Rated: T
This is a prompt fill for our dear Sherlolly/Nocturnias. I hope this gives you a smile on an otherwise rough day.
The first sentence is hers, and I only hope the rest of the story fits what she had in mind.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Sherlock and its characters are the property of the BBC and its producers and writers.
If anyone had told Sherlock Holmes a year ago that one day he would be making out with Molly Hooper, he would have given them a scathing look and told them not to be ridiculous.
But as the saying goes, that was then, and this was now.
It was unprofessional. They were supposed to be staking out a building, trying to identify some smuggling ring or other. It wasn't that he couldn't remember the exact details of the case; rather, he just didn't care.
Sherlock fought to keep his eyes from slipping shut as Molly did something rather extraordinary involving his tongue and her mouth.
No, this was far preferable to any job.
A half hour earlier…
The night had begun innocently enough. His client merely requested that he sit in a car and keep watch, now that Sherlock had wrapped up the rest of the case. Armed with a cup of coffee and his mobile phone, it really wouldn't be much different than sitting in his favored armchair on Baker Street; tedious but simple.
Then he had the brilliant idea of bringing someone along, and who better to keep him company than Molly Hooper? She was bright, enjoyed companionable silences, and he found himself seeking her company more and more on and off of cases.
She'd even offered the use of her own car. Sherlock was all too happy to lounge in the passenger seat, pushed back as far as it could go so that he could stretch out his legs. But after an hour of nothing, he sat there staring at the darkened warehouse, drumming his fingers on his coffee cup, eager for some change of pace.
Anything to distract him from the fact that Molly was sitting beside him, smelling rather pleasant, actually.
"Maybe they decided to come on a different night?" She broke the silence that had filled the car.
He shrugged. "Possibly. Not that it really matters. The company that hired me already knows who the culprits are. They just want to avoid any further incidents while Scotland Yard drags its feet."
"It seems like a waste of money to hire a consulting detective," she said, frowning, but then rushed to add, in case she'd offended him, "But you're sure to deliver a quality result, so you can see why they'd want to be thorough and keep you on as long as possible."
He hmmed in acknowledgment of her point. He was rather good, wasn't he?
"How is the lab? I haven't been there in several weeks," Sherlock inquired. "Any interesting cases?"
"Pathetically few, actually," she replied cheerfully as she swirled her hot chocolate. "No one is interested in contracting a strange illness or falling victim to a unique murder these days, it seems."
"Very apt point, Molly. And you? How are you doing?"
He'd been trying hard to show more interest in her life. He was far from good about it, but the advantage of formerly being an oblivious arse was that, when he took the step to being only usually oblivious, she was gob smacked by even that small progression.
All in all, he considered his endeavors a success.
"Nothing new, really," she shrugged. "Like I said, it's been quiet, so I've been working on a new cataloging system for the chemicals in the lab."
"Something that's been needed for some time, so I'm glad to hear it," he said.
He couldn't help but feel like the pause that followed was rather pregnant. He glanced over at her, watching her blow into the disposable cup's drinking spout in an attempt to cool her drink. That, and she was squirming a bit in her seat.
"What?"
She lowered the cup, frowning at it. "I joined an online dating site," she finally burst out.
Sherlock suddenly found the wind screen absolutely fascinating. There were pebble chips and bug spatters aplenty, and he decided each one needed his investigation.
"Oh?" He asked with a studied casualness. He robotically brought his own cup up to his lips, but the coffee suddenly tasted overly bitter, so he set it in the center console's holder without further attempts at drinking it.
"Yes. I'm chatting with a couple of nice blokes, but I haven't met any of them in person yet."
He started to speak but found he had to clear his throat before he continued. "Any of them look more promising than others?"
"One of them has been encouraging a meet-up. He's a barrister for the City. But I don't know... I have such a horrible track record; I'm a bit gun shy."
"Understandably," he agreed hesitantly.
"I'm worried he's losing interest, since I'm being so slow about it," she admitted.
Now Sherlock just felt angry. "If he does, then he's not compatible with you, Molly. That's his problem, not yours."
She looked a little taken aback at his vehement tone, but she nodded once in acknowledgment. "Thanks. It's just... It's just a little lonely, and that makes me question everything I'm doing."
"The more you tell me, the less I'm sure this online dating is a good idea," he said.
Perhaps that wasn't the right thing to say, because she drew back, angling so she could look at him with an arched eyebrow. "Oh really? You got that from me saying that one guy was moving at a different pace than I am?"
"Well," he floundered. "How do you know any of the others will be any different?"
"If I'm supposed to give up the online angle, what do you suggest I do, Sherlock? Where should I be looking for this companionship that I just told you—in a moment of stupid vulnerability, by the way—that I'm lonely for?"
Sherlock looked desperately to the warehouse, hoping to see a thug of some sort sneaking around, or maybe even a stray dog he could pretend was a thug. Unfortunately, the building was still devoid of any activity, and Molly was still watching him beadily
"Well, perhaps you'll meet someone whilst buying groceries?" He suggested feebly.
Molly swore, which gave Sherlock a rather good idea about what she thought of that idea. "I forgot, you think I should spend the rest of my days alone, because it would inconvenience you, otherwise. I'd think about joining a convent, but I'm afraid the Catholic Church wouldn't care much for my wild, feminist ways. But maybe I can adopt a few more cats. Don't worry. I'll try to name them all after you so you can rest assured that my attention isn't distracted too much from your needs. Tell me, does 'Holmie' sound like a close enough homage? I want to be sure it meets your approv—mmph"
Her words were cut off abruptly by Sherlock's mouth covering hers.
He gripped her shoulders, staring at her, stunned by his own actions. But he couldn't help but notice that he hadn't pulled away yet, so his lips were still very much pressed to hers.
Molly solved that quickly enough, however. She drew back, an expression of extreme hurt crossing her face.
"Y—you can't do that. You can't lead me on every time you want something from me or every time I say something you don't agree with. I never said I would stop helping you, Sherlock. I just… I just need to try to find something for myself, because I can't keep mooning over you. Because that's beyond unrequited. I'm afraid it smacks of pathetic."
All the while, she was trying to gently extricate herself from his firm-but-gentle hold, but he was having none of it. Just as she set to prying his fingers one at a time from her shoulders, he shook himself out of his stupor.
"That wasn't a manipulation," he said urgently. He felt like he was about to lose something; something he'd not realized he even had until the last few months. "I had no motive beyond… beyond just wanting to kiss you. And I don't want you to be angry at me when I do kiss you, so we can forget this kiss just happened, if that makes it easier for you. But please don't think that of me."
She stopped wriggling, staring at him in astonished silence.
"Molly, I've been thinking for some time. Maybe… maybe you don't need to keep looking for someone. Maybe you've been right all along and we should see if this"—he let go of her left shoulder so he could gesture to the small space between them—"is right for both of us. Because I'm finding that I want it very much."
"But why are you only doing something now? Why only after I tell you I'm trying to move on? I'm not some toy that you can play with only when you realize other children are eying it and it makes you jealous."
"I thought I had more time," he exclaimed. "I thought you were content to keep me company and maybe, just maybe, you realized that I was interested."
"I don't work like that, Sherlock. No one does. I need some sort of sign, especially after everything that's happened between us in the past."
"Well, you know me. I'm not—"
"The sharpest scalpel in the drawer?" She supplied.
"Used to this sort of thing," he corrected her. She cracked a small smile at him and he couldn't help but relax a bit and return it. "I'm not used to romantic relationships, obviously. But I would like to try to get used to one. With you."
She watched him quietly, which made him fidget nervously.
"Okay," she said finally.
"Okay?" He parroted, wanting to make sure he'd not imagined her response.
"Yes. I'd like to try with you. I've always thought you'd be worth it. Obviously."
Sherlock actually beamed. He couldn't help it. And his smile only grew when Molly gave a little laugh and leaned forward to recapture his lips.
They carried on for some time, mouths moving against each other, fingers tangling in hair and brushing against skin and clothing alike.
Sherlock was enjoying the feeling of his hand running in broad circles over her back, under her t-shirt and jacket, and he was enjoying even more the feeling of Molly's thumbs rubbing the skin at his waist, just above his belt. He wasn't sure when his shirt had come untucked and partially unbuttoned, but there were much worse things to be uncertain about.
He was just about to pull Molly out of her seat and into his lap when a rapping sound on Molly's window startled them apart. A torch light came on, aimed in at them, causing them both to squint at the sudden brightness. Molly looked to Sherlock alarmedly before she turned her key in the ignition so she could roll down her window slightly.
The rounded hat of a police officer came into view when the woman bent down to peer into the window at them, not moving the bright light from their eyes.
"What seems to be the problem, Officer?" Molly asked, her voice pitched rather sweetly and innocently, Sherlock thought.
"You're not even kids," the woman exclaimed by way of greeting.
"Um, no?" Molly replied, clearly not sure how she should respond.
"What in bleeding hell are you doing out here, making out like a pair of teenagers?"
Molly tried to school her expression into one of humility, but Sherlock could tell, even with the blinding light making it difficult, that she was fighting a laugh. "Would you believe me if I said fighting crime?"
The police woman frowned. "You need to leave. This is private property. You're trespassing."
Sherlock shrugged at Molly. His client couldn't complain that he hadn't tried. Well, assuming they didn't get arrested in the process.
Molly tried shooting a remorseful expression at the officer, who only scowled in return.
"Yes, ma'am," Molly mumbled, reaching over her shoulder for her seatbelt.
As they drove off into the night, Sherlock watched the headlights moving through the darkness. He tried to think of what he should say, but he couldn't find the words. Then, a low sound filled the car, and he realized he was chuckling. And then that chuckle became a full-on laugh, and soon Molly was laughing with him.
"It's a shame we didn't fog up the windows," she told him. "That would have completed the picture."
"I think we gave the officer an eyeful, nonetheless."
Molly nodded, looking deep in thought. At first, he thought she was bothered by something, but then she asked, "Should we go find another shadowy place to park the car?"
"Absolutely," Sherlock replied with embarrassing enthusiasm.