Just thought I might as well do a bit of last-minute shameless self-promotion for the SAMFA’s.
Here’s a list of the fic I’ve written this year. If you haven’t already read them I hope you enjoy them. And if you happen to think any are worthy of a nomination I’d be honored. :)
Say It Again - Post TFP. Molly didn't know what time it was, only that it must be the wee hours of the morning. Many hours and buckets of tears since that horrible phone conversation.
Sleep With Me - When Sherlock offered the sleepy pathologist his bed he really hadn't intended on joining her
The Beginning of a Beautiful Work Arrangement - Barts needs a new pathologist, Sherlock Holmes knows just the person for the job.
Solve Crimes, Have Dinner. - Solve crimes and have dinner - what else would Sherlock and Molly do on a date?
Kiss Me (Like You'll Never See Me Again) - Takes place during HLV. After the events with Magnussen, Sherlock stops by the morgue to tell Molly goodbye.
Covered In I Love You - Molly had the door opened before Sherlock had even reached it. She had heard his footfalls as they pounded along the hallway towards her flat, fast and frantic, just like the beating of her own heart. She felt like she had been waiting forever for him to arrive and now he was here. Finally.
Sherlolly Appreciation Week - Day Three: “First Kiss”
A/N: I didn’t actually think I was going to be able to write anything for today - woo hoo for last minute bursts of inspiration! Keep in mind that I’ve literally just finished this and have only read it over once, so please forgive any errors or timeline discrepancies. This starts out during HLV.
Molly's steps faltered slightly as she entered the morgue and saw Sherlock standing in the middle of the room. She hadn't seen much of the man recently. Not since the day John had dragged the Consulting Detective into Barts for a drugs test. It had been weeks since then, but Molly still felt a bit tense around Sherlock. She had gotten so heated in that moment only to be abruptly cut off before really having a chance to cool down. Things still felt a bit unresolved and Molly wasn't entirely comfortable just yet with the idea of going back to business as usual.
“Oh, hello Sherlock,” Molly said politely, her voice was a bit more formal than it usually was when she spoke to him.
“Hello Molly,” Sherlock replied, his own voice quiet, the raw sound of it giving Molly pause.
Her heart plummeted as she recalled the last time she'd heard him sound like that. Oh god.
“What's wrong?” She demanded, any bitterness she was feeling towards Sherlock a second before completely forgotten. “Tell me what's wrong.” The words, echoing in her mind from the memory of that fateful night years ago, spilled from her mouth again now.
“I…” Sherlock cleared his throat, eyes blinking rapidly. Molly felt the unease that had been steadily wrapping itself around her tighten in her chest. “I have to go. I mean I'm… going away, Molly”
“Away?” Molly repeated, breathless. She shook her head. She didn't understand “What do mean? Away where? For how long?”
Sherlock looked at her, his expression pained, and Molly could see the answer in his eyes. “No,” she whispered. She shook her head again, the motion frantic this time. Her eyes stung. “But I just got you back.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “No, I mean…you just came back. I…” I can't lose you again. Molly swallowed down the words stuck in her throat, not daring to say them aloud, instead, she asked, “Why?”
“It's not important,” Sherlock replied.
“It's bloody important to me,” Molly all but shouted. “You trusted me with your secrets before, don't shut me out now. Sherlock, please.”
Sherlock sighed, eyes closing briefly, and nodded.
Tears were streaming heedlessly down Molly's cheeks by the time Sherlock finished telling her about the what happened with Magnussen and the deal Mycroft had made.
“Oh, Sherlock.” Without thinking, she reached out and grabbed his hand. She sniffed back her tears. “When…when are you leaving?”
“Now, actually.” Sherlock's voice was solemn.
“Now?” Molly's grip tightened fiercely around Sherlock's hand as if someone were physically trying to pull him away from her. If her hold was painful at all, Sherlock didn't seem to mind.
His phone chimed.
“It's Mycroft,” Sherlock said without checking. “He's downstairs. I don't have much time. He was reluctant to let me come here in the first place. But I told him that wasn't leaving without telling you goodbye in person. It's the least you deserve from me,” he added, lips twitching in brief, small smile. “But he warned me that if I take too long he will come in here and drag me out to the car himself if he had to.” Sherlock smirked showing that he didn't take the threat too seriously. “I must admit it would be quite amusing to see him try.”
A giggle bubbled up out of Molly despite herself, the sound wet and hoarse. She bit her lip, trying to keep the fresh tears welling in her eyes from spilling over. Sherlock stepped closer to her, so close that she could feel the heat of his body radiating through his clothes. Her breath caught and she held it in as Sherlock lifted the hand not holding hers to her face, his thumb brushing away an errant tear, tracing over her lips. Then slowly, so slowly – or at least that's how it seemed to Molly – Sherlock leaned down to her face, and before Molly could comprehend what was happening, his lips brushed against hers.
Molly finally released her breath then so that she could take another, breathing Sherlock in. Her free hand curled around the lapel of Sherlock's coat as her lips moved tentatively against his. The kiss was tender and chaste, and more than Molly ever imagined. The sweetness of it was made slightly bitter, however, by the ‘goodbye’ she felt in it. It wasn't fair; Sherlock finally kisses her properly for the first time and it was going to be the last.
Sherlock pulled away first, but Molly could feel his reluctance to let her go. Her chest felt unbearably tight. She slowly opened her eyes to look into Sherlock's, his face still so very close to her own.
“Goodbye, Molly Hooper,” he whispered, his voice thick with the emotion he tried so hard not to show.
Molly shook her head slightly, her lips pressed together. She wouldn't say it back to him, she couldn't. Sherlock smiled sadly and he leaned forward again, this time pressing his lips to Molly's forehead. The sob Molly had been trying desperately to keep in tore itself from her chest, and as Sherlock stepped back she forced herself to let him go.
Her eyes shut tight, Molly couldn't bring herself to watch him walk away. The sound of his footsteps rang in her ears as he crossed the room, then echoed distantly down the hall before finally fading away.
*
It was the early hours of the morning when a knock sounded on Molly's door. She was curled up on her sofa, having cried herself to sleep sometime earlier. She opened the door, her red, puffy eyes going wide when she saw who was standing behind it.
“Sherlock?” she whispered, almost wondering if she was dreaming – or had what happened at the morgue earlier been the dream? She wasn't sure, and at moment, she didn't really care.
Sherlock cleared his throat, looking almost sheepish. “Yes, erm, well, it seems there has been a slight change of plans… I don't know if you are aware, but that trouble causing ex-boyfriend of yours was all over the telly earlier. The plane I was on had barely put its wheels up before England descended into chaos. So, suffice it to say I won't be going anywhere after all.”
Molly's lips parted but she couldn't find the words to say how she was feeling. But words weren't important right now, she decided. Molly reached out and grabbed Sherlock by the front of his jacket, pulling him over the threshold and closing the door behind him. She pushed Sherlock's back against the door and wrapped her arms around his neck. She lifted herself up on the tips of her toes and kissed Sherlock for the second time, knowing without a doubt it wouldn't be the last.
Summary: When Sherlock offered the sleepy pathologist his bed he really hadn't intended on joining her...
[On Ao3] [On FF.Net]
An amused smirk twitched at one corner of Sherlock's lips as he watched Molly fail in her attempt to stifle a yawn.
“Why don't you just stop fighting it and go to sleep?”
“'m fine,” Molly mumbled around another uncontainable yawn.
“I'm not Rosie, you know,” Sherlock snapped mildly. “I'm not an infant. You do not have to keep an eye on me every second.”
Molly caught her bottom lip between her teeth, either in contemplation or to bite back a retort, Sherlock wasn't entirely sure.
“Well, maybe… Maybe I will just kip here for a bit.” She put aside the book she had been reading and stretched out on the sofa, wriggling around for a moment to find a comfortable position.
“You can use my bed,” Sherlock offered, distractedly plucking at the strings of his violin. “You'll be much more comfortable.”
Molly's head popped up, her eyes slightly wide. “W-what about you?”
Sherlock huffed. “I highly doubt I will be doing any sleeping tonight.”
“Oh. Then maybe I should stay up and keep you company,” Molly purposed, looking unsure about leaving Sherlock on his own even if she would just be in the next room.
“Don't be ridiculous,” Sherlock dismissed. “There's no need for the both of us to lose sleep. Especially when you're tired and I'm not. I'll be fine.”
Molly sighed. “Okay. If you're certain.”
“I am.”
Molly hauled herself up from the sofa and crossed the room. “Don't hesitate to wake me if you feel any urges.”
Sherlock arched his brows at her.
“Oh you know what I mean,” Molly huffed, rolling her eyes, trying to appear exasperated, but the touch of pink tinting the tips of her ears gave away her embarrassment.
Sherlock smiled. “Yes. Will do, Molly. Goodnight.”
Molly sighed. “Night, Sherlock.”
A few hours later, Sherlock gently eased open the door to his bedroom and crept inside. He was bored out of his skull and, having come down from his sugar high a while before, in desperate need of some kind of a fix. He quietly checked the places where he stashed secret supplies of cigarettes, hoping they would be enough to take the edge off. He clenched his fists at his side and fought the urge to stomp his foot once he'd exhausted all of his hiding places and came up empty. Mycroft's team must have confiscated them when they did their sweep earlier – which was taking things a bit too far in Sherlock's opinion. His brother could have left him a few measly cigarettes to help get him through the worse bits. Frustrated, Sherlock raked his hand through the messy nest of curls on his head.
His eyes roamed over the moonlit room, looking for something interesting to occupy his time. The form on the bed shifted slightly, catching his attention. He remembered what Molly had said about waking her, but Sherlock quickly brushed off the idea. He wasn't all that bad off yet. Besides, Molly deserved a good night's rest. Especially since she had been so stressed recently, which Sherlock was partially at blame. All right, so perhaps he was mostly at blame.
Sherlock tilted his head and observed the slumbering pathologist for a moment. She looked completely at peace, no lines of confusion or worry marring her pleasant face, her body relaxed and still. It was certainly a contrast to how he was used to seeing her. Her petite body was usually bursting with energy as she flitted about the morgue or the lab. Her soft voice always nattering on, filling the silence with small talk. Qualities that Sherlock had endured early on in order to have free reign over the labs at Barts and access to any and all body parts he may have needed. However, over the years, he had grown genuinely fond of Molly's bubbly personality.
A smile split across Sherlock's face as he gazed down at Molly. The moment was spoiled when a yawn forced his mouth open and his eyes to close. He felt exhausted suddenly. His eyes drifted to the side of the bed not currently occupied by a pathologist; it looked awfully inviting.
He pursed his lips, casting a glance at the bedroom door, picturing the lumpy sofa waiting for him in the sitting room. He looked back at the bed. Molly's small frame was curled up at one end, hardly taking up any space at all. Sherlock could easily lie down on the other side and still leave ample room between them. He was unlikely to even disturb Molly at all.
Feeling his reasoning was sound, Sherlock rounded the bed and gingerly lowered his body down onto the side opposite Molly. He closed his eyes and fell asleep almost immediately.
***
When Sherlock opened his eyes again, daylight was streaming in through the gap in the curtains, bathing the room in a bright morning glow. The delicate sound of a throat clearing ripped his gaze away from the sun painted ceiling. He turned his head slightly and was met with the warm, coffee coloured gaze of Molly Hooper, her eyes only sparse inches from his own.
“Er, morning,” she murmured. She gave Sherlock a tight, awkward smile before looking away from him.
“Good morning, Molly,” he replied, turning his furrowed brow back towards the ceiling. “Did you…sleep well?”
Damn. This wasn't supposed to have happened. He had set his internal clock to wake him well before Molly should have come around. It had never failed him before—except on occasions when he had been drugged; he was fairly certain that wasn't the case this time.
“Oh, erm, yes. I did,” she chirped, voice strained. “Best night's rest I've had in ages actually. You?”
“Hm? Oh, yes. Yes. Very…restful.”
Sherlock was surprised to find that this was true. He usually didn't sleep for more than three or four hours at a time. He deduced the approximate time by the position of the sun in the sky and the lengths of the shadows cast about the room and realised he must have slept twice that long.
“Oh, good. That's good,” Molly remarked. “Erm…”
Hearing Molly's hesitation, Sherlock looked back at her; creases were etched across her forehead and she was worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.
“What is it?” Sherlock demanded.
“Well, I… I sort of need the loo.” Molly's voice went high at the end, almost making it sound like a question.
“Oh.” Sherlock blinked. He had expected she was going to question him about how he ended up in bed next to her. He was a bit relieved at not having to go to the trouble of explaining himself. “Er…okay.” The wrinkle between his eyes deepened when Molly made no move to get up. “You do know that you don't need my permission to use the facilities, don't you Molly?”
Molly's cheeks reddened. “No. I mean, yes. I know that. That's not why…” She let out a flustered sigh. "It's just that I'm a bit… trapped at the moment.” She looked down pointedly and Sherlock followed her gaze to where his arm was wrapped securely around Molly's waist, essentially anchoring her to him.
He blinked down at his arm, studying it as if it were some strange creature he'd never seen before; as if it acted of its own volition separate from his brain and the rest of his body. Sometime during the night it had apparently reached out and snatched Molly, hauling her body across the expanse of the bed until she was nestled firmly against Sherlock's side.
“Sherlock?” The touch of concern in Molly's voice snapped Sherlock out of his revery. He quickly took control of his wayward limb and released Molly.
“Sorry,” he muttered, perturbed.
“It's okay,” Molly assured with a timid smile.
Sherlock remained silent as Molly scooted across the bed and got up. His eyes trailed her as she shuffled out of the room. He pulled the duvet up to his chin, noting how much colder the bed was in Molly's absence. He remembered how warm and comfortable he had felt before opening his eyes. He wished he could go back to that moment. Though it had been mildly alarming waking up to find he had wrapped himself around Molly's body in his sleep, Sherlock had to admit that the sensation of her body pressed up against his hadn't been the least bit unpleasant. In fact, even though she had hardly just left, he already missed that feeling.
He steepled his hands beneath his chin and contemplated the situation until Molly's voice announced her return.
“So should I, er, put the kettle on?”
Sherlock flicked a glance in her direction; she was hovering tentatively in the doorway, a too bright smile plastered on her face. She had apparently decided to just try and ignore any awkwardness she may be feeling.
“If you want,” Sherlock replied, his eyes swiveling back toward the ceiling. “Or…you could just…come back to bed.”
“What?” Molly all but sputtered. “S-sorry, what?”
“It's early yet,” Sherlock continued. “And it's not as if you have anywhere else you need to be. It is your day off after all. Which is why you were available to take the overnight shift to babysit me.”
“I wouldn't call it babysitting,” Molly argued meekly.
Sherlock barreled on as if she hadn't said anything. “You don't get many days off. Many of your coworkers have families and you don't. A fact that they use to exploit your kind nature and get you to take on extra shifts for them. And when you do have a day off they're usually spent running tedious errands. Or more recently helping to look after Rosie,” he added in a slightly softer tone, pausing for a moment. “When was the last time you allowed yourself to just relax? You should really take advantage of this opportunity, Molly. Who knows when another will come along.”
A smile wavered at the corners of Molly's lips. “Sorry, are you suggesting that I, that we, have a duvet day?”
Sherlock shrugged from his prone position. “If you like.”
Sherlock watched her from the corner of his eye as she pressed her lips together to hold back a smile. He swept up the duvet exposing the empty space next to him and arched his brows at her.
Molly's grin broke free, a delighted giggle escaping as well. “All right then. Why not?” She strode into the room, kicking off the shoes she'd slipped on when she'd gotten up before and hopped back into the bed.
Sherlock pressed his lips together and narrowed his eyes, not liking the distance she had left between them. He reached out, fully aware this time of what he was doing, and pulled Molly closer to him. Sherlock heard Molly's muffled laughter and felt her smile as she briefly pressed her face into his chest, settling herself in next to him.
A contented grin of his own spread across Sherlock's lips. His eyes drifted closed and he listened as Molly's breathing deepened and slowed, felt the rise and fall of her chest gently rocking against him. He synchronized his breaths with hers and let the sound of their hearts beating in time together lull him back to sleep.
