Not My Phone

"Move over," Sherlock mumbled as he nudged her shoulder.

"I am over, Sherlock!" Molly grumbled and snuggled deeper into her sleeping bag. "I'm already right up against the tent!"

Molly was severely regretting agreeing to help Sherlock on his latest case just to spend some time with him. It was a blisteringly cold night and they were in the middle of a bird sanctuary to catch poachers going after some endangered species that would fetch a pretty penny overseas. Her unrequited crush was going get her into some serious trouble one day.

There was a great rustling of cloth and movement next to her as Sherlock tried to get comfortable. A sliver of moonlight shining through the mesh air vents illuminated the tent enough for Molly to see the consulting detective stand (or rather, crouch) and remove his thick parka in a huff.

"What are doing?" Molly asked concerned. "You're going to get hypothermia without that!"

"We're both going to get hypothermia if we don't do something about it," he growled impatiently. "Now, move over!"

"I AM—"

"No!" He rolled his eyes in the darkness as he set his foam mattress next to Molly and then unzipped the side of her sleeping bag. "Move over. I'm getting in."

"You're what?!" Molly squeaked. "You can't! There isn't enough space!"

Sherlock reached out and physically moved the objecting pathologist over after divesting her of her jacket. Then, he slid into the sleeping bag and zipped it up again.

There were long awkward and uncomfortable moments where they struggled to get comfy before they placed the other sleeping bag and their jackets on top of them both. It was a massively tight fit and Molly had accidentally (maybe) elbowed Sherlock in the stomach once (or twice).

Finally, the pair settled down after finding that spooning was the best position to rest. Molly could feel the body heat emanating from the man behind her and the growing warmth which was pleasantly trapped inside the insulating pile of coats and blankets.

It was a bit strange and disconcerting to be so intimately pressed up against the man you'd been harboring feelings for for so long, but she couldn't deny it was a good idea. It was practical and Molly decided she just needed to be mature about it and get some rest. She should just ignore his warm breath tickling her behind her ear… ignore his arm snugly circled around her waist… ignore the—-

"Sherlock," Molly turned her head towards him and found he was already gazing steadily at her. "Can you take your phone out of your pocket please? It's poking me in the bum."

He coughed and cleared his throat for a moment, but didn't move to retrieve the device. Molly was about to speak up again when she felt his finger tips ghosting her belly where her flannel shirt had ridden up.

"Not my phone, Molly." He buried his nose into her sweet-smelling hair and softly brushed his lips against her neck.

She was so sure that he'd follow up that statement by saying something like it was just a reflex; a reaction to unexpected stimulus. But, he didn't. Instead, he stifled a moan when she shifted to make herself more comfortable.

"Oh," Molly's eyes widened as she blushed and then grinned. "Oh!"

This stakeout was going to be a lot more fun than she initially thought.