A/N: Okay, folks, here is the smutty (but sweet!) epilogue to this little supernatural tale. Thanks for sticking with it and I hope you enjoy this little ending. My thanks to minirose for helping me figure out what the scene was missing!
Two Years Later
Molly stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. She still had a hard time believing that this day had finally come, that she'd gotten through it without mishap, and that it was drawing to an end.
An end, and a beginning, she thought as she carefully pulled out the seemingly endless number of hairpins that had been required to hold her hair in place. As she did it cascaded down around her face and shoulders, a tumble of curls that would be gone by her morning shower.
As she put hairpin after hairpin on the edge of the sink, she reflected back to how much her life had changed since the discovery that supernatural forces were not only real, but could have devastating – if not deadly – effects on the 'real' world.
She and Sherlock had confronted the site of their mutual assault by Moriarty, the living room of this very flat, and come away from that moment united in their determination to overcome the evils Moriarty had done both before and after his death.
John and Mary had gotten married and were now the proud parents of eighteen-month-old Gwyneth Watson. Molly and Sherlock had stood as her godparents when she was two months old; Clara had come to the ceremony as well as John's sister Harry. The two women hadn't reconciled, exactly, but at least they were on friendlier terms now than they had been.
Just as she and Sherlock could be said to be on 'friendlier terms' now. Molly giggled softly as the last of the hairpins landed on the edge of the sink. She swept them all up and dumped them in the small box she used for storage, then bent down to put them in the cabinet under the sink.
When she stood back up and glanced in the mirror, a second face appeared next to her reflection. She smiled and turned around to rest her hands on Sherlock's chest. "Well, hello there, Mr. Holmes!" she said softly.
He leaned down and kissed her warmly. When the kiss ended, he brushed his lips against her ear and murmured, "Well, hello to you, too Mrs. Holmes!"
Molly couldn't stop smiling if she tried. Today had been perfect; no problems, no murders or attempted murders at the wedding – her wedding, to Sherlock Holmes, the man she'd loved for so many years – everything just perfect. And now it was the wedding night, the first time they would sleep together as husband and wife – well, technically the first time they would sleep together, ever, since the Moriarty Incident hardly counted and was not a memory either of them relished.
She was nervous, yes, but not because she thought any bad memories would come between them; no, she was nervous because it was Sherlock she was about to make love to. Her husband. That was a steadying thought; he loved her, they were married, they had their whole lives together to look forward to…bliss. He'd been as good as his word about letting her set the pace for their romantic relationship, never pushing her for anything more than she was able or willing to give. When he'd proposed to her a year ago, she'd thought about having sex then, but realized she just wasn't ready yet. And when she'd hesitantly asked him if he wouldn't mind waiting until their wedding night, he'd been fully supportive of her wishes. "I've waited this long, Molly, what's another year?" had been his exact words. In any other man she would have taken it for sarcasm, but not Sherlock. No, he meant it, and she loved him even more for it.
They'd moved in together six months after he proposed, and although Molly had been nervous about sharing a bed with him, it had turned out to be a non-issue since he rarely slept when on cases – and had been very busy with cases the entire time. The few nights he had tumbled into bed with her he'd simply snuggled up against her and fallen swiftly to sleep. She'd grown used to the feel of his body against hers and his arms wrapped around her – who would have figured Sherlock Holmes as a snuggler? – and felt a tingle go up her spine at the thought of something more happening between them tonight.
"Let me help you with that." Sherlock turned her to the mirror and started undoing the buttons of her gown. Molly bit her lip to keep a nervous giggle from escaping as she felt his long, dexterous fingers against her skin. She wasn't exactly a virgin, so why did she feel so nervous? And Sherlock had seen her naked body plenty of times – they'd become accustomed to dressing and undressing in front of one another, and Sherlock had never been body-shy. But this was different, and she felt a surge of nervousness wash over her. What if she wasn't actually ready, what if she panicked or had a flashback or…
"Molly, honestly, you have to stop that." Her husband's words sounded irritable, but the expression on his face was one of understanding as she met his gaze in the mirror. He'd finished undoing all the tiny buttons that held her dress to her body while she kept her arms over her bodice so it wouldn't simply fall to the bathroom floor. "Just because we're going to make love for the first time doesn't mean you have anything to be nervous or self-conscious about." He seemed to reconsider his words, and a slight frown wrinkled his brow as he added, "Well, of course there is but try not to be."
He shook his head and his frown deepened as if he realized what he'd said wasn't actually making it any better, and Molly turned once again to face him. She raised her hands and cradled his face, pulling him down for a warm kiss as her dress slid to the floor. "I know," she said when the kiss ended. "Thank you." She bit her lip again, steeling herself for what she felt she needed to say. "But Sherlock, this isn't just about me, it's about you, too. It's about us. What we both want. And if you're not…if you're happy with the way things have been, then that's fine, I don't…"
She was silenced by his lips on hers again, only this time the kiss was far from chaste. His tongue slid along her upper lip until she opened with a small gasp, her hands reaching up to grasp the lapels of his silky blue dressing-gown, into which he'd changed as soon as they returned home.
His hands moved down to her shoulders and from there to her waist; when he pulled her naked form snugly against his body, she gasped a bit, breaking the kiss and opening her eyes as she felt a warm bulge pressing against her hip. "Yes, Molly, I want to make love to you. I've wanted to do so for years, but first the work and then…well, frankly, I was an idiot," he said, pulling a face. His hands fanned out so that his fingers were brushing against the curve of her arse, his pupils were dilated and his breathing sounded as loud as her own. "But never, ever doubt that I want you as much as you want me."
That was all the reassurance Molly needed to know that Sherlock wasn't just doing this for her sake, but for his own as well; she pulled him down for another kiss, much deeper and more passionate than the first. He moved his head down to lay a string of kisses along her throat and shoulder, then spun her around and lifted her in his arms to carry her into their bedroom.
Negotiating the doorways as if he'd been carrying women through them for years instead of this being his actual first time, Sherlock smiled down at his wife of exactly eight hours and seventeen minutes. Everything he'd just told Molly had been nothing but the unvarnished truth, and he was glad that her earlier hesitance had finally vanished. She was grinning at him, her arms around his neck, one leg slightly kicked up, not saying a single word about how she'd left her wedding gown a crumpled mess on the bathroom floor.
Good. There was only one thing on his mind at the moment, and he was gratified that it was now her sole focus as well.
He didn't bother switching on the light or shutting the bedroom door; the two of them were alone for the rest of the night and most of the following day as well, since Mrs. Hudson was staying with John and Mary and little Gwyneth for the night. He smirked to himself as he laid Molly on the bed; unless, of course, their landlady found herself invited to spend the night with the older gentleman who'd accompanied Clara to the ceremony. He was some other psychic specialist or other Sherlock hadn't bothered to remember, and possibly a relative of Clara's as well.
Irrelevant, unimportant, already deleted. The only thing that mattered was the newly-minted Mrs. Molly Holmes lying back on his bed, her painstakingly curled hair spread out about her on the pillow, her naked body practically calling to him to join her. He shucked his dressing-gown, stepped out of his pyjama bottoms and tossed his t-shirt over his head, then crawled up to join her, leaning down to place a reverent kiss on her lips before tugging her over to sprawl across his eager form.
Molly giggled and kissed him; he could feel her fingers in his curls as he slowly ran his hands over her body, cupping her buttocks and squeezing lightly as her giggles turned to soft sighs and moans. The kiss deepened, his tongue tangling with hers in a languorous dance that only grew in passion as they caressed one another's bodies. There was no urgency to their actions, only a slow burn that felt as natural as any deduction he'd ever made…and eased his racing mind far better than any drugs he'd ever taken.
He knew her body quite well by now; in fact, he could now admit that he'd known it even before Moriarty forced intimacy upon the two of them. He'd always kept her measurements in his mind palace – the size of her lips, her hips, her waist, her breasts, every detail, meticulously noted with adjustments as she gained or lost weight. The color of her hair and eyes were in there as well, how she looked when she was flushed and angry, when she was sad or happy…every detail. Never deleted. How had it taken him so long to realize she was his solar system, the center of his universe?
He was certain he mumbled some such against her skin as he rolled them so she was underneath him again. He kissed his way down her throat to her collarbones, and her definitely felt and heard another giggle as he did so, but it turned back into those soft sighs and moans he adored as he reached her breasts. Small, yes; perfect, absolutely. He closed his lips over her right nipple and reached up to gently squeeze the left, altering his movements in accordance with the gasps and squeaks she was making. Her hands were still tangled in his hair, stroking his scalp in the soothing motions the both loved.
He slid one hand slowly down her leg, grazing her hip, the outside of her thigh before moving inward. He made his ultimate target quite obvious, but Molly showed no signs of tension, simply sighed and shifted her legs further apart, granting him full access. He dipped his fingertips inside and found that she was, indeed, not only ready but quite eager for him. He flicked his thumb across her clit and was rewarded by the sound of her deepening groans of desire. He worked her with his fingers until he could feel her trembling on the edge, and was about to bring her over when she tugged at his hair. "Sherlock," Molly gasped, "please, I need you…inside me, now, please!"
He complied instantly, moving his body over hers, leaning on one elbow and positioning himself against her entrance with his other hand. He kissed her as he eased his way inside her, loving the feel of their bodies so close to one another, marveling yet again at how fortunate he'd been to have Molly Hooper in his life all this time – and chastising himself yet again for waiting until Moriarty's beyond-the-grave return forced him to confront his true feelings for his pathologist.
Now they were married, and he was the one thing he never thought he'd be; truly, deeply loved by a woman he freely admitted he didn't deserve.
"I love you," he gasped out, turning his head to capture her lips for a desperate kiss as they moved together. It was only the sixth time he'd uttered those words to her, and he determined to make sure she heard them from him more often in the future.
"Oh, Sherlock, I love you too!" she exclaimed when the kiss ended. No more words were needed, and none were spoken as they brought each other to the edge, Molly sliding over first with a series of harsh gasps and shudders, and Sherlock following swiftly after, moaning out his satisfaction and raining kiss after kiss on her face.
And although they each privately hoped never to have to confront the world of the supernatural ever again, each also knew that if it did happen, they would face it together.