Just Because - Part 10
Sort of fill for 
sherlockbbc_fic prompt Molly/Sherlock, One More Night
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9
In which Sherlock and Molly go on a date and there is awkardness! And arrangements are made. And fluff ensues.
Any mistakes are of my own creation and no, some of it has sooo not been inspired by things that have happened to me in real life.
___
I keep your picture upon the wall
“Sherlock, it's been a while! How are you? How is John?”
“Angelo. Hello. I see you still managed to stay out of prison.”
“Of course. Of course. It was fun but I enjoy restaurant life more.”
Angelo’s congenial face beamed at him, then looked at Molly. She smiled at him warmly.
“So you're here with a...lady friend?”
“This is Doctor Hooper.”
“Ah, a doctor. You have a thing for doctors, eh?”
“She works in the morgue at Barts.”
Angelo’s smile faltered a bit, “I...see. So this is a work thing?”
“No, it's not.”
He beamed again, “It is a date, then.”
He stepped over to Molly and put a familiar hand on her back, *You are the first lady he's brought here. It is something new.”
“Is it?” She looked at Angelo, then at Sherlock. Her eyebrows were raised in question.
“Yes. Well. I will get candles, make things more romantic,” Angelo added.
He leaned down, “Doctor Hooper?”
“Angelo?” said Molly. Sherlock could hear the amusement in her voice.
“Anything you want. I will cook it for you, personally. You understand?”
She nodded, “I think I do.”
“I will be back with the candles. Sherlock, wine tonight? Or the usual?”
Sherlock gave him a smile, “I'm sure you can offer us something exquisite.”
“Ah, yes, I have some lovely vintages...you and your...lady...friend...doctor...you just decide what you want to eat and Angelo will make sure
the wine is like a taste of heaven."
“Grazie mille, Angelo,” Molly said and the man looked positively ecstatic as he walked off to the kitchen.
“You look really lovely tonight,” Sherlock said. She did. The way she had her hair pinned up and the V of her dress accentuated her lovely collarbone. Why was he so obsessed with her collarbone?
“So Angelo’s another one of your many favours scattered around the city?”
“Yes.”
“Must be really…practical.”
“It is, very much.” He really must stop staring at her collarbone.
“I heard you solved the…”
“Here the candles! Ah, see, so much better, so much more romantic.” Sherlock couldn’t quite bring himself to glare at Angelo, especially as
Molly seemed to be utterly amused by him.
“Have you decided yet, lovely lady?”
“Oh the risotto with the porcini sounds absolutely delicious.”
“Ah yes, the porcini, woody, very good.”
With her brightest smile, she said to him, “I’m feeling adventurous tonight…so Angelo, why don’t you surprise me?”
Angelo’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. Sherlock smiled.
“For you, not only the freshest porcini but my prized porcellini…” he said and then disappeared back into the kitchen. Sherlock assumed that he would be getting some food too.
“Did he says something about a piglet?” She still looked bemused.
“Don’t mind him. He just got really excited because you gave him free reign over your meal.”
“I’m sure he knows best what is the best.”
“Logical.”
“Thank you.”
“You look lovely.”
She smiled, “You’ve already said that, Sherlock. Twice.”
“It’s still not any less true.”
She blushed, “Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Holmes.”
Then she laughed, “Who am I kidding? It’s me, of course flattery will get you somewhere.”
He frowned, “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“That.”
“I ah…er…uhm…you look impeccable, as always.”
He couldn’t keep the delighted look off his face.
They were chatting amiably - he was telling her of the case he just solved - when Angelo came back with the wine. After it was pronounced suitable, a server came with the antipasti.
And that is when things went a bit wrong.
He’d been telling himself that the bright-eyed energy hovering about Molly was simply nerves and/or excitement over the date. But he really suspected it was lack of sleep and Molly forcing herself to function on the little rest she’d had over the last days.
A tear rolled down her cheek and with an astonished look on her face, she quickly wiped it away. She stilled, as if trying to get a hold of herself, but then another tear rolled down. There was no stopping it then.
Excusing herself hastily, she almost knocked over her chair when she stood up. “I’ll be right back,” she murmured and walked towards the ladies’ room.
He gave her five minutes and then, ignoring all the looks from the other diners, he followed her. He could hear her sobbing from behind the locked door of the toilet and he locked the main door to give them some privacy.
“Molly.”
“I’ll be right out,” she responded through sniffles.
“Stay in there as long as you want.”
“God, why does it always have to be you?”
“What?” Had he unintentionally hurt her in the last fifteen minutes? He’d been on his best behavior!
“All my most embarrassing moments of late happen around you.”
“What’s embarrassing about this?”
“Crying over antipasti in the middle of a restaurant? It’s not embarrassing at all.”
“You’re in mourning, Molly. You’re allowed to be sad.”
“Sad, yes. Not having a breakdown in public.”
“It’s just the two of us. Hardly public.”
“Stop being nice. You’re making it worse.”
Someone knocked on the door. He ignored it. Molly came out of the cubicle.
Her hair was mussed, make-up was smudged and her cheeks had that blotchiness only a bout of crying could do, but he thought that she still looked very lovely.
“Just a moment,” she called out, using tissue and some water to clean her face. He watched her in the mirror and for a moment their eyes met. She smiled shakily.
“Can we leave?”
He nodded.
The woman outside the door gave them an irritated look. He glared back at her.
He was helping Molly put her coat on, when Angelo appeared from the kitchen.
“Doctor, is there anything the matter?” Angelo asked, looking like his whole world had crashed around him.
“The wine and the food were excellent, but something came up and we…” Sherlock didn’t even bother finishing the sentence and ushered Molly out of the restaurant.
“Home?” he asked her.
“No. I’ve been spending too much time there.”
“Walk?”
“Yeah, I could do with a walk.”
“I’m sorry for ruining a nice evening,” she said after five minutes.
“It’s not your fault if your cousin’s dead.”
“You’re really not good at this, are you?” she laughed.
“No. No I’m not. Not when it matters.” How was it that he could say the right things to people he didn’t give a toss about and yet with a friend, with Molly, he could never say things the way he meant them?
“Tell me about her.”
“Claire?”
“Yeah.”
“You probably know everything about her.”
“I didn’t know her.”
It was another five minutes before she started speaking.
“I taught her how to climb trees. When we were little, we used to visit our Nan for a week during summer hols. She had a big tree in the garden. I showed Claire how to get up there and hide.”
She started smiling at the memory.
“Whenever it was time to go home, she’d disappear and we all knew she’d be hiding there. We didn’t know…well, I didn’t know what was going on then at home…”
“I fell out of a tree, once. Broke my shoulder. Spent a whole summer...sorry, this was about you…”
“Oh no. Please anything to distract me.”
“Do you think that’s a wise thing to do?”
“No. I will have to deal with her death eventually. In hindsight, the autopsy wasn’t the most brilliant of ideas.”
“I would’ve done the same.”
“But you’re you, Sherlock.”
“Right.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to make it sound…”
“No, you’re right. I would’ve done it simply because I was curious and not because they meant something to me.”
“To tell you the truth, I wasn’t even thinking it was her when I performed the autopsy.”
“It’s bothering you, isn’t it?”
“Claire’s had a lot of things happen in her life. Joe…Joe never touched her but she’d often say that she wished he had because then at least there had been something physical.”
“She started on the drugs when she was fifteen. She ran away when she was seventeen, went over to Europe. We didn’t see her again until two years later. Things got better for a while but then she…ah…”
Molly was sobbing. He gently placed an arm around her and when she turned to bury her face in his chest, he held her closer. He rubbed her back with his hand as she quietly cried. People kept sending them strange looks but he ignored them and focused only on the woman in his arms.
“I’m sorry, I’m getting snot all over your scarf,” she sniffled and all he could do was kiss her temple.
“Shhh, it’s just a scarf.”
“It’s a very nice scarf,” she murmured.
“Do you want to go see a film?” she suddenly asked.
“Excuse me?”
“I just feel like sitting in a dark theatre for a while. And popcorn.”
“A film…”
“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”
“That’s not how dates go.”
“This is a date? And going to see a film together counts as a date.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be a date if I didn’t go with you. And this is a date.”
“So we’re on a date? And I just started crying in the middle of a restaurant during a date? This is a new low, even for me.”
“I’ve never been on a date before.”
“What?”
“Voluntarily, at least.”
“Oh god, this is one of those strange lucid dreams, isn’t it?”
“No, Molly, this is quite real.”
“I really am pathetic.”
“Don’t.”
“What?”
“Don’t do that. Don’t ever do that.”
§
"Sherlock," she whispered in the dark.
"Hm," he replied, around the mouthful of popcorn.
"Why did you tell me you were attracted to me?"
He hoped that at some point in the film the plot would start making sense, but forty minutes in, it was probably best if hope were abandoned. He was trying to ignore how intimate it was, having someone whisper in a dark, nearly empty theatre.
"Because I want to sleep with you." Wait, he hadn't intended to say that. At all. Well, at least he hadn't intended to say it like that.
Molly started to cough. He handed her the neon pink slush thing she'd ordered with the popcorn. She took a long sip.
"Sherlock, you can't say things like that," she finally said. Whispered. That whispering was going to be the death of him.
"Why not? It's the truth," he whispered back. There was just enough light from the screen to see her face. She was looking at him with round, confused eyes.
He wondered what would've happened if he'd just said that to her all these weeks ago. It seemed such a simple confession, now that it was out.
"So this is ... sex...thing?"
"Yes. No. I...I was hoping we could come to an arrangement."
"An arrangement?"
"An arrangement."
"A sex arrangement?"
"Yes." She just looked at him with those eyes. "And no." Those big, round eyes. "Forget it."
Suddenly there was an explosion on the screen and they both turned to see what was happening.
"Oh this is ridiculous," Molly exclaimed.
"I told you to forget it," he said, irritably. Why had he said it? Why had he said it in that way? Yes, it was true, he wanted sex from...with Molly...but calling it an arrangement? Of course she was going to say no. And her cousin just died. Why couldn't he get these things right? He should let John shoot him.
She giggled, "I didn't mean you. I meant the... this," she pointed at the screen, "This is not making any sense at all! Clearly the baddy is the one with the specs...what was his name? They're obviously going for a twist ending. Why else would they show him going into that room?"
"Molly, do you want to leave?"
"Yes please!"
"The popcorn's really good though."
"It is, isn't it?"
Back outside on the street, they stood apart, in an awkward silence. They were trying to ignore the huge white sex elephant between them.
"I didn't mean it the way I said it earlier."
She smiled, "About the sex arrangement?"
"Will you please stop calling that?"
She laughed, "I...can't. Sex arrangement. It's...so very...you."
"It's not."
"It is."
"It is not."
"Oh please, it is so you. It makes perfect sense that if you wanted sex, you'd have it on clearly defined terms and therefore have an arrangement. A sex arrangement."
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
"I cried in a crowded restaurant, cried on the street, watched perhaps the most awful film ever made...and I autopsied my cousin...yes, I'm enjoying this. I am allowed to enjoy this."
And then she started crying again.
"Oh bloody hell, Molly, get a hold of yourself," she sobbed.
"Do you want me to hug you?" he asked, because she'd turned away from him.
"No," came her muffled reply. She'd covered her face with her hands.
"Don't lie to me, Doctor Hooper," he said.
Straightening her shoulders, she turned around, wiped the tears off her face and said, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
“There's nothing to be sorry for.”
“It's just...it's been a really rough year.”
“I know.” He hailed a passing taxi. "Let's get you home."
They didn’t say anything on the ride to her flat. She was looking out the window, seemingly lost in thought. All the wired energy at the beginning of the evening had gone out of her. He supposed crying did that to someone.
For some reason, he’d thought she'd be a noisy, dramatic crier. For a woman who most of the time made as much noise as a little mouse, the idea was rather incongruous. The reality however was so much like her. There was something heartbreaking and yet dignified about it. It reminded him a lot of Mummy.
She was out of the car before he even had a chance to get money out to pay the driver. There had been a tinge of embarrassment in the silence and now that she was home, she probably wanted to forget the evening.
He expected her to simply go up to her flat, without a word of goodbye. But then she stopped and turned and fiddled with the ridiculously small purse she was carrying and handed him some money.
"This is an insult, Molly," he said and she made a little "Oh" sound. And shoved the money into his hand.
"Thank you for a lovely evening, sorry about the crying and I'll see you at Barts...or wherever...and can we pretend that I didn't spend half a date crying like the pathetic old spinster that I am?"
"You're not pathetic. You're hardly old enough to be considered old. And as for the crying," he stepped forward and brushed a thumb across her cheek, "like you said, you've had a rough year."
He could feel her breath hitch. Those eyes again, those wonderful eyes.
And then her breath came out in a woosh, "Is that sex arrangement still on offer?"
"I don't think this is a good time to discuss this."
"Why? Because I'm feeling vulnerable?"
"I don't want to...take advantage...any more than I already do," he replied.
A little movement from her side and all of a sudden she was too close, far too close.
"Sherlock," she whispered and he held his breath. "For once, I am asking you to take advantage."
He could hold his breath for a very long time. John had jotted down the record. There was a pounding in his ears and he realised that it was his heart racing. So he did the first thing he thought could alleviate this. He kissed her.
Well, he tried. What he ended up doing was dip too quickly and bump into her just as she was rising up to meet him.
"Oops," she giggled and he never felt more like a clod in his life.
He tried again and this time, the alignment was perfect. She was just the perfect height for kissing. One hand cupped her face, while the other held her hip loosely and he manoeuvred her towards the wall. Her hands were holding on to the collar of his coat, pulling him towards her even more.
Kissing. He'd never been a fan of kissing. His first snog had been an experiment, with a boy from school. He just wanted to know what the fuss had been about snogging. It'd been too wet and too spotty and tasted a bit of the sour sweets they'd gotten at the tack shop. All in all not the best of experiences. He'd tried again, of course. With all kinds of partners. But something about kissing had always felt not right.
Too personal. Too honest. Best avoided, if possible.
She hummed and he felt the vibration all down to his toes. He stepped back, breathing heavily, feeling very much disorientated.
"I'm sorry," he said.
Her brows furrowed and then she smoothed her face into a careful, neutral mask. He'd done it again. How often had he seen that sequence of expressions from her? The brief hurt and then the shrugging off. The pride reasserting itself.
"I'm sorry," he said, again. And wanted to hit himself because it wasn't helping at all.
"No, it's quite alright," she said, standing up straight.
Stupid, Sherlock. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
"I'm not sorry about the kissing," he hastily said and then to prove it, he kissed her again.
This time, she pulled away.
"I used to have an arrangement with someone. At uni," she said. "It was very nice."
He ordered his brain to think. To use its wits. To not ruin this again.
"You don't seem the type."
She smiled, shrugged her shoulder, "I don't seem a lot of things."
"I've noticed."
"There are so many reasons why we shouldn't...why I shouldn't...and I know the decision I'm making right now is because it's been a really strange night and I just don't want to feel alone for a while."
"Molly..."
"No, Sherlock. Let me finish. My brain is saying yes. It's my heart that's saying no."
"Isn't it usually the other way around?"
"You have a way of making things topsy-turvy...my brain is saying yes because it knows that it would be fantastic..."
He couldn't keep the pleased smile forming on his lips.
"But my heart is saying no because it's you. There's never going to be more than an arrangement...and I don't expect you to...it's just that..."
"Molly.."
"No. I've made a decision. I'm not going to let you break my heart."
There was a feeling, deep inside, that he couldn't explain. It was very often like that when he was with Molly.
"That's a wise decision."
"But I am going to sleep with you."
"You are?"
"Not tonight. You were right about the whole being vulnerable...weepy...and I have a bit of a headache from all the crying..."
"Orgasms release endorphins.."
She laughed and everything felt confusing. It was probably lust or something very much like it, for how else could he explain the urge to kiss her, to press against her, to be in her?
“I think we better take this inside. It’s a bit cold out here,” she said and despite her words earlier, there was a clear and unmistakable intent in her eyes.
“Are you sure?”
“About it being cold?”
He smiled, “You tease.”
She smiled back but then with a serious face answered, “Yes. Unless...you’ve changed your mind?”
He kissed her.
“That settles it then,” she said, when they pulled apart. Taking his hand, she led him into the building. They quickly made it up the flight of stairs to her flat. She had to let go of his hand to search for her keys.
“Molly,” he said as she unlocked her door. It had a pleasant way of rolling off his tongue.
“Don’t you dare try and talk yourself out of this,” she answered.
He kissed her temple, “Believe me, I’m far beyond being able to talk myself out of this.”
She dragged him inside her flat. And then there was a subtle shift in mood as she dropped his hand and took a few steps away from him.
“Well, here we are,” she said, nerves making her voice slightly shaky.
He had the impression that if he took a step towards her, she would bolt.
“You can change your mind about this, if you want to.”
She shrugged her coat off, “I haven’t changed my mind...I never realized how narrow my hallways was...”
He laughed, “Your hallway?”
“Yeah. You’re a very big, looming man...in the dark...in that coat...like a tall, gangly vampire...”
“Gangly?”
“No, not gangly...sexy...sexy, looming, tall...coat...Sherlock, please kiss me before I make a further fool of myself.”
“Meow.”
“Hi there,” they both greeted the cat. Then looked at each other and laughed. Toby walked over to both of them, and after a few pats on the head and some scratches under the chin, disappeared into the sitting room.
“Now, where were we?” he asked her.
“I believe you were about to kiss me senseless?”
“Ah, yes.”
Part 11
sherlockbbc_fic prompt Molly/Sherlock, One More Night
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9
In which Sherlock and Molly go on a date and there is awkardness! And arrangements are made. And fluff ensues.
Any mistakes are of my own creation and no, some of it has sooo not been inspired by things that have happened to me in real life.
___
I keep your picture upon the wall
“Sherlock, it's been a while! How are you? How is John?”
“Angelo. Hello. I see you still managed to stay out of prison.”
“Of course. Of course. It was fun but I enjoy restaurant life more.”
Angelo’s congenial face beamed at him, then looked at Molly. She smiled at him warmly.
“So you're here with a...lady friend?”
“This is Doctor Hooper.”
“Ah, a doctor. You have a thing for doctors, eh?”
“She works in the morgue at Barts.”
Angelo’s smile faltered a bit, “I...see. So this is a work thing?”
“No, it's not.”
He beamed again, “It is a date, then.”
He stepped over to Molly and put a familiar hand on her back, *You are the first lady he's brought here. It is something new.”
“Is it?” She looked at Angelo, then at Sherlock. Her eyebrows were raised in question.
“Yes. Well. I will get candles, make things more romantic,” Angelo added.
He leaned down, “Doctor Hooper?”
“Angelo?” said Molly. Sherlock could hear the amusement in her voice.
“Anything you want. I will cook it for you, personally. You understand?”
She nodded, “I think I do.”
“I will be back with the candles. Sherlock, wine tonight? Or the usual?”
Sherlock gave him a smile, “I'm sure you can offer us something exquisite.”
“Ah, yes, I have some lovely vintages...you and your...lady...friend...doctor...you just decide what you want to eat and Angelo will make sure
the wine is like a taste of heaven."
“Grazie mille, Angelo,” Molly said and the man looked positively ecstatic as he walked off to the kitchen.
“You look really lovely tonight,” Sherlock said. She did. The way she had her hair pinned up and the V of her dress accentuated her lovely collarbone. Why was he so obsessed with her collarbone?
“So Angelo’s another one of your many favours scattered around the city?”
“Yes.”
“Must be really…practical.”
“It is, very much.” He really must stop staring at her collarbone.
“I heard you solved the…”
“Here the candles! Ah, see, so much better, so much more romantic.” Sherlock couldn’t quite bring himself to glare at Angelo, especially as
Molly seemed to be utterly amused by him.
“Have you decided yet, lovely lady?”
“Oh the risotto with the porcini sounds absolutely delicious.”
“Ah yes, the porcini, woody, very good.”
With her brightest smile, she said to him, “I’m feeling adventurous tonight…so Angelo, why don’t you surprise me?”
Angelo’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. Sherlock smiled.
“For you, not only the freshest porcini but my prized porcellini…” he said and then disappeared back into the kitchen. Sherlock assumed that he would be getting some food too.
“Did he says something about a piglet?” She still looked bemused.
“Don’t mind him. He just got really excited because you gave him free reign over your meal.”
“I’m sure he knows best what is the best.”
“Logical.”
“Thank you.”
“You look lovely.”
She smiled, “You’ve already said that, Sherlock. Twice.”
“It’s still not any less true.”
She blushed, “Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Holmes.”
Then she laughed, “Who am I kidding? It’s me, of course flattery will get you somewhere.”
He frowned, “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“That.”
“I ah…er…uhm…you look impeccable, as always.”
He couldn’t keep the delighted look off his face.
They were chatting amiably - he was telling her of the case he just solved - when Angelo came back with the wine. After it was pronounced suitable, a server came with the antipasti.
And that is when things went a bit wrong.
He’d been telling himself that the bright-eyed energy hovering about Molly was simply nerves and/or excitement over the date. But he really suspected it was lack of sleep and Molly forcing herself to function on the little rest she’d had over the last days.
A tear rolled down her cheek and with an astonished look on her face, she quickly wiped it away. She stilled, as if trying to get a hold of herself, but then another tear rolled down. There was no stopping it then.
Excusing herself hastily, she almost knocked over her chair when she stood up. “I’ll be right back,” she murmured and walked towards the ladies’ room.
He gave her five minutes and then, ignoring all the looks from the other diners, he followed her. He could hear her sobbing from behind the locked door of the toilet and he locked the main door to give them some privacy.
“Molly.”
“I’ll be right out,” she responded through sniffles.
“Stay in there as long as you want.”
“God, why does it always have to be you?”
“What?” Had he unintentionally hurt her in the last fifteen minutes? He’d been on his best behavior!
“All my most embarrassing moments of late happen around you.”
“What’s embarrassing about this?”
“Crying over antipasti in the middle of a restaurant? It’s not embarrassing at all.”
“You’re in mourning, Molly. You’re allowed to be sad.”
“Sad, yes. Not having a breakdown in public.”
“It’s just the two of us. Hardly public.”
“Stop being nice. You’re making it worse.”
Someone knocked on the door. He ignored it. Molly came out of the cubicle.
Her hair was mussed, make-up was smudged and her cheeks had that blotchiness only a bout of crying could do, but he thought that she still looked very lovely.
“Just a moment,” she called out, using tissue and some water to clean her face. He watched her in the mirror and for a moment their eyes met. She smiled shakily.
“Can we leave?”
He nodded.
The woman outside the door gave them an irritated look. He glared back at her.
He was helping Molly put her coat on, when Angelo appeared from the kitchen.
“Doctor, is there anything the matter?” Angelo asked, looking like his whole world had crashed around him.
“The wine and the food were excellent, but something came up and we…” Sherlock didn’t even bother finishing the sentence and ushered Molly out of the restaurant.
“Home?” he asked her.
“No. I’ve been spending too much time there.”
“Walk?”
“Yeah, I could do with a walk.”
“I’m sorry for ruining a nice evening,” she said after five minutes.
“It’s not your fault if your cousin’s dead.”
“You’re really not good at this, are you?” she laughed.
“No. No I’m not. Not when it matters.” How was it that he could say the right things to people he didn’t give a toss about and yet with a friend, with Molly, he could never say things the way he meant them?
“Tell me about her.”
“Claire?”
“Yeah.”
“You probably know everything about her.”
“I didn’t know her.”
It was another five minutes before she started speaking.
“I taught her how to climb trees. When we were little, we used to visit our Nan for a week during summer hols. She had a big tree in the garden. I showed Claire how to get up there and hide.”
She started smiling at the memory.
“Whenever it was time to go home, she’d disappear and we all knew she’d be hiding there. We didn’t know…well, I didn’t know what was going on then at home…”
“I fell out of a tree, once. Broke my shoulder. Spent a whole summer...sorry, this was about you…”
“Oh no. Please anything to distract me.”
“Do you think that’s a wise thing to do?”
“No. I will have to deal with her death eventually. In hindsight, the autopsy wasn’t the most brilliant of ideas.”
“I would’ve done the same.”
“But you’re you, Sherlock.”
“Right.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to make it sound…”
“No, you’re right. I would’ve done it simply because I was curious and not because they meant something to me.”
“To tell you the truth, I wasn’t even thinking it was her when I performed the autopsy.”
“It’s bothering you, isn’t it?”
“Claire’s had a lot of things happen in her life. Joe…Joe never touched her but she’d often say that she wished he had because then at least there had been something physical.”
“She started on the drugs when she was fifteen. She ran away when she was seventeen, went over to Europe. We didn’t see her again until two years later. Things got better for a while but then she…ah…”
Molly was sobbing. He gently placed an arm around her and when she turned to bury her face in his chest, he held her closer. He rubbed her back with his hand as she quietly cried. People kept sending them strange looks but he ignored them and focused only on the woman in his arms.
“I’m sorry, I’m getting snot all over your scarf,” she sniffled and all he could do was kiss her temple.
“Shhh, it’s just a scarf.”
“It’s a very nice scarf,” she murmured.
“Do you want to go see a film?” she suddenly asked.
“Excuse me?”
“I just feel like sitting in a dark theatre for a while. And popcorn.”
“A film…”
“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”
“That’s not how dates go.”
“This is a date? And going to see a film together counts as a date.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be a date if I didn’t go with you. And this is a date.”
“So we’re on a date? And I just started crying in the middle of a restaurant during a date? This is a new low, even for me.”
“I’ve never been on a date before.”
“What?”
“Voluntarily, at least.”
“Oh god, this is one of those strange lucid dreams, isn’t it?”
“No, Molly, this is quite real.”
“I really am pathetic.”
“Don’t.”
“What?”
“Don’t do that. Don’t ever do that.”
§
"Sherlock," she whispered in the dark.
"Hm," he replied, around the mouthful of popcorn.
"Why did you tell me you were attracted to me?"
He hoped that at some point in the film the plot would start making sense, but forty minutes in, it was probably best if hope were abandoned. He was trying to ignore how intimate it was, having someone whisper in a dark, nearly empty theatre.
"Because I want to sleep with you." Wait, he hadn't intended to say that. At all. Well, at least he hadn't intended to say it like that.
Molly started to cough. He handed her the neon pink slush thing she'd ordered with the popcorn. She took a long sip.
"Sherlock, you can't say things like that," she finally said. Whispered. That whispering was going to be the death of him.
"Why not? It's the truth," he whispered back. There was just enough light from the screen to see her face. She was looking at him with round, confused eyes.
He wondered what would've happened if he'd just said that to her all these weeks ago. It seemed such a simple confession, now that it was out.
"So this is ... sex...thing?"
"Yes. No. I...I was hoping we could come to an arrangement."
"An arrangement?"
"An arrangement."
"A sex arrangement?"
"Yes." She just looked at him with those eyes. "And no." Those big, round eyes. "Forget it."
Suddenly there was an explosion on the screen and they both turned to see what was happening.
"Oh this is ridiculous," Molly exclaimed.
"I told you to forget it," he said, irritably. Why had he said it? Why had he said it in that way? Yes, it was true, he wanted sex from...with Molly...but calling it an arrangement? Of course she was going to say no. And her cousin just died. Why couldn't he get these things right? He should let John shoot him.
She giggled, "I didn't mean you. I meant the... this," she pointed at the screen, "This is not making any sense at all! Clearly the baddy is the one with the specs...what was his name? They're obviously going for a twist ending. Why else would they show him going into that room?"
"Molly, do you want to leave?"
"Yes please!"
"The popcorn's really good though."
"It is, isn't it?"
Back outside on the street, they stood apart, in an awkward silence. They were trying to ignore the huge white sex elephant between them.
"I didn't mean it the way I said it earlier."
She smiled, "About the sex arrangement?"
"Will you please stop calling that?"
She laughed, "I...can't. Sex arrangement. It's...so very...you."
"It's not."
"It is."
"It is not."
"Oh please, it is so you. It makes perfect sense that if you wanted sex, you'd have it on clearly defined terms and therefore have an arrangement. A sex arrangement."
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
"I cried in a crowded restaurant, cried on the street, watched perhaps the most awful film ever made...and I autopsied my cousin...yes, I'm enjoying this. I am allowed to enjoy this."
And then she started crying again.
"Oh bloody hell, Molly, get a hold of yourself," she sobbed.
"Do you want me to hug you?" he asked, because she'd turned away from him.
"No," came her muffled reply. She'd covered her face with her hands.
"Don't lie to me, Doctor Hooper," he said.
Straightening her shoulders, she turned around, wiped the tears off her face and said, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
“There's nothing to be sorry for.”
“It's just...it's been a really rough year.”
“I know.” He hailed a passing taxi. "Let's get you home."
They didn’t say anything on the ride to her flat. She was looking out the window, seemingly lost in thought. All the wired energy at the beginning of the evening had gone out of her. He supposed crying did that to someone.
For some reason, he’d thought she'd be a noisy, dramatic crier. For a woman who most of the time made as much noise as a little mouse, the idea was rather incongruous. The reality however was so much like her. There was something heartbreaking and yet dignified about it. It reminded him a lot of Mummy.
She was out of the car before he even had a chance to get money out to pay the driver. There had been a tinge of embarrassment in the silence and now that she was home, she probably wanted to forget the evening.
He expected her to simply go up to her flat, without a word of goodbye. But then she stopped and turned and fiddled with the ridiculously small purse she was carrying and handed him some money.
"This is an insult, Molly," he said and she made a little "Oh" sound. And shoved the money into his hand.
"Thank you for a lovely evening, sorry about the crying and I'll see you at Barts...or wherever...and can we pretend that I didn't spend half a date crying like the pathetic old spinster that I am?"
"You're not pathetic. You're hardly old enough to be considered old. And as for the crying," he stepped forward and brushed a thumb across her cheek, "like you said, you've had a rough year."
He could feel her breath hitch. Those eyes again, those wonderful eyes.
And then her breath came out in a woosh, "Is that sex arrangement still on offer?"
"I don't think this is a good time to discuss this."
"Why? Because I'm feeling vulnerable?"
"I don't want to...take advantage...any more than I already do," he replied.
A little movement from her side and all of a sudden she was too close, far too close.
"Sherlock," she whispered and he held his breath. "For once, I am asking you to take advantage."
He could hold his breath for a very long time. John had jotted down the record. There was a pounding in his ears and he realised that it was his heart racing. So he did the first thing he thought could alleviate this. He kissed her.
Well, he tried. What he ended up doing was dip too quickly and bump into her just as she was rising up to meet him.
"Oops," she giggled and he never felt more like a clod in his life.
He tried again and this time, the alignment was perfect. She was just the perfect height for kissing. One hand cupped her face, while the other held her hip loosely and he manoeuvred her towards the wall. Her hands were holding on to the collar of his coat, pulling him towards her even more.
Kissing. He'd never been a fan of kissing. His first snog had been an experiment, with a boy from school. He just wanted to know what the fuss had been about snogging. It'd been too wet and too spotty and tasted a bit of the sour sweets they'd gotten at the tack shop. All in all not the best of experiences. He'd tried again, of course. With all kinds of partners. But something about kissing had always felt not right.
Too personal. Too honest. Best avoided, if possible.
She hummed and he felt the vibration all down to his toes. He stepped back, breathing heavily, feeling very much disorientated.
"I'm sorry," he said.
Her brows furrowed and then she smoothed her face into a careful, neutral mask. He'd done it again. How often had he seen that sequence of expressions from her? The brief hurt and then the shrugging off. The pride reasserting itself.
"I'm sorry," he said, again. And wanted to hit himself because it wasn't helping at all.
"No, it's quite alright," she said, standing up straight.
Stupid, Sherlock. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
"I'm not sorry about the kissing," he hastily said and then to prove it, he kissed her again.
This time, she pulled away.
"I used to have an arrangement with someone. At uni," she said. "It was very nice."
He ordered his brain to think. To use its wits. To not ruin this again.
"You don't seem the type."
She smiled, shrugged her shoulder, "I don't seem a lot of things."
"I've noticed."
"There are so many reasons why we shouldn't...why I shouldn't...and I know the decision I'm making right now is because it's been a really strange night and I just don't want to feel alone for a while."
"Molly..."
"No, Sherlock. Let me finish. My brain is saying yes. It's my heart that's saying no."
"Isn't it usually the other way around?"
"You have a way of making things topsy-turvy...my brain is saying yes because it knows that it would be fantastic..."
He couldn't keep the pleased smile forming on his lips.
"But my heart is saying no because it's you. There's never going to be more than an arrangement...and I don't expect you to...it's just that..."
"Molly.."
"No. I've made a decision. I'm not going to let you break my heart."
There was a feeling, deep inside, that he couldn't explain. It was very often like that when he was with Molly.
"That's a wise decision."
"But I am going to sleep with you."
"You are?"
"Not tonight. You were right about the whole being vulnerable...weepy...and I have a bit of a headache from all the crying..."
"Orgasms release endorphins.."
She laughed and everything felt confusing. It was probably lust or something very much like it, for how else could he explain the urge to kiss her, to press against her, to be in her?
“I think we better take this inside. It’s a bit cold out here,” she said and despite her words earlier, there was a clear and unmistakable intent in her eyes.
“Are you sure?”
“About it being cold?”
He smiled, “You tease.”
She smiled back but then with a serious face answered, “Yes. Unless...you’ve changed your mind?”
He kissed her.
“That settles it then,” she said, when they pulled apart. Taking his hand, she led him into the building. They quickly made it up the flight of stairs to her flat. She had to let go of his hand to search for her keys.
“Molly,” he said as she unlocked her door. It had a pleasant way of rolling off his tongue.
“Don’t you dare try and talk yourself out of this,” she answered.
He kissed her temple, “Believe me, I’m far beyond being able to talk myself out of this.”
She dragged him inside her flat. And then there was a subtle shift in mood as she dropped his hand and took a few steps away from him.
“Well, here we are,” she said, nerves making her voice slightly shaky.
He had the impression that if he took a step towards her, she would bolt.
“You can change your mind about this, if you want to.”
She shrugged her coat off, “I haven’t changed my mind...I never realized how narrow my hallways was...”
He laughed, “Your hallway?”
“Yeah. You’re a very big, looming man...in the dark...in that coat...like a tall, gangly vampire...”
“Gangly?”
“No, not gangly...sexy...sexy, looming, tall...coat...Sherlock, please kiss me before I make a further fool of myself.”
“Meow.”
“Hi there,” they both greeted the cat. Then looked at each other and laughed. Toby walked over to both of them, and after a few pats on the head and some scratches under the chin, disappeared into the sitting room.
“Now, where were we?” he asked her.
“I believe you were about to kiss me senseless?”
“Ah, yes.”
Part 11