Doubt

Candour

Longing. That was the undercurrent. It was longing, and it was for him. It belonged to him.

"Sherlock," she whispered, her left hand lifting from his palm to his temple, brushing the wild curls out of his eyes.

And his belonged to her.

He leaned forward, catching her left hand in his right, guiding it gently from his temple to rest on the back of his neck, her fingers entwined in his curls. She murmured incoherence as he ran his hand back down along her arm to meet her waist. "Molly," he whispered, pulling her other hand up to his lips, catching the heavy-lashed swoon it inspired, "Molly, Molly. You are incredible."

The blush he inspired was highly gratifying. The stammering also. He smirked out loud, and she grumbled insults at him. This only garnered more amusement from the detective.

"I do need you," he said quietly, "and my arm does hurt."

She laughed a relieved, watery laugh, and he ducked down to lean his forehead against hers. "I am afraid. I am terrified. Someone's found me. They found me with you." She swallowed hard, nodding against him. "I can't lose you too. I need you with me," he breathed raggedly, feeling the accuracy of his words as he said them.

"I'm here," she whispered, wrapping both arms around his neck and burying her face into his shoulder. "I'll be here as long as you want me to be."

He sighed, his arms folding her into his chest. Her nose was frozen and he winced when it touched his neck. She really was very cold.

"Molly, which jumpers did you bring?"

She smiled, tilting her head to look up at him. "Why?"

"You're nearly as frigid as your patients, Doctor Hooper."

"Are you calling me a corpse, Mr. Holmes?"

"Go get some socks and a jumper, Molly. You need to warm up," he commanded sternly, giving her a light push off the bed. She shivered as she left his arms and went back to her portion of the dresser. Jumper, check. Socks....

"Oh, hell," she sighed exasperatedly. She could hear Sherlock chuckle and she turned to face him. "I've forgotten socks."

"Wear mine, then," he murmured from behind the file he'd resumed reading, glancing up momentarily with a foreign soft look in his traditionally piercing eyes. She blushed; Good Lord, she was doing that so often! Get a grip, Molly. Opening his drawer, she grabbed a plaid pair and went to put them on.

"Wrong drawer."

She blinked as she began to realize she was holding Sherlock's boxers. These are pants. I'm holding Sherlock's pants. Oh dear God! I rifled through his boxers! He's going to think I'm some sort of pervert. Put them back, put them back! Aghast, she looked up to an infuriating grin spreading across his face. "Now, Molly," he began, his voice silky, "I think it's rather early in the relationship to be trying to get into my pants."

She felt like crawling under the dresser and dying a horrible death. "Sh-sh-Sherlock," she tried, her stutter worse than ever. The sleuth let out a brilliant, warming laugh and slid off the bed toward her. He stood near and reached around her to the correct drawer, pulling out a pair of black socks, spotted with purple, and handed them to her. "Do you want to hang onto those?", he teased, gesturing to his boxers.

She threw them towards him suddenly like they'd burned her, running and jumping onto the bed. He followed her slowly, taking her in as she buried her face in a pillow and groaned in humiliation. He loved to look at her, he would admit that quietly to himself. She was so petite, so delicate, but simultaneously strong and admirably resilient. Her legs, oh how he loved her legs. She had them thrown across the bed haphazardly as she lay face down, wallowing in mortification and looking like a newborn filly. She was beautiful and elegant and clumsy and ridiculous, her long mane coming loose from the bun she'd pulled it into as they'd packed that morning. He wanted to pull the tie out, watch her hair tumble down her back and around her face and shoulders. He wanted to see her mesmerizing eyes focus in on his lips, then flick back to his eyes quickly. He loved the expression on her face when she looked at him. That care, that longing, that trust. He hadn't realized how much he craved that look.