A/N: At first I was - I should edit this more, but at this point - sod it. I'll edit it later, I hope you enjoy, and you deserve it. I'm grateful for the astonishing attention this fic has gotten, as it had reached a whopping 200 comments. Much more than any fic I've ever had. Thank you very much. Please read, review or I don't know. Do what you do best. I need a cigarette.

She heard the water filling the bathtub. After a while she thought she could hear him use a scrub. The rest of her imagination however filled the gaps of what she presumed he was doing, which was innocently taking a bath – as was his want – he was after all rather a mess. It wasn't that her mind needed to go there, it just did. First gingerly he'd wipe at the back of his neck, his dark hair probably soaked, clinging to his face, as he continued over both arms and his torso.

Molly shook her head for a moment, taking to stand up, before starting to tidy. The place wasn't a mess; it was evident that John kept it all in check, but still she had to occupy her hands with something. She didn't actually expect Sherlock to call out for her, that he wouldn't manage to wash his own back, or other conceivable places where her mind reeled.

One moment she hated the man, another she found herself taking care of him – their entire relationship in a nutshell. This was just another cup of coffee, another favour out of the very many she'd given throughout the years, and yet the air felt different. Maybe it was because she wasn't breathing properly, at some point the food arrived, and she propped the bag on the table. She stared at the white paper bag, with the red illustration of a dragon on the side, the smell of spices tempting her, but she kept on fidgeting. There was no room for distractions, even if she kept on shifting things around, folding a blanket, and taking to turn on some light - her mind constantly turned to the bath and its occupant – whom she was going to share a bed with; it would make the best of people anxious.

For was she really going to stay there, of all places, and sleep in his bed without a second thought – not considering all that had happened? It seemed easy enough, she'd forgiven him so many times, but this was different – this would lead somewhere, where that somewhere would lead she did not know. He would most likely not smile this away, disappearing off somewhere on another on of his cases. She sighed loudly, the silence in the flat overwhelming, as she suddenly felt tempted to run out of the flat. Molly brought out her phone - taking to examine the various texts sent from the fictional Ben by the hand of Sherlock, and then from Sherlock himself.

Her mind spun, when she saw the utter likeness of those texts, and heard his voice reading them in her head. It had been him all that time - how had she not seen it earlier? – But then again she was more pleasantly occupied, not properly reading into things, and never ever could she in her wildest of imaginations come up with something like that. The whole idea was madness, the whole fact that it had taken place was absolutely beyond insane, and yet she couldn't help inwardly giggling over it.

Here she was practically throwing herself at the man in text, no shame and no fear whatsoever, and he didn't seem to shrink away from the idea either. She had thought, that when she blatantly threw herself at him with her proposal that he would flee, but he had not. Instead he took her up on her offer, of course because he knew she was trying to fool him (not so well either), but it was still hard for her to believe that the man indeed did fancy her. The evidence before her was proof enough; every single line in the palm of her hand, and it was terrifying.

It reminded her of that one time Mary had observed, "Why don't you just talk to him, then?"

"I talk to him."

"No, you don't – you – well – you don't talk."

"We've had conversations."

"Right – what did you talk about? – And don't say cases or just about him."

"Err – well – there was – err – I suppose, you know – OK, so I haven't really been-," she spluttered midst thought.

"Yourself?"

"Oh, shut up," she had said, before laughing it away. They didn't talk of it anymore after that, only her bringing him up once in a while, for she always did.

She did need advice now, however, and so she found herself hurriedly pressing on her mobile phone's screen.

Is it a bad idea to stay the night in his flat? – M

When you ask if something's a bad idea. It is obviously a bad idea. Is he still unconscious? - MM

No - M

That's horrible! He's awake, you're awake, which means anything could happen. You should go – MM

Do you mean that? – M

Yes, GO NOW – MM

Fine, I'll stay – M

Good. I expect a detailed conversation later - MM

She was staying, it was decided, she wasn't going to run off, and he was certainly not going to scare her off. Everything was fair at this point, so she might as well make the best of it. Molly stood up from her chair, and soon tapped upon the bathroom door with her hand – quietly at first, until she gave it a good rapping. She wasn't going to be pretty about it, no, not at all, and so she smiled to herself. He was just a man after all, a man who was horribly silent inside of his bath, and so she reached for the doorknob, which opened at her touch. She stepped inside the steamy room.

"Sherlock?" she said blinking against the rather humid air.

He made a low "hmm" from the bath, not seeming to find it intruding that she was inside the bathroom of all places, and he was beyond all doubt absolutely starker's. Her eyes hit the ceiling; she started to mentally count the tiles, "Food – its here – if you want it - that is - of course - since you're in the bath."

He gave no answer; she blinked several times, before directing her eyes downwards. His eyes were closed, as he was leisurely inclined in the bathtub – the water was barely covered with foam. Her eyebrow jerked upwards when her eyes flickered over his barely concealed body, swallowing, she asked, "So – should I start eating without you?"

He slicked his wet hair back, tendrils still escaped and fell down on his forehead, and his blue eyes were looking questioningly at her, "Was that all Molly?"

"You don't need anything, right?" she asked hands held behind her back, as she stood nervously on the spot.

He gave a brief smile at this, "Hand me my towel."

She handed him the navy coloured towel, as he stood up from the bathtub – water dripping down his front. Her eyes were kept towards the door, away from his gaze, as he wrapped the towel around his waist without much ceremony.

She realised she'd overstayed her welcome, and soon tripped more or less out of the room, rather inelegantly. Her cheeks flaming, while slightly out of breath as the cold air hit her. Not that it was especially cold in the rest of the flat, but it was certainly a sauna in the bathroom.

She calmed herself, tending to the paper bag, taking out plates with a clatter, and tried to carefully administer the food on the plates. Not that they couldn't eat out of the plastic boxes, but then she'd have something else to do than wait.

The door to the bathroom creaked open; she blanched, but kept on shuffling food on the platter, before she fetched some utensils. She was sure he could wield a chopstick, but she surely couldn't. Molly half-expected him to get dressed, before attending to his meal, but she was in error when he seated himself in the living room donning a blue robe.

She soon scurried off with their plates, "Careful it is a bit – err - hot," she said more quietly than intended, as she gave him the plate, and he quirked his brow over her shyness.

She pulled herself together, "Are you feeling better then?" she asked seating herself in the chair opposite to him, glad that he was clad in something else than just a towel, for she wouldn't know were to look.

"Yes, much better, thank you," he said.

She gave a short nod, accepting the unexpected brief thank you, and gave to forking her food, not at all hungry anymore, especially not for food.

"So, is there anything you want to do then?" she asked after a minute silence.

He gave her a sharp look, she returned a harmless one, as he said, "Nothing that comes to mind, Molly. Excellent ordering."

"John circled around your favourites," she said, "Not very hard to figure out."

He pursed his mouth, seeming to think, as he gave to stare, "Do you need any clothes, then?"

"Me? Oh, no – I'm fine."

"You shouldn't ruin your dress perhaps," he said eyeing her, as she had tucked her feet under her – her dress wrinkling up due to it.

"This old thing-," she halted, as she, "Fine, you know it's new, then right?"

"Obviously – you've forgotten to remove tag."

"Not so much forgotten, no," she said wryly, tucking the tag away, as it had evidently been poking out by her neck.

"You're returning it, then?" he said tilting his head, as if baffled by this piece of new information.

"I don't know if it is entirely my taste," she lied.

"Well, it is much better than your usual taste."

Molly frowned, "You must be feeling better," she said.

He furrowed his brows, "Why do you think that?"

"You've managed to insult me already."

"So you would rather go clad in your hairy jumpers with hearts on them, and woollen skirts?"

She narrowed her eyes a little, taking to jab at her food with her fork, "No," she just replied.

He gave a satisfied smile at this, clearly pleased with this news, of her having changed her style over time.

"Is it Mary, then?" he asked eyeing her dress curiously.

"No, it's me."

"Good," he just replied, and so they ate in silence.

Her feet were bare, her hair loose curling at the ends, and her fingers entangled in it, as she gave him an odd gaze from under her lashes, "Are you OK?" She had caught him staring.

"Yes, I am fine," he answered finally prodding at his food.

He found himself suddenly regretting his choice of apparel. Luckily the room was sufficiently warm, and it was evident by the fact that Molly had slipped of her stockings, which lay on the sofa quite forgotten – that she too was feeling the heat.

"You sure you aren't suffering from a concussion – you keep staring," she said a bit wide-eyed, finishing it off with a big smile.

"I am not staring," he said.

"Where's the dress from, then?"

He smiled; she always did like it when he used his mind, one of the few people besides John apparently.

"Harvey Nichols – the price tag leaves very little to the imagination."

"But the print is small," she said bringing the tag forward, grimacing at it.

"The price isn't - considering where you live, and the shape of the dress – it is obviously from their fall collection. A demure classic, and one you should keep."

She sniffed a bit, soon tucking the tag away again, exposing her neck, as she soon put her unruly hair to one side.

"You're staring again."

"I am trying to figure you out. You've taken off your stockings, so you have no intentions of leaving at least."

"Did taking off my stockings, tells you that? I could still leave you know."

"No woman takes off her stockings in a man's flat without the intention of staying. And no - you won't."

She looked a bit confused at that, shook her head a bit, sighing, as she said, "You seem to know a lot about women."

"I have to."

"Well, you still managed to cock things up," she bit her lip immediately at this.

"I wouldn't phrase it as such, no – I suppose that is from-,"

"Mary – yes – that's very her," she said with her eyes cast downwards towards the plate wobbling on her lap, with several napkins tucked underneath to protect the dress. She obviously liked it, and so he knew it was the price that kept her shying away from it.

"She's a good influence then."

Molly started at this, "You like Mary?"

"I've never said anything against her."

"Yes, you have."

"That's what John expects of me, I think he'd be a bit more suspicious if I were to congratulate him of his choice of girlfriend."

"You don't need to say that so angrily."

"What?"

"Girlfriend – it's not a bad word Sherlock."

"I'm quite aware, Molly, but she isn't my girlfriend is she now? I shouldn't find it appropriate to connect her to that word, when she is John's girlfriend – I think he'd frown upon that."

"Ok," she said looking suspiciously at him, before directing her attentions to her plate dangerously wobbling on her lap, as she said "I've got to ask, but – you texted me as James – why did you suddenly start to text as yourself?"

"Think," he just replied.

"Sherlock," she said rather crossly now. He did like seeing her angry, her cheeks heated up, her chest heaved, and her fists were clenched at her side, but this wasn't the same woman who kneed what's-his-face.

"You know where the door is," he said jerking his head in the direction of the door.

She looked at him defiantly.

"Do you want me to say it then?" he said feeling very unnerved there he sat.

"Have I got to ask better questions, then?"

"Possibly," he smirked.

She stared now; taking him in, before she leaned back in her chair, "Do – you – fancy – me?"

He blinked furiously at this, taking to put his plate aside, the food sinking to the estimation of ashes in his mouth.

"I have a somewhat different association towards you than I had previously," he said rather slowly.

Molly gaped at this, her cherry lips shutting immediately, as she mulled over the words, "What association exactly?"

He gave her a sharp look, "That's not an appropriate question Molly."

"I just asked you this morning - if you and I were to have an arrangement, and you're saying - this is an inappropriate thing to ask?"

He turned silent after that, half-raising himself from the chair, his fingers tapping hurriedly on the side of his cheek – this was Sherlock nervous. It was a baffling sight, of all things to have ever seen him like, when he had no outright answer.

She bit her lip a moment, before she said very sweetly "Sherlock, I don't want you to be my boyfriend – if you're worried about that."

He'd almost thrown his head in his hands at this point, but he jolted up in surprise, "Why not?"

Molly stared at him in shock, "Wait – what?" Him being silly was soon forgotten, replaced with something entirely different, and all of sudden she felt a bit light-headed.

Sherlock had suddenly turned calm again, leaning back in his chair, "Thank you for informing me just that. I feel quite fine now. You've taken care of me perfectly." He'd gotten very cold in the span of seconds, "You know where the door is."

Molly removed the plate from her lap, setting it aside, still eyeing him, as she said, "OK."

She fixed her eyes on him, as she stood up from her seat. He looked up at her in wonder, furrows in his brows, for her steps were not towards the door, but to him. His breath turned much more shallow, she gave a smile, as she soon took to straddling his lap. Her dress itched up, she gave it no notice, for she continued to look him in those blue eyes of his, as she attempted to grab the back of the chair with a hand to steady herself. His hands snaked around her back however. He held her now; she could feel his hands pressing upon her through the thin fabric of her dress. Sherlock did not move another muscle however, yet he was staring intently on her lips. His eyes quickly flickered upwards, a calm expression on his face.

"So - you don't fancy me?" she said in a very playful tone taking to carefully put her hands on either side of his face, with a curious expression on her face.

She kissed the edge of his mouth tenderly, pulling back, her eyes slightly narrowed, as she said, "Your pupils are dilated – but then again it could just be a bodily reaction." The statement was preceded with a minor wiggling of the hips, she gave him an apologetic look, "Sorry," she said with a grin on her lips "I'm just trying to get comfortable."

He did an intake of breath, as he rather throatily whispered,

"What do you want me to say?" Her hands had dropped from his face now.

"You could text me, if it makes it easier," she said taking a gander around the flat, "But you seem to have misplaced your phone."

"Clever - Molly."

"Yes, and here I am – sitting in your lap, and you're doing absolutely nothing."

"What are my responsibilities?" he said drawing her much harder onto his lap this time, firm hands on her bottom. She yelped in surprise, but her expression never changed.

"Responsibilities?" she repeated inclining her head.

"Yes, Molly – what – do – you – want – me – to - do?"

"I thought you'd done this before," she said teasingly.

"Doesn't mean I wouldn't like to hear your detailed description of the scenario. You were thorough enough on text, it shouldn't be such a feat."

"Careful, I could still slap you, you know."

"One lives to hope," he replied.

"I shouldn't even be here."

"Why not?"

"I should be in my flat, taking care of my cat."

"I do hope you mean your cat."

"Luckily I already fed Toby."

"You didn't expect to come home tonight then?"

She grimaced at him, squirming slightly there she sat – her knickers pressed up against his crotch. The silk and lace their only separation, "I did expect to actually, don't be so presumptuous – even if it is you."

"I promise to be good," he lied.

"Don't – that kiss in the dark then - that was a surprise."

"Yes, why exactly did you stop?"

"I was taken aback," she said biting her lip.

He had gotten one of his hands free from her; he took to stroking her lower lip "You shouldn't bite it so much."

"You aren't."

His mouth quirked upwards, his hand dropped, as he soon took to pulling her towards himself – their mouth inches away from each other, just breath mingling with each other, and she could smell a hint of mint in his mouth.

"You brushed," she said quietly.

"You haven't," he murmured in return, and she was about to give him a smack on the shoulder, when his mouth was on hers.

It was an overwhelming sensation, how very different from the kiss in the hallways of Heaven, and much more heavenly than the lewd nightclub promised. Tentative at first, slowly nibbling on her lower lip, as she grabbed hold of him towards her – realising quite fully how naked he was under his silk robe. His hands touched her lower back, as his tongue darted gently inside her mouth.

She pulled back, mouth half-open, as she said, "I've not forgiven you entirely yet, you know."

"I have patience."

She looked at him in disbelief, "You didn't have when we were at the restaurant."

"Yes, that was a bad move, wasn't it?"

"Very."

"I suppose I'll have to learn to behave in a more gentleman-like manner."

Her eyes widened, "You're quoting Jane Austen now?"

"A man learns from his mistakes."

"You're no ordinary man, and you usually never learn from yours."

"Doesn't mean I cannot wait."

"Does this mean, there'll be more of this?"

"Obviously."

"Why is that, then?"

"You are far too clever to pretend you do not know the reason."

"Let's say I'm very stupid, then."

He scoffed, "Fine – I am – and have been for some time rather taken with you Molly Hooper, now get off my lap, and let us enjoy our dinner."

"I'm not hungry."

"Well, then let us watch television - or do what all of those other foolish couples do," he said clearly not grasping what she was saying.

"We're a couple?"

"I had thought that was what one usually does in these circumstances."

"Oh."

"What?"

"No, I'm just surprised."

"I hadn't intended of sharing you exactly."

She took to frown now, soon enough the frown turned into a mouth-splitting grin. With a devilish look in her eye she said, "I'd rather not do any of those things."

"What things?"

"Tonight that is – we've got plenty of time for that."

"What do you want to do instead?"

She raised a brow daringly, her eyes on his mouth, as she recaptured his lips into a kiss – their noses half-colliding during it - a deeper much more ferocious kiss, tongues entangled, as her hands started to pull at the strings of his robe.

He drew back in astonishment, "This is what you want, then?"

"What did you expect?"

"I had thought we'd have a long period of suffering."

"I think we could do, that later, don't you? Minus the suffering."

His lips curled into a smile, his mouth returning to hers, and with startling strength; he lifted himself off the chair still holding onto her, her legs wound around his lower back.

He obviously intended to go further than just the living room, but failed tremendously, crashing onto the floor causing their plates to tumble down. They gave the food no thought - her back against the carpet, as he was hovering over her, mouths still connected, but he broke off taking to kiss the hollow of her neck, spreading kisses to her cleavage, before re-capturing her mouth tenderly.

Her nails dug against his back, and he pushed upon her with wild abandon. She could feel his length pressing upon her dress, and she gave to smile, as he kissed her affectionately on the lips, breaking now to attempt to remove her dress, which proved great difficulty upon the floor - the zipper demonstrating to be an unsolvable problem in the heath of the moment.

Molly laughed, seeing his frustrated look. Sherlock raised a brow at her laugh. And she easily zipped the dress open - he pulled it off throwing it aside carelessly – tag and all forgotten.

She started to pull on his robe's cord now, once again, and he did not stop her – there he was absolutely naked, the glimpse she saw in the bath barely touching the subject of his body. His pale body beautiful and with some odd scar here and there – questions to be answered later.

He effortlessly took off her lace bra, no help needed in entangling that one, taking one of her nipples into his mouth, as she moaned.

Her hands caressing his now naked back, for he'd shrugged off the robe entirely off. His hands cradling her towards him, lifting her a little off from the floor, as he hurriedly slipped off her knickers tossing it aside.

Sherlock soon enough slid his hand towards her already warm centre, slipping elegantly in his fingers, as she moaned, "Please."

He gave to grin at this, boyish for him, but instead of listening to her he removed his fingers without hesitation, and started to administer kisses between her breasts, continuing down her abdomen, before he placed himself right between her legs. He lifted her legs over his shoulders, taking to kiss her inner thighs, but never were she cried out for.

She tried to pull him upwards; he just pushed her hands aside, "Keep them still and above your head," he commanded, before giving her a little lick as punishment.

She gasped, and did as he said – but he did not continue. He kept on kissing everywhere except where her body pleaded him to, her body pressing towards him automatically. Yet he kept on teasing her breasts, her inner thighs, even going as far as kissing her foot, but gave no attention to her warm centre. He started to kiss his way from her ankle, before wounding up entirely between her legs licking at her mound.

Sherlock knew absolutely well what to do in this department, overthrowing any rumour of virgin entirely, as his tongue slid in and out of her folds teasing, stroking deftly with absolute confidence, as she moaned loudly from the carpet pressing against his mouth without any consideration. "Please – don't-," she started on the brink.

"Don't – what -," he said raising his head looking at her boldly, and now she pulled him up towards her, he let her this time, their mouths once engaged with one another.

He stroked her breasts, as her hand touched his shaft. Sherlock's breath became ragged, as her hand stroked him towards her opening.

"Molly," he said hoarsely.

"Yes?" she said, before turning him on his back, he did not resist, as she took him in her mouth. Her mouth sliding up and down his length, tongue darting about, as she took him entirely in her mouth. He lifted himself towards her mouth, absolutely at loss for words, as her mouth continued to work upon him. She soon removed her mouth, adjusting herself properly on top of him; his hands took her breasts in his hands, before her mouth returned to his lips carefully.

Molly broke off, "Maybe," she started rather breathlessly, before he overthrew her onto the carpet passionately caressing her naked body.

She forgot entirely her suggestion, as he slipped inside of her in one large thrust, pounding her hard onto the carpet, taking to exert himself into moving slowly, for it not to end too quickly.

"What – Molly?" he asked narrowing his eyes, and she shook her head as an answer, her hips jerked up to meet his movement.

His throaty guttural moan in her ear, as she kissed his cheek before meeting his mouth, whimpering during the kiss. He pushed and pulled in and out of her, his mouth alternating between her mouth and her breasts.

She was certain to have marks on her back by the end of it, her moans growing louder by the second, as his breathy voice continued.

An overwhelming sensation building from within her, starting to spread throughout her body - he pulled himself almost out - as if knowing, soon pushing in again, as she cried for more.

The excursion of their activity blatant on both their bodies, sweat on his brow, and torso. His lips kissing the edge of her mouth, as she clung to him – her voice turning hoarse from how loud she was.

Then she broke entirely down, crying out, as he spent himself inside of her. His head dropped between her breasts spreading tiny kisses on her chest.

He did not move, breathing deeply just, as he rested upon her – she stroked his dark locks, smiling while she did, keeping him close, hoping he would not leave, but he made no move to do so – savouring the feeling of her.

They lay there for a while, the carpet stinging beneath her.

"Bed?" she said in a small voice, barely able to speak, as her legs felt wobbly.

He gave her a peck on the lips, gently slipping out of her, taking to stand up. She was about to get up, but he took to lift her up from the floor, "I'm not making that mistake again," he said carrying her towards the bedroom.

"I don't mind the bruising," she joked.

He gave her a look, mouth quirking upwards, as they stepped inside his room – forgetting entirely to shut the door - continuing their activities until it got bright.