Sherlolly prompt please? “For science!” and Friends to lovers!
Taken from my Trope Duos prompt list (prompts are now closed). #16: “For Science!” and, #17: Friends to Lovers.
Two of my absolute favorite tropes together, you’d think it’d be easy to write… but NO, I stared at this prompt for WEEKS before I finally managed this fluffy bit of Teen!lock. Please forgive my tardiness, and happy reading! (I hope…)
Yes, she would make the perfect test subject.
For some weeks now, Sherlock had been forming an idea in his mind, an idea regarding his future. He had no desire for the staid and proper career paths to which so many of his peers, and his superiors, subjected themselves. He much preferred the idea of working on a freelance basis, particularly in regard to his field of choice: criminal justice. Scotland Yard was out of the question, the “detectives” there were lazy at best, incurably stupid at worst. No, he would be their consultant, offering a second (superior) pair of eyes whenever they were out of their depth. It was quite genius, really.
Using the new memory technique he’d learned, Sherlock had begun constructing a palace within his mind, storing any and all information that might be relevant to his career. Most of it could be found in books, on the internet, or buried within his subconscious, but there was one area in which these methods fell short. Social and emotional context was best studied on another person, and also in person, with the subject providing both something to observe, and their own descriptions.
Which brought him back to Molly Hooper. As a young woman who typically wore her heart on her sleeve, the observation aspect would be fairly easy, and despite her being a year behind him, she was in his chemistry class. Therefore, she would provide much better insight than the other dullards in the school.
Also, there was the matter of her being his only friend.
Not that Sherlock minded, he couldn’t care less what the rest of the idiots in the school thought of him. They were, as previously stated, idiots, and he aimed to keep such people at as far a distance as possible. That said, it would be difficult to convince anyone with whom he was not on good terms to assist him in any experiments, much less this particular one. Fortunately, he did have Molly, and her innate kindness and similar interest in the sciences substantially increased the chances of her accepting.
His decision made, Sherlock waited until lunch and sought her out in the dining hall. As usual, he found her seated in a corner table, isolated from the rest of their classmates. Unlike him, Molly actually liked people, but her shy disposition kept her from reaching out to them. The two of them would never have been friends, had they not been assigned to one another as lab partners. The year had set off to a rocky start (Molly timid and stammering and occasionally clumsy, Sherlock aloof and insistent that he preferred to work alone), but over time, he had grown to respect her intellect, so obviously above the cattle surrounding them. In turn, she had found her strength, no longer stammered, and was unafraid of standing up to him. Granted, some things had been easier before she’d grown a spine, but he found her much more interesting now, and, most surprising of all, she never bored him.
The focus of his thoughts lifted her head as he approached the table, her usual grin curling her lips. “Hello, Sherlock!” she greeted cheerfully.
He offered a nod of his head, taking the seat opposite her. “Molly. Enjoying the roast pork?”
Molly glanced down at the barely-touched meat and gravy on her tray, wrinkling her nose. “Not particularly, no. The potatoes are rubbish as well. Still,” she added, “it’s better than nothing, I suppose.”
“Mm, debatable,” he countered, and she rolled her eyes with a fond smile.
“Well, most of us need to eat regular meals, Sherlock.”
He groaned dramatically. “How unbearably dull.”
Molly sniggered, then took a purposeful bite of the roast pork, holding his gaze the entire time. She grimaced, but did not look away, even after she had swallowed the disgusting food. “There, see? I’m not afraid of doing unpleasant things.”
Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her in response, then used her bold statement as his means of changing the subject. “Speaking of which,” he began, “I have rather an unusual experiment I’m hoping to undertake, and I’ll need assistance. After some consideration, I’ve decided you would be best suited to help me.”
It was Molly’s turn to lift an eyebrow. “Had to sit and think about that one, did you?”
“Yes, well, I never said it was a lengthy period of consideration, did I?”
Molly speared another bite of pork. “Right, come on then. What’s this experiment?”
The fork clattered onto the tray, sending several drops of watery gravy splattering in all directions. Sherlock frowned and scooted backwards to avoid the spray. “What the hell was that about?”
Molly’s eyes, already bordering on too big for her face, nearly doubled in size. “Y-you… you want to… that is…”
“Really, Molly, I thought we’d gotten past the stammering by now.”
“Don’t be a git, Sherlock,” she snapped, and he noted with satisfaction that her voice was much steadier. “Explain yourself.”
Sherlock sighed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table (thankfully, the gravy eruption had not reached his side of the table). “You already know my career plans, of course.” She nodded in confirmation. “It has recently come to my attention that certain behaviors, certain… reactions… would be most helpful to understand. Particularly the reactions following specific forms of sexual stimuli.”
Molly blinked a few times. “So… you want to know what it looks and feels like to be kissed?”
“That’s rather oversimplifying the matter, but… essentially, yes.”
She fixed her eyes on a spot of stray gravy, gnawing thoughtfully on her lower lip. Sherlock waited, mustering no small amount of patience to do so, knowing if he pressed the matter, she would be far less agreeable. Finally, she lifted her eyes to meet his. “This is all just… an experiment? Strictly for science?”
Molly inhaled slowly, deeply through her nose, and Sherlock saw the decision in her eyes before she vocalized it. “Okay. I’ll do it.”
Two days later, on an unusually sunny Saturday, Sherlock and Molly took the weekly bus into the nearby town, and made for the most secluded spot available: a little cluster of trees within the town’s small park. The boughs of four fir trees, standing close together, created a nearly fully enclosed space, the gaps just wide enough to slip through sideways. Molly grinned to herself at the smell of pine and earth, grateful for the memories and the brief distraction it brought. Too brief, she mused, as Sherlock sidled in behind her, reminding her of the reason for this unorthodox destination.
Her nerves were sky-high as he invaded her space, his fingers gently closing around her upper arm to turn her around. Molly didn’t meet his eyes immediately, opting to focus on his shirt buttons (bad idea, they were straining to keep their place against his surprisingly toned torso), counting to three in her mind before finally lifting her head.
…And finding the same nervousness in his face..
“Right,” he murmured, his voice breaking so slightly, she thought she must have imagined it. “So… shall we?”
Molly swallowed thickly. “Well, ah… first let’s… let’s talk about some of the… chemical reactions. You’ve done, erm, some research on that?”
“Yes,” he said a bit too loudly, clearly grateful for the delay. He cleared his throat. “Preliminary research indicates that the act of kissing another human being produces a flood of dopamine, serotonin, and, in cases of great affection in one or both parties, oxytocin.”
“Mmhmm,” she nodded. “What else?”
“Physiological signs of this release of chemicals include flushed cheeks, dilated pupils, elevated pulse, and labored, erratic breathing. And, in the male’s case, there may even be an erection.”
Molly fought the embarrassed blush that bloomed beneath her cheeks at his use of… that word. “Right, well… I think that, erm… just about covers it.”
Sherlock, whose expression had become passive as he recited the science behind kissing, snapped his gaze in her direction. He looked… well, he looked properly terrified, to be honest, like she’d just told him his mother was coming for an impromptu visit (which had happened once, though the headmaster had been the one to inform him, rather than Molly). Certainly not for the first time, Molly wondered if this really was such a good idea. Yes, she’d secretly fancied Sherlock since she clapped eyes on him. Yes, she’d fantasized about snogging him on numerous occasions, though usually in a more romantic setting. And yes, she was also aware that this was as close to that fantasy as she would ever get. But if he was going to be miserable the whole time… she couldn’t do it.
“Look, Sherlock, we don’t have to do this. I know you want to gain as much knowledge as you can, anything that might help your career, but if you don’t want to kiss me—”
“It’s not that,” he interrupted her, his eyes downcast.
“Oh… then… you do want to?”
“No?” she parroted back, just a little bit hurt.
He hesitated, a familiar little crinkle forming between his brows as he pondered this. Molly had a feeling that crinkle would become much more prominent in a few years, as often as she saw it. Finally, he looked at her, his crystalline eyes wide and worried. “I’ve never kissed anyone.”
Molly paused, waiting for the rest of his explanation… but after a few moments of silence, it became clear that that was the whole explanation. “Well, I sort of knew that… I mean, if you had, you wouldn’t be carrying out a snogging experiment, would you?”
Sherlock was perfectly still for fully ten seconds, before finally asking, “So… you don’t mind?”
“Of course not!” she laughed, taking care that she didn’t come off as mocking him. “It’s not like I’ve been snogging boys left and right myself. I’ve only had one real boyfriend, and… well… you know how that turned out.”
“Hm, yes I remember,” he mused. “How is dear Jim faring in prison, I wonder?”
“Who cares?” she muttered. “My point is, you don’t need to be self-conscious.”
“I’m not…” he began, but cut himself off when he saw the look of annoyance Molly gave him. “Okay, fine. I may be the slightest bit out of my depth here ”
Molly smiled. “I should be recording this.”
“Don’t make jokes, Molly.”
“Don’t be a prat, Sherlock.”
“I’m not—” he was cut off again, this time by Molly, who had abruptly grabbed his face and crushed her lips against his. Sherlock instinctively closed his eyes as his mind raced to process all the new data and stimuli presented to him.
Warm… soft… smells like cinnamon… wonder if she tastes like it too? As if reading his thoughts, Molly’s lips parted on a breathy sigh, and Sherlock slid his tongue out to taste her. Mmm, yes, tastes like cinnam—oh, God… Her hands had drifted upward, fingers carding through his hair, and he simultaneously shivered and flushed, heat spreading all the way down to his toes.
In the back of his mind, a voice whispered that he was supposed to be doing something… but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember what it was. All he could think was, not enough. She wasn’t close enough, he wasn’t touching her enough. Well, he soon remedied that, firmly locking his arms around her and lifting her off the ground. Molly gasped against his lips, and the sound sent another flash of heat through him. A quiet groan met his ears, and as her wide, startled eyes met his, he realized it had come from him.
They remained still, eyes locked and panting for breath, before Sherlock slowly lowered Molly back to the ground. His arms dropped limply by his sides, and she took a step backward, avoiding his gaze. At one point, her eyes did stray in his direction, and the pink blush on her cheeks darkened. Sherlock followed the trajectory id that embarrassed glance, and found—oh. Well, he had been enjoying himself, hadn’t he?
“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered.
He frowned. “Why on earth are you sorry?”
Molly shrugged one shoulder, still not looking at him. “I dunno… I just… it’s fine,” she mumbled quietly as her arms wrapped around her middle.
Sherlock watched her begin to shrink into herself, and felt a painful tug against his navel. In his current, befuddled state, he did not pause to think about what he was doing, he simply acted. His hands found her shoulders, gently pulling her back toward him. She stiffened, and he held his breath, as if the slightest puff of air would send her running. Her dark eyes lifted, and finally, the scientific portion of his brain kicked in, noting the physiological signs in her. Eyes dilated… face flushed… breathing irregular… his left hand shifted slowly up along her neck… elevated pulse.
He couldn’t help the gratified smirk he felt stretching across his face. Molly’s eyebrowed pulled together in confusion. “I’m afraid the results of this experiment were rather… inconclusive." Cradling her face in both hands, he bent his head, his intent obvious. "Further study is required.”
Molly grinned, all shyness cast aside, and her fingers toyed with the collar of his coat. “Well… I suppose I can manage that. In the name of science,” she added with mock seriousness.
Sherlock dove in and captured her lips again, hoisting her up off her feet as he had before. This time, Molly’s legs wrapped around his waist, and she eagerly kissed him back. And as the endorphins and hormones flooded his brain once more, Sherlock decided this was easily the best idea he’d ever had.
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