A/N: READ BEFORE YOU CONTINUE: Yes, I know - it's been ages! I've been writing and re-writing and writing. This is the seventh version, which has unfortunately not been betaed by AussieMaelstrom, but i'd like to thank her anyway for her patience. And the fact that she betaed about six versions, before I ended up thinking - have a day off. So I'm sorry if there are mistakes. Considering the word-count. Well, yeah. There will probably be mistakes.
This wasn't supposed to be one long chapter, but divided. Instead I made it into ONE.
This is the last chapter my dears.
The epilogue if you may.
Fewer words had never set his heart alight, as such, an ordinary one too. Hope blossoming itself in his chest, even if it would only last for a fraction. The minutes were ticking by, while he tried to grasp it all with clarity. There was none to be had, for he could only part his lips in silent awe, as blood slowly drained his face.
He certainly looked like a fool, for he knew he was staring, but he could not help himself. Not that she could see that, for her back was facing him. He had not seen her lips splay out the simple words, as he only saw the back of her head. Her hair a tousled mess on her shoulders, released from an intricate twist he surmised. A hairstyle that perhaps suited her wedding dress well, but he felt she hadn't ever looked better, despite not seeing her face. She didn't seem like she was going to turn around either, keeping herself busy with pouring tea, while he tried to speak.
He finally let go of the doorknob after a minute, daring to take a deliberate step into the flat. The floorboard creaked loudly underneath his shoes, but still she did not turn to him.
Sherlock half-expected her to vanish, as his eyes flitted over his surroundings in desperation to ascertain that she wasn't an illusion.
He saw the crackling fire in the heat; a plate put aside with crumbs, her heels by his chair, a book open on the table – "Sherlock?" she said, breaking his thoughts.
He blinked, his name sounding unfamiliar to him, as he realised she was no mirage. She was no self-loathing dream he'd conjured up, after all. His brows furrowed, speech failing him, as he felt his throat dry up.
This wasn't danger-night after all.
She was here.
Swallowing he finally said, "Where's John?" His voice was gravelly, despite clearing it, and his question stupid. He did not intend to ask this, neither did he know why he had, but he was speaking with the back of her head after all. She wasn't turning to him, wasn't craning her neck to see him at all, and he wanted, needed to see her, especially her hands.
"Tea?" she said continuing in an unsettlingly calm voice, ignoring his question, while she kept her hands busy. They weren't allowed in his line of sight from the look of it.
He took another step forward, eyes a cluster of confusion, as he started, "Molly – I-," he didn't know where that sentence would go.
The kettle in her hands was dropped, the pouring of the liquid stopping, as he heard her give a small sigh, "I'm married," she said. Her voice was as clear as day at that utterance, no mistake to be heard, but he wished there was.
He halted where he stood, now glued to the spot, as he was finally glad her back was to him. He was thankful she couldn't see his face, for if she could, it would be impossible for him to hide. Sherlock knew she was married. He'd been there, he'd seen the signs – yet – it didn't explain her presence.
Silence overwhelmed the pair of them once more, and he was on the verge of throwing her out. He was on the verge of doing anything, but silently comply with her. He did not want her there; he didn't need her there, and if he would have to send her away he would. He struggled with the idea, knowing that he needed her, that he wanted her - there - with him.
"Congratulations," he said. His voice only breaking a little, bearing a bitter note, as he turned on the mask he used to survive.
He could have done it differently.
He could have said something to tear her apart, if only for a second, but he couldn't for the heart of him do it for once.
He had done enough.
It was amidst these thoughts that he heard her intake of breath, the tea set being settled down once more, as she broke the substantial hush, "To – you…that is."
Molly turned at that, her hands folded on the front of her dress, where there was no ring. There was no dreaded piece of jewellery. No, her hands were bare. Besides this, he saw the twinkling of her brown eyes meeting his, without hesitation, without fear, and how her smile grew.
Indeed, he was a fool…and yes…she was married.
She'd known the second the papers were in her hands. It was undeniable really, but she pretended that it was difficult. That she didn't have a man's heart in her hands. That this wasn't really her decision, but she knew she'd made that decision years ago really.
The door to the room opened and clicked shut. Molly hesitantly looked up meeting the eyes of her mother, seeing the doubt, the fear, "So – you have you signed the papers yet?" she said, as if it was just a matter of a loopy string of words.
Her mother's opinion was so obvious in her tone, that Molly tried to pretend she'd thought over it for hours, instead of just ten minutes, but they didn't have enough time. Molly bit her lip, cheek resting in her hand, as she said in a dull voice, "No."
"Do you want more time then?" said her mum with her heel tapping on the floor impatiently.
Molly tried to avoid her mother's eyes, idly scratching at her face, as she said, "No." This wasn't going to go well, not really. She didn't expect that she'd understand, especially when they'd gotten this far.
"You're not going to sign them, are you," said her mother after a deep breath, before she let out a laugh. Molly looked up in surprise, "I'm not an idiot, it's a bit obvious really – just you who's been a bit slow on the uptake," said her mum snorting, "Do you love him, then?"
Molly gaped for a second, hurriedly recovering, as she stood up from her chair. One of her hands were curled around the annulment papers, and another was on her hip, "No," she bit back.
She was pacing the room, while her mother had a knowing look on her face. "He's such – he's such – an idiot," Molly snapped, "If he'd just…if…I really hate him, I just really…really hate him." Now she was crying, making a mess of her makeup, a mess of her day really, but she knew she'd already had this day.
Yes, the day had certainly not been perfect.
Yes, the dress hadn't fit.
Still, it was certainly every bit as amazing, as every single bit of planning thrown into this wedding, planned by the idiot himself. "I hate him mum," she said as her mother only tutted, wrapping her arms around her.
"You don't, do you?" her mother said softly into her hair, giving her a few awkward pats on the back.
The few tears turned into a sob, quickly reverting to hiccups, "No," she said with a small laugh into her mother's formalwear. "He's still an idiot though…oh poor Michael."
"He'll be fine, even if he's lost you. I can even tell him if you want."
"No – no – I've got to tell him – I can't – I can't let someone else do it. He's got to hear why, from me, properly."
"Alright," said her mother softly, adding after a minute of cooing over her, "Can I at least tell his mum?" She sounded smug at the idea, making Molly laugh.
"Yeah – ok – if you want – but – err – you and dad, then?"
Her mother soon held her by her shoulders, looking disgruntled, "What do you mean me and your father?"
"Are you?" said Molly grinning, "Seeing each other?"
"Shut up. We've got no time for this chat anyway – we've got a wedding to stop."
The wedding wasn't stopped however, as it was apparent Molly had paid for most of it, and a silly idea struck her. Her dad made excuses to begin with, but he couldn't hide that he enjoyed the idea. His idea of a romantic proposal wasn't exactly what either had expected, when he'd just turned to her mum, "You want to have a go at it again, then?"
"If we have to," said her mum, who'd broken into a smile, before being thoroughly snogged by her dad. Molly averted her eyes at that.
It was just like them – straight to the point – no fuss.
The ceremony was rushed on her behalf ("We've been through this before vicar, might want to hurry it up,"), before she sprang off into a taxi to head off Sherlock. Several texts an hour later told her that he'd popped round to stop it, though no one had given him the news that it was her parents who'd married. Neither could any of them reach him.
She almost went out looking for him, sending a distressed text to Mary, but she waited. Not without worrying herself to shreds, of course, but she reminded herself to be patient if he was actually off sulking somewhere (Mary's words).
Then she heard the door, almost dropping the kettle, as she tried to calm herself down. She tried to be clever, hiding herself away, but she couldn't let him go through it another second. His voice was enough to have her break, to make her turn around to his flabbergasted face. Obviously her being married to him was news, and she almost laughed.
"You're late, though," she said. She tried to look serious, her smile gave her away, but she didn't really care.
His face was still seemingly petrified though, his eyes blinking rapidly, as he finally smirked, "Am I? I didn't know there was an appointed time."
He was obviously leading, taking to shrug off his coat and scarf, hanging them up on the hooks on the wall, before his blue eyes landed on hers. She felt nervous with the way he was looking at her, all sharp staring eyes, that didn't at all waver, "You're not married," he said, as if she was about to contradict him.
"I am – well – just – not to Michael," she said with her nose crinkling, "But what exactly would I be doing in your flat if I were married to someone else?"
"A clandestine affair, perhaps?"
"On my wedding day?" she said giggling.
"It's a bit overdue, yes, considering that it took place several years ago, but better late than never."
She tried to look affronted, failing miserably, "You're right about that, so…you visited this morning?"
He looked almost angry, taking to groan, "Oh! Your parents – of course! Obviously, I should have known – idiot!" Sherlock was talking to himself, his eyes narrowing around the room, until they hesitantly landed on her face.
He took a step towards her and she didn't move away.
"She'd have killed you if you'd interrupted the ceremony," she said trying to diffuse the moment when her nerves took over, as he was slowly moving towards her. He didn't stop until he was right in front of her, reminding her that he didn't understand personal space.
She really didn't mind.
"I agree," he said with a small chuckle, looking thoughtful. "However you did forget to sign your papers," with a whisper he added, "Mrs Holmes."
She ignored the tingle at being called that, averting her eyes guiltily, "Yeah, I did – I'm just – I'm sorry – I – I've been such an idiot," and her breath hitched in her throat. She was crying again, feeling the shame overwhelm her – gasping – when his cool palms landed on her hot cheeks.
He was gently stroking the tears away, his face serious, as her eyes dared to meet his, "No," he said with a small smile, "No, Molly – you haven't."
It certainly didn't make her cry less, despite trying, "I should have known – I think I always did know – it's just – you've been such an-," she faltered, letting out a breath, as words failed her.
"John has a catalogue of words you can use, if you require it," he said drily, his thumbs stroking off the fresh tears. She laughed despite her red eyes, as he continued, "Molly, I – I should have known what I felt – none of this is your fault – I'm sorry."
She sniffed, "It's alright…I know you are."
He looked aggravated all of a sudden, his hands tensing on her cheeks, as he closed in on her. She didn't understand what he was doing, until he had leant his forehead on hers taking a steadying breath, "No – no – it isn't – it isn't okay – you deserve better – much better."
The words weighed heavy in her, almost making her draw from his grasp, but she couldn't do it. "Don't even suggest what I think you're suggesting right now, since I've had enough with you being an idiot," she said her voice laced with anger.
She didn't want him to run away, not now.
He withdrew his forehead from hers slowly, a look of bewilderment on his face, until his eyes gleamed in amusement, "I was referring to me."
She properly laughed, still feeling his hands on her face, "You – so – you're worthy of me then, are you?" she said mock-seriously grinning.
"No," he said.
He didn't remove his hand, while her laughter quieted down, "Sorry?"
Sherlock didn't look amused now, "I am never going to be worthy, however it does not mean I won'tkeep trying, Mrs Holmes," he whispered leaning closer to her parted mouth.
She could feel his breath against her lips, making her pause for air. Her brown eyes searched his blue ones that hovered on her lips, until she too stared at his mouth that twisted into a smile. Molly knew that this, whatever this was, would be different. There was nothing to stop them now, of course the second his lips gently brushed hers attentively, making her thoughts melt away – "SHERLOCK!" a voice called from below.
She almost fell backwards at the sound of a door being slammed. Sherlock's hand held her up by her waist, keeping her on her feet, but making her flush at the forcefulness of his grip. His face was twisted into a grimace, as he reluctantly let go of her, and she swayed on her feet a bit.
"John," he said in a dark voice, straightening himself up.
She could only blink, while she heard John call for his friend again. Sherlock stood still as a statue, eyes directed to the door in annoyance.
His eyes briefly turned to hers, giving her an apologetic expression, while his friend promptly sprinted into the room. John looked dishevelled at best – red-faced with his tie hanging loosely around his neck, as he stopped at the sight of them, "Oh."
It was just like John to care. It was just like him to care if his phone was turned off. What reason would he have it switched on? He hadn't expected anything but pitiful commentary, most likely served when his friend was deep into a glass of scotch, spewing out words of comfort.
Sherlock hadn't expected any of those texts or calls to be about this particular fact, that, for once his deductions were off the mark (though John liked to remind him that he was wrong sometimes). He would gladly keep his phone on if this persisted to happen, as he knew John wasn't one for wanting to interrupt anything. Instead they were, the three of them, forced to partake in the ineptness of it all.
"Sorry," said John quickly, as he seemed to be able to talk again, "I'm obviously interrupting something."
He rolled his eyes, "Yes."
"No," said Molly.
Sherlock turned to her swiftly, seeing her standing by his side, but her eyes were turned to his friend, "I think – I better go home to change anyway," she said.
He looked at her baffled, taking in the nervous energy, the avoidance of his eye, as he wondered if he'd done something wrong.
"No," he said hastily.
John was staring at him, shamefaced, "No – it's all right – I'll just – go," he said gesturing to the door, but Molly shook her head.
She turned to him now, "I've got things to do, anyway, so it's fine – I'll just-," she said walking off picking up her shoes, "I'll just go…"
He didn't know what to say to keep her, while John cleared his throat uneasily, as Molly said, "Ok…bye," before stepping through the door.
Sherlock was left alone with John who pursed his lips, "This is your fault, you know," said John.
"I'm sorry," said Sherlock in surprise.
"If you'd just kept your phone on-,"
"Why are you here?"
"Mary told me she was going to leave, of course I got here – I was afraid you'd do something stupid."
"Your concern is all fine, John, but as you could see it wasn't needed."
"Just keep your phone on, will you? For God's sake, Sherlock – if you'd just texted me – we'd be all right," said John, as Sherlock started to stride around the living room feeling tetchy, "Was – I - actually - interrupting something?"
"Yes," he snapped in return, hands on his hips.
"It didn't look like anything, to be entirely honest," said John.
Sherlock was about to walk after Molly, before she'd gone to far, when he stilled. He heard the front door being opened below, then the hurried steps up the staircase. John who'd been standing behind him with crossed arms, soon moved off with raised brows.
She was stood in the doorway biting her lip. Molly's eyes turned to John for a fleeting second, before they darted back to him. He stood rooted to the spot out of sheer confusion, trying to understand why she was there, until she ran towards him. There was suddenly a vision of white around him, her hands hauling him down by his shirt collar, practically ripping it down. He froze for a second when her soft lips crashed against his impatiently, hungrily seeking out his mouth. Sherlock didn't hesitate to return the kiss, dragging her towards him with fervour, so they were both pressed against each other.
His mind calmed down, the world slipping away, as his heart pounded feverishly underneath her touch. He could feel the smile on her lips that opened to his. The smile he craved to be the creator of, tasting the sweetness of it in her mouth. He did not want to relinquish his hold upon her, for she was his, and he was hers. Despite his best intentions, her lips drew away from his with a stifled moan. She looked guilty, like she remembered something, but he saw the flushed cheeks, the bright eyes, and knew it was the happiest expression he'd induced so far.
He felt from the way she was shifting away from him, that she would leave soon, so he tried his best to let the words out, "Molly – I -," he said.
He knew where that sentence would go.
Her hands were his chest, "I know," she said, soon on her toes kissing him on the corner of his mouth.
Of course she knew, and he brushed his lips to hers, feeling her yield, letting him coax open her mouth. She broke away from him yet again, a playful expression on her face, as she walked backwards towards the door. Her eyes were on him, when she said loudly, "Sorry."
He didn't understand what she apologised for, but when he recovered he knew. Obviously he had turned thick-headed, not noticing she'd taken his coat, or the fact that the apology was directed to John.
John who'd spent the duration of their kissing in the same room, hidden behind a newspaper, which he dropped, soon grinning at him cheekily. Sherlock knew they were going to have one of their discussions again, but for once he didn't mind.
She was never going to marry Michael, not from how her flat looked, which was still riddled with her things. They were supposed to be moving in together after the wedding, but the cardboard box in the corner was empty – save for one thing.
Ironically the one item in the box was Michael's.
When she told him, she felt terrible, even more when he didn't seem surprised. Luckily those feelings subsided when she knew she'd done them both a favour. Marrying after only a year of knowing each other wouldn't be right at all, but she'd laughed when he'd said, "Just make sure he's worthy of you, Molly."
Michael didn't know that Sherlock had used similar words at the start of their engagement. Not that he would have seen the funny side of that, for he didn't laugh, quite the opposite in fact, but she wouldn't let herself think too much about it. She realised she'd spent most of their engagement feeling guilty.
That should have been a massive clue.
Of course Molly shouldn't even be thinking about Michael, or any of those things, but it distracted her from the fact that she hadn't seen Sherlock since...
Since – being - two hours ago, that was. Two dreadfully long hours, making her feel absolutely pathetic. Even worse was the fact that she was still in her wedding dress.
After all she'd needed help into it, and would most likely require help out of it again. There were buttons she couldn't by any means undo without ripping the dress to shreds, and she'd rather not tear it. Not that she expected to use it any time in the future, though it gave her an ample excuse to text Sherlock about needing his help.
Unfortunately she hadn't, instead her finger was hovering over the screen of her mobile contemplating it. Molly knew she could, but she half-expected him to be pounding on her door already.
A part of her wondered if she'd actually managed to scare him off, while the other if she'd been wrong about what he was going to say. She'd only stopped kissing him because John was still in the room, most likely contributed to the fact that Sherlock never gave John any room if he had women over. Molly couldn't exactly blame him for not having the decency to walk off, but she could still feel irritated at him. Still despite the kiss being cut short, it didn't make her lips tingle any less.
She didn't know what was going to happen - where it was going - what she was going to do, but she knew she didn't mind kissing him some more. After all she was his…wife.
Instead of the feeling of anxiety that had before crippled her, she was feeling dizzy, for she knew she wasn't going to sign any papers. In that aspect it was a bit unnerving, except the bit were he'd said Mrs Holmes, which was rather…
He was definitely going to use that against her, often too, more or less, which would make it difficult. Despite them being married she still wanted to take it slow, after all they'd not actually been alone in a setting that was intentionally romantic. It was a thing that was difficult to imagine at the moment, making her feel tense, yet undeniably happy. If Sherlock didn't show up, it would be fine, since it didn't mean he didn't want to, but that he was probably busy…
Toby purred from lounging in one of the chairs, distracting her thoughts. He was obviously pleased that he wasn't at her neighbours for a week. The neighbour who'd been extremely nosy considering the fact that Molly wasn't on her honeymoon, and still in her wedding dress, intending to spend a night-in.
She'd waved the woman off, saying she was tired, since she expected hundreds of questions. It was like announcing her engagement really. For now there were texts and missed-calls coming from every end, which she pointedly ignored. She would feel guilty another day, and this was not today.
There was suddenly a gentle knock on her door.
Molly sprang up from the sofa, the best she could, since her dress was certainly making the task difficult. There was only one person who'd be there, especially this late, and she opened the door with a wide smile, only to have it deflate, "Mary!" she said with wide-eyes.
"Clearly expecting someone else, then?" said her friend with a raised brow, her arms saddled with various bags, all of which belonged to Molly. She hadn't exactly taken any of them with her when leaving, or her coat either, when she was filled with adrenaline on the thought of seeing Sherlock.
"Oh – no," she said shaking her head, trying to make up for the fact that she was just staring miserably at her friend.
"Well – you don't mind me dropping this off then?"
"Right, of course, sorry," she said stepping aside, as Mary with a small groan let the things drop on the floor with a loud thud.
The two women stared at each other for a second, while Mary eyed her dress, "Right…did John interrupt something, then?" she said.
"No," said Molly rather fast.
"Ok, well, if it makes you feel better – I told him not to go. He was of course sure Sherlock had mucked it up," Mary said with her hands on her hips, "Mind if I stay a minute to catch my breath? I've been dancing all night." Molly never got the chance to protest, since Mary walked off settling with a small moan on the sofa.
"It's been a good wedding, then?" Molly asked tentatively, closing the door behind her, as she followed Mary to the sofa.
"Oh, it was brilliant really. Your dad really knows how to dance, but let's talk about something else then, shall we?" said Mary who was looking at her pointedly, "Since I really didn't expect you to be here to be honest."
Molly looked away from Mary's stare. She'd gotten a bunch of texts from Mary that all surrounded the same subject, and she knew where this was going. Those questions would be the same ones she was already wondering about, and discussing it wouldn't help her nerves.
"Obviously something happened."
"Not much really," said Molly innocently, feeling angry that her cheeks were turning red.
"Your face says something did. Of course I get that you don't want to talk about it yet, but – wait – he's not here, is he?" said Mary looking around the flat with a grin.
"Sher – who – no!" said Molly in such a speed, that when she finally did catch Mary's eye they both burst out laughing. The laughter subsided after a while, and she calmly said, "No, he's not here."
"Oh –that doesn't need to mean anything-," Mary said, "- probably a bit busy. You know him and John – they're probably -," what she thought they were doing, never got said, as there was suddenly a determined knock on her front door.
The knock wasn't gentle like Mary's, causing Molly to scramble off the sofa. She paid no mind to Mary's smug face, walking in top-speed to the door, which she opened slowly. Of course when she barred it open she met with his confident face, "Molly - you seem to be in possession of an item of-," Sherlock's trademark smirk dropped the second he saw Mary sat on the sofa, "-mine."
He didn't look particularly happy that Mary was there, however unlike John – Mary rose up from the sofa, "I should pop off," she said smiling at them, "It's been a long night after all, and I need my sleep."
Molly felt terribly grateful, "Oh, ok – well – have-," she began.
"Do leave – I need to talk to my wife," said Sherlock simultaneously, making the words – a nice night – disappear from her lips.
His blue eyes were on her rather intently, while she tried to focus on Mary who said, "Right…have a goodnight then." She squeezed past Sherlock who stepped inside, gave Molly a wave, before disappearing off.
He was eyeing her dress.
Molly cleared her dry throat, "Oh – right – your coat?" she said hurrying over to get it down from the coat-rack, before holding it out to him.
He didn't take it from her hands instead he shut the door.
"You're still in your wedding dress," he said with a smile.
"Yes – err - the buttons – I couldn't-," she stopped talking realising what he was playing at, "Oh."
"I can offer some relief," he said casually, with his hands folded behind his back, as he loomed over her, "If you want…Mrs Holmes."
She stared unblinkingly.
The coat was soon ripped out of her hands, thrown aside to the floor, and she saw his heavy-lidded darkened eyes take her in.
She didn't get to answer, before he closed the distance between them. There was yearning beyond measure in his lips that charmed hers open, the kiss deepening, making her sigh against him.
He was keeping her so close, hands placed on her lower back; as he dipped his head down to taste her better. His soft curls brushing with her forehead, while her hands pulled at his shirt. Amidst the wonderful sensation of him around her, she became aware that his mouth barely moved against hers now.
Molly's eyes slowly opened, as she became conscious what his hands were attempting on her back. When she too turned unresponsive, he seemed to take matter in his own hands, and bowed his head over her shoulder; apparently he was struggling with the buttons.
She could feel her shoulders shake, the low humming in her stomach, as he scoffed, "This isn't easy, as you are well aware, Molly," he said in a voice that was drenched in exasperation, but he managed to ease at least one open.
She laughed anyway, "It's your fault – you shouldn't have chosen one with so many buttons."
His hands stopped, his full palms splayed on her back, while hers rested on his chest. He was making it almost impossible for her to move, as he leaned towards her ear, "Turn around then," he whispered.
She was certainly tempted. She knew he'd manage to get them open in no time at all, but she gently pushed at his chest instead. He stepped back bewildered, "No, it's – we – we need to talk," she said knowing that she'd say yes if he persisted.
She really did want him to however.
"Oh – of course," he said with a small nod looking worried.
She didn't want to correct him really, as she took some steps away from him, so she'd last longer, "It's just-," she said fidgeting, while he looked at her with a curious expression.
The second her mouth opened his phone rang.
He grimaced, hurriedly getting it out of his pocket, pressing at the screen to silence it, before pocketing it, "Go on," he said.
He looked calm, even uninterested with whoever that was, not even hesitating for a second, "Who was it?" she said a bit surprised that he'd do that.
"Not important," he said.
"It's important, isn't it?" she said with a frown.
He wasn't going to stop taking cases because of her, and no one rang this late for just about anything. He didn't exactly seem like the man who'd take social calls.
He sighed seeing her imploring eyes, "It was only Lestrade."
"Oh – but – what if it's a case?"
"It can wait," he said with a steady voice.
His expression was soft, unlike anything she'd seen on him before, making her worries vanish, as he didn't seem intent to dismiss what she had to say, "Answer it," she said.
His blue eyes were puzzled, but he carefully brought the phone up again, "Yes," he said, his eyes still on her, "Ah – obviously you're out of your depth – well – it all depends." Sherlock pressed the phone to his chest, "Come with me."
She stared down at her dress, "Now?" Her first proper case with Sherlock, and she was in a wedding-dress.
"It will be fine – I'll need assistance, and you are more capable than John to spot out the minor details."
"Oh - ok," she said smiling at the compliment.
This wasn't to smooth things over, obvious by his sincere face - he wanted her there. He smiled in return, the phone at his ear again, "Text me the address," and he swiftly picked his coat off the floor, while she trailed after him, her dress prohibiting rushed steps.
It wasn't exactly her lab-coat. Sherlock however seemed to be aware of her limited movement, and held her coat out for her, "Is this a date, then?" she asked tentatively, as he slipped the coat on.
His hands lingered on her shoulders, "Then I have been seeing John for a while by that standard," he said swiftly kissing her lips.
She flushed as he pulled back, "I don't think we could do that on a crime-scene, though," she said.
"I think that will be fairly easy, Molly," he said taking her hand in his.
They soon locked themselves out of her flat, getting a taxi outside at top-speed. She only realised that he hadn't released her hand when they'd settled inside the taxi. His thumbing slowly over her knuckles, familiarizing himself with her skin.
"Where to for the happy couple then?" said the cabbie that'd caught sight of the wedding dress barely covered by her coat.
Sherlock gave the address to the cabbie; while Molly felt her insides flutter with the way he was stroking her hand, or the fact that he was pressed up against her side. She could easily lay her head on his shoulder, though she deliberately tried not to, as she said, "You know that they'll all…know." Which for her meant that it would be far more difficult to take it all back, and she felt anxious looking up at him after saying that.
"Good," he only said, as his fingertips were caressing the inside of her palm. She rested her head on his shoulder after that.
He could sense she was nervous; from the way her hand twitched briefly in his, her brown eyes turning to everyone on the scene, but he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. She calmed down when they'd gotten to the police-tape, soon met by a gaping Lestrade, "Wait – Molly – aren't you-," he said eyeing her dress.
"No," said Sherlock answering for her, "I'd rather you not look at my wife nonetheless, detective inspector. People might talk."
Lestrade blinked, "Sorry – your wife? She's your wife – wasn't she getting married today? – I'm sure I met the bloke – but obviously I didn't miss anything after all. Sorry about that by the way," he said giving a bit of a grin to Molly.
"Yes, she is my wife," Sherlock said, "Problem?"
Lestrade stared between the pair of them, "So – you're not joking, then?" Neither said anything, as he sighed, "This is a bloody crime-scene, Sherlock! You can't just – I don't know – bring your – Mol-wife – especially in that dress – she'll muck it up." He was grinning however, visibly entertained.
"She is also the best pathologist London has to offer. Her choice of clothing might not be appropriate, but she will still do a much better job than-," his eyes narrowed at the distance, "Anderson."
He felt Molly's hand tighten around his, causing him to look at her, and take in the rush of colour to her cheeks, "Seriously – though – you're married – you've got to be joking - wait – if this is your take on a honeymoon-," Lestrade said putting his hands up, looking mightily disturbed by the concept, "- then fine."
"No, it's a date," quipped Molly, making Sherlock raise his brows at her before laughing, "Now, do you need us or not?" Her last words had a tone in them. One he recognised quite readily as the one she used when he was untidy in the lab.
Sherlock rather hoped she used that elsewhere too…
Lestrade struggled where he stood, jerking his head at them, "Ok – fine – just don't do anything to destroy-,"
"We won't," said Molly easily about to go under the police-tape, but Sherlock lifted it up for her, before taking her hand once more in his.
Everyone present were surprised, though Molly handled it all quite well, with an alarming air of seriousness, as they worked in a hurry to solve the triple-murder, which was luckily not as complex as mentioned on the phone.
He knew why they were working at such top-speed, why he rattled off his deductions quicker, or why his mouth snapped shut the second she opened her mouth.
Molly was a professional in her work.
He however was acting like an over-grown schoolboy, every time her speech turned technical, or when she was cross with Anderson for dismissing his deductions. For him, Molly's inconvenient style of dress wasn't strange, but more distracting than anything. He was impressed by the fact that she kept her dress untainted, and that she blatantly ignored people's stares. They finished the case in no time, with a clear murderer at their hands who was trying to give the impression he'd found the victims like that, but it was too obvious really. Despite the answer being apparent for the pair of them, they still didn't finish until it was three in the morning.
Sherlock noted that she laughed more when she was tired. However he liked to think it was due to his presence, but he hadn't seen her in such a range of laughter for what seemed like a year. Neither could he hesitate finding excuses to touch her, mere innocent ones that made her quieten down, while they had dinner in a Chinese restaurant. At some point amidst the food and the easy conversation that he had once thought impossible, she surprised him like she always did, "We need to talk."
He knew that didn't bode well - the long string of girlfriends that John had were proof of that. He had learned from long observation that it was this particular sentence that ended in something ghastly. She took a deep breath before she spoke slowly, "I know we're married – I just – I think we should take it slow, that's all," she said with a smile.
Sherlock wasn't entirely certain what she meant, neither was he sure he was allowed to ask, but she saw his confusion, as she continued, "Err – I just mean – you know – sex."
It took him a minute or two to recover, blinking foolishly at her. She popped a dumpling into her mouth, avoiding his eye - taking a long time to swallow. He straightened up in his seat, "Of course," he said understanding. He hadn't given that much thought; though it was apparent she'd considered it by the way her cheeks were red, and now his mind was thrown in the gutter.
"Not that I don't want to – it's just – we've barely been together alone really-," she said dropping her chopstick on the plate for a second, looking agitated.
"It's fine, Molly," he said reassuring her by slipping his hand on hers, until their hands were laced together on the table.
She was looking down at her hands when she spoke her next words, clearing her throat, "Oh – but err – could you mind – not calling me-," the rest of the words hung in the air by the way she seemed to be struggling.
He understood immediately, of course.
"Call you what, exactly?" he said with a mock-confused expression, "Mrs Holmes?" He could see the additional red creeping up her cheeks, the slight intake of breath at such a simple gesture. One he didn't know he'd derive so much pleasure from, but it was her response that helped. He could see her physically change in front of him, her pupils dilating, her pulse racing underneath the touch of his hand, "Now - what would be wrong in that?" he said in a low voice.
"Fine," she said plainly, drawing her hand back. That reaction certainly burst his bubble, as she directed her attention to her food instead.
He stared at her nonplussed for a second, until he suddenly felt some movement by his leg – that edged up his trouser-leg slowly – it was her bare foot. Sherlock felt his pale cheeks colouring, while Molly sat innocently swallowing her food, as her foot rode higher and higher -
"Molly," he said in a warning tone, his hand gripping at the table.
"What?" she said with smile of a vixen.
Sherlock should have seen it; of course the signs were there. She was a woman who'd watched him whipping at a corpse with his riding-crop. Instead of being scared off she asked him out for a coffee. He felt himself swallow at that thought, and the way her toes curled up against his thigh, edging closer. If he was entirely honest his experience in that particular area was limited. He'd never really considered Molly's experience, but the way her foot continued to move in such a confident way – he found himself certainly thinking of it now.
She did stop at some point to his relief.
They'd finish their meal rather quickly after that.
He had the mere inkling that despite something being taken off the table, it certainly didn't exclude other things. Molly was no novice; he could contest to that, as she was clinging to him outside her flat door.
He could barely breathe, overwhelmed with the taste of her honeyed mouth, feeling his worries cease to be. She was perhaps more experienced than him, but he still had some tricks in his sleeve. He could feel her turn soft in his arms, as he had her pushed up against the door clasping at her waist. Sherlock breathed by giving her ample kisses on her neck, listening to her intake of breath, as she said "You can sleep here if you want."
He lifted his head from her neck, thinking he'd misheard her, "I need you to help me out of my dress," she said. For a second he thought it was innocent, but upon walking inside she dropped her coat on the floor – soon slipping off her shoes.
He stood in surprise, even more so, when she started to pull him by his hand to her bedroom, soon helping him out of his coat.
He didn't object of course, couldn't if he wanted to, as she sat down on the bed looking at him expectantly. She turned her back to him, sweeping her hair to the front, and he removed his shoes out of decency. He didn't entirely know what to do for a second sitting behind her, but he started at the buttons – revealing her skin inch by inch. This was not at all similar to the day he'd buttoned her up in the dress.
The air was different in a way, and she hadn't suddenly turned her head to capture his lips. It wasn't easy releasing her from the dress, when she brought him down on the bed. His hands still went to her back, however, slowly getting it open, as his knee was pressed between her thighs.
She was distracting him, which was for certain, with her dress bunching up above her waist – taking no consideration to the cloth. He didn't care either, since he truly wanted her out of the dress, more than anything. Some sense came pouring through him though, as she whimpered against his mouth. "Molly," he said, breaking off from her lips, trying to remind her of her earlier speech, but she only gave a throaty moan in reply.
She wasn't exactly stopping it by pulling away his dress-jacket; neither did he disagree with this action. It was perhaps adrenaline, the rush of finishing a case, but he knew that wasn't it. There was another force driving him to unbutton the back of her dress, easing her out of it. He felt it on her, underneath his fingertips, on her pale skin. The dress was thrown aside, forgotten, as he had her pressed up against him in a mixture of satin and lace.
"Something new," she said in a breathy voice, making him capture her lips, feeling the fabric underneath his hands.
He thought he'd lost her, never assuming he'd be this lucky. But maybe it was an illusion that hastily un-buttoned his shirt, or a mirage that drew off his clothes with such desire.
Her hands were sliding on his chest, on his arms, touching every part of him, and he felt somewhat helpless in her arms. Molly's eyes were that of admiration, of awe, soon glistening, as a lone tear slipped out. He wiped it away, not understanding, that despite her bright smile she was crying.
For a minute he held her in silence, and then he understood. It was the same pull that tugged at his once-quiet heartstrings. The ones he thought were of no use, like the room that belonged to her in his mind, "I know," he whispered in her ear.
He felt her relax in his arms, taking to touch her skin, as he listened to her soft breath. She gradually fell asleep, and he allowed the words that were seared on the tip of his tongue out. The words he never thought would never be said by him, "I love you…"
He drifted to sleep after that, with her in his arms, her hair curling itself upon his pale chest, oblivious that her lips had turned up at those exact words.
This wasn't exactly how she'd normally make her breakfast, not at all. She was perched on the kitchen-bench in just her robe, with Sherlock standing between her legs shirtless. Not that she minded that his hands were on her knees - slowly sliding upwards, prompting goose bumps to appear on her skin.
"Food," she said breaking away from his mouth briefly, only to have him slowly kiss his way around her neck, as she with a moan pulled him closer. She momentarily forgot that food was a necessity in life.
Of course during their fervent kissing, a grievous reminder came by a treacherous growl from her stomach.
He broke away from her lips, his gaze penetrating, "Food," he said, grabbing her easily off the counter. Sherlock didn't resist pushing her up against him, as he gave her a quick fondle, and another kiss that left her ridiculously breathless.
The whole idea of going slow was certainly a concept she knew would soon be entirely lost to her.
He separated himself from her, taking to attend to her kitchen instead. She'd half-expected him to pop up with a bag of crisps, except it was apparent by the way he rummaged in her fridge, bringing up various ingredients that he had all intention of cooking. The whole idea made her almost laugh, since she'd more or less taken care of him when he'd stayed. She suspected however that he never really had a reason to be hungry, when there were too many things to worry about.
Molly felt her skin tingle with the fact that he was only standing in his pants, not inclined to throw any garment on his lean body, making his muscles unintentionally flex with every movement. He was a very distracting cook, that was certain.
She directed her attention elsewhere, trying to occupy her mind with a magazine, as even Toby wasn't a good enough distraction right now. Neither was the magazine – for her eyes kept turning to Sherlock.
She'd heard his words, the ones she hardly expected he'd ever say. He made her insides burst with pleasure, at that, and the easy smile he had plastered on his face all morning.
He had changed, not in every single thing (for he was muttering disgruntled comments about her lack of a proper fryer) yet he was different. No man could throw himself into such a ridiculous adventure, without coming out altered in some way, even if she wondered if this was Sherlock just being with her.
It didn't take long before breakfast was served burnt. He didn't have extraordinary knacks in the kitchen exactly, but he seemed proud of his culinary skills even though. When he'd sat the "Eggs Benedict," in front of her she avoided to comment, only smiling at him. She'd cook mostly, she supposed, since she'd have to take care of her…husband.
She was married.
It was such a silly idea.
It seemed almost unreal.
Even if they were married she had to wonder, were things going to be like their regular routine, or would things change?
Yes, she was witnessing the change in the man who ate in front of her, however that could easily be a once off. In truth she was frightened she'd bore him. That domestic life would tear him apart, that she would make him feel he'd have to change, and she didn't want that, far from it.
"Something bothering you?" he said.
"No," she lied, "Yes - so…how – how does this work?"
"Eating?" he said playfully.
She giggled, feeling him make her at ease, "I mean – us – are we just – married?"
He blinked, "Yes, problem?"
"Do you want a wedding?" he said, and she could almost hear the hint of a whine in his voice.
"No!" Sherlock looked suddenly affronted at this, his brows connecting, "We've had – we don't – I'm not – no – I just mean – we don't need to now exactly - I've had enough of weddings really."
"I suppose that's means yes."
"No, it doesn't," she said hurriedly throwing food in her mouth hoping she'd shut up, "I just know mum will kill me."
When she checked her phone later she knew that wasn't true at all – Have fun with your husband! xx Mum. There were several levels of wrong in that statement, really, though she didn't want to think too hard about it. She especially didn't like to think of her parents on what was supposed to be her honeymoon either.
"You have free from work today?" he asked lounging on her sofa with Toby purring on his bare stomach, while she was trying to answer all the unanswered texts. She was ignoring Mary's continuous stream, however.
"No – not unless Mike-," her phone went off at that. Reluctantly answering the call, she tried to beg off, but the voice of Mike persisted, "We've got no one else, and I don't think you're busy now, are you?" Mike didn't exactly know, neither did she feel tempted to explain why she'd rather spend the day in her flat. Thought it was obvious as it was snowing heavily outside her window, and there was a half-naked man lounging lazily on her sofa.
Sherlock mouthed some words at her; she blinked, trying to understand, until she saw, "It's fine."
She nodded meekly at that, accepting the shift that no one else could fill. She almost started wishing she'd pretended she was heartbroken, instead of just frustrated at Sherlock's lack of clothing, "Ok, I'll be in about two hours, then – ok – right – bye – yeah – Merry Christmas."
Molly felt like flinging her phone out of her window, instead she started to retrieve her things getting ready for a shower, but she stopped, "Sherlock?" she said in a small voice.
He turned his head to her, making a throaty noise in reply, while she tentatively said with her fingers pressed together, "Shower?"
He furrowed his brows, "I'm not-,"
She raised a tentative brow, while his face gathered the information she was trying to convey to him wordlessly. It didn't take long before she ran hurriedly to the bathroom, with him hot at her heels.
Being naked certainly suited her, quite a lot, there didn't seem to be any fears in the shower. He rather liked her naked… More than liked her. Especially from the way his body was constantly trying to respond, though he tried to shut down that response. However, it was a complex task by the way the water poured down her naked body.
His mental facilities strained to listen to him, as water slid over her breasts. He couldn't avoid touching her with soap-filled hands, noticing the pleased sound emitting from her at that. Showering wasn't just a simple task anymore, not with her sounds, and the soap he could effortlessly glide on her body.
He repeatedly told himself it was an experiment. It was a pointless thing to consider, especially when she openly kissed him, pressing her nude body to his. His hands lathering soap on the small of her back, caressing the soft flesh of her – "Oh," she said all of a sudden with open eyes, taking a step back. He wondered if he'd made a misstep all of a sudden, but he realised what she was startled by.
"Ignore it," he said in a stern voice.
"Really? It's a bit hard to ignore," she said with that all-too-innocent expression of hers that was anything but.
"It's only flesh," he said, though at saying that – her hand slipped over his hardened cock with ease, making him gasp, "Molly-,"
"It's ok – it's only flesh," she said shushing him, returning her mouth to his, and distracting him almost senseless. She was deliberately teasing him, though he did his best to return the favour by touching her.
His mouth was on her neck, at some point, while her hand slipped over him with a strong grip. He almost slipped, as she gave a giggle at his loss of balance releasing him instead.
"Maybe we should just-," she started letting the hot water wash over her hands.
"Yes, of course," he said swallowing.
"It's a bit tricky in a shower," she said with a tentative smile.
Sherlock was unnervingly speechless after the shower, which took decidedly longer than intended. The evidence of it being long was the wrinkled skin on their fingers, and the fact that they were quite clean.
She understood then why he wasn't worried about her going off to work, for it became apparent he was joining her. He was intending to do some work at Bart's, which she tried to logically reason with herself was just a passing thing. He wouldn't join her every time, that would be madness at best, though he couldn't keep his hands off her at the moment, and neither could she off him.
It wasn't very difficult for her to make up excuses as to why she had to go to the lab. She still found him there every time, though she thought he'd disappear off any second.
"If I'd known you'd bring me coffee this willingly, I would have showered with you sooner," he said when she settled a cup of coffee on the counter, soon finding herself pressed against it, with him seeking out her mouth.
Their bliss, however, was disrupted when someone cleared their throat. Both of them turned their heads towards Lestrade who was eyeing them sheepishly, "Right – so – this is how it's going to be, then? I'll come round here, and you'll have your tongue down each other's throats every time?"
Sherlock took a step back from her, straightened his jacket a bit, before he seemed to give his answer with confidence, "Yes."
"You mind helping me a bit, then?" said Lestrade, "Got a case – and I'd rather finish it up quickly, after all, it is Christmas. Neither of you should be here anyway."
Molly couldn't agree more, even if she was desperately needed, for she saw how absolutely quiet the whole of Bart's was. Even if a huge part of her longed to get back to her flat, preferably with Sherlock in tow, though she highly suspected he'd follow her anywhere today.
Before Sherlock went off with Lestrade he gave her a quick kiss, "I'll be back soon," he said softly into her ear, grabbing her arse in the process. He walked off with a pair of mischievous eyes, while Lestrade looked like someone had hit him over the head with a bat.
"Right, ok," he said giving her a small nod, walking after her husband.
He was her husband on paper, which she had been aware of for months, but now he was actually hers. Molly found herself instead worrying over the idea that he'd never get bored, giggling even during her workload.
She only paused when she felt her phone ring – it was Mary, and she couldn't exactly avoid her anymore. Molly slipped off her gloves, soon pressing the phone to her ear, "So…" said her friend after a minute silence.
"Mary – I don't think you want to know, not really."
Her friend laughed on the other end, "You're quite right. It is a really disturbing image actually, so, how does it feel being someone's wife, then?"
"I'm – enjoying – it," she said hearing the doors of the morgue opening.
He had returned, and was stood with his hands behind his back, giving her a harmless expression.
"I imagine you are, I knew you would –," said Mary.
"I've got to go-," she said hurriedly into the phone, as Sherlock started to walk towards her with slow strides.
"He's there isn't he – my God – you're at it-," of course she never really got to know what her friend said, since her phone slipped out of her hands, as Sherlock grabbed for her. Her arms were wrapped around him, as he kissed her intently, "It – was – barely – a – three," he said between kisses, opening her mouth easily with his tongue, making her eerily distracted, until she reasoned a snog in the morgue wasn't exactly the most romantic setting.
The fact that they found an abandoned cupboard was perhaps not the definition of romantic, especially since she'd often find nurses and doctors huddled in them from time to time. She had turned into one of those people, except she was a pathologist, and he was a consulting detective.
Propriety was swiftly thrown aside by the way he rode her skirt upwards, tenderly seeking the heat between her thighs, as he had her pushed against the wall. Now she regretted suggesting the cupboard, for his hand was gingerly touching the soaked fabric, while he was kissing her passionately to distraction. He was just sliding her fingers slowly on her knickers, his mouth devouring hers, as she dragged him closer to her – feeling the bulge in the front of his trousers.
The second she at all tried to touch him however he pulled back, smoothing down his clothing, and said, "For earlier… Now, I will be upstairs, until the end of your shift."
She hated him only for a second after that, as he guided her back towards the morgue with her huffing loudly. Her skin was severely flushed, but she was happy to see so was his. Molly thought it was best not see him after that, knowing she'd do something rash if she did, but at the end of her shift she ran for it. She felt foolish when she got to the lab, especially when she found it deserted.
John tried to have the conversation with him hours earlier, of course, but he failed at bringing it up. Instead he congratulated him repeatedly, while calling him an idiot. He understood in the end that he was only keeping him, so he told him to bugger off. Surprisingly enough Sherlock had lacked confidence seconds before he left Baker Street, that luckily burst forth again, and John hoped he wouldn't back off now.
The man was still ignoring his texts, though he hardly expected anything less. Particularly since it was only the day after, but in the end he was still a bit worried. He'd seen Sherlock's slightly tense face, wondered what that was for. He really hoped it wasn't second thoughts, because they'd come too far for that.
John found himself rang up by Mary at one point; "I think you might need to get down to Bart's, or Molly's never going to get off." Her choice of words were highly suggestive, of course it was exactly what he thought she meant, but she only wanted him to run down there to get Sherlock out of Bart's for a minute.
"I could have a word with him, I suppose."
"A word about what?"
"Well, they're married aren't they? Things are going to change now." Mary had warned him not to be too serious in his talk. He had no intention of being that, especially when he saw a pleased smirk on Sherlock's face when he entered the lab.
"You're having a good day, then?" he said grinning at him.
"John," said Sherlock sounding a bit irritated, though he smiled at him, "What are you doing here?"
"Honestly?" said John taking a hesitant step inside, "Well, the thing is – we've got to talk."
Sherlock looked up from the microscope, turning in his chair, a curious expression on his face, as John sighed.
"You see – I know how this is going to go-,"
"Do you?" said Sherlock coolly.
John almost laughed at his friend, who seemed to believe he doubted the pair of them would work, "I'm referring to the bit where I've got to find a new flat."
"Oh – why?" said Sherlock bewildered.
He gaped at him slightly, feeling his eyebrows disappear into his hair, as he said rather carefully, "Well, you're married – Molly's obviously going to live with you."
"I don't see why you need to move."
"I'm not even going to give a proper comment about that. Since obviously I'm going to move, I'd just like to know when."
"Yes, when that might happen, since she's your wife-," said John suddenly seeing that expression Sherlock had bore earlier returned. His eyes were slowly turning distant, as he stood up from his chair.
John tried to correct his mistake, "Not that I mean – she's your wife – it's a good thing – obviously!"
"Yes – she is – my wife," said Sherlock who swiftly put on his coat and scarf, "My wife." His friend walked off, making John feel like a complete prat for even talking. He hurried after him in the hope of sorting out whatever was driving Sherlock into distraction, or maybe even – scaring him.
She hadn't heard a word from him. It was past midnight by now, and her eyes were struggling to stay open. She tried to remind herself of what Mary had told her – "It's probably a case, you know. He always likes to disappear off, after what you've told me."
"I know I'm being ridiculous…It's just – what if something happened -,"
"I don't know – he could have been hurt – or worse – taken."
"Sherlock doesn't sound like one to get kidnapped, according to John's blog at least. If there's a damsel in distress, that's him."
"I'm just being a bit mental, aren't I?" she said with a laugh.
"Yeah, a bit – hormones can do that…it's allowed. You've always thought you never had him, then you get him, and he disappears. Of course you'll think he's left you – but he hasn't – Molly. He's been waiting for you for months, and I promise you he's not going to run in the opposite direction – if he does – I promise you I'll properly hurt him."
Molly laughed, "Oh God, I've turned into one of those women, and we've only spent a night and a day together."
"You've known him for years, this is supressed madness at best really, so – try to breathe – even sleep, that'll be good for you."
"Ok, I'll try."
Molly had tried, desperately really, but her bed wouldn't allow her. The sheets smelt of him. He lingered in her mind constantly, making her wonder if she'd done something wrong, except she knew she hadn't. She was just being a bit mad really. She'd just hoped for a text – anything – to explain why he was gone without a word. Hours past however, while she tried to fall asleep on the sofa, but it was then she heard the door unlocking. Molly's eyes blinked open, as she sat up on the sofa - staring at the door, "Sherlock?" she said carefully.
He still had his key by the look of it, for the door opened, letting bright light flood into the flat. She slowly slipped out from under the blanket, wearing only her short silk nightgown – another wedding garment.
His face was serious when he stepped inside, his eyes on her, while hers landed on the red smudge on his cheek. He looked…guilty, and she wondered if that was lipstick. It couldn't be, it had to be a trick of the light. She kept her mouth shut, hoping to be proven wrong, but he didn't speak.
"Hi," she said in a small voice.
Sherlock shut the door gently behind him, looking at her in the low-light flickering from the lamp standing over the sofa. She wanted to say something, anything, not knowing why his cheek was stained with red. Not knowing why he was looking at her so earnestly, with his dark curls covered in snow. Molly swallowed her nerves, when he after a minute of silence said, "Catch."
He threw something at her. She barely caught it, trapping it at the edge of her fingertips – it was a sleek black box.
Molly gaped, hurriedly shutting her mouth, as she looked up at his sincere face, a smile lingering on his lips, "Open it," he said.
She released a breath, opening the hatch to see a simple gold wedding ring on the inside, "It was my mothers," he said.
Laughter escaped her lips, "Is that – is that why – your-," she said pointing at his cheek, making him grimace, until he wiped the stain of lipstick off with the back of his hand.
"She told me it didn't leave a mark," he said with a brief shake of his head, "John of course didn't desire informing me of that fact – well – anyway – I am wearing-," he lifted his hand, displaying it to her, while walking slowly towards her, "- my fathers," he said, as he stood before her. It looked sturdy on his hand, and the opposite of odd, as she felt her stomach churn at the sight.
Sherlock took the box from her hands, carefully taking the ring, before he slipped it on her ring finger, "Oh," she said, staring at her own hand in astonishment, "Is this – why you've been gone?"
"I wanted it to be a surprise," he said softly, his mouth hovering over hers, lips gently brushing hers, "Mrs Holmes."
"Good," he said with a small smile.
Molly considered for a mere second something Mary had said that truly struck a nerve. After all – how long had they known each other? Years actually. Many years.
If one were to consider those years - every lost moment, every single second spent in some twisted agony, either under the same building or in the same room – they'd waited long enough.
She was not going to feel guilty. She was not going to think of anyone but him and her right now, "Oh – sod it," she said out loud, causing Sherlock's eyes to widen, when she drew him by the lapels down to her lips.
He followed her line of thought rather readily however. His coat flung to the floor, his hands on the small of her back, feeling the silky fabric underneath his fingertips, as they backed away slowly to her bedroom, ending up hitting her door by accident. Steering anyone in a dark room, with passion guiding them was difficult. He backed her through the doorway now, as she laughed feeling her back smart slightly. T
he laughter died, while he gave her supple kisses on her neck, slowly working his way to the top of her breasts. There was only a thin fabric separating her from him, and it was no surprise that his clothing vanished quickly.
His shoes thrown off, shirt ripped open, buttons tumbling to the floor, as they fell to the bed, almost tumbling to the floor. It wasn't without awkwardness, of course, though his deep kisses made her heave for breath. She could feel him entirely naked around her, as he slid the straps of her nightgown down, releasing her breasts. He soon took a pink nipple into his mouth, as his hands fondled with her breasts, slowly skidding over the material of the nightgown.
His hand slid from her breast, making its way between her thighs, finding no-barrier of underwear. She saw his startled expression that darkened as he dove down between her thighs, and her breath hitched in her throat.
She cried out his name at the sensations that coursed through her, his tongue teasing her, as a finger followed. Her hips rose from the bed, following his hand eagerly, while he tried to push her down on the bed. He held her down by her spread ankles, while her hands tangled into his slightly wet, dark curls, going towards his muscled shoulders.
He moved upwards again, when her head started to thrash against the sheets. Her hand was drawn to her mouth, and he drew it away giving her fingertips a kiss, soon gliding her out of her nightgown, until she was on her back naked.
Sherlock smiled at the sight of her, kissing her slowly down her body, before he ended up holding her close. He held her to his chest, letting his hand slide languidly down her, making her insides squirm, as she felt him tense slightly. She felt she knew why, felt the words flutter in the air, and she said, "I know."
He didn't need to say it out loud, from the way he held her close, from the way his mouth tasted her lips, as she felt the words pouring out from his skin.
He relaxed around her, then, as he tugged her closer to him, "Yes – I do love you Molly…" he said surprising her.
"I love you too," she said overwhelmed, shutting him up with her mouth, tugging him closer to her, as his length soon disappeared in her warmth.
Her legs twisted around his back, while he slowly filled her up, pushing deeper inside making her gasp. There was nothing else now, no one else, but them. She kissed his lips, his cheek, every inch she could reach, as their hands entwined, and he drove into her with ragged breath.
Her nails dug into his back, her legs tightening around him, as her body started to shake, feeling dazed by his sheer presence.
She knew that this was the first of many – many – times.
It was only the beginning, not the end. She cried out one final time. The cry extended over her entire body, as she felt him tremor, losing himself entirely in her. Several minutes went by until their breathing finally calmed down, and his head was laid between her breasts.
She smiled stroking his hair, feeling her heart rate slow down, as he lifted his head to kiss her lips. When he paused for breath, amusement deep in his eyes he said, "Mrs Holmes," before he dove onto her lips once more.
She didn't find being called Mrs Holmes disturbing any longer, not at all, for only promise lay behind that endearment. In the future she'd enjoy calling him Mr Holmes.
A WEEK LATER
Mary settled the cuppa in front of John, before sitting down by the table. They were in her kitchen, trying to make sense of things really, as she sat staring at the bemused man in front of her, "OK – so you haven't heard from him for days, then?" she said.
"No," said John who chuckled slightly, "Not after that ring-chasing bit."
"Yeah, Molly's not been at work either – apparently – they've gotten some other chap in, by the name of Anderson," said Mary, causing John to spit out his coffee down in his shirtfront.
"Anderson?" he said in surprise.
"Why, do you know him?"
"Yeah, I'd never think he'd want to."
"Apparently, from what I could understand from Molly's few texts – Sherlock had some news to give Anderson's wife. That's all I know. Not that it made any sense."
"Oh, really?" said John grinning broadly now.
"He seemed very helpful after that, apparently. Molly hasn't exactly been wordy on the topic, but at least I know she's happy."
"I suspect she is, but they're bound to get out of the flat at some point."
"And risk missing out on six-years worth of a honeymoon? Don't exactly think that's going to happen, John."
"You're probably right," he said with a slight shudder, "I am happy for him, except I'm wondering where I'm going to find a new flatmate, really."
Mary looked slightly thoughtful for a second, "Well, I've got room if you like."
He looked at her in surprise, "Of course that depends," she said standing up from her seat, not allowing him to answer, "I've got a bit of Q and A, as any respective English teacher would."
John's didn't hesitate following Mary to her bedroom to be questioned.
"At least it is over now, mummy," said Mycroft with a long sigh, twirling his umbrella in his hands, while his mother gazed at him wistfully.
"That I am well aware of. It was over quite a long time ago. Of course – I'm just wondering when you'll be married, dear?"
Mycroft looked up at his mother with a frown. From that moment he truly did want to disrupt his brother's marital bliss, for now their mother would focus on his, "I am married to my work, mother."
"That was what you're brother said too – I'm sure there's someone at your work who's interesting enough, isn't there? There is this rather dishy detective inspector, I think."
Mycroft's head turned swiftly to his mother in surprise.
A/N:Now I'd like to thank you every single one of you for reading, and to those I still have one-shots to give to. REMIND ME, because I've got a terrible memory. I am just so very grateful you guys at all read the story, and if you finished reading this chapter. WOW. THANK YOU for that, since wow. To everyone who reviewed, you favourited, who just kept reading, who followed, just THANK YOU.
I hope I didn't disappoint.