Hunger Pains
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Sherlock watched Molly one Friday evening after she had ended her shift early at the hospital. The evening was spent just observing and taking personal notes on the little pathologist.
At times, Molly would start to hum to herself when she thought he wasn't listening. Always the same jazz tune from a movie she had watched some time back. She'd attempt to sway to the rhythm of the song as it played in her head. When she started to work on the pasta sauce she would miss the occasional beat here and there.
The night was going smoothly with the detective eyeballing his wife as she busied herself with the cooking. Perhaps she had felt the crazy look he was giving her and misunderstood the meaning of it. The first mistake Molly made was to try and start a conversation when she noticed the blue eyes. The small voice broke the detective out of his bubble of deducting.
"What was your mother like when you were growing up?" Molly's voice was soft and small as she looked shyly over her shoulder to Sherlock. He had never told her about his family in particular. She always had to guess small details here and there from how her husband and brother-in-law acted around her.
Sherlock frowned, and rolled his eyes in the direction to the wall full of bullet holes he had a hand at creating. "Boring." Sherlock said almost spitefully. "You could read her like a book. Nothing ever came as a surprise when she attempted to make it so."
His wife furrowed her eyebrows at the tone of voice he took. "I'm sure she was a wonderful mother." Molly tried to remedy. "With sons like you, and Mycroft, I'm sure she had her work cut out for her." It was a small little giggle, but he heard it nonetheless.
"Exactly what does that mean, Mrs. Holmes?" Sherlock snapped and glared at his wife. The venom dripping from his voice as he spat out her new last name had Molly somewhat in a tizzy.
"Exactly what you just did right now!" She replied just as forcibly... but just as quick as she had snapped... she bit the inside of her cheek and apologized for being rude.
"You're exactly like her, Molly." He was cutting too deep. "At least try to be a bit of a challenge. I get bored quite easily, mind you." The statement was Sherlock's undoing.
There was a moment of silence between the two as Molly began to turn off the heat on the stove. Took the pots full of tonight's dinner and began to dump it down the drain and trash basically all her hard work. Sherlock raised an eyebrow as he watched his wife clear off the table, placing dishes and silverware back in their original spot back in the cabinets.
"What are you doing, Molly?" Sherlock began to stand and slowly walk towards the woman rushing about.
Molly was quiet as she ignored her husband.
"Molly!" Sherlock turned his wife around and she raised her hand, aimed for his face, and tried to take a shot at the detective. He easily grabbed her hand, smirked down at her, and at his short lived victory. He never expected her knee to miss a beat and aim right between his legs.
"Tell me, Sherlock..." her voice still held its soft calm and she watched her husband as he slowly knelt to the ground making choked groans. "Was that enough of a challenge for you?" He feared that she might be relishing his temporary defeat by smiling—she wasn't. Her only reply was his strangled wheezing.
"Good-night, darling." With that said, Mrs. Holmes left her husband on the kitchen floor as she more than ran to her bedroom. Once the door was shut, the locked turned, and door jammed against it—Molly began to panic. Had she really just kneed her husband in the—uh, crotch?!
"Darn it," The pathologist rubbed her stomach and made a sour face. "I'm so hungry..."
Oh... Can I do that? Make Molly knee Sherlock in the ching-chongs? I mean... is that legal in terms of fan fiction XD
A little update for those wanting to see a passive Molly being active and taking names. Any thoughts? Comments? Flaming little marshmallows of doom you'd like to toss at me?