Sherlock x Molly

She'd had enough of the waiting, told herself time and time again, over and over in the tube on the way to Bart's where she knew he'd be because he was in the middle of a case and he always found himself in the lab when he was in the middle of a case and-

Molly Hooper took another breath, willing her heart to stop bloody pounding against her ribcage. She'd made up her mind about this. She had. Really.

But this was Sherlock Holmes! The Sherlock Holmes who never once gave her the time of day but to ask for a coffee or to comment on her lips being too small or on whatever she was wearing that was different because he noticed everything. Every god forsaken thing. But one.

Molly took one more deep breath for good measure, exhaled sharply, and before she could convince herself otherwise, she pushed her way through the double doors and into the lab where her heart stopped. It always did that with him, stuttered like it didn't know what to do with itself anymore, like it hadn't been beating every single day since before she'd been born. Sherlock was sitting behind one of the desks, absorbed as always in whatever he had beneath the eye of the microscope he was huddled over, his face somehow even more angular in the unnatural laboratory lighting.

"I said, can you pass me the other slide, John." Sherlock said suddenly, not agitated so much as just preoccupied. He mustn't have noticed Dr. Watson's leave. So perceptive about some things, completely oblivious to others…

"Um, it's Molly actually," Molly mumbled, Sherlock looking up from the microscope and pushing himself back in his chair enough to see her face, the wheels protesting against the halt in momentum.

"What? Oh. Molly, yes. Perfect. Could you pass me that slide over there?" Molly followed his now outstretched hand to a spot no more than a foot away from his desk, Sherlock already consumed once more by the microscope.

"Sure," Molly cleared her throat, picking up the slide dotted with some form of red liquid she assumed was blood and placing it in his upturned palm.

"Where's John? When did he leave?" Sherlock asked, still not looking at her. Molly sighed.

"I don't know. I didn't see him." She offered. "Maybe he went out for coffee."

"Ah yes, coffee. Would you mind?"

"Some coffee?" Molly frowned, feeling a rush of aggravating déjà vu. Sherlock didn't notice. Because he never noticed. Not with this. Not with her.

"Sounds perfect. Black, two sugars, please." Sherlock adjusted something on the microscope and just like that he was gone and she was forgotten. She could leave right now, never bring him his bloody coffee and he probably wouldn't even realize. Molly felt her face grow hot, her eyes prickling, but she couldn't help herself.

"I'll be right back with that, then." And she turned around to leave, her plan up in smoke as it always was when she finally got in front of him, because he was so damn unapproachable and so inconsiderate it physically ached to be around him, but fuck if she didn't keep coming back. She'd never stop coming back, because he was mysterious and beautiful and more brilliant than any man could ever hope to be and so fucking attractive it made her feel like she was on fire.

And if she didn't do this now, she never would, so without giving herself time to change her mind, Molly turned back to face him. "Actually, no?" She cringed at the question in it, hoping he hadn't heard while simultaneously knowing that he must have. He didn't miss anything. Not when it mattered. As if on cue, Sherlock readjusted the slide before tossing Molly a quick once over for analysis, looking back into the microscope almost instantaneously, as if he'd found nothing.

"Have I said something to offend you again?"

"No… Well, yes, but… Just," Molly huffed, her agitation actually fueling what she knew she was going to do next. Oh god, was she really…? "Will you please look at me for once?"

Sherlock paused in his methodical workings on the scope, looking up in something actually akin to surprise, her tone apparently throwing him off. Which meant this might be her only opportunity. Lord knew she'd never work up this sort of courage again, so before her actions could catch up with her brain, Molly walked up to his chair, straddled his legs, sat down on his lap, and kissed him.

The kiss was hardly something to write home about, probably because Sherlock was unresponsive at best, his eyes wide and questioning, stunned even when she pulled back to look at his face. But he didn't object, didn't speak at all, so she dove into him, convinced herself that this was the right thing to do because it was her only chance and it's what she'd always wanted. He was what she'd always wanted.

Eventually, his lips moved against hers, probably out of some experimental analysis, but it was progress, and Molly took advantage, worrying his bottom lip some and relishing the sort of surprised grunt that escaped him when she let her tongue trace the inside of his mouth. This time, when she pulled away, his breath was quicker, his eyes unfocused though still confused, still lost in a way that she'd never seen on Sherlock's always focused, always calculating face. Which is why the words he tried to say next were like a thrill, worming its way into her and egging her on.

"Molly… I don't…" He opened his mouth to finish but it was like he didn't know how to keep going, his brow furrowing in a confusion that was so uncomfortable on Sherlock's face it was as though he'd never done this before. But even for someone like him, surely… Molly lowered her hands onto Sherlock's chest, circling an already hardened nipple through the fabric of his shirt. He arched into that touch, eyes widening for a split second before closing, a long slow blink that made Molly's heart flutter. Surely he wanted this. Surely he wanted her after all.

"Shhh," Molly breathed against his neck, allowing her hand to trail downward, unbuttoning his shirt, lightly ghosting fingertips over pale skin until they reached his trouser buckle. Sherlock flinched, eyes watching Molly in a mixture of awe and panic, but still he said nothing. Molly smiled. "Let me," she whispered, unbuckling his pants, undoing his fly. "I've got you. Don't worry." And then carefully, she inched her hand past the waistband of his open pants and further, stopping once her fingers just barely grazed the heat of his hardening arousal. Sherlock's eyes snapped shut, his head falling back at the barest sensation. It took her breath away, made her press on, wrap her hand around his length and give it one long stroke.

Sherlock gasped, grabbing onto her arm as though to pull her hand out, push her away, but all he did was tighten his grip, so much so that it was painful, but she kept on, speeding up her strokes just enough. Sherlock opened his eyes then, his gaze frantic, searching hers for something that Molly couldn't define or translate. The look was almost wanton, Sherlock panting now. What she could see of his face before he buried it in the crook of her neck was flushed. He was shaking. Already so close. So she sped up faster still, lifting his head to place a messy, mostly lax and breathy kiss against his lips and then-

"Nngh-Ah! J-John…" The name was no more than a whimpered moan on the tail end of his release, but it sent a spike of panic straight through her, Molly turning her head, mortified, in the direction of the door. Surely Dr. Watson would think less of her now. She'd never be able to look him in the face ever again. And that would certainly mean her relationship with Sherlock would be sullied by all of this and-

Worse still, there was no Dr. Watson at the door at all. Which meant…

Molly looked down at the panting, half-lidded version of Sherlock she'd just kissed, just touched so intimately, a Sherlock who she'd just made come, who'd just called out not her name but the name of his flat mate, his best friend, his… Molly felt like her heart was trying to rip its way out of her chest, her stomach clenching sickeningly. Slowly, trying so hard to pretend she wasn't there, Molly pulled her hand out of his pants, wiping the stickiness away on the inside of her lab coat. Still, Sherlock didn't speak until she was working her way off of his lap, trying her utmost not to look as humiliated as she felt.

"Molly," He breathed, sitting straighter, looking at her like he was analyzing her again. She tried to find relief in that, in how even now he could somehow not get just how embarrassed she was, how much it really hurt to know she'd lost him even before she'd even truly had him to begin with. Because she'd never had him, really. And never would. But she just felt nauseous. The sound of his voice as he continued made her heart ache, the words as deep and casual and cutting and methodical as always. Always. "Was there some… Reason for all of that?" Sherlock asked, his sad attempt at being considerate actually making her want to laugh. Or cry. She hadn't decided yet.

Molly opened her mouth to speak, but it was at that exact moment that the door chose to open behind her and the good doctor himself decided to grace this already awkward moment with his unknowing presence. Molly swallowed. "I'm sorry," she choked out, turning on her heels and rushing out of the room, stopping just for a second at Dr. Watson's startled expression. She looked at him too and offered a quiet apology there as well which Dr. Watson didn't seem to understand. So she added shortly, making sure every ounce of what she was no longer allowed to feel showed on her face. "You… You make him happy, yeah?" Then, as an afterthought, "I don't think anyone else can."

And before Dr. John Watson had a chance to reply, Molly walked out of the lab, trying not to notice the evidence of her mistake soaking into her side as she tightened her grip around her lab coat.