Reminiscent Regret and Conjunctive Kismet

I Was Made For Loving You

*Graphic Smut-- If that's not for you, stop reading at the big asterisk, you can continue reading at the next asterisk.*

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Sherlock heads to his bedroom—the guest room—and looks through a drawer, pulling out some sweats and a worn tee shirt. He can hear Molly's footsteps heading down the hall towards him and smiles softly but nervously to himself. He still hadn't exactly expressed that he had changed his mind about them and that he wouldn't mind trying out a relationship with her. Hell, maybe John was right when he had said it would "complete him as a human being".

Molly walks into Sherlock's room with the wrapping, and he turns to her, smiling. "You know the drill. Drop your trousers", she laughs. Without fail, her little joke cracks her up every time.

He chuckles this time, especially because of the context that is yet to be known to her. Then again, maybe it was just his nerves that makes him laugh. Smirking a bit, he decides to joke with her even further. "Okay, but you'd better pray I'm wearing pants today."

Just like he knew it would, his response turns her face a strawberry red as she blushes furiously. "Sherlock Holmes!"

He laughs his deep, melodic, velvety laugh of his and it makes her giggle even more. "Yes, Molly Hooper?"

"Gee, I didn't even know you were capable of such jokes. That's usually my area."

"I am capable of many things, Doctor Hooper."

"Well, that I can't refute. Now sit."

Sherlock smirks and sits on his bed, leaning the crutches against the nightstand. Molly continues to blush as she assists him with taking his trousers off. Once they are, he slips his shirt off as well. For a moment he thinks Molly will faint from the lack of blood, since it's all in her cheeks. "Problem?"

"N-no." She grimaces at herself for stuttering herself again. "Just wondering why you needed your shirt off?"

"Does it bother you? I figured if I were going to be changing after, I'd may as well take it off now."

"Right, sorry", Molly mutters and clears her throat.

"No worries." He leans back as she begins to unwrap his leg and replace it with new, clean gauze.

Molly is very careful as not to hurt him or wrap it too tight. Once she's finished, she tapes it in place and smiles up at him. "There you go...all set."

"Thank you, Molly", he murmurs.

Molly shudders slightly at his voice, which had dipped slightly more than an octave, causing it to course through her veins like an electric shock. "You're welcome, Sherlock", she murmurs softly back, unable to help herself from noticing that the usual bulge in his pants is a bit bigger at the moment.

He must have noticed too because a red flush had begun to creep up his own cheeks as well. Molly clears her throat awkwardly and goes to stand up, but he gently places a hand on her arm. Her eyes flicker up to his and she notices that they are dilated, the way they once were when he had asked her for help in faking his suicide. Of course, back then she didn't think anything of it, told herself it was the lighting, that she had imagined it, anything but what it could have been.

"Yes, Sherlock?", Molly asks, her voice nearly a whisper.

"Don't go...", he says softly, his eyes still locked onto hers, both of them simultaneously running their tongues over their lips and blushing at the other.

"Okay", she says almost silently. Sherlock's hands tremble slightly as he brings his fingertips to her face, stroking her cheek and the curve of her jawline, seemingly studying her before slowly stroking his thumb across her bottom lip. Molly is frozen in place, enjoying the touch of the man she has loved for so long.