I'm a complex girl, sweetheart.

“It’s your fault, mate, for forcing us to cut our honeymoon short to attend this bloody gala.” John took a sip of his champagne and gave him a look of mild irritation.

“Would you like to know the colour of Molly’s push-up bra, Sherlock?” Mary asked without bothering to hide the amusement in her tone.

“I don’t care,” he retorted while trying not to ogle Molly in the floor-length sapphire blue gown that she and Mary charged to Mycroft’s credit card. He cleared his throat as he glanced at Mary, but he could practically hear her admonish him with ‘Fibbing!’ with her smirk.

With an annoyed sigh, he handed his nearly empty champagne glass to Mary, who laughed while placing it on a passing server’s tray and whispered something unintelligible to her chuckling husband, before he strode over to where Molly was now laughing––laughing!––with the viscount.

Molly met his gaze as he approached her and grinned at him. But her smile fell when he grabbed her elbow and turned her towards him. She raised an immaculate eyebrow at him, a small smile forming on her lips. “Oh, my, you have a firm hand, Mr Holmes.”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m just having a bit of fun while doing my job. That’s not a crime!”

“Put that watch back right now.” Her pupils dilated at his growl, and warmth bloomed in his chest. As he ignored the heat spreading throughout his body, he slightly tightened his hold on her elbow. “Now.” 

She rolled her eyes. “You’re no fun, Mr Holmes,” she whispered in a sultry tone, which made his pulse quicken. “I was just doing it to tease you. If I wanted to pick someone’s pocket, do you really think I’d let you notice?” But she did remove the expensive watch from her cleavage and returned it to Lord Gilbert’s suit pocket without anyone else seeing.

Satisfied, he steered her away from the wealthy guests and towards Mary, who was standing alone by the refreshments table. “Shut up, Mary,” he responded to the glint of mischief in her eyes before she could say anything. “Where did John go?”

She tilted her head towards the door behind her. “Lestrade asked him to look at something.” She then turned to Molly. “Where’s Mrs Mandelbaum’s diamond bracelet?”

“For God’s sake!” he hissed as he turned an angry and disappointed gaze on her.

Giggling, Molly produced a diamond bracelet––worth £4 million, likely bought from the most recent Christie’s auction––from a hidden pocket in her dress. She tossed it to a seething Sherlock and took a fresh glass of champagne from the table.

“Is that all, Miss Hooper?” he asked, though he suspected that he wouldn’t like the answer.

Rolling her eyes again, she slipped a diamond-and-emerald ring out of another hidden pocket. She stepped up to him and took his hand in hers. She placed the ring on his palm and gave him the sweetest, most innocent smile. “Would you please kindly give this ring back to Dr Ogden? She dropped it earlier, and I was going to give it back to her but I couldn’t find her anywhere. I’m sure losing it would upset her, since Mr Murdoch just proposed yesterday and they’re supposed to fly back to Toronto tomorrow.”

The look on her face as she closed his fingers over Dr Ogden’s ring made him want to grab her face and kiss her breathless in front of sodding everyone. But he resisted the urge. We have a job to do here, he reminded himself. He took a deep breath, intending to read her the Riot Act. “Miss Hooper, you are here to––”

“Sherlock,” John’s voice interrupted from the direction of the door. 

Pocketing the ring, he inwardly cursed his reactions to Molly’s proximity and teasing before turning to his best friend. He took in John’s tight jaw as he stood in the doorway with his hands curled into fists. “What happened?”

“You need to see this,” he stated in a serious tone.

Someone is either hurt and unconscious. Or worse. He nodded and walked towards John with Mary and Molly Hooper at his heels.

Sherlock sat in the cab with his steepled fingers pressed against his lips. He had been replaying the events of the night in his mind. How the hell did Molly Hooper pick my house keys from my pockets? And when? He had been in the middle of talking with Detective Inspector Lestrade after he solved the case when he realised that his keys were missing. He instantly worked out who took them and where she went. He just needed to plan what he was going to do once he found her in his flat. Retrieve my keys and not succumb to her charms, of course.

Shortly afterwards, he stood before the building’s front door. It’s a good thing Mrs Hudson is in Corfu with her sister. He looked up at the first floor windows and observed that the lamps in the front room were on. At least she’s not in my bedroom. He took several deep breaths before turning the doorknob. It was unlocked, as he had expected. 

An image of Molly Hooper naked in his bed filled his mind, and he paused at the bottom of the stairs. He shut his eyes tightly and conjured an image of his shirtless brother running on his treadmill to regulate his heart rate and to get rid of the sudden tightness in his trousers. Once his pulse had slowed enough and he had successfully suppressed the urge to rip Molly Hooper’s clothes off, he ascended the stairs to his flat.

His heart stopped when he opened the door to the front room.

Molly Hooper was in his chair. Her legs were folded underneath her as she faced the roaring fireplace. She had let her chestnut hair down from her elaborate up-do; the curls that she and Mary painstakingly styled before the gala now covered her shoulders and upper chest. She had also undressed to the knee-length, sapphire blue silk slip she wore underneath her gown, which lay haphazardly on the sofa. Her matching sapphire blue push-up bra was draped over his chair’s armrest. Sliding her eyeglasses––where the hell did she even get those?––up her adorable nose, she flipped the page of his New Journal of Chemistry and unfolded her legs so she could kick her sapphire blue pumps off her dainty feet. Dear Lord, why is she teasing me like this?

After a few minutes, she closed the scientific journal and tossed it onto the desk, which was mysteriously clear of documents and his laptop. She looked up at him and smirked. “I told you you wouldn’t notice if I actually wanted to pick someone’s pocket.” She brought out his key ring from underneath her thigh and twirled it around her index finger. 

He narrowed his eyes at her. “You are quite a devil, aren’t you?”

She giggled as she tossed his keys to him, which he, of course, expertly caught. Rising from his chair, she sauntered towards him and slowly untied his bowtie. “You got your man, detective. Now it’s time for you to get your woman.” She threw his bowtie over her shoulder, uncaring where it fell. Still holding his gaze, she then stripped off his Belstaff coat and threw it to the side, landing on the back of John’s chair.

Smirking at her, he pushed the door closed and locked it without taking his eyes off this beautiful and fascinating woman. He then gently took her wrist and lightly pressed his thumb against her quickened pulse. Pride––and something else he couldn’t quite name––swelled in his chest at the knowledge that Molly Hooper wanted him as much as he wanted her. 

She pulled her wrist from his loose grasp and laced her fingers through his before tugging him towards his bedroom. She drew him to her for a passionate kiss as he shut his bedroom door behind him.

End Notes

According to Wikipedia, the surname for Viscount Stratford de Redcliffe is Canning. But I changed it to Gilbert in the fic for Loo’s dog.

Also, did anyone catch the other Murdoch Mysteries reference? Hehehehehe…