that she would wake up with a severe back ache and she had to work the next day. He turned down the covers and placed her in them. Gently wrapping her up, he smiled as she murmured his name in her sleep. With a squeeze of her hand, Sherlock left the room, turning out the lights and locked the apartment as he left to go back to his own. Something had changed tonight, and Sherlock was not afraid of it, but actually rather excited to see what would happen.