Sherlock's mind spins as their lips collide, his large hands coming up to cup her face, and her smaller hands coming up to cup his face, thumbs brushing across his sharp cheekbones. Then they are a flurry of clutching fingers in hair, tongues dancing together, and bated pants of breath between their lips.
After a few moments of desperation, they finally pull away for much-needed oxygen. Their hands tremble just slightly on the other's jaw from the pining and anticipation of waiting for so many years for one another and holding back for so long.
Molly slowly drops her hands from his jawline and takes a deep breath, her eyes twinkling, and her pupils equally as blown black as his were. "Wh-...", she trails off, not wanting to lose the comfortably warm moment they were in.
Sherlock stares at her, blinking a bit quickly as if his mind is processing, and Molly grins, beginning to giggle after a minute. She leans in and softly kisses his forehead, making his eyes slip closed slowly. "I'll give you some time for your beautiful mind to go through things, no pressure", she whispers fondly.
As she goes to walk away, he reaches out and grabs her wrist gently. Molly sucks in a breath of air and then sighs quietly, knowing what is coming next, but hoping it wouldn't. Meeting his eyes, she can see that he's already guilty for what he's not yet said and her heart sinks in her chest.
"J-just say it, Sherlock", she urges him, her voice quiet and unsure.
"Molly...you-...you know that I adore you, and I'm not quite sure what came over me a moment ago, but I think we should try to...pretend it didn't happen. The last thing I want is to complicate things with us even more, and you deserve someone who can give you something deeper than I could. We both know that, don't we?"
Molly holds back the tears that threaten her vision, and the lump forming in her throat. She inwardly curses herself for needing to cry, knowing this would be the result. But alas, the feelings of her heart aren't so easily forgotten. "I suppose so", she replies in barely a whisper, unable to hide her pain as much as she wishes she could.
Sherlock's heart twists into a knot as he sees her expression. As much as she is trying to cover up how she is really feeling, he could always see her. She wore her heart on her sleeve and wasn't best at hiding her emotions, despite hating that aspect of herself. He gently caresses where he holds, to find her pulse still beating rapidly underneath the creamy white skin of her wrist. He traces his fingers slightly higher, stroking over the rough scar line from her late teens, knowing she has a matching one on her right wrist.
"Sherlock...", she begins, her voice cracking, a sob barely escaping her throat.
"You are the most amazing woman I know, Molly Hooper. You must know that I mean that with every fiber of my being. There are parts of me that meant those three little words and always will."
Tears begin to spill down her cheeks slowly, and he reaches up and brushes them away with his thumbs. "Just not your heart...", she murmurs.
He casts his eyes downward guiltily. "That's not what I meant."
"Yeah...I know, I'm just...well, you can deduce, I don't need to tell you exactly."
"I am sorry", he mumbles, a pang in his chest that feels like a hammer to the heart.
"Me too...it's never exactly been a secret to you that I...did mean those three little words. Even during the phone call. Of course you knew, you were paying the ignorance game for your sister, and I get that now...but you've always known how I feel. It's never prevented us from being friends, and I have never once tried to pressure you into anything you don't want. I never will either. But I think it's about high time that I say what's on my mind, and not just in my heart. Since you've had that chance. Fair is fair."
"Agreed. Go on then..."
"I think that if we tried, we could be really good together. I know the idea of a relationship seems horrible to you. But I think that because you know me, and you know I wouldn't be the typical nagging girlfriend, that maybe you could give it a chance. You know I support your career, however worried I get about you. That's the risk that comes with it, as long as you aren't completely reckless. I only scold you when you really need it, which you also know. I wouldn't be a chore for you. I could promise you that. But regardless of your choice, I can say without a shadow of a doubt that I'd never let anything that happens destroy our friendship. We have been through way too much crap to let something like that ruin us. I may be sensitive on the outside, but I am tough on the inside. I can handle whatever is thrown at me, and I believe I've proved that to you over and over. Maybe it just that I'm not your type...I mean I-I know that Irene was-..."
"Hey", he cuts her off. "No, that's not it Molly. Irene was nothing but a thrill ride. She was a mind game, a challenge, an adrenaline rush. I fell for the excitement, not her. Plus, she's a lesbian."
"A lesbian that loves you."
"No, she loves the game. There's a difference. She wanted me, just to say she had me. I didn't want that any more than I wanted Janine."
Molly swallows hard and wrings her hands. "So..."
"So...if I had a type...it would probably be y-you. But like I said, I don't think I'm ready for that, and even if I were, you deserve better than anything I could provide you. You know that."
"No, I don't know that."
"Of course you do", he raises an eyebrow innocently, his eyes soft and genuine.
"No...I don't think that or accept that. But if you don't want me that way and you aren't ready or whatever, that I'll have to accept. You're still my good friend, as I said."
Sherlock nods slowly. "Thank you."
"No need. That's how it was always going to be... guess getting caught up in the moment just stirred up hope and that's not your fault. It's mine...always has been."
He sighs softly and looks up at her. "Is there anything at all that I can say to help you not to hurt? I feel as though I owe you that at least."
Molly shakes her head. "Sherlock you can't just...well, maybe you can sometimes...but most people can't just decide not to feel something or to forget something just because they choose to. That's not usually how it works. It sticks with you for a long time until things fade out. You should know that going by what happened in your childhood. You didn't remember but it was still there inside of you. Because it hurt like hell emotionally."
"I never meant to hurt you. I don't know what I was thinking...it..."
"Just happened. I know, I was there."
"Yes..."
"I'll try to forget it. I'm not sure how I'll be able to though, seeing as you were the best kisser I've ever encountered."
Sherlock's face turns red and Molly smirks a bit to herself.
"Y-yeah?"
"Mhm. But I guess we have to forget it all, so I won't count it."
"Right...", he mumbles, peeved at himself.
The rest of the night went off without a hitch, the aura of the room settled back into friendly conversation or comfortable pondering silence, their kiss long forgotten. At least that's what they both thought of one another, but it wasn't something easily wiped from either of their minds or hearts.
.
.
.
Weeks go by and Sherlock and Molly are still on friendly terms, the discretion of the kiss assumedly forgotten into the depths of their minds. It happens to be a sunny Thursday, and Molly had taken Sherlock to physical therapy. He had been doing much better lately and has progressed to where he can slightly bear some weight on it, and almost fully bend his knee. Once they had gotten home, they had a nice lunch which consisted of Molly's famous grilled cheese and some crisps.
That evening they are having some alone time, Sherlock busy texting Lestrade about cases, and Molly in her bedroom, looking for a dress to wear on her date that night, unbeknownst to Sherlock. One of the male nurses in the emergency department had caught her eye in the café a few weeks back and had begun to talk with her. They had some nice conversation and a few days ago he had asked her out for dinner. Molly thought it would be a great idea since she has been in close quarters with a certain consulting detective that clearly did not want her in that capacity. Plus there was the added bonus that Finn knew what she did for work and didn't seem to mind it.
Putting her best effort into her makeup, and tousling her wavy hair, she slips on a beautiful red sundress that she had bought with Meena last year and had been saving for a special occasion. It hugs her figure nicely, yet flows airily, hitting above the knee. The V-neckline highlights what she has for cleavage, which admittedly was not too much, as well as her collarbone, which she adorns with her grandmother's silver bar necklace. Once she adds the matching earrings, she smiles softly at herself in the mirror and takes a deep breath. Nothing too fancy, but nothing too casual either. Walking over to her closet she slips on some black, short heels and takes a deep breath, hoping Sherlock doesn't tear apart her confidence the way he had four years ago at Christmas. But to be fair, they've been on much better terms the last couple of years than they ever had before.
Walking out of her bedroom, she bites her lip then stands up straighter, going straight for her purse, but making an effort to walk directly by Sherlock as he sits and texts. Molly rummages through her purse for her lipstick, hesitating for a moment.
Seeing a flicker of red in his peripheral vision, Sherlock looks up to see what the offending item was, his interest piqued. Upon seeing Molly in her bright red dress, his eyebrows shoot up and he ends up staring at her, pondering over a tube of lipstick. He smirks softly and speaks up.
"That's a fitting shade for you. Much better than the one you wore in the lab years ago."
Molly straightens up and looks over shyly. "You think?"
"Of course. Goes better with your skin tone. You don't look as washed out."
"Oh well thanks, I guess."
"That's a nice dress. What exactly are your plans for the evening? Are we going to a fancy dinner or something? Shall I go and...attempt to dress? I am getting better at it, you know. I'm pretty used to Nancy helping me out, but it's getting easier every day, especially since I can bend my knee a bit now."
"Oh...uh, Sherlock, that's sweet but um...I actually have...yeah, I have a date tonight."
"A date."
"Yes, that is what I said."
Sherlock lifts his head a bit higher and looks her over. "Wh-why do you have a date?"
"Why...wouldn't...I have a date?"
"Well...because. Because, because you usually don't. I mean- you haven't lately."
"Mhm. Well, now I do."
"With whom?"
"I fail to see how that's your business, Sherlock."
"Well, if something happens, I'd like to know who you're with. For...caution's sake."
"I can take care of myself, Sherlock."
"I know you can."
They hold each other's stare for a few moments. Molly could almost swear that she saw jealously in his eyes but shakes it off as she turns away from him to apply her lipstick in the hall mirror. She can feel his eyes still on her, as if stripping her of her resolve to leave the house, making her feel guilty for leaving him alone for the night. But damn it, she deserves a nice night out, and with a good man...well, a better...a-...an /available/ man! It's not her fault that she wanted him, and he rejected her, and she knows why, but it still stings. That's why it bothers her that he keeps acting interested when he really isn't. It's not fair at all.
She finishes applying her lipstick and sighs at her reflection in the mirror for a second. That's all it takes for Sherlock to pipe up with his two cents, per usual. Though it wasn't what she was expecting at all.
"Molly you have nothing to worry about, you look lovely."
"Wh-?", she looks towards him, taken aback.
"I've been known to be uncomprehending in the face of beauty, however, that not entirely the whole truth, as I can recognize it when I choose to. That...dress does you justice. I hope he's worth it."
Molly flushes pink and looks at her hands. "Well thank you...that means a lot coming from you, Sherlock."
He nods and smiles slightly, a hint of something deeper behind it. "You certainly deserve it, Molly. I've always meant that."
"I believe you. Thank you..."
"Always."
"I uhh...better get going then. Wouldn't want to be late."
"Wouldn't want that, no. Planning on returning tonight?"
Molly looks a bit surprised. "Yes...why wouldn't I be?"
"You are a grown woman, Molly. I'm sure you can make your own decisions and use discretion. I'm just asking, in case you decide you really like this man, and one thing leads to another...well, you know how it goes I suppose."
Molly crosses her arms and looks angry. "Are you calling me a slut?"
"What?? No! I was merely saying that if you felt the...sparks...so to speak, that you're at liberty since you're a grown woman."
"Yes, I am at liberty, however, I don't have a curfew in my own home, and I certainly don't have to talk about my...my...my sex life with you!", Molly nearly shouts.
Sherlock raises an eyebrow, looking a bit amused. "No, you don't. I was simply asking if you planned on returning tonight. You don't have to get so defensive, Molly. It was a simple question. I'm not judging you; we are in a good place and I'd like to keep it that way thank you very much."
"Fine. I'll be going now. Don't do anything irresponsible while I'm gone, ok? Just promise me that at least."
"I promise."
"Good. So...goodnight."
"Goodnight, Molly."
She nods sharply and grabs her coat, purse, and keys, and leaves. Sherlock lets out a frustrated sigh and punches the throw pillow on the sofa. His mind races, the picture of Molly in that dress looking so beautiful clouding his mind, his heart screaming loudly for him to allow it out of its rusted, gilded cage; a reminder that while his intellect got him far in his life, emotional context has done a lot more for him that his brain ever could. More than his arrogance, his motivations, and his self-indulgent vices. His emotional context, his Molly. He realizes that maybe, just maybe, he has to be brave for once and let his heart rule for a while, see what can come of it. Especially knowing in his heart that he was beyond jealous of her walking out the door to meet some mystery man who is probably better in every way for her than he would ever be.
.
.
.
Molly waits in the booth for a while, sighing annoyedly. Her date is more than ten minutes late. The gall of some men! Hell, it was his bloody idea, and he has the audacity to stand her up. Yes, maybe she was being a bit harsh, as he was an emergency room nurse, and it could have easily gotten busy to where he was unable to leave. But she can't completely say that she was disappointed. Her dating life had been less than stellar the last couple of years, and she wasn't really sure whether she should try to jump into it full force again, especially after the whole Tom debacle. However, Finn seemed like a good, wholesome, decent guy. The type of guy she needed. The type of guy she wanted and deserved.
The only problem with that is that she was lying to herself. The type of man she really needed, wanted, and deserved was the man sitting alone in her house with his full head of curls, his bright, whirling, kaleidoscope-type ocean eyes. The man with the quick wit, sharp-tongue, and the gaze that can read your life story of your clothing. The man with the dapper suits, the billowing coat, and the soft scarf. The man with the silent struggles, the aching soul, and the heart of gold in moments that only she got to see. The man on every criminal's hitlist, every distressed person's wish list, and every woman's date list. The man with the international reputation, the broken childhood, and the tarnished sense of self. The man that she has known and loved for ten years. The man who trusted in her to save his life more than once, and who will never admit to feeling all the conflicting emotions inside him, especially the ones that make him hurt.
Molly sighs softly and leaves a note at the table for Finn if he shows before the waitress does, and slips out of the booth, grabbing her keys out of her purse. She walks to her car and gets into it, laying her head back on the headrest for a moment and closing her eyes. All she has ever wanted since she was young was a family of her own. Especially since her own was so messed up. Though she is extremely lucky that her father realized what was going on at home when he was deployed and saved her and her brother Matthew from their mother, she had hoped they would be happy, and they were, just not for long because her father took ill of lung cancer, and Molly was suddenly the sole provider for her then ten-year-old brother, mere days after turning eighteen. Of course, she loved her younger brother and adored her father deeply, but it was very hard, being an adult when you should have had time to be a kid. Now Matty is in the Army and her father is long passed. There are times she wishes so much that she could speak to him again; to hear some of his great advice.
Molly thinks back to when she was eighteen. How hard it was, how depressed she got, how the horrific sexual assault she suffered nearly a year after her father's death had nearly destroyed her. The universe had given her a second reason for living when she discovered she was pregnant, as she had decided the life inside her was something that was hers, that she was going to think of the good above the bad and the struggle. But the universe had yanked it away when she had miscarried her son. She had spiraled after that, resorting to cutting and anorexia. Luckily, she still had her little brother. He became so scared for her that she realized she needed help and had vowed to get it; he had saved her. So she had gotten help and -very- slowly, day by day, learned how to function again. She had to, to raise Matthew, as she wouldn't survive if he had gotten taken away from her too.
Tears fall down her face as Molly raises her head again, looking into her car mirror, dabbing the tears away so she doesn't smudge her makeup. The only person in the world who knows her whole story, other than her friend Meena, is Sherlock. Way back when they had first met, after he had gotten clean for the first time, they had a casual dinner at Angelo's to get to know each other better. Molly hadn't planned on spilling her guts, but he was easy to talk to and a good listener. She had talked, he had listened, and he returned the favor by telling her what he thought was his childhood story at the time. It was nice, a good start to their working and friend relationship.
Molly knows that she's strong and resilient, that she has been to hell and back. It's time the world owes her some happiness, and by God, she's going to try her damnedest to have hers. Making sure that her makeup is intact, and her face isn't puffy, she turns her car on and begins to drive home, her stomach filled with butterflies, and her heart in knots. It's time that he hears again what she wants and hopes that he will at least try.
.
.
.
Molly comes in the door and dumps her belongings, then makes a beeline for her bedroom. She needs to clear her head a bit, think everything through, come to terms with what she's feeling.
Sherlock watches concerned but stays silent, knowing something bad must've happened on her date. While he's internally grateful for that, he can't help but feel bad for her at the same time. He knows how much Molly has been through and that all she wants is a relatively decent life. The thing is, when she's like this, she begins to think that everything is her fault, and she begins to think the worst of herself.
He grabs his crutches and pulls himself off of the sofa, dragging himself down the hall and stopping before the doorframe of Molly's bedroom. He listens for a moment and hears nothing, so he gently raps on the door.
"Come in...", he hears softly from behind it. Nudging it open with one of his crutches, he leans against the doorframe and watches her. She is seated at her vanity, brushing her hair.
"Nervous habit", Sherlock's mind reminds him.
Molly looks over and sighs, tossing her brush back onto the surface with a clatter. "I'm sure you're assuming why I'm home so early."
"You don't have to tell me; you don't owe me an explanation."
"No, but you like them."
"Why does everyone think that?"
"Because you do...all the time."
"Okay, but you don't have to give me one is all I'm saying."
"Then why are you standing there?"
Sherlock shifts his weight on his crutches then runs a hair through his hair.
"Nervous habit", Molly's mind reminds her.
"I just...thought I'd make sure everything was alright, I suppose. You came in the door without a word and headed straight to your room. I was...concerned. I'm allowed to be, aren't I?"
Molly bites her lip and nods. "Yes. You're allowed."
"So then...did you want to talk about it? That's usually what people are supposed to do, right? I am learning", he smiles a bit and shuffles over to sit at the bottom of her bed, facing her vanity chair.
Molly cracks a smile and takes a deep breath, turning towards him as well. "He probably got busy at work, or maybe he forgot. I don't know."
"He stood you up!?"
"Looks like it."
"That bastard!"
"Sherlock, it's alright. He's an emergency room nurse, he probably got stuck at work."
"That's not an excuse. Or at least a very terrible one."
"That's not even the worst part of it."
Sherlock furrows his brow and looks at her so concerned that her heart skips a beat in her chest. "Why, what?"
"Well, I-...I'm not that upset. I'm actually slightly relieved. After everything with Tom...I don't know how many more relationships I can take if they're just going to leave or turn out to be someone they're not. I can't handle it anymore. I think I'm done. I'll...I'll be the old cat lady, I don't know. I can't handle anything else...", she looks down at her hands, tearing up slightly, not wanting him to see it.
Sherlock reaches and pulls her chair closer, so they're nearly knee to knee. "Molly...", he whispers, gently holding her chin and tipping her face up towards him, seeing the tears in her eyes.
His gaze is so loving and tender, it nearly makes Molly burst into more tears. Luckily, she is able to keep it together.
"You are the best and kindest and strongest woman I know. You are loving to a fault, beautiful, and intelligent. You deserve the world."
Molly's lip trembles a bit and she hugs him tightly. Sherlock stiffens out of habit but then relaxes into her, gently stroking her hair. "Thank you, Sherlock", she mumbles into his shoulder.
Pulling away, she looks at him and gasps. "Oh! We have to put a fresh wrap on your leg. I nearly forgot."
Before he can reply, Molly's mobile rings. She gets up and grabs it from her night table and looks at the caller ID. "It's Mycroft."
Sherlock growls annoyedly and rolls his eyes. "What the hell does he want?"
"I should probably see", she chuckles, wiping her face and answering. "Hello, Mycroft. To what do I owe this pleasure, today?", she exclaims sarcastically.
Sherlock can hear his brother's annoying voice on the other side of the phone but can't quite make out what he's saying.
Molly nods and looks over at Sherlock. "Oh...yes, that-that's fine. It'll be okay. I'm sure we...uh, -he- can handle it. Yes, he's progressing nicely. I'll let him know. Thanks for the heads up. Mhm...good day. Bye."
"What was /that/ about?", he scoffs.
"Well, the nurse can't come today, she has another patient with an emergency. So...it looks like you'll have to figure out how to...dress and undress around your leg."
"Oh...well uh, I can but it usually takes two of us."
"Right well...um...how about I change the wrap first ok? Then maybe...I don't know. Maybe I can help you."
"Undress?"
Molly's face turns crimson, and he can't help but smirk a bit. "Yes? I mean, if you want or...or need the help. If not that's fine."
"I may need a little assistance, thank you."
She nods and clears her throat. "Okay, well, let me go grab the wrap. Why don't you meet me in your room since y'know, that's where your pajamas are."
Sherlock nods and hoists himself up with his crutches. "Yes ma'am."