Hi guys, this is my first attempt at a Sherlock fic, any comments are greatly appreciated :)
Cue the fallout...
Chapter Eleven
Molly's brain was giving her two words,
"Holy shit," Was all that she could utter as his fingers slackened and the pressure from the base of her skull subsided along with the force upon her lips as he pulled away from her slightly. Still barely millimetres from her face, she could feel his rapid breath on her hot skin and see his eyes rapidly scanning her face – He was obviously trying to judge her reaction. Her sudden sobriety dissipated, and her drunken reverie returned, though whether it was entirely from alcohol, she could not say.
Maybe because she was giving nothing away, she had not even moved, he frowned a little, his eyes closing a little more and his face inching back towards hers,
"What…What are you doing..?" She asked, aware of her slightly slurred words as her brain finally deciding to reengage with her screaming body and his eyes opened fully and Sherlock stood back from her, his frown becoming ever more prominent. Molly's mind had become foggy once more, confusion and disorder taking over her thoughts and emotions and she pulled away from him, staring at the floor. Her brain was shrieking at her to run, to get out of the nightmare that had presented itself and escape, though her legs refused to move – She feared they wouldn't support her even if she tried. Wills was upstairs getting them drinks – She was here with him, had felt the pull of his aura and allowed it to swallow her. And yet, here was Sherlock, a man that she had barely spoken to since her return and had heard nothing from in the five years prior, and he had kissed her.
He had kissed her.
Molly could see no possible explanation for his sudden out of character and rash behaviour, mentally berating herself for her lack of ability to process any information efficiently. She licked her dry lips nervously. Then it hit her. She knew the taste. Whisky. He was drunk – It was the only possible explanation.
This revelation ensured her legs could move and Molly pushed him suddenly, making a break for it towards the other end of the room, stumbling in her heels as she went and leaning a hand to the wall for support. She would hide for now she reasoned, find Wills and apologise profusely later. Right now, she just had to run and disappear in humiliation. That little spark inside her had flickered, flushing her cheeks, and flooding her body in warmth, despite her confusion. Molly refused to allow his childish behaviour to get the better of her.
Sherlock's long fingers pulled at her wrist, and she stopped in her tracks, teetering on the edge of falling over, internally trying to pull her senses together ready for an argument. His hands were on fire, and she dared to look at him as he pulled her round to face him, towering over her and looking at her determinedly,
"It's not what you think-" He half shouted at her over the music, but she cut him off, ragging her arm out of his grasp and glaring at him. Long buried feelings of that stupid phone call came flooding back to her and she shook with anxiety, her organs squeezing themselves inside of her as she trembled, unable to decide whether to smack him or cry. Perhaps even both.
"This isn't a game Sherlock!" She shouted at him, drawing a few eyes from those closest to them, only fuelling her embarrassment. He looked physically taken aback, as though whatever had been planned inside his muddled mind had completely gone out of the window with her response. For the first time in her life, she could genuinely say that he looked bamboozled, and it only infuriated her. The notion of him getting drunk and trying to ruin her night only made Molly want to slap him harder than she ever had previously. He took hold of her wrist again and curled his fingers to encase most of her hand, "What are you-" She began, but stopped when he squeezed lightly and then drew her hand up to his neck, pressing her fingers firmly just under his clean – cut jaw.
"It's not what you think." He repeated, staring at her intently. Molly squinted at him in uncertainty,
'I am not in the right frame of mind for you to be cryptic…' She though dismally a sense of deflation filing her before realisation suddenly dawned on her on what exactly he was trying to say without words. Sherlock's pulse was thundering under his skin at an alarming rate, and she gasped at the sensation, looking directly into his eyes, noting how his pupils were blown wide and a pink tinge cast over his cheeks. Molly couldn't quite work out if she was hallucinating or not and she used all of her strength to focus on him.
He gulped, staring at her expectantly, eyes flicking to her lips that hung slightly ajar in astonishment. She licked them a little and saw him flinch, reaching her other hand confidently to touch his chest, needing to make absolutely certain that this was happening. She expected him to recoil, he had previously disliked contact unless it was initiated by himself, but perhaps years of Rosie throwing herself at him had softened his attitude as he stilled, and his gaze simply followed her fingers.
Molly took a sharp breath – His heart was beating at a startling pace and the very notion sent shivers over her flushed skin.
'Does he want this..?'
Her eyes slipped back to his and he inched back towards her, one hand never leaving hers and ensuring her fingers kept tight against his neck, the other sliding around her back and onto her bare skin, setting her alight. He stopped, hovering and looking into her eyes, giving her the option of withdrawing. An option she chose not to take and instead closed the gap between them.
The kiss was chaste but not unwanted, a light tingling sensation filling her as Molly slipped her hand from his chest, over his shoulder and into his hair, wrapping the locks between her fingers and pulling lightly. She stumbled backwards, bringing him with her into they collided with the wall she had previously been using to keep herself upright – Support she desperately now needed.
Molly felt like she was a teenager again, completely inexperienced, and nervous to the point of barely being able to function. Rather than throwing herself at him and needing to fulfil her every fantasy, she was quietly content with the child – like presses of his lips against her own, his encapsulating embrace bringing her blood to boiling point. It was only at Sherlock's insistence did she open her mouth to him, allowing his tongue to tangle with her own as he pressed her further into the wall.
The pull in her stomach and heat between her legs only intensified as he crushed himself against her, bringing anything but relief as his body betrayed him and confirmed her thoughts,
'He really does want this…'
Everything around them melted away and even the fog in her brain cleared, nothing else mattered at that moment in time. Just him. It was as though the last decade of hurt and humiliation had disappeared, the last five years were meaningless. And even if it was just for this moment, she would be contented for the rest of her life.
She thought nothing as his mouth left hers and he placed sensual kisses along her jaw and towards her neck, causing her to close her eyes and lean her head back to accept his lips upon her skin as though this was her first time experiencing such pleasurable sensations. His breath tickled her ear and neck as he nipped her lightly and whispered to her,
"Come home."
Her breath hitched and she opened her eyes as he stopped what he was doing and pulled back a little, returning to look at her, his face unreadable. Molly's heart felt ready to burst out of her chest as the two of them became lost in each other and she revelled in every moment of it, taking a small step towards him to close the gap once more.
"Mags?" Molly's senses came flooding back to her at the sound of Wills shouting her and she pushed Sherlock to arm's length and shot back into the wall at force, fully aware she must have looked like a dying animal caught in a poacher's trap. He frowned at her momentarily and his eyes flicked towards the staircase, seeing Wills stood at the bottom clearly looking for her confusedly. Sherlock's face dropped to become stony, and he spun on his heels without another word and strode away from her, not even bothering to look back.
"Sherlock!" She shouted after him, but to no avail, her stomach plummeting and legs quivering without the hat of him - Instead having Wills appear by her elbow, handing her her drink and smiling obliviously at her.
"There you are, don't move off so I can't find you!" He called to her cheerily, putting an arm around her and pulling her back towards the dancefloor. Molly allowed herself to be steered by him, attempting to take a sip of her drink, only to find her stomach churning with the weight of alcohol and humiliation being surpassed only by an overwhelming feeling of guilt.
Sherlock would be furious with her, she knew it without him needing to show her – She had hurt him, and there was little she would be able to do to repair the damage. In years gone by he would have ensured she was thoroughly aware of his displeasure and made a point of informing her closest friends to ensure maximum retaliation. Her only saving grace was that John would undoubtedly be otherwise occupied at present to give much care to his trifles.
The thought sickened her,
"Wills…I'm sorry, I'm not feeling well, I'm going to have to go home." She stopped and looked up at him, all too aware of the disappointment that flooded his features, but equally the unhappy features she no doubt had etched into her own face as her entire being sunk and deflated under his touch.
"Oh…" He mumbled before giving himself a little shake, plastering a smile back onto his expression, "Right, yeah sure, I'll see you to a taxi." He began to lead her up the staircase, discarding their drinks on a nearby table and heading for the exit.
"Here, take my coat." He offered as they passed by the cloakroom,
"No, it's fine, I-" Molly began, but he cut her off, already walking towards the hole in the wall and throwing behind him,
"I insist."
Molly genuinely didn't think she had ever felt worst about herself and felt like hiding in her bed for the reminder of the trip until she could escape back to Australia.
'Pretty sure catching Tom sleeping with someone else was worse…' Her mind provided, and she held little delight in her ability to allow intrusive thoughts to penetrate her exhausted mind,
'Or Delly running off with Wills,' She straightened, sourness filling her with shame and despair,
'Or that pissing phone call – In fact anything Sherlock related…'
She was dragged from her own thoughts by Wills reappearing, smiling as always, and throwing the garment over her shoulders before continuing to take her outside,
"Thanks…" She mumbled as they stepped into the biting air, the chill destroying any haze of alcohol induced euphoria and leaving only dull regret and distain. He left her a little way back as he neared the curb, negotiating a ride for her before beckoning her over. She shuffled over, teetering in her heels that had now started to bite at her feet painfully as he opened the door for her,
"Do you want me to come back with you?" She spun to face him, panic rising in her at the notion,
"No." She said quickly, and he looked momentarily taken aback. "No. I'll be fine. But thank you." She managed to regain slight control of herself and held her head a little lower in shame of her outburst,
"Okay," He responded kindly, pulling her into a tight embrace that she barely responded to, lazily holding onto his back as she filled with utter confusion. "Goodnight." Without warning he placed a kiss upon her cheek, not unreminiscent of Sherlock in previous years, giving her a wide, toothless smile, before retreating with a small wave behind him.
"Night…" She breathed, watching him walk away and back inside the bar. Molly released a breath she had been unaware that she had been holding and began to climb into the taxi. A movement out of the corner of her eye caused her to turn, a figure in a long coat peering from by the side of the building, seemingly staring at her. She knew it was Sherlock, his stance and frame was burned into her memory. She held on to what she could only suppose was his gaze momentarily before pursing her lips and slipping inside the vehicle.
Making herself comfortable she reached for the door handle to pull it shut, but another hand reached it before her, and she looked up from her seat to find Sherlock looking down at her, a soft look on his face that rather unsettled her, it was not what she had been expecting. He lent in towards her, taking the back of her neck in one hand whilst using the other to steady himself on the doorjamb, and gave her a quick kiss is the exact place that Wills had, followed by a much harder one to her lips. She watched as he pulled away and gave her a short, sharp tilt of his head,
"Goodnight, Molly Hooper." He whispered with a low rumble, before straightening and closing the door for her.
~x~x~x~
"You did, WHAT?"
"Shut up Meena, someone may hear you!" Molly sat up far too quickly in her bed giving herself a sudden splitting headache, collapsing backwards, and pulling the pillow over her face.
"Don't be ridiculous." Meena snorted, "Like who?" Molly was all too aware of the face that Meena was undoubtedly pulling over FaceTime, despite the phone having been abandoned on her bedside table.
She tugged the pillow away and turned on her side, pulling her device in front of her and squinting at the illuminated screen, turning the brightness level down as far as it would go and then glaring at her friend.
"John. For one." She hissed, though even the effort of that was a struggle.
"He isn't going to be able to hear from the other end of the house is he, you idiot." Meena was grinning at her devilishly, spread out over her own bed and giving Molly the quick once around her room to confirm that she was alone.
"What? Didn't he sleep with you?" Molly was intrigued. She had been pleasantly surprised by their interactions the previous night, though hadn't assumed the connection to be much more than alcohol fuelled lust. It did appear, however, that on this occasion she may have been incorrect,
"What? No." Meena rolled her eyes and gave her a less than vengeful smirk, "He, at least, was the perfect gentleman. He's in the spare room." Her triumphant grin made Molly's stomach backflip,
"Was this before or after-" She began, though was cut off by yet another snort,
"Neither." Meena stated rather forcefully. It appeared her affections for John already ran deep in her defence of him, and despite the odd circumstance, it warmed Molly's heart. Which usually she would have been thrilled at, were it not for the situation she currently found her life and stomach in,
"Nothing happened. We just talked."
"Course you did."
"Stop trying to distract me. I need more details on you shagging Sherlock in the bar."
If Molly hadn't felt sick before, she certainly did now. Flashbacks pounded through her memory, and she flushed from head to toe. Unsure of if it was a true recollection or something her brain had simply conjured to torture her.
"I did nothing of the sort!" she bit out, recovering her face with her pillow.
"You may as well have. You've been off men ever since Tom and the slightest bit of interest from him and your clothes are practically falling off." Meena laughed; she was clearly enjoying this far too much.
"That is an outright lie."
"I can't believe you didn't drag him into the taxi with you." She continued, and Molly pulled herself free of her bedding once more and glared at her friend through the screen – Though she seemed to be more interested in laughing to herself.
"Are you kidding? He was drunk! So was I!" Mortification flooded her and she stared at the ceiling of her hotel room in despair.
"Not too drunk to be half smashing you against a wall-"
"MEENA!"
"How big is it? I've always wondered you know-" Molly flushed at the request, whining loudly at such an intrusive question as thoughts of his long, hot body crushing her against the wall took over and she could barely contain herself, needing to change the subject before she lost herself in fantasy.
"This is exactly why I don't tell you anything." She grumbled and turned away, refusing to look at the camera.
"Oh, come on Molly, this is everything you wanted! What's the problem? I'm only teasing you; you know." Meena was silent for a few seconds as Molly refused to answer her, the sudden jovial nature of her voice dropping to a softer sound, "Is this about Wills?" Molly refused to answer again. She was far too confused about what was happening. Even more perplexed as to where she needed to go from here, "He's a dickhead as well you know."
"You know that isn't true."
"No…" Meena sighed, "Annoyingly it's not. But I hoped it would make you feel better."
"It didn't." Molly replied, much more viciously than she had intended, groaning, and ramming the heels of her hands into her eyeballs in a vain effort to alleviate the pressure inside her throbbing brain.
"So…What now?"
"Flee the country."
"Yeah. And look how that turned out last time."
~x~x~x~
Molly was swilling her latte quietly outside of the small coffee shop on Duke Street when she was drawn from her self – imposed suffering by a kind voice and the scraping of a chair opposite her,
"Dear me Margaret, you do look a bit worse for wear." He sat down and looked at her with a semblance of pity etched into his face, causing her to flush a little in the cool early afternoon air. She had wandered the streets after managing to drag herself out of her pit of a bed and succumbed to the call of caffeine in an attempt to pick herself up and distract from the thoughts whirling in her muddled mind.
"Professor!" She was glad of his distraction and sat up a little straighter, nodding at a waitress heading in their direction,
"Heavy night, I assume?" He chuckled and she nodded gravely, hoping he would leave the conversation there, "Cappuccino please, my dear,"
"Another latte." She added, watching the young girl scribble on her pad and then scurry away, "Something like that." She mumbled in recognition of his question, averting her eyes. He must have sensed her unease as he cleared his throat, leaning forwards and tapping her hand enthusiastically.
"The day is almost upon us; the investiture will be in three days' time. I hope you are prepared." He sat back in his seat and laced his fingers together, resting them upon his stomach and smiling widely at her.
"I don't think it's me you need to worry about Professor," Molly smiled, relaxing a little with every moment that passed, and her headache ebbed,
"I have been practicing my best walk." He seemed lost in a dream – Clearly imagining the forthcoming ceremony,
"I'll make sure to bring the good camera then," She commented, taking her coffee from the returned waitress and tipping four sugars into it without hesitation.
"Quite." He commented, taking his own drink, and immediately taking a sip, only to burn his mouth and set it back down in frustration. Frowning a little, his head snapped sideways suddenly before he broke out into a wide smile, "Ah, Phillip! Come and join us!"
Molly spun in her seat to see Mr Green striding towards them accompanied by a much younger man, who was tall and blonde and walked with an air of aloofness. Stopping by their table he motioned for the waitress to bring additional chairs, to which she did so eagerly, earning herself a twenty pound note in return for her assistance. Molly surveyed the scene with utter bewilderment. He was clearly a regular at the establishment.
"My lady," He took hold of her hand a lifted it lightly and she nodded at him in slight embarrassment, "Professor." They shook hands firmly before Mr Green drew the younger man to sit beside them, "May I introduce my son, Henry."
"How do you do?" Molly leant forwards and took Henry's hand, before turning to the Professor in the same manner,
"Good strapping young lad, and what is it that you do my boy?" Professor Gordon enquired, returning to his now slightly cooler coffee.
"An undertaker, Sir." Came a smooth, silky voice, one that Molly most certainly would not have associated with his face, "My wife is a priest, you know." He commented flippantly, almost as an afterthought,
"How interesting," Professor Gordon commented, though his tone reflected little curiosity, "This is Miss Margaret Hooper," Molly gave a small smile and a nod, "She teaches Pathology at W. S. U. – If you ever fancy the move, I'm sure she could be of some assistance!"
The remainder of the exchange was lost to her as her mobile pinged loudly and she fished it out of her coat pocket,
Tea at mine – 5pm?
John
Molly smiled, giving him a thumbs up in response and pocketed her phone, slipping back into the conversation.
Japan's Arc Angel x