A/N: For the September 25th prompt - "Write about a simple pleasure." Rated T. Immediately follows Stealing Time.
Sherlock knew the instant Molly started to feel guilty. One moment, she was kissing him back and he was thinking of taking her upstairs. The next, she was tensing up then pulling back. He kept his arms around her, though. I'm not letting you go yet, sweetheart.
"Oh God, what are we doing?" she asked, tears in her eyes. "Ford's body isn't even buried yet and we're kissing…"
"Molly, listen to me," he said gently. "Part of the reason Ford wanted us to switch was that you wouldn't waste your life grieving for him. He would be thrilled that you've moved on so fast – he wanted you to be happy."
She stared at him like he had slapped her. "I have not moved on! I was caught up in the moment! It didn't mean anything!"
"The hell it didn't!" He took a deep breath. "I love you, Molly. I know you don't love me yet but dammit, you're getting there. Ford wanted this, he wanted us to be a couple. He's not your husband anymore, I am. You're not cheating on him."
"You don't even care about how I feel."
"I do, I swear I do, but your doubts are misplaced." She opened her mouth to protest but he cut her off. "I'm not saying this to get you into bed, I know you're not ready. But you have to believe that what you feel for me isn't wrong. Yes, Ford just died, but you have me now."
"Oh, like you're so interchangeable," she muttered. "I can't just transfer love from one person to another, Sherlock, it doesn't work that way." She pulled out of his arms and this time, he let her. "I don't care what he said, I need time to grieve for Ford."
"What do you want me to do?" he asked softly. "If you want me to leave, I'll do it, Molly."
Molly swallowed hard. "No, I want you to stay, but I need time. And space."
"I'll sleep in the guestroom."
She nodded. "No kissing, definitely no sex. Just … just don't touch me, alright?"
"Molly…"
"I mean it, Sherlock. Your touch is too distracting."
A small part of him was bouncing up and down with joy over that revelation but the rest of him was concerned for her. "You need a shoulder to cry on. No one else knows the truth about Ford."
"I … I'll get by on my own for now."
She shivered and he desperately wanted to take her in his arms again, if only to warm her, but he didn't move. "Take a bath."
"What?" she asked, confused.
"Take a long, hot bath. It'll relax you."
"But the cake-"
"I'll take care of that." He smiled a bit. "I should be able to at least frost a cake."
She hesitated. "If you're sure…"
"Positive. But leave the bathroom door unlocked in case you need me."
"Why would I need you?"
Why indeed? He sighed. "Just humor me."
She assessed him for a moment then nodded. "Alright." She left the room.
Sherlock turned to the oven. "We meet at last, bête noire."
He gave himself credit for knocking first instead of just barging in.
"Not decent," was her response and he thought he heard the smile in her voice.
At least she sounds like she's in a better mood. "Don't care, still coming in."
"Sherlock…" There was a warning in her voice.
"We're both adults, Molly."
"Yeah, that's the problem."
"Just because I worship the ground you walk on and have thought of you exclusively every time I've wanked in the past three years, that doesn't mean I'm going to jump you as soon as I see you naked."
"Sherlock!"
Now I can hear her blushing, he thought, grinning. "I'm coming in, Molly."
"Can't it wait?"
"Nope."
A heavy, put-upon sigh. "Fine. Come in."
Sherlock grinned to himself as he held the plate in one hand and opened the door with the other. He quickly walked into the room and shut the door behind him, not wanting the heat to escape. Molly was sitting in the old-fashioned claw-footed tub, her hair pinned up, and she was holding a flannel over her breasts, the rest of her hidden by the fluffy white bubbles.
She looked at him warily until she noticed the contents of the plate and her eyes widened. "Is that a piece of the cake?"
"Um, yes."
She smiled a bit. "Did you cut it or blow it up?"
He smiled sheepishly. "The layers fell apart when I took them out of the pans. I … er … tried to use the frosting to kind of cement them back together, but it didn't work. It still tastes good, I promise."
She smiled at him fondly and he felt like he'd won the lottery. "Did you bring a fork?"
Sherlock grinned, pulling a fork out of his pocket. He gave it and the plate to her and she took a bite.
"You're right," she said, grinning, "it's perfect."
"Just like you," he murmured, making sure his eyes never strayed past her face.
Molly blushed and took another bite. Her movements caused the flannel to slip a bit.
"God, I've never wanted to be a wet flannel so much in my life," he muttered as he knelt beside the tub.
Her blush deepened. "Are you always this flirty?"
He kissed her cheek, grinning. "I'll be even worse when we're lovers."
She smiled a bit. "I have no doubt about that."
"That I'll flirt with you even more, or that we'll be lovers?"
"Both. We're married, we'll be lovers eventually. I just need more time."
He grinned wider. "I love your confidence, Molly."