"Ugh," Molly makes a noise as she slowly starts to wake up. Her head hurts, her muscles are screaming and she has cramps. She blinks. Where is she? Oh wait…
She jolts up. This is Sherlock's bedroom. Last night's disaster seeps into her blurry mind. The last thing she remembers is Derek breaking the door. The rest is foggy. She does checks her bearings. She is still in that blue dress. Her hair is now wonderfully tangled and messy. No Sherlock.
Her heart falls to her knees. He must be in the kitchen. He had to be. Though she hears no sound. She untangles her legs from the blanket and stands up. The world spins for a while, but she manages not to trip over, thankfully. She spots her mobile phone on the bedside table. She picks it up to check the time. Her eyebrows rise up in surprise. It is nearly lunchtime! How did she sleep so long? What exactly happened yesterday?
She tiptoes to the kitchen and the wave of regret crashes hard down on her. No Sherlock here either. This is all her fault. Sherlock got scared and he left her. Tears threatened to spill over, but Molly holds it in. She spots a covered glass of water on the counter and a note. The blood circulates in her body again as she thinks that maybe she is over-thinking for no reason. She walks up to the counter and picks up the note, almost too scared to read it.
'Thought you might be thirsty—SH'
What? That is too ambiguous! Molly bites down on her lip. All her doubts resurface again and she starts crying now for real. Just her luck. When everything almost goes her way, bad things had to happen! She gulps down the water. Yeah, she is thirsty. That makes a tiny bit angry.
She turns around and sees the broken bathroom door. Her heart sinks. She does not want to go over there but her legs take her there anyway. The scene in front of her makes her a cry a bit more. Glass shattered everywhere, bottles spilled and is that blood? She walks in anyway. She needs to confirm if that is blood. She bends down and swipes a finger in it. Yep, blood it is. She can smell the rusty scent. Oh God, who did she hurt? Dread pools in her chest. What if she hurt Sherlock? Maybe that is why he left. He must think she is a monster. Maybe he is just waiting for her to leave so he can come back home. More tears roll down her cheek. Just when she finds happiness again…
"You scratched Derek last night, that is his blood," the ever-familiar baritone speaks from behind her.
She stands up and spins around. Sherlock seems to have gone out. He had on his Belstaf and that blue scarf. She resists the urge to run into him and hug him tight. She wipes her tears and says, "I think I should—uh—go, I mean—"
"Why would you go? I brought lunch, I—"
He gets cut off as she sprints and throwing her arms around him, hugs him. He, at first, gets a little bit startled, but he wraps his arms around her anyway. He notes that she is shaking…and crying.
"Molly?" he asks.
She hears his concern. She mumbles, "I though you left. Left me, I mean."
"Oh. Why would you? I can repair my bathroom, that is not a big deal."
She pulls back and gives him a watery smile, "I thought you left because…I am a monster now."
He frowns. He understands what she means. He also knows that he does not think of her like that. He places both his hands on her face and says, "I don't think you are a monster. If you were a mindless monster, you would have broken the door and shred me to pieces and not wait for Derek and Stiles."
Molly bites down on her lips. She has a good idea why she did not do any such thing yesterday. Maybe she needs to talk with Derek about this.
He notices that she was lost in thoughts again. He puts his thumb on her chin and releases her lower lip from her teeth, then he leans down and kisses her.
She did not see that coming but responds after a mini pause. He takes full advantage of the height disparity and gently tilting her head, deepens the kiss.
She feels as if he is trying to say everything he possibly could not say with words. When oxygen becomes important, they stop and just stand there, their foreheads touching. She smiles sheepishly.
"Molly, I know you will not ever hurt me," he says.
"Yes," she whispers. Then she gets a new scent. Her smile gets bigger. She pulls back. "I smell a mushroom and olive pizza!"
He mocks a hurt expression and says, "Here I thought I was going to surprise my girlfriend."
Now Molly's heart takes another dive. But this was not the bad kind of dive, like previously. This is more goosebumps-breaking-breath-stopping dive. "Girlfriendgirlfriendgirlfriend" is all that is screaming in her brain.
Sherlock, as usual, does not see the apocalyptic effect of what he said. He is busy finding plates and setting the table or rather making space for plates on the overcluttered table. Finally he notices the eerie silence that has befallen. He turns around and sees Molly standing still. He asks, "Are you okay?"
Her panic attack has not subsided but she manages, "Huh?"
"I asked if you are okay."
"Am I your girlfriend Sherlock?"
Now it is Sherlock's turn to be taken back. This is not his area. He does not really know what he is doing. Maybe he should not have said that? He says, "Uh, I mean, you are because, uh, we had sex and we enjoyed a dinner date and you wolfed out in my bathroom and I like you and you helped me fake my death,so that would mean you would like me too and—"
She only had heard the "I like you" as she gets closer to him and tugging his collar, she kisses him. She, then, says, "No, I am your girlfriend. It is just I never thought I would ever hear that from you."
He grins and curling his fingers under her chin, tilts her head back as he gives her one of those toe-curling kisses again.
"Oh I got ice cream as well," he says when they finally sit down to eat. "I read somewhere that women like ice cream when they menstruate."
A blush creeps on her face, anyway. She nods her head, "Thank you. Uh Sherlock? We cannot, uh, you know—"
"Have sex for the next five days, I know."
"How?" she narrows her eyes, shaking her head, "Wait no, forget it." The fact that he knew her cycle is not that shocking.
"Well I am the most observant person you will ever meet," he grins.
Molly nearly chokes on the pizza slice she is trying to eat as she starts laughing out loud.
As they are doing the dishes, Molly's phone starts to ring. She picks it up. It is Jackson. She says, "Hello!"
"Hello back to you," Jackson says, "I heard what happened. I heard Derek had to sedate you." He chuckles.
"Yeah, I need to apologise. Is he very hurt?"
"No. He is fine and already healed. Stiles mentioned something though."
"What?"
"About how you managed to control yourself yesterday. He was quite surprised that you did not break the door and attack Sherlock."
Molly pauses. She peeks at Sherlock from the corner of her eye. He is busy re-stacking the plates. She takes the phone to the bedroom and shuts the door behind her. Sherlock notices that.
She eyes the blue dress as she had placed on the bed after Sherlock let her wear another of his pajamas. "Do you think strong emotions for somebody can stop you hurting that said somebody?" Molly asks as she sits down on the bed. She did remember the anchor thing Stiles had told her once.
Jackson goes silent for awhile. He whistles when he realises what she means, "Wow, Molly he must really mean something to you if he is your anchor."
"He does."
"Well as long as there is that. I also learnt why women turn twice a month!"
"Yeah." She laughs. Sherlock had informed her about that as well.
After a brief chitchat, Molly disconnects. She hears the door creak as she feels Sherlock's presence.
Sherlock sits down on the beside her. He asks, "Is everything okay?"
Molly smiles at him, "Yes. I was asking Jackson why I did not manage to go berserk yesterday."
"What did he say?" he pulls her close and wraps an arm around her.
Molly places her head on his shoulder. She decides to lie, "He doesn't know. I am a little too strange for a newly turned werewolf!"
Suddenly, she hears a roar. She sits up straight up. Sherlock asks, "What's wrong?"
"Can't you hear it?"
"Hear what?"
She hears the roar again. She jumps up and paces the room. "The roar! The roar!" she shouts.
Sherlock stands up and grabs her by the shoulder, "Molly!"
The roar rings around her head. It vibrates in her blood, calling her. She needs to leave. She needs to find who is calling out to her. Then without any word to Sherlock, she runs out of the room at high speed.
By the time Sherlock gets to the living room, Molly is gone.