#kendywrites

"I'm bored", he complains, rolling the cigarette between his fingers, looking up at her with a pout.

"Told you you would be", she retorts unbothered, ignoring his pout completely, turning a page in her book.

For a while he admires spots of light sancing on her pale little hand.

"Since when do you read novels, anyway? You detest them."

"I changed my mind. Now I quite enjoy them."

She smiles at something in her book. Or at him, he isn't sure.

The wind plays with a strand of her hazelnut hair.

"If you're turning into one of those silly hens who can think of nothing else but matrimony, I'll stop calling on you, no matter how long we've been friends."

The book is snapped shut. Placed in her lap. When he looks at her, her dark eyes are calm and observing.

"Then it's time to part ways, Mr Holmes."

The ease with which she says this...

A sting in his heart.

"Don't be ridiculous", he snaps after a moment and takes a drag, filling his lungs with smoke, trying to quench the queasiness he feels in his stomach.

"I'm two-and-twenty, Sherlock. Matrimony is on my mind, indeed."

"Why would you ever willing chain yourself to a fool, who most certainly will never admire nor respect your medical studies?! You're cleverer than that, Molly Hooper."

"Oh, he is a right fool, I give you that. But he does accept and encourages my interest in medicine and I have no doubt this won't change after I bind my fate to his."

At first he rolls his eyes, but then his head snaps up.

"You have a suitor?"

"Don't sound so shocked", she laughs and flicks his high cheekbone, like she has done a thousand times before. "I'm a good match!"

"Who is he?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

His mind is racing and he spits out every male name in their aquaintance, sorted by how well they may fit to his childhood friend.

Even Watsons.

It's her turn to roll her eyes at him now. She mumbles something under her breath and picks up her book. Continues to read.

Ignoring him.

It takes Sherlock way too long to pick up her meaning.

"You can't be serious."

The book snaps shut again. Dark eyes unsettle him.

"Why not?"

"I'm not a husband! I wouldn't know what to do with you! With us! Like that!"

"If I recall correctly, it was always you who wanted to play house."

"When we were children!"

Molly huffs and re-opens her book. Reads.

She feels an ocean away. Drifting further away with every second.

"I will make you miserable. You wouldn't be happy with me", he tries to make her see reason.

"You're right. It was a stupid idea. Forget I said anything."

He can't. He won't. And she knows that.

"I'll just marry someone else. Tom, perhaps. He's agreeable."

"You only like him because he looks like me."

"That's not true and you know it."

He's never looked kindly on Molly's and Abbott's friendship. Every time he calls her by her Christian name he wants to sew his mouth shut.

All this is upsetting. Thoughts and images of Molly and Abbott as man and wife are tumbling around in his head, making him ill.

It becomes too much and he flicks his cigarette away only to bury his head in her lap, throwing an arm around her.

He hasn't done this for years. But when her fingers wander into his locks, he feels the same comfort and happiness he's felt as a boy.

Molly...

"I don't want you to hate me", he mumbles into her peach skirt. "I couldn't bear it."

His eyes fall close as she combs her fingers through his hair, sending shivers down his spine.

"I could never. You know why."

The tenderness in her voice is enough to make his heart ache. He nods, pulling her close.

"We'll learn it together, Sherlock, how to be husband and wife. Like we've always done."

"Alright", he whispers, reaching for her free hand, interlacing their fingers. He's never done that before.

But it feels nice. Very nice.

He stares at their joined hands while the wimd rustles through the trees and their hair, making music.

By the time the sun is setting and Molly gently pushes him off of her, Sherlock is still frightened, yet he takes her hand again as they walk back to her house.

A fortnight later, the fear has lifted enough for him to kiss her.

Almost a year later the fear is merely a faded memory and he can't wait for the tedious ceremony to be over so she's his forever; and he hers.

Thanks! ^^

10. “I’m right here, okay?”

It’s dark. 

Horrible noises all around him, scratching, gnawing, rattling. Heavy breathing. 

Cool air against his neck makes him screech and cower on the ground, arms thrown over his head. 

He will never get out, never get out. 

Mummy! Daddy!

“Is everything alright?” 

He screams. Warm hands on his arms, his head, fingers gliding through his curls. Fingers, not claws. Soothing, not violent. 

He looks up, his heart pounding in his chest. A smile and warm eyes greet him. 

“Everything’s fine. I’m right here, okay? Take my hand. I know the way.”

An angel. She has to be. 

He looks at her hand, smaller than his. When he takes it, a lot of fear leaves him. His legs are only slightly wobbly when he rises. 

She’s a lot smaller than him. Only know does he realise she’s younger. But much braver. 

“No one will harm you. They’re just trying to scare us, but we don’t scare easily, don’t we?

He blinks away the tears lurking in the corners of his eyes and shakes his head. 

She gives him a beaming smile. Before he can help it, he’s smiling back. 

“Ready? One, two, three!”

They rush through the rooms of the haunted house so fast Sherlock doesn’t have time to be scared. The monsters only jump out of their hiding places when they’ve already flew past it. 

The girl is laughing. 

So is he. 

One more door, then the cool night air hits his little heated face. 

They’re free! Free!

She jubilates, grabs his hands and jumps up and down. He’s jumping with her. 

“Sherly!”

“Mummy!” 

64. “Yell, scream, cry, please, just say something, anything.”

“Yell, scream, cry, please, just say something, anything.”

Molly sighed. Kept scrubbing the pot. Ignored the impossible consulting detective behind her. 

It’s been two days since the call. Molly was still fighting the flu - and honestly in no mood to deal with it or Sherlock - at all. 

She reached for the dish towel and dried the pot. After she had put it back into the cupboard she reached into her woolly sweat jacket and took out her handkerchief to blow her nose. 

Then she returned to her bedroom, shrugged off the jacket and snuggled back into bed. 

She had just closed her eyes when she heard Sherlock’s footsteps entering. 

“Sherlock,” she sighed, refusing to look at him, “I’m sick and don’t have the energy to deal with you today. Mycroft called and explained the circumstances. I understand. Nothing’s changed, okay? We’re still friends. Just go home. I’ll call you when I’m feeling better.”

No retreating footsteps. 

Molly ignored him, the relaxation of lying in bed making her sleepy. She was almost out when the mattress behind her back yielded. She startled when Sherlock melted against her, wrapping his arm around her. 

“Everything has changed”, he whispered into her neck. “Everything, Molly.”

His lips were warm and soft, kissing her hotter skin once, twice. 

“Okay”, was all she said, smiling into her pillow, reaching for his hand to intertwine their fingers. 

Double shipping High Five! Yes, I love both Braime and Sherlolly, but due to the last season am mostly obsessed with former at the moment. Therefore: 

15. “When I’m with you, I’m home.”

The waves clashed loudly against the ship, spraying Brienne as she stood at the railing, watching the green and white hills of Tarth slowly disappear from view. The warmth of her father’s hug was still lingering in her bones and she smiled, memorizing the sight of her home, closing it away in her heart. 

She was so fixed on the horizon that she only heard the familiar steps as the were right next to her. Gloved fingers slipped between her own. 

“I’ll bring you home again. I swear it.”

Still smiling, Brienne squeezed the strong hand. It squeezed right back. 

Her husband was so dramatic. 

The dragon queen had allowed the two knights to go to Tarth so Brienne could introduce Jaime to her father. One month they’d been granted, then they had to return to the capital to serve. Queen Daenerys thought Ser Jaime still had some making up to do for killing her father. He would be her prisoner, both of them knew that. Therefore, Jaime had begged her to remain on Tarth. 

As if she’d ever do that. Not after everything they’d been through. 

They had said farewell so many times. She’d never say it again. 

“When I’m with you, I’m home”, she assured him gently, finally looking at him. 

His eyes shone with love and devotion, a look she had taken too long to understand. But now that she did, she was as happy as can be. 

A mere tug on his hand made his eyes spark and with a beaming smile he closed the remaining distance, enfolding her in his arms and stepping on his tiptoes to kiss her. 

Brienne lifted a hand and cupped his cheek as he lowered himself back on his feet, enjoying the taste of sea water on his warm lips. 

“Do you want to go to our cabin?” she asked against his mouth. 

“Not yet”, he replied, kissed her mouth again. 

Jaime held her in his arms as they watched Tarth disappear behind the horizon. 

One day, they would return, giving Tarth the heir it so longed for.

70. “I can’t do this on my own.”

One might think that after everything Molly has endured with Sherlock dickhead Holmes, no one would make her take care of him when he has two broken hands and the worst temper. 

Thought wrong. 

Mrs. Hudson is comfortably out of town. Greg is still on the case that broke Sherlock’s hand. John has to take care of Rosie. Even Anderson is on his honeymoon. 

So, once again, there is no one left to take care of the man-child but poor Molly Hooper. 

It’s days like these where Molly longs for Mary. Mary would only need to look at Sherlock to make him fall back in line. Or she’d simply tie him to the bed. 

Unfortunately, Molly is not cruel enough to do it. Or brave enough to make an attempt.

Instead, she’s wearing ear plugs. They do help a lot, though. Now Sherlock’s voice is muffled and she can focus on something else than his constant jammering and yapping. 

She doesn’t hear the insults, either. 

One might think he would have stopped with those after the phone call. But...

They still haven’t talked about it. 

Not one word. 

So every time they are together, it is hanging over their heads like a damocles sword, waiting to cut their bond for good and honestly, the mere thought scares the living daylights out of her. 

Molly knows they can’t continue like this forever. Maybe that’s why she lets Sherlock whine and complain and glare. 

Deep down it might be the last time she’ll get to see him like this. 

It might be a goodbye. Sad, but fitting, really. 

“MOLLY!”

She flinches. Removes her ear plugs. 

“Sherlock?”

“ON THE LOO!”

She sighs and goes through the small hallway and knocks at his bathroom door. 

“Seriously?!” he snaps. 

Counting to ten and praying for patience, Molly slowly enters his bathroom. 

There he’s standing in his worn blue short and his striped pyjama pants, which he’s holding up with his casted hands. 

“I can’t do this on my own.”

When she sees the laces dangling in front of his crotch and realizes what he wants from her, Molly flushes a deep red. 

“Oh.”

At least he has the decency to blush a little, too. 

“You can get me pants with an elastic”, he says meekly. 

Offering peace. 

“Okay.”

Better to just get it over with. 

Avoiding his eyes, Molly closes the distance. He smells good. A little sweaty. Which makes her wonder if he’ll be asking her to bathe him, too. 

She won’t do that, for sure. That’s John’s job. 

Tying his pyjama pants should be his job, as well. 

“I’ll call John to come over tonight”, and spare us both the embarrassment.

“Alright.”

His voice is soft. He’s warm. 

I love you

Gosh, she’s told him. 

For a second, she has to close her eyes, the most horrible and embarrassing moment in her entire life flashing before her eyes. Then she forces herself to focus and reaches for the damned laces. 

He’s told her, too. 

She made him tell her. 

Bloody hell. 

She wants to hurry with the task, which really doesn’t take long, but her fingers move slowly. 

It’s been so long since she’s been close to him. They always keep their distance now. 

They’re walking away from each other. 

“Molly...”

She looks up at him. His face is blurry. Only now does she realize she’s crying. 

She blinks, a few more tears slipping out and rolling down her cheeks. 

His eyes are wet, as well. The way he looks at her is breaking her heart. 

He knows. 

He knows this is goodbye. 

Swallowing hard, she looks down and ties a knot. 

She should leave now. Maybe for good. 

Why torture herself any longer?

His lips on her forehead. Not kissing. Brushing down her temple. To her cheek. Into the trail of tears. Kissing them away. 

“Sherlock, I can’t-”

His arms come around her. 

“Don’t leave”, he rasps against her forehead. “Please.”

Sherlock’s embrace is gentle, but secure. Molly feels his strong heartbeat against her cheek and can’t help but press closer. 

“Will you stop being an arse?”

“Probably not”, he smiles into her hair.

She smiles against his chest. Now she puts her arms around him. 

“Will we talk about us?”

He pulls her closer, still.

“Yes, But please...when the hands are healed.”

Molly giggles. 

There won’t be a goodbye. Thank God. 

“...and I can do something with them”, Sherlock purrs into her hair, sending a shiver down her spin. 

Baffled, she looks up at him. “Sherlock Holmes...did you just flirt with me?”

He smiles that sweet, honest smile, which always infects her. 

“Only took you seven years. Well done”, she jokes and snuggles closer to him. 

“Don’t mock me. I’m sick.”

Molly just rolls her eyes at his pout. 

And then finally, after so many years of waiting and longing, Sherlock kisses her. 

It’s definitely been worth the wait. Even if it’s happening in a bathroom. 

“Don’t call John”, Sherlock mumbles against her lips. Kisses her again. “Stay. Bring Toby and stay.”

They kiss and kiss, not getting enough. 

“I’ll stay”, she reassures him gently and after another kiss, Sherlock cheekily leads her into his bedroom. 

Six days now. Six dull days at Plymouth. Six days in which Sherlock Holmes regrets that he ever made a friend. John Watson, greatest flirt in all of England. If he had known that Watson would be chasing skirts half the time they weren’t on cases, then Holmes wouldn’t even have considered him as a flatmate. 

But, Holmes sighs, here he his, watching his moustached friend chase yet another skirt. 

This time it’s different, Watson had ensured him. She might be the one. 

Romantic nonsense. 

“Just three more days, then the torture will be over.”

A giggle next to him. Holmes turns his head and looks into the dark eyes of Mary Morstan’s companion. His fellow chaperone. Bound to the same dull fate, Miss  Molly Hooper bears it much better than him. 

Then again, she isn’t cursed with this always rushing mind. 

“Will you return to London directly or make another detour?”

Sherlock frowns. “Are you asking me if there is another female Watson means to visit?”

Miss Hooper giggles. Somehow, nearly all he says makes her laugh. 

“You see right through me, Mister Holmes.”

Her dark eyes sparkle with mischief. 

“We will go to London directly. There haven’t been...any detours since Miss Morstan.”

Miss Hooper smiles gratefully and nods. “That’s good to know. I was worried that Watson’s...enthusiasm would wane once he’s gone. Mary is quite smitten with him, not really wanting to see reason.”

Interesting.

“So you don’t believe in soulmates, destiny and romance?”

“Not really. I believe that people can be more suited for each other and that marriage can be a comfort if it is founded on mutual respect. My parents were very happy and their marriage wasn’t founded on love, at first.”

“It was the same for my parents”, Sherlock replied, years of his parents’ marriage rushing through his mind, smiles and laughter and stolen kisses when they felt unobserved. 

They truly are happy together. Funny how Sherlock has never really been aware of it. 

“Oh, Mister Holmes, caref-”

A painful knock against his shin and Sherlock is falling forward - until surprisingly strong arms and a very warm, very soft chest catch him.

Suddenly he’s face to face with Miss Hooper, their noses only inches apart and...

...his heart bursts into flames. 

He knows he’s staring. Into those dark, beautiful doe eyes. Her breath hits his lips and automatically, his tongue licks it into his mouth. He can feel her nails digging into his back. His skin there is covered in goosebumps. 

“I’ve got you, Mister Holmes”, Miss Hooper whispers and everything inside him screams. 

Yes. 

14. “I made a mistake.”

The air is so thick with tension Molly can hardly breathe. She’s standing in the kitchen leaning against the counter, hugging herself. Instead of looking at him, she’s staring at her rainbow socks. ”I’m tired of this”, she says eventually, sounding as exhausted as she feels. ”I know”, is all he replies. ”I’m not happy.””I know.”Molly lets out a breath. What was she expecting? That ‘I fear nothing more than feelings’ Sherlock Holmes suddenly opens up to her? If a (admittedly fake) bomb can’t make him face his feelings, nothing can.”I don’t think we can be friends anymore”, Molly croaks out, the truth of it such a pain in her chest. For so long did she live this lie that Sherlock was merely a friend...that friendship could ever be enough. “Molly, I...I made a mistake.”He sounds frightened. She knows she needs him. Knows that in his own way, he loves her, too. She shakes her head. “This is not about the phone call, Sherlock. Or that you took your time explaining the reason for it.”“Then what?”A knot forms in her throat. She can’t bare to hear his voice like that. So fragile. “It’s everything.”Molly closes her eyes. Even not looking at him she can see his confused expression. No one knows him as well as she does. Not even John. A part of her wishes she could be stronger, that she could give him this last part of her, too, and give up all hope of ever being happy. A part of her wants to give herself up for him, so he feels more secure, safe...comfortable. Sherlock doesn’t do well with change. But she’s thrown one good man for him, only to once again been reminded that Sherlock will never love her how she wants to be loved. “I can’t go on pretending not to love you, Sherlock”, she whispers, her heart beating fast. “I have to...I have to try to move on. I want a family. A home. Children. You know that.”She hears him inhale and exhale, his breath stuttering. “Molly...you know...you know I feel-”“I know”, she interrupts, tears filling her eyes. He’s trying so hard and she hates as much as him that it isn’t enough anymore. “I know you love me in your own way. I wish that could be enough. I’ve tried, Sherlock. You know I did. For years. But it isn’t. It just isn’t.”A sob escapes her lips and finally, the tears fall. Hastily she cups her face, trying to make it less embarassing, trying to make it less awkward for him. Desperately she tries to stop crying. Fails. If she could talk she’d tell him it’s alright for him to leave, that she wants him to just go, but his presence lingers. He simply stands there, watches her. 

A million miles away. 

Unable to cross the distance.

30. “Is that blood?”

His legs are burning. His heartbeat pounding. He can’t breath. He can’t hear. The faces rushing past him are blurry shapes, nothing more. A few of those he runs over, not caring. He doesn’t care about any of them. 

There’s just one. Just one he cares about. 

Two. 

Two.

“Sherlock, calm do-UGH!”

Sherlock plows right through Lestrade to get to the woman sitting on a park bench, a shock blanket wrapped around her. 

Breathlessly he falls to her feet, his hands shaking as he hastily reaches out, touching her hair, her face, her hands to pull the blanket away. 

His heart stops. 

“Is that blood?” he almost screams, looking up in horror, clutching her wrists. 

“Wha? Oh no, that’s juice. Fell on a juice box.”

His eyes dart to Lestrade, who’s just scrambling back to his feet. 

“You let her fall?!” 

He wants to lunge and beat the living shit out of his former friend, but two warm, familiar hands stop him. They cup his cheeks and turn his head.

“Sherlock, look at me.” 

Her dark eyes command attention and the fog of panic in his head lifts a little.

“Everything’s fine. She’s fine.”

Taking his hand, Molly places it on her swollen belly. He lightly pushes, as he has done every night for the past two months. When the annoyed kick comes, a sob escapes him and he leans down to press a kiss to where his daughter is resting. 

“Thank God”, he breathes. A hand slides into his hair and Sherlock closes his eyes, the whole world falling away. 

Nothing matters but these two. 

86. “I’ll walk you home.”

The fith vertebra in her spine crack as Molly stretched in the fresh night air. What a day. Taking a deep breath, she looked up at the night sky. “Hooper!”“Christ!”Molly grabbed her flattened chest, her heart racing. “One of these days, Holmes, I’m gonna punch you in the face”, she grumbled angrily as she saw him emerging from the shadows, a smug grin on his face. “Oh, definitely. Within the next three, maybe two months.”Don’t engage, Molly reminded herself and tightened her grip on her briefcase.“I’ll walk you home, doctor.”God give me strength. Holmes had been in a foul mood all day, pestering her for hours and hours, aging her at least four years. “Unless you don’t want that punch tonight, Holmes, I suggest to leave me alone.”Without waiting for his reply, she went on her way through the dark streets of London. For a while, his footsteps followed. Eventually, he caught up and walked beside her. Molly ignored him. 

Surprisingly enough, he remained silent almost all the way to home. Only when he curled his elegant fingers around her elbow and stopped her, did he speak. Home was right outside the gates of the small park they were currently standing in. “I want you to change your path home. It’s way too dangerous for this ungodly hour. Twelve robbies and five known attempts at rape in the last two months.”“If you hadn’t kept me at the morgue the entire night”, she growled and pulled her arm free, “it wouldn’t be that dangerous.”“Light doesn’t always protect you.”Molly rolled her eyes and kept walking - only to be stopped again.“Hooper-”“No! Who do you think you are, telling me what to do?!”“Your friend!”“Pah!” Molly stormed off. A friend?! Him?! He was never anything but horrible to her! Hurrying footsteps on gravel. Now she really had enough. Right as he reached her, Molly whirled around - and punched Sherlock Holmes in his stupid face. Regret came sudden and painful, as soon as her knuckle made contact with his sharp cheekbone. “Hell’s teeth!” Molly cried out and pulled her hand to her chest, rubbing it, trying to shake off the pain. “Bloody hell, Hooper”, she heard Sherlock growl - and found him scrambling back to his feet. Molly Hooper had punched Sherlock Holmes’s ass into the dirt. “You don’t need to look so smug about it. I was unprepared for your violent outburst, is all.”She laughed, she couldn’t help herself. “A good night, after all”, she smirked. Sherlock sighed, but she could see a hint on his smile on his full lips. There was a street lamp a few feet away.“Is your hand alright?” The soft tone in his voice confused her so much that she let him pull her into the light. His long fingers were gentle as he examined her hand. Molly’s heart beat faster. Her body warmed. The skin of her hand tingled. 

No. No, no, no. That mustn’t start happening again! This horrible, intense attraction she had felt in the very beginning of their aquaintance mustn’t return! His disgusting manners had killed it! Long ago!

He pulled her hand to his mouth and blew cool air on her bloody knuckle. 

A million shivers ran down her spine. 

Dear Lord in heaven, please no!

Dread filling her heart, she tried to pull her hand away. He didn’t let go. “Let go of me”, she croaked, heat feeling her cheeks. Had he come closer? He was too damn close. Smelling way too fine. “Not until you promise me, Hooper.” Molly’s heart was hammering in her chest. He didn’t stop coming closer.She shook her head. Tried to push him away. There was not enough space for her to put all her force into it, so her fingers curled into the cape of his coat. Her head was spinning. 

What was happening?

Why was she pulling him closer?

“Don’t”, she whispered, tears filling her eyes, all those foolish dreams rushing back to the surface, dreams she had long given up for her career. 

“Molly.”

With a gasp, her head snapped up, her eyes wide with panic and fear, meeting his soft ones, the mesmerizing blue now almost as dark as her brown. Helplessly and afraid she looked up at him, frozen to the spot. His hand cupped her cheek ever so tenderly. “If someone were to harm you...” Tears filled his eyes before he gulped and shook his head, hastily blinking them away. “Promise me”, he entreated her. “Promise me.”He was genuine. His concern for her was real. She could see it now so clearly in his eyes. Her heart tightened...weakened. All cruelty forgotten with one word, one look, one touch. “I promise...Sherlock.”His eyelids fluttered closed, the fingers in her neck pulled her closer. “Molly...Molly...”“Sherlock...”

Kissing Sherlock Holmes felt as if she had done it a thousand times before. His arms coming around her to pull her against his firm chest and her doing the same felt as natural as breathing. They lost themselves in each other, shy fingers exploring cheeks, ears and necks. Curious tongues were colliding, tasting the ambrosia that was the other’s mouths. 

Nothing could ever compare to kissing Holmes. Her Holmes. 

“Ahem!”They jumped apart, Sherlock half in front of her, shielding her. Oh no. A copper. 

A copper!

And Molly was in disguise. 

Oh God!

Just as she opened her mouth to speak and reveal her biggest secret, Sherlock spoke. “Good evening, officer.”“Good Lord, it’s you, Mr. Holmes.”“Indeed it is.”The copper’s dark eyes darted from Holmes to Hooper and back, his hand on his baton dangling from his wrist. A lanky man in his mid-fourties, his bushy mustache a mix of brown and white. Molly’s heart was beating in her throat. She would not let Holmes take the blame should the copper decide to arrest them. She’d rather reveal herself as a woman than let harm come to him. 

“Gentlemen, there is a time and a place for such things. It might be the time, but it is definitely not the place. Never. Do you understand me, gentlemen?”“Perfectly, officer.”The copper nodded. “Then I suggest you take your business behind closed doors, where it bloody well belongs.”“Yes, sir.”Apparently satisfied, the policeman nodded and tapped his hat. “Goodnight, Mr. Holmes.”“Goodnight, officer.”The men nodded to each other and before the copper could change his mind, Holmes took Molly’s hand and hurried out of the park. She could do nothing but stumble after him. As her mind processed, she let him lead the way to her building, through the front door, up the stairs, into her little flat. By the time they stood in the crooked hallway, the full force of what had happened and could have happened finally hit her. “He could have arrested us! How could I be so stupid?! How could you be so stupid?! You should have let me tell him! He might tell someone and then people will think...will think that you and I...”“Well, we are.”“But I’m not a man!”“Believe me, I know! Everything would be easier if you were!”“Oh, really?” she hissed. “I didn’t exactly choose my gender.”“But you chose your profession. Of all the morgues you could have worked at, you had to step into mine!”“Yours?! I worked there before you ever set foot in it, you git!”Sherlock merely growled, running a hand through his ruffled hair as he paced the little space of her hallway. “So, what now, genius?”“I don’t know.”Molly huffed. “Now you don’t know?! Brilliant. Just brilliant!”“If you would just give me a minute!”“That long? What happened to the superhuman mind that puts you above us mere humans?”Sherlock growled again. His eyes flitted from her to the floor to her again. Then he let out a frustrated sound - and shoved her against the door. “I can’t think straight”, he whispered, his hands cupping her face, “all I can think about is kissing you. Kissing every inch of you until all of you is mine.”So he did exactly that. 

And Molly did the same. 

The sun was already up when they finally stopped, exhausted but happy as can be.

“I won’t stop working at the morgue”, Molly whispered into his chest as she cuddled close to him. “I’d never ask”, Sherlock instantly replied, pulling her close and placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. His fingers were lazily playing with her short hair. “Maybe in five years. If you want to have children.”His fingers didn’t stop moving, but his heart skipped a beat. “Not if it means that you have to give up doing what you love.”Molly sighed and kissed the skin above his heart. “Ask me again in five years. If I haven’t murdered you by then.”Sherlock chuckled and kissed her forehead again. “I will, my love.”“Sherlock...”Contentment filled Molly’s heart and she closed her eyes, knowing that her secret was safe. That she was safe. In Sherlock Holmes’s arms.