Sherlock 1. Sounds

**For Lisape:  
(I also just have to say, this girl is one of my dearest friends and I love her to death. Even though we live hundreds of miles apart, she's one of my biggest supporters and I can talk to her about anything. I'm blessed to have a friend as good as she is.)**

**Sherlock and Molly are living together and Sherlock come home to 221b one day and hears molly making some suspicious sounds so he rushes up the stairs assuming molly is cheating (of course in the time it takes to get u there he has already thought of the speech he will give and has tormented himself with the images of her in compromising positions with different people.) He bursts in the door only to find her working out and that's why she is making these sounds he's so relieved and desperate for her it ends up with them having some shower smut :)**

* * *

Sherlock hummed a little tune to himself as he hopped out of the cab in front of 221 Baker Street. He paid the cabbie and smiled up at the building.

It had only been a week since he'd persuaded his girlfriend of several months, Molly Hooper, to move in. She'd fought him on it for weeks, apparently convinced that their relationship wasn't serious enough to call for a change in living arraignments, especially since they hadn't told anyone about the new dynamic in their relationship. Sherlock grinned as he fingered the box in his pocket. Oh yes, it was definitely serious enough.

He opened the door quietly. It was her day off so she was home. He was home a couple hours earlier than he said he would be. He'd told Molly he was out on a case, when in fact, he'd gone shopping for the perfect ring. He had everything planned about how he would propose to her and was very much looking forward to taking her out that night and putting his plans into action.

As he pulled the door to, he stopped dead. Odd noises were coming from the flat above and his brow furrowed. He looked up, dread and anger etched on his face. It sounded like, well, like vigorous sex.

Involuntarily, his mind replayed various scenarios he'd thought of each time a man flirted with Molly.

She'd told him once that she was having quite a lot of sex with her then fiancé. Sherlock shuddered, thinking of the man who looked vaguely like himself, pushing into her delicate body, sucking on her perfectly pink nipples. He doubted meat dagger would be forceful enough with Molly. The man was a bloody idiot and Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he thought of Molly perhaps faking an orgasm because the imbecile didn't know how to touch her. How to bring her to the heights of ecstasy like Sherlock did.

Or it could be that new pathologist that had been hired in the past couple of months. Sherlock knew for a fact that the man was interested in Molly. He'd even asked her out for coffee, which, to Sherlock's amusement, she'd replied that she took it white with three sugars and that she'd be in the lab. He'd had to hide a chuckle when he heard that, remembering how he'd replied similarly to her so many years ago. The man was obviously a porn addict, and he'd try some things he'd seen in videos in the bedroom. While there was no doubt Molly enjoyed a good spanking, (Sherlock's mind lit up with images of her bent over the desk with her hands behind her back and her arse in the air, flushed pink and hot from his heavy slaps,) he doubted she'd like some of the more overtly pornish ideas the man would attempt to employ.

Then there was Lestrade. That damn man wanted Molly, and Sherlock knew it. He'd seen the way the Detective Inspector oogled her when her back was turned. Now that he was divorced, and no one knew of Sherlock and Molly's involvement, would he have made a move on her? Sherlock's mind raced with images of his girlfriend under the older man, writhing in pleasure, making those pretty noises that Sherlock loved. Her face flushed, lips swollen from the nips and kisses bestowed on her by the silver-haired man. Sherlock wondered if she'd beg for his cock the way she did for his own. If she would cry out when he entered her, eyes full of love and lust. His jaw clenched as the noises upstairs continued. He wouldn't be held responsible for his actions if he found Lestrade, or any man, upstairs with his pathologist.

He began to storm of the stairs, but slowed halfway up.

_What am I thinking?_ he asked himself. _Molly has loved me for years, she'd never do that to me. She couldn't, wouldn't hurt a fly, much less me, even though I've hurt her too many times to count. _He sighed, willing his hands to stop shaking and his heart rate to slow. He looked at up at the door to 221B, wondering what on Earth was causing the noises behind it.

He got a brief mental image of Molly fucking herself with the vibrator he'd discovered while moving her things into the flat. His cock twitched in his trousers and he licked his lips.

Slowly, stealthily, Sherlock crept up the last few stairs and turned the doorknob, opening the door just enough to see inside, but hopefully not enough to attract attention.

Molly jumped at the sudden, loud laughter behind her and dropped the hand weights she was holding. She paused her exercise dvd, frowning at the appearance of her boyfriend and the state of herself. She was in short shorts, and a vest, with trainers on her feet and a sweat band around her head, with her long hair pulled up in a ponytail. She was sweaty, now more than halfway through the dvd and she was sure she didn't look or smell that good.

Sherlock leaned against the wall, one hand around his stomach and the other on his knees as he fought to remain upright. Loud guffaws filled the room and tears streamed from his eyes.

Molly was confused, but seeing Sherlock in that state made her mouth turn up in an amused smirk.

"Sherlock, what on Earth?" she asked, and he waved a hand at her, still unable to speak.

Finally, he stopped laughing and wiped his eyes. He crossed the room and held her. She protested a bit, knowing she couldn't smell good at all, but he just held her more tightly. After a few moments, he let go enough to cup her jaw in one hand and tilt her head up.

"Molly, my Molly," he sighed, shaking his head. "What am I going to do with you?"

She grinned and shook her head as well.

"Let go, Sherlock, let me go shower. You're back early." She made to move out of his embrace but gasped when his expression changed to one of absolute hunger.

"Yes, let's shower," he said, easily picking her up and throwing her over his shoulder, heading off to the bathroom.

"Sherlock!" she shrieked, "Stop it this instant!"

He set her down next to the shower and reached in to turn on the water and let it heat up before he divested her of her clothing, letting it fall into a pile on the floor. He undressed himself after, winking at her as she bit her lip, her eyes raking over his strong body.

Ducking his head down, he caught a rosy nipple between his teeth and smiled wickedly against her body when she gasped, her hands flying up to twist in his curls.

"No Molly, I won't stop. Not until your legs are shaking and you can't take any more. I'm going to make you scream so loud that the neighbors know my name," he said, grinning ferally as he looked up at her from where was nuzzling her breast.

A sharp intake of breath and the darkening of her eyes told him that she was more than pleased with his statement, but first, Sherlock had something to do.

He let go of her, ignoring her whimper of disappointment and reached down to fumble in the pocket of his trousers. When his fingers closed over the little velvet box, he dropped to one knee and looked up at her, delighting in the look of shock on her sweet face. Opening the box to reveal a gorgeous ring, a half carat center stone with a cushion of smaller diamonds surrounding it, he sucked in a deep breath.

"Molly Hooper, I love you more than I'll ever be able to express. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

Tears formed in her eyes as she nodded enthusiastically, throwing her arms around him, their naked bodies pressing together. He slipped the ring on her finger, where it shone proudly. After a second admiring the way it caught the light, Sherlock's gaze darkened again.

"Now, Miss Hooper, I believe I have a promise to make good on," he growled as he dragged his fiancé into the shower.


	2. Win Some, Lose Some

**Prompt from pictures-to-prove-it on Tumblr **  
**Omg, did I just win me some porn? This is so exciting! May I have some smut that involves Sherlock, Molly, and winning? (Could be anything- trivia, a raffle, the lottery, Mrs. Hudson's strip poker night, etc.) Please and thank you :)**

* * *

You're needed at Baker Street. – SH

No, tomorrow is my day off, let me catch up on my sleep – MH

Sleep is boring. – SH

I've got a liver. – SH

We can set it on fire. – SH

Molly. – SH

MOLLY. – SH

Can't a girl take a shower, what's wrong with you? – MH

Come over. – SH

Ugh, FINE. But there better be something better going than a burned liver. – MH

* * *

Molly Hooper huffed up the stairs of 221B Baker Street. It was already almost nine at night and she was ready to pass out and sleep for at least twelve hours. Maybe more considering that she didn't have to work the next day. Her eyes narrowed at the door to the upstairs flat. Of **_course_** Sherlock knew she had the next day off. Of **_course_** he would summon her. And of **_course_** she would go.

"Sherlock, I don't want to – "

The sentence died as it left Molly's lips.

Sitting in his chair, Sherlock was holding a deck of cards. Cards specifically made for strip poker. He held up the deck, shaking his hand around a bit and looking infinitely pleased with himself.

"Wanna play?" he asked, his face hopeful.

Molly stood in shock for a moment, before beginning to giggle, then outright laugh, gasping for breath and clutching her stomach. Sherlock's brow creased and he looked down to the cards in his hand and back up to Molly, obviously confused by her reaction.

"Molly?" he tried, only to be waved off by her, tears streaming down her cheeks as she laughed.

"Molly, seriously now – " he started again.

"Seriously now," mocked Molly as soon as she had breath to do so.

She dropped her bag and coat by the door and toed off her shoes, crossing the room to plop down into John's old chair.

"Where?" she stopped and chuckled again, "Where in God's name did you get those?"

Sherlock straightened up defensively, as if realizing that his plan had gone horribly wrong.

"Wiggins," he muttered under his breath, sending Molly into another laughing fit.

"Wiggins?!" she gasped out, slumping in the chair, her giggles once again filling the flat. "Wiggins gave you those?! Whatever for?"

"So we could play, of course," Sherlock replied, a bit miffed.

Molly stopped and stared at Sherlock. "Wait, so you told Wiggins that you wanted to play strip poker with me and he gave you a deck of cards for it?" she asked, her brow furrowing in confusion.

"Obviously not. I simply mentioned that I was unsure how to proceed and he procured the cards for me, assuring that it was a way forward." His jaw clenched. "In hindsight, I do believe I'll have to arrange a little accident for him."

Molly covered her mouth to prevent another giggle from escaping. "Oh Sherlock, you really know nothing about people."

He opened his mouth to protest but she shut him up with her next statement.

"Besides, you'd lose miserably," Molly said, a mischievous smile lighting her face up. "I'm quite good at poker."

Sherlock allowed a self-satisfied grin. "Care to prove that, Doctor Hooper?"

She stared at him for a long moment before giving a slight nod.

"Well, if we're going to play, we'll need a regular deck of cards and lots of wine. So hop to it."

Sherlock stared at her for a second before leaping out of his seat when she clapped at him.

* * *

**Two hours and nearly three bottles of wine later**

"I think you've had quite enough," Sherlock slurred, snatching an almost empty wine bottle from her as she tried to drink directly from the bottle.

Molly giggled, raising a brow at him. "Like you're any better, you're stumbling around like, like, like, ummm, I don't know, you're stumbling." She lifted her head from her hand and waved it in his general direction.

"My previous observation still stands; you'd lose if we played. And you, Mr. Holmes," she giggled again at his name, "you can't stand to lose, can you?"

"I would not," Sherlock huffed, making his way to the desk on unsteady feet and pulling out a deck of cards. "I will not," he corrected.

Molly sat up and grinned goofily at him. "You just wait, I'm the champ at strip poker."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed at his pathologist. "And who do you play strip poker with on a regular basis?" he asked, his voice a growl.

"That's none of your business," Molly replied, attempting to primly cross her legs. It took her a couple tries.

His jaw clenched, but he let it pass. No sense in starting a fight now, not when everything was finally going according to plan.

"Alright, let's play."

They began the game, Sherlock smug in the assurance that he would win.

* * *

"Strip for me, Detective man!" Molly hooted, laughing loudly at Sherlock's predicament.

While Molly had only removed her socks and jumper, (leaving her tee shirt, jeans, bra and knickers,) Sherlock was down to his pants now that he was slowly removing his trousers, trying not to fall over. He'd started off fully clothed, all the way down to his shoes, but had been forced to slowly remove every bit of it, up to this point, where he only had one piece left.

"This is ridiculous, you're still dressed," Sherlock grumbled, pushing his lip out into a pout.

"I told you I was good," Molly gloated, but winked at him to soften the blow.

"Alright, again," Sherlock picked up his cards determined to not lose the round.

Molly smiled to herself and lost purposefully, shedding her tee shirt, watching Sherlock's eyes widen as he caught sight of her purple and blue floral patterned bra. He recovered quickly, but not before she saw a flush on his cheeks and a subtle gulp.

"There," he stuttered, "you aren't as good as you think you are."

Molly smiled again, deciding to let him think he had the upper hand. She lost again, a smirk on her face as she slowly unbuttoned her jeans and slid them down her legs. Wine wasn't the only reason her face was flushed as he gazed at her hungrily, her slim frame clad only in bra and knickers now.

Another round, Sherlock lost. As he stood to pull of his last remaining piece of clothing, he bemoaned his bad luck.

"How did I lose? I was counting cards!" He clapped his hands over his mouth and looked at Molly, wide-eyed, worried how she'd take it that he had been cheating.

With a self-satisfied grin, Molly shook her head.

"So was I."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed and he tsked.

"Naughty, naughty, Molly. New game."

"Sore loser?" she taunted, amused.

He glared at her. "No I am not," he sniffed. "Truth or dare?"

Molly's eyes narrowed. "You can't be serious. That's a teenagers' game, we're in our thirties."

"Indulge me," Sherlock said with a smirk.

"Alright," _the wine must really be getting to me, _"dare." Molly spat the word out defiantly, hoping to call Sherlock's bluff.

_Really, since when does Sherlock do strip poker and truth or dare?_

He grinned evilly, and brazenly raked his eyes up and down her body for a minute before answering, "Kiss me."

She stared at him for a minute in shock and his grin widened. "Forfeit already?"

_So THAT'S how it going to be. No sir, you won't win this one._

She smiled sweetly at him before standing from her position and slowly approaching him. She settled into his lap, straddling him and looked down at him, her smile turning triumphant. Sherlock's eyes widened slightly and his pupils dilated. Molly did an inward victory dance. Molly leaned over and kissed him chastely on the lips, but moved her hips against him at the same time and was rewarded with a soft moan from the detective.

She pulled back and climbed off of his lap, returning to her own seat. She grinned at him as he caught his breath, trying hard to appear unruffled though it was almost impossible since Molly could see his cock beginning to harden.

For her part, Molly felt as if she was fire. She wondered for a minute if this was an experiment, but pushed the thought from her mind. She could tell when Sherlock wasn't being sincere and there was no doubt that at the moment he was very interested.

"My turn," she chirped. "Truth or dare?"

"Dare," he answered slowly, in that deep baritone that made her shiver.

_Oh dear, I didn't think that out too well._

Molly had no idea what to ask. Kissing was one thing, but anything else? She glanced at him, seeing the smirk and the challenge in his eyes and resolved not to lose.

"I dare you to," she chewed her lip. _Oh bloody hell! _"I DARE YOU TO TOUCH ME." She blurted out, hiding her blush in her hands. She heard him stand and move closer to her, but didn't look up until she felt a large hand on her knee.

"Touch you," he repeated, with a brow raised. "There, I touched you."

At Molly's outraged face, he laughed and said, "You'll have to be more specific, Doctor Hooper." He ambled back to his chair, leaving a furious, blushing Molly in his wake.

"Truth or dare, Molly?"

"Dare," she spat out, reeling from his obvious cheat.

"Simple, I dare you to touch my," he looked down into his lap with his brow raised and then back up at her and winked, "my cock."

If Molly was pink from blushing before, she was now bright red as she stood.

_Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh._

She tried to ignore the effect his dirty talk had on her libido. An evil idea popped into her head. After all, he didn't say what part of her body she had to use to touch him with. Oh yes, she was going to give him more than he bargained for.

She stopped in front of him and put her hands behind her. Molly saw the confusion cross Sherlock's face a second before she dropped to her knees and licked a long, wet stripe from the base of his dick to the tip.

This time, the moan wasn't nearly as soft. In fact, it was outright loud. A curse word escaped him.

"Fuck, Molly."

_Oh God, that is so sexy._

Molly had always had an affinity for dirty talk, but hearing Sherlock cuss while her tongue was on his cock sent Molly's libido into overdrive.

Apparently her tongue did the same for Sherlock as Molly found herself flat on her back on the floor in a matter of seconds, with the tall detective hovering over her.

"I think we're done playing for tonight," he growled, pure lust on his face. He leaned down and kissed her deeply, sweeping his tongue across Molly's lower lip, begging for permission to enter. She gave it and he snogged her silly until the need to breathe arose.

"Getting tired of losing?" Molly asked breathlessly, trying not to wiggle against him.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure I won," he whispered before taking her mouth again.

Come morning, Molly would agree.

* * *

**(Special thanks to Channy for the 'strip for me detective man' line.)**


	3. Whispers in the Wind

**Not a prompt just some rambling.**

* * *

Like** whisper**s in the wind, gone before they were heard.

A soft spoken** I love you**, a sigh, a word.

A promise to return, a** promise to wait,**

promises broken, a bad habit to break.

Sweet** nothing**s whispered to the night,

A farewell, a kiss, a tear shed for their plight.

A man** lost**, his life adrift,

A woman whose spirits** just **won't lift.

**Time **passes, dreams fade,

what now of vows that were made?

Triumphant return for the man, picking up an old life,

but something went wrong with the plan, pain cuts like a knife.

A **new** flame,** light** shining, a candle** in the dark,**

it's glow binding, the wax leaves a mark.

**A** forgotten** dance,** a yellow dress,

the candle goes out, under duress.

Time to face the melody, **with** this burning in our soul.

We can never be, will never be whole.

**My heart** screams out to the wind,

but those who break **never learned** out **to** bend.

Like **whisper**s in the wind forgotten words fly,

if only we had time for one last **goodbye**.


	4. When No One Can See You

**From morbidmez on tumblr: Sherlolly prompt for you, dear! Sherlock is walking past a cafe, and spots Molly inside. He decides to slip in and watch her, wanting the opportunity to see her when she thinks nobody can see her. He is shocked to learn just how much she 'knows what it means' to look sad when one thinks they are alone.**

* * *

Sherlock Holmes was not one for sentiment. He'd said that over and over.

So he couldn't explain why, when he happened to catch a glimpse of Molly Hooper through the window of the café, he stopped and took a better look. He supposed it was his curiosity getting the better of him. After all, he only knew how she behaved in his presence, and while that had certainly changed over the course of their relationship, (_whatever this is,_) her demeanor was still affected by the fact that she knew he was nearby. He told himself that was the reason that he completely abandoned his previous quest and slipped through the door of the little coffee shop quietly and ordered a cup of coffee, black, two sugars, before seating himself.

He was out of Molly's direct line of sight, but angled to where he could still see her face. Judging by the faraway expression on it, he could have plopped down right in front of her and she wouldn't have noticed. He took a sip of his coffee, contemplating the look on Molly's face.

She had once said that he had looked sad whenever he thought no one could see him. He had replied that she could see him. And then she'd said with a certainty that make Sherlock cringe at the memory that she didn't count.

Now, as Sherlock observed Molly Hooper when she thought no one was watching, he was struck by just how well she had empathized with him that day in the lab, so long ago. Her eyes were downcast, her hands on the small table in front of her, one gripping her cup of coffee, long since gone cold if the fact that she hadn't moved since Sherlock first saw her was any indication.

He ran over what he knew of her in his mind, eyes flitting back and forth as he accessed information, and was surprised by the sheer amount of intel he had on the shy little pathologist. For example, he knew that today was not the anniversary of anything important in her life that could explain her sadness. Her father's death was May 4th and the day her mother had walked out on her family was June 16th. It wasn't Molly's birthday either, or the birthday of anyone close to her. No important work dates either.

No, if Molly was this sad, it was because she was always this sad when no one was around.

He had to admit, she faked it very well. He had had no idea that his pathologist (_wait, mine? Yes, mine_) had been anything other than the sweet, happy little woman who made morbid jokes and let him walk all over her in return for a false compliment.

He winced. Sherlock really had used her rather ruthlessly in the past. He thought of all the times he'd lied to her in the form of a compliment he hadn't meant and all the times he'd viciously cut her down in front of others.

His brow furrowed.

_Why did her weight matter?_

The only other person whose weight he noticed was John, and that was only because Mary had mentioned it.

_And why do I think about the shape of her mouth and breasts?_ he asked himself, thinking of the ill-fated Christmas party, so many years ago.

His eyes scanned over her body, hidden under the many layers she usually wore. Her form was… not unpleasant. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. And her hair was really quite gorgeous.

_No, none of that Sherlock. Be objective._

She shifted in her chair, the first movement in over twenty minutes and the detective froze. She couldn't go, he wasn't done observing her yet. She sighed and peered down into her coffee cup, as if she wanted to drink it but knew it would be horrible after sitting so long. Without thinking of why he did it, Sherlock drained his cup and hopped up, going to the counter to order two more, one black with two sugars, the other with a splash of milk and three sugars, just the way Molly liked it. He grabbed the cups and took a deep breath before walking over to where Molly was seated.

Unfortunately, just as he reached her, she stood, and turned to leave, crashing directly into the tall detective and spilling the coffee all over the both of them. They both sputtered for a moment, with Molly going wide eyed at the sight of Sherlock there.

There was a flash of what Sherlock thought might be guilt in her eyes and his heart hurt for a brief second, thinking that she was feeling that way because he must have seen her melancholy mood.

Luckily, the coffee didn't burn either of them, falling mostly on their outerwear. Molly was stammering apologies when Sherlock's eyes flitting up from where he was drying himself and caught sight of her lips. There were most definitely not too small. He could feel his heart rate increase and was sure anyone could see his pupils dilate in her close proximity.

He wasn't stupid, even when it came to this. He knew what it meant. He had known when he was attracted to The Woman. In that case, he hadn't trusted her enough to act on it, and it was a good thing he hadn't, in hindsight.

But Molly, Molly was something completely different. She was kind and sweet, even when Sherlock was horrible to her. She helped him without question, and cared about him more than anyone else, even John. Sherlock trusted her and knew, deep down, that she was the most important person in his life.

And now, he'd figured out why.

She noticed how close they were and began to back away, but Sherlock's hand shot out, taking her slender wrist in his grasp. He positioned his thumb on her pulse and was gratified to feel it speed up as well. He raised his eyes slowly to meet hers.

"Baker Street is closer than your flat. We can find you something to change into there," he said, indicating her stained shirt with his free hand.

She bit her lip shyly, before nodding and Sherlock eagerly pulled her towards the door of the café.

Somehow, Sherlock would find a way to make her happy, even when no one was looking.


	5. Realizations

**From keeperofthebooks on Tumblr:**  
**Prompt: Sherlock pushes Molly too far one day when in the morgue, and she finally has it. Hurt/comfort with makeup smut?**  
**Prompt: Sherlock and Molly are discussing life and Sherlock begins to think about getting older with Molly. Fluff abounds.**

* * *

"Oh Molly! I could use an assistant."

She sighed quietly as his voice carried down the dark hall to her retreating figure. Part of her wanted to keep walking, to just ignore him and go home to her cuddly feline and a glass of cheap red, but she knew she'd feel guilty if she did. So Molly turned around and headed back towards the lab without a word, dropping her bag and coat just inside the door, not bothering to find a place to hang them.

* * *

Sherlock was already seated at his microscope but looked up at the noise created by her falling things. His nose crinkled as he took in her appearance, tendrils of hair coming loose from her normally immaculate ponytail, dark circles beginning to form on the pale skin just under her eyes. His brow furrowed. She'd lost weight; some when her engagement ended, and more when Moriarty resurfaced. Sherlock frowned. She looked… exhausted. He felt a stab of what could have been guilt for demanding that she stay, but he'd really wanted to spend time with her and couldn't think of another excuse. Though, in retrospect, he could have picked a better night.

_Oh well, done now. And I DO have an experiment to do._

He explained his hypothesis to the little woman, who merely nodded and set about gathering the tools to complete the experiment. She worked silently, none of the usual inane chatter about her cat or interesting things she'd seen on bodies that day. It bothered him, getting to the point where he botched part of the tests because he was paying more attention to her. He lost his temper then, annoyed at himself for having fallen into the trap of actually caring for the petite woman working next to him.

"Dammit Molly, if I'd known you were just going to be a distraction, I'd have gotten The Woman to help instead. She'd be more useful than you are at this point!"

As soon as he said it, he knew he'd gone too far. Molly knew the story behind Irene Adler's interactions with the detective, having been informed of the whole story by John when he'd finally discovered that she was very much alive, via her naked presence in 221B one evening.

Sherlock had unceremoniously kicked her out, wanting nothing to do with the manipulative woman, but John had vented to Molly about how no one connected to Sherlock seemed to stay dead. Molly remembered that Sherlock had "identified" the dominatrix by her body, not her face, and John had been quick to explain that it was because Sherlock had seen her like that at their first meeting. He did, however, throw in a remark about being sure that the detective was interested in her at one point.

Now Sherlock cursed inwardly as he watched Molly's face go carefully blank, none of the hurt she was feeling seeping through the façade, and turn back to her work silently. He knew though. She was always so happy, so full of life. To see her expressionless, robotic, was almost worse than seeing her cry.

Telling her that she was less useful than Irene Adler had been a horrible thing to say. Even Sherlock realized that. He'd just compared her to a heartless woman who used people to get what she wanted out of life.

Molly was the opposite of that Woman. She was kind, giving and helpful. And brilliant too. Oh, Irene had her tricks, her manipulations, but Molly, no Molly was truly intelligent. She could identify pathogens just by the effects on the body. She could fake a death with such skill that it fooled a doctor. She could keep a secret so well that for the entire time Sherlock had been gone, no one had a clue that she'd helped him survive. (Except Anderson, but honestly, the man was just having a fantasy, even if Sherlock did rather like some of the finer points of his theory.)

After a few moments, it seemed that she couldn't hold it in, and she silently dropped the tools she was using and walked to the door, grabbing up her bag and coat on the way, and left with not a word.

Sherlock watched her go and cringed when the door clicked shut. Not even in her emotional turmoil was Molly going to slam a door in his face. He buried his head in his hands and sighed.

_What a mess I've made._

* * *

He sat, hands pressed together, fingers absentmindedly grazing over his full lower lip, for a long time. Just thinking. Thinking about Molly Hooper and the huge amount of space she took up in his mind palace. It was ridiculous really, for such a tiny woman to take so much room, but she did. He remembered everything she told him about herself, and all the things he deduced, things she didn't say out loud. He filed them all away neatly in her room, but often found that she bled out into other areas of his mind.

He had even imagined her getting older, the beautiful brown hair streaked with grey. He pictured her on their wedding day, eyes full of love as she walked down the aisle towards him. He imagined their children; they'd have her cute little upturned nose and kind brown eyes, but his wayward curls and prominent cheekbones. He knew just the place he wanted to retire to, out in the country, with bees and an orchard.

It frightened him that he had succumbed to his feelings for her so completely.

Sherlock had long ago accepted that he was indeed capable of some form of sentiment, and known that it was his particular weakness. The need to keep those he cared for and trusted safe and happy. Even if he himself wasn't particularly happy. John was, now that he had Mary, and their sweet daughter Amanda who did nothing bedsides eat, sleep and cry for now.

Lestrade was happy. He'd finally divorced his cheating wife and was now a swinging bachelor, popular with the ladies, who'd nicknamed him The Silver Fox.

Sherlock cringed.

Mrs. Hudson was happy, even Mycroft was happy in his own unique way.

_Nothing like starting a war to cheer a man up, _Sherlock thought, with only partial sarcasm.

But he wasn't happy.

And he knew Molly Hooper wasn't happy either.

The more Sherlock thought, the more the answer became clear to him. He and Molly Hooper could make each other happy.

Could he?

He could try.

The detective leapt up from the stool he'd been on ever since the pathologist had taken her leave and snatched up his coat, not even sparing a glance for his long-forgotten experiment.

He had a better one in mind.

* * *

Molly was finishing her third glass of wine when the knock rang through her quiet flat. She sighed heavily. It was nearly twelve thirty, and she knew there was only one person who would show up at her flat that late at night.

For a second, she considered faking that she was already sleeping.

She had bathed the second she walked in, soaking for nearly an hour in a luxurious bubble bath, she long, honey colored hair pulled up into a messy bun on top of her head. She'd removed her contacts after, perching her little black rimmed glasses on her nose and wiggled into an oversized rust colored tee shirt that fell off of one shoulder and a tiny pair of black shorts; her typical sleepwear.

Going to the kitchen, she'd fed Toby, then poured herself a generous glass of her favorite red wine, intending to sip it while reading her favorite book, The Adventures of Robin Hood. Having downed half the glass before she made it to the couch however, Molly just snatched up the bottle and took it with her.

At the time of the knock, she was curled up with her feet underneath her, thoroughly absorbed by the tales of the dashing outlaw. Molly sometimes fancied Sherlock as a bit of a Robin Hood when he was carrying out his mission of unraveling Moriarty's empire.

Now she just shook her head and turned the book upside down on the coffee table to hold her place, and stood, padding over to the door, wine glass still in hand.

"Go away, Sherlock," she called through the closed door.

"If you don't open up I'll pick the lock," was the reply and she sighed again.

_Frustrating man._

She opened, knowing he'd make good on the threat and was nearly bowled over by a manic Sherlock. He looked her over once, his eyes widening a fraction at all the exposed skin, and gingerly reached towards her, plucking the wine glass from her hand.

He examined it for a second, then raised it to his lips, taking a long sip from exactly where Molly's lips had touched the rim.

The tiny woman stared at him, wondering what game he was playing at when he suddenly set the glass down onto the side table and stepped close to her, pulling her into his arms and planting an ardent kiss on her lips.

_What the bloody hell?_

Molly was shocked by Sherlock's sudden action and froze for a spilt second, before she felt his tongue slip over the lower lip, seeking entrance. Her arms came up around him of their own accord and she found herself opening for him, letting him kiss her quite expertly until they both felt the need to breathe.

She stared at him when he pulled back and tried to find words.

"What the hell was that, Sherlock Holmes?!" she demanded, conscious of the side of her shirt slipping down to expose her naked shoulder. His eyes followed the movement of her hand as she pulled it back up.

"I wanted to see if the wine tasted better on your lips," he said simply, gauging her reaction through heavy lidded eyes.

Molly blushed.

"Molly," he began, nervously clearing his throat. "I think I may be in love with you."

Her mouth dropped open in shock and she just stared at him as he shifted his weight back and forth, waiting for her reaction.

"I'm sorry, what?" she finally found the breath to reply.

"I think I'm in love with you," he stated again, still watching her.

"And how did you come to that conclusion?" she asked slowly, examining his face for any sign of a lie. Molly could read him better than anyone else, even Mycroft. She'd know if he wasn't being entirely sincere. Lucky for him, he was.

"I realized recently that I wasn't very happy, but I didn't know why. Then I noticed that you aren't happy either and came to the conclusion that I wanted to make you happy."

He stepped close to her again and lifted her hand, folding it to rest two fingers on the pulse point in his neck.

"You make me feel things that I've never felt before, Molly. I want you. I want to take care of you. I want," he choked slightly before soldiering on, "I want to marry you and start a family with you."

He licked his lips nervously. "I want to grow old with you and see our grandchildren come to visit us in the country on Christmas holiday. Molly, please tell me you want all of that as well."

She gazed up at him, feeling his pulse race beneath her fingers, and smiled.

"You know I've wanted that for years, you silly man," she replied, her eyes bright and happy.

"Oh thank God," he murmured, leaning down to capture her lips again, hungry for her.

She reciprocated happily and gasped into his mouth as his clever fingers slipped into her shorts, verifying what he already had expected, that she was without knickers. He smirked as he moved his lips down her jaw and neck, pausing to suck a dark mark into the base of her throat. Molly's hands moved up to twist into his curls and Sherlock groaned at the light pulling sensation, bucking his hips against her. It was her turn to smirk as she moved to work on the buttons for his shirt. He had other ideas though, and shrugged off his coat and suit jacket, letting them drop indiscriminately to the floor, before literally ripping his shirt off, making buttons fly in every direction.

Molly gasped and giggled, as he pulled her shirt off of her, leaving both of them topless. The rest of their clothes followed in short order and Sherlock backed her towards her room, kissing the breath out of her the whole way there.

He whispered sweet nothings in her ear as he pushed into her, making love to his pathologist slowly, savoring the moment. Their tryst lasted most of the night, and when they finally collapsed, the sweat on their bodies cooling, he pulled her close and held her as they succumbed to sleep.

Sherlock and Molly both knew there'd be obstacles in the path to happily ever after.

The important thing was that in that moment, they were both happy.


	6. Like Poetry

**Prompt fill for pomwell on tumblr: Hey dear liathwen! I would like to ask for some Sherlolly smut. If possible with dom!Molly and sub!Sherlock. Thank you for your works by far, they are great.**

**A HUGE THANKS TO ALLTHEBELLSINVENICE AND MOREICINGONTOPTHECAKE FOR THE FANTASTIC IDEAS AND ENCOURAGEMENT.**

* * *

"Love at the lips was touch

As sweet as I could bear;

And once that seemed too much;

I lived on air…"

She's laid out next to him on the bed, sprawling on her stomach with her torso propped up on those knobby little elbows. He can see the curve of her bare arse past her shoulder, where the loose oversized tee, the only article of clothing on her body, is slipping, showing a decadent peek of the ivory skin there.

He's trying to hard not to squirm, knowing it won't be much longer. Knowing any movement will delay his gratification. She's so calm, while he's been reduced to a sweating, shaking mess, muttering curses and benedictions under his breath, oh so quietly that he doesn't disturb the gentle lilt of her tones as she reads aloud from the leather-bound book beneath her.

"…That crossed me from sweet things,

The flow of — was it musk

From hidden grapevine springs

Downhill at dusk?"

He knows she's chosen it because of the smell. It's evocative of his favorite pair of wrist cuffs, the leather so soft and cool against his skin but gripping him, holding him mercilessly. She'd grinned when he looked for them, wondering at their absence before she'd tied him by the thumbs to her headboard with a thin cotton string, so easily breakable, and he'd understood. She wanted him to have to concentrate on not breaking his delicate bindings.

"…I had the swirl and ache

From sprays of honeysuckle

That when they're gathered shake

Dew on the knuckle…"

Her slim hands rubbed together, a cool lotion between her palms, and she'd placed her hands on his chest, massaging the liquid into his skin. Sherlock groaned in pleasure, her precise touches working out the tension of his muscles, and he vaguely hoped she'd planned to repeat the actions on his sore back. She pulled away and his body unconsciously followed her touch. Molly smiled but placed a palm firmly on his taunt abdomen, bidding him to stay still without words.

"…I craved strong sweets, but those

Seemed strong when I was young:

The petal of the rose

It was that stung…"

When she lit the three small candles, and dripped a bit of wax on the pale skin of his chest and stomach, affixing a candle to each puddle of wax, he'd known it was not going to be an easy task to stay still and silent. Her slim fingers drew patterns into his flesh, writings, and his breathing was heavy, the warm sensation sending ripples of arousal over his bare body. He tensed, then slowly relaxed, her fingers, in combination with the warmth on his skin lulling him into a sense of serenity. The shadows of the room moved in time with the tiny flames, and he was mesmerized by the dancing, flickering light. His eyes grew heavy and he licked his lips as his gaze darted back over to Molly who still read aloud.

"…Now no joy but lacks salt,

That is not dashed with pain

And weariness and fault;

I crave the stain…"

She paused and lay her book down, marking her place, and picked up two objects. One, she popped into her mouth, her bare shoulder hiding it from Sherlock's view. The other object Sherlock eyed warily as Molly sat up onto her knees, leaning over him, careful to avoid the flame. His eyes focused on her mouth as she sucked at the object within and he stiffened once more, his cock growing erect from the sight. She smiled at him, a loving gesture, and tapped his temple, causing his eyes to flutter closed and his head to lift. She slipped the soft strip of silken material around him and tied it into a loose knot on the side of his head, for easy removal.

He could no longer see her, but felt her weight shift on the bed as she settled back down beside him and lifted the book. He heard the wet pop and she pulled the unknown object from her mouth and he counted backwards from the tenth digit of pi to get himself under control as images of her lips wrapped around his cock flashed through his mind.

"…Of tears, the aftermark

Of almost too much love,

The sweet of bitter bark

And burning clove…"

She began reading again quietly, almost breathing the words instead of saying them. Sherlock disciplined himself into stillness once more, but almost broke his delicate bonds when he felt a new sensation on his stomach. Her fingers were now replaced by a sliver of ice, trailing over his skin in swirling patterns, around and between the dwindling votives which were still leaving lazy trails of white wax across his porcelain flesh. He heard a slight chuckle come from her as he squirmed and he immediately stilled, sucking in his breath, focusing on the warring sensations of warmth and coolness, dripping across his chest and stomach, and above it all, her soft words, enveloping his mind in a sweet honey-like stickiness, stilling all thought except those of her.

"…When stiff and sore and scarred

I take away my hand

From leaning on it hard

In grass or sand…"

The ice melted on him, as did the wax, and she moved from the book to his body, straddling his legs with her pelvis, grinding her wet sex against his strong thigh. He felt the brush of her long hair across his hipbone, and fought the urge to squirm as she mouthed at the protrusion. More sucking noises and he helplessly bucked against her stomach, which brushed gently over his hard prick. A small hand laid across his lower abdomen, just above where his cock lay heavily against him, stayed his rhythmic thrusting against her, his desperation for friction unfulfilled.

He gasped sharply as her tongue darted out to run along his ribs, cold from the piece of ice she'd been suckling. She worked over to one nipple, still carefully avoiding the candles, which burnt low and hot against his skin. A breath of cool air and she blew them out, trailing a piece of ice around them with her fingers as her frosty mouth continued licking and sucking at his nipples, tormenting each in turn. Molly leaned up further still, nipping and mouthing at his collarbone before attaching her chilly mouth to his pulse point and sucking hard, worrying the skin into a dark mark.

He groaned helplessly, fighting the urge to wrap his arms around her and arched his body into her smaller frame. Suddenly, her weight was gone and he frantically moved his head from side to side, searching for her, the silk of his blindfold preventing him from seeing where she'd gone.

A dip of the bed was the only signal he received before her mouth and hands, both brilliantly cool, were on the overheated flesh of his cock.

He thrust up involuntarily and was chastised with a sharp dig of the nails of her free hand into his arse cheek. He let out a strangled moan as Molly bobbed up and down, her tongue swirling around the sensitive head of his prick.

She stopped suddenly, clambering up the bed, and pulling at the blindfold until it slid off and he could just make out her form in the light of the remaining candles lit on the armoire in the corner of the room.

She slid back down his body leisurely pressing her weight against him, letting him feel the wetness of her sex and the heat of her body through the thin cotton of the oversized shirt. Molly settled back down between his legs, looking up at him through the veil of hair that had fallen over her face. She licked her lips and recited the last stanza of the poem as she raked her nails over and settled her slim fingers around his cock, stroking vigorously as he moaned and writhed helplessly.

"…The hurt is not enough:

I long for weight and strength

To feel the earth as rough

To all my length..."

She moved her mouth back onto his prick, sucking hard, and shifted a hand down to play with his heavy sack. Sherlock stiffened and cried out, pulsing into her mouth as his orgasm wracked his body, sending shivers down his spine and a languid melting through his muscles. He was dimly aware that he'd broken his fragile bond to the headboard but was too lost in his pleasure to care.

He collapsed back onto the bed when he'd finished, noting through his weariness that she'd swallowed every bit of his emissions down and licked her lips after.

Molly rolled off of him and cleaned him gently with a soft wet cloth, running it over his cock and up onto his stomach, cleaning away the remnants of the wax. When she'd finished, she reached up and untied his thumbs, laughing quietly at his broken bonds. She snuggled against him and lazily threw an arm over his, tracing the pattern of the mark on his throat.

His eyes drifted shut with one word running through his mind.

_Molly._

* * *

**(the poem is called "To Earthward" by Robert Frost)**


	7. Helpful

**Prompt for Allthebellsinvenice Hooray for 300 followers! Darling may I please see Sherlock and Molly in a supply closet at Barts, and Sherlock deciding she is being far too noisy? ;)**

* * *

"Well, Doctor Hooper, I believe you have much to atone for this evening, no?"

Sherlock's voice was just above a growl and the low register sent chills down Molly's spine. She wasn't about to let him get what he wanted so easily though.

"I don't know what you're talking about, sir," she said, sniffing delicately. "I was the epitome of helpful."

"Indeed you were, my dear. Too helpful. Especially where a certain Detective Inspector was concerned." This time Sherlock did growl. "Tell me, pet, how does he like his coffee?"

Molly gulped, and glanced around nervously. Not that she could see much in the dimness of the supply closet Sherlock had unceremoniously dragged her into a few moments before. He noted her furtive glances and chuckled, reaching out to untie the flimsy chiffon scarf tied around her throat. Molly swallowed thickly as he settled it over her eyes and tied it behind her.

"I was only being helpful," she repeated defensively, determined not to let him see how much it aroused her when he was being possessive.

God, he hadn't even touched her yet, and she was soaking through her knickers. His voice was circling her, a light humming in the back of his throat, assessing her, much like a predator circling its prey. She could hear his fingers working at his buttons, feel the slight breath of wind as he passed close to her arm, smell his clean masculine scent as he ducked in close to her ear to whisper into it.

"You know I can't let your wanton behavior pass without punishment, my dear," he murmured softly, so quietly Molly had to concentrate to make out his words.

She jumped when his long fingers trailed up her arms beginning at the wrist, tracing a slow, lazy trail up to her shoulders and across her collarbone to the buttons of her shirt. He popped them open one by one as Molly fought to keep her breathing steady, to not pant in eagerness.

A small moan escaped her as his clever hands dipped into her bra and pulled at her nipples with expert care. His fingers pulled back.

"Tsk, tsk, Molly, can't have that. Don't want anyone hearing you make those pretty noises," she imagined his dark curls bounce as he shook his head vigorously, and his plush lips pursing into a pout, an image that made her squirm impatiently.

He leaned in until his hot breath teased her neck and chuckled lowly.

"Make another sound and I'll gag you, my sweet."

Molly swallowed her gasp of surprise. Sherlock hadn't yet robbed her of both sight and her ability to speak in the same play session. Of course, they'd done both separately, but together? Molly felt distinctly powerless. It thrilled her.

She heard the heavy sound of his Belstaff hitting the ground somewhere behind her and choked back a moan when he knelt at her feet, his hands quickly and efficiently removing her "meeting day" heels and running up the length of her legs under her loose skirt, exploring her thigh high stockings. She shuddered as he fingered the lacy tops of the stockings and ran his tongue along where the edge met her inner thigh. His hands moved up further and Molly gasped when he hooked his thumbs into the filmy material of her knickers and pulled them down in one swift stroke, leaving the rest of her clothing intact.

His fingers rose back up to rub against her wet pussy, and this time she moaned aloud.

"One more, Molly, just one," Sherlock threatened, and Molly bit her lip, stifling her gasps of pleasure as he worked her clit with his oh so talented fingers.

He pulled away abruptly, and Molly hips followed him, yearning for his touch.

Sherlock chuckled and Molly heard the sound of his zip being unfastened as he moved behind her. Leaning over her body, he gathered her hands in one of his large ones and placed them against a shelf, making it clear by his movements that she was not to let go of it. Her fingers tightened around the cool metal as Sherlock pulled her hips back, stretching her across the small room, then used on of his long legs to widen her own, making her lift her bottom up for him.

He positioned himself and slipped into her, both hands resting on her hips, using them for leverage as he moved within her. His pace was rough from the start and she fought to hold back the moans he was forcing from her with his hard thrusts. He pulled back and lazily circled her clit with the head of his prick and Molly lost it.

"Oh God, Sherlock," she breathed as she felt his cock brush her dripping cunt, and moaned as he moved away, snarling. She'd forgotten.

"Very well, pet, if you can't hold your tongue, I'll have to do it for you." She could hear the smirk in his voice, as if he'd known she couldn't keep herself quiet. He probably had known, the git.

Sherlock's hand descended onto her mouth, effectively, shutting off any sound she could make. His other hand fumbled with his trouser pockets, producing his key chain, which he tapped against her wrist until she opened one hand to grab it.

He turned her, lifting her body easily in his strong arms, to where her back rested against the door to the small closet and he was supporting her with his hips; his cock brushing against her swollen clit delightfully.

"You know the rules, drop the keys if you need to safeword," he growled, moving his free hand to her hips once more. She nodded as enthusiastically as she could with his huge hand covering her mouth and Sherlock slipped into her once again, pistoning his hips into hers frantically.

Molly could feel her orgasm nearing as she wrapped her arms around Sherlock's shoulders, anchoring him to her. The keys jangled on the chain but she was careful not to drop them. Sherlock's hand remained on her mouth as she shivered, the first flutters of her orgasm pulling at his cock. Molly's head dropped back against the door and Sherlock's hand finally left her mouth as she moaned out a version of his name while she came, and felt him follow her a few thrusts later with a satisfied groan.

They stayed in that position for a moment, panting, trying to catch their breath, until Sherlock sank to the floor, Molly in his arms. She giggled as he sloppily pressed a kiss to her lips and leaned against her, still breathing heavily. He pulled at the knot of the makeshift blindfold and it came loose, allowing Molly to look up at him.

"My Molly. Mine," he affirmed when he could speak again and she nodded happily, smiling at him as her eyes focused in the dim light. After a bit, he stood, rearranging his clothes and hauled her up.

"Well now, you might want to go explain what all these noises were to a certain Detective Inspector who came back to ask you out for coffee." Sherlock tried to disguise his chuckle with a cough.

Molly shrieked and slapped his arm in exasperation.

"Sherlock!"

She only realized that she was missing her knickers after she'd hurriedly exited the closet, smoothing her rumpled clothes and blushing furiously.


	8. Captain's Chair

**Prompt fill from Miz-joely \- Khan. Molly. The "Vengeance" captain's chair.**

**A million thanks to Bells for giving me this idea! And a tons of thanks to my lovely betas FayeTale, Stormweaver and Bells. ;)**

* * *

The bridge was deserted, the few augments who were still onboard the ship were sequestered in their quarters. Molly peeped out from the door and blew a deep breath out. Summoning her courage, she sprinted across the floor to scramble up into the captain's chair of the Vengeance. She wiggled herself into a comfortable position, giggling all the while. He'd never find her here.

"Molly, come out, come out, wherever you are…"

His voice echoed through the metallic ship, reverberating off of the walls and sending a shiver of anticipation down Doctor Molly Hooper's spine. Only recently had she been taken from her own ship, the Enterprise, by Khan Noonien Singh, a Starfleet fugitive, and been forced to help him revive his crew of genetically enhanced augmented humans who were deep in cryosleep.

Of course, the fact that he was an alpha and she was an omega was a stickier point than her initial refusal to help him awaken his family. Especially since they had unwittingly already become bond mates.

In those first days, Molly had hidden from him, terrified at the thought of being near the man who was at once a murderer and her savior. For save her, he had. Molly was diagnosed with a terminal cancer, one that not even the advanced medicines of this new age had been able to treat. Khan had known, just by observing her working in the medical bay of the Enterprise. He'd given her a vial of his blood, neither of them realizing that it would do so much more than heal her. The moment his blood touched her veins, Molly had realized their mistake.

Alpha and omega, sharing blood. Bonded.

He'd seen it too, the next time she was required to run tests on him. Khan had scented the air once and growled at the men who were standing too close to his mate. The bond hadn't even been complete, and yet he felt the uncontrollable urge to protect his mate and stake his claim on her.

Molly's cheeks flushed scarlet as she remembered those first few days onboard the Vengeance, after he'd taken her from the Enterprise and made his escape with the cryotubes holding his crew. He'd chased her, much as he was doing now. Though then, it wasn't a game. She'd known, understood that they belonged to each other, but was terrified of him, of the things he had done.

When he finally caught her, or rather, when she'd finally accepted his place as her mate and shown herself to him, he'd showered her with affection, doting on his omega and promising her that never again would he return to the murderer that he had been. He had his crew and his bond mate and there was no need for him to ever again cross paths with Starfleet.

And they'd sealed the bond they shared.

Molly smiled now as his voice once again echoed off the walls of the ship.

"Molly mine, where are you?" he called, his voice sing-songing over her name.

She knew he was growing frustrated, knew he was scenting the air, trying to determine which path she had taken. Molly waited quietly, for Khan to appear, as she knew he would.

"Ah, there you are, my little omega," he growled from the doorway, his curious blue-green eyes flashing in triumph.

His low voice sent chills down Molly's spine, and her flesh prickled in anticipation of his touch.

He paused, looking her over, and Molly blushed under his gaze. She wore a silky robe, tied at the shoulders and waist, which did nothing to hide her nakedness underneath. Khan's pupils dilated and his mouth turned up at the edges.

"Oh Molly, dear," he murmured seductively, as he sauntered over to her in the chair. He abruptly reached out and picked her up, depositing her on the cool floor, and seated himself. He was completely naked, his pale, lean body creating a striking contrast to the cold black of their surroundings. Molly licked her lips unconsciously as she eyed him, her hungry gaze falling on his erect cock.

He smirked as she examined him, and reached to stroke himself leisurely.

"The only way you will sit in this chair is if you are on my cock, Molly dearest," he purred, watching Molly's eyes widen and the blush creep down her neck.

A second of hesitation was all it took for Molly to scramble over to him and assume a position kneeling between his legs. Another second and her mouth and hands were on him, eliciting a groan from the man above her.

Molly wrapped her small hand around the base of his prick, taking the place of his own and she darted her tongue out to taste the bead a precum at the head. She sighed in delight and lost no time swallowing him down, bobbing her little head on his dick as his long fingers tangled in her hair, holding it out of the way.

After a bit, he growled, pulling her away from him and lifted her from the floor, settling her on his lap, straddling him.

He slowly untied her robe, like he was opening a present, and let it slide off of her and onto the floor, leaving her naked before him. Khan pressed openmouthed kisses to her neck and collarbone, making Molly sigh and shiver with expectation. His strong arms wrapped around her back, pulling her closer to him as his lips closed around one dusky pink nipple.

"Oh God," Molly moaned and arched her back, pushing her breast further into his mouth.

He pulled back with a wet pop, and smirked, replying, "Nope, just me."

She swatted his arm playfully and giggled, but her mirth soon turned to keening want as he slipped a hand between them to rub lightly along her wet folds. Molly moaned again, loudly, and tried to push herself onto his fingers, to force him to press harder, but he pulling his hand away, smirking once again. She watched, her eyes black with lust as he sucked his fingers, tasting her juices on his hand.

Grabbing her arse with both hands, Khan raised her up and with a series of small strokes, settled her onto his formidable length.

Molly gasped, leaning onto his shoulder, adjusting herself to the feeling of his cock inside her before rolling her hips into his, signaling her desire for him to move. Khan's large hands moved to the juncture of her thighs and hips and gripped hard, forcefully moving her as he fucked up into her wet pussy.

Molly shrieked, the feeling indescribably delicious as his prick disappeared into her over and over. Her cries, coupled with his groans of exertion, bounced off the walls of the room and echoed down the halls. Leaning her back, Khan adjusted the angle until he was hitting that sweet spot inside of her over and over, causing Molly to see stars. She could feel his knot growing at the base of his cock and reached behind her to play lightly with his heavy sack. He tensed and moved one hand to her waist, supporting her as she bounced on his prick, and let the other slide to work her clit, rubbing circles on the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Molly came apart with a force she hadn't expected, screaming out his name and riding the waves of her orgasm on him. He fucked her through it, finally releasing his own with a roar, slamming into her with inhuman force, pushing his heavy knot into her.

Molly shrieked again, her orgasm cresting once more, and she held onto Khan for dear life as he poured his seed into her, rocking slightly to milk more sensation from their joined peak.

They held each other tightly, letting their breathing slow to normal, allowing Khan to press into her every so often, releasing another spurt of his semen into her dripping pussy. Molly giggled, her forehead pressed to his shoulder, sweat making the loose tendrils of her hair stick to her face and his body.

She turned her head and attempted to press a light kiss to his cheek, but he caught her jaw with his hand and guided her lips to his, capturing her in a passionate embrace. She sighed contentedly and snuggled against him, letting his heartbeat lull her to sleep as her bond mate held her tightly.


	9. Someone Else

**Anon This is for the ficlet giveaway. I have read a lot of fics where Molly is worried Sherlock is cheating on her (even though it's not true) and I always wanted to read a fic where it is reversed. I want to see what it would be like if Sherlock thought Molly was cheating on him. If it ends in smut all the better. Oh, and I love you, but you probably already knew that.**

* * *

"Get out. Now." Molly's voice was even quieter than normal. It carried an edge of steel, something that was not often heard in her sweet tones. Even less often was it directed at the Consulting Detective currently staring at her, his face pale and etched with regret coupled with a healthy dose of fear.

"Molly, I," he began but she wearily raised her arm and pointed at the door, not looking at him. He hung his head, and slowly made his way to the entrance to Molly's flat, his eyes never leaving his feet. He let himself out and numbly made his way out of her building and began walking aimlessly through London, his mind whirling and his heart heavy.

It began innocently, like most things do. Sherlock had finally gotten up the courage to admit to his feelings for the small woman after finding her bound and gagged in a warehouse, after taking out Moriarty, this time for good. He'd scooped her up and carried her out, whispering all the while that he was so so sorry and that he'd never let this happen to her again. That he would cherish and protect her. Because he loved her. She'd scarcely believed him at first, the many horrible things he'd said to her in the past still fresh in her memory. He'd convinced her though, and they'd embarked on a relationship.

He'd be lying if he said it wasn't rocky at times. He often did and said things that hurt her, but he had never done it intentionally. Before today that is.

Sherlock heaved a sigh, running his fingers though his hair. He finally looked up, and realized that his feet had taken him to John's house. He bit his lip. John and Mary would be furious with him. But they'd know what to do, how he could fix this mess he'd made. So he knocked, and waited.

"Sherlock."

Mary opened the door and gave Sherlock a cool stare.

"Mary. I see you already know."

"I don't know details," replied the blonde, while motioning for the detective to enter, and closing the door behind him. "All I know is that Molly called a while ago and said that John needed to go find you, that it was most likely a danger night. Which means something happened between you two. And knowing what we do of both your characters, I'm assuming you're to blame."

Sherlock merely nodded and followed Mary into the sitting room, where John was seated with baby Amanda on his lap. Sherlock gave a curt nod, which was returned and they all sat in silence for a moment.

"Spill."

Mary gave the order, and Sherlock blew out a long breath of air before beginning his tale.

"Molly has been working more and more hours lately, and I couldn't," he choked and shook his head, "no, I DIDN'T see what could possibly be taking so much time. I thought, I was afraid that it was someone else. That she was seeing someone else. Because no matter how much she worked and how tired she was when she got home, she was always so happy. And I figured that she was seeing someone who made her happy. And I was afraid, so afraid that she'd finally decided that I wasn't worth it. That I wasn't good enough for her. That," he heaved a shuddering sigh. "That she didn't love me anymore."

All three adults in the room had tears in their eyes, for while Sherlock was foolish for thinking that way, Mary and John knew enough about him to know that his fear was genuine. Before John, Sherlock let no one in. He was alone in the world. When John broke through the walls around the Consulting Detective's heart and became his friend, Sherlock slowly let other people enter too. And finally was able to allow himself to be vulnerable enough to admit his love for Molly.

"So I looked through her things for signs of someone else. And I didn't find anything. So I got frustrated and Molly came home while I was there and," he shook his head, "I don't know, I just lost it. I demanded that she tell me who she was seeing and I," he clenched a fist and held it near his stomach, as if it literally pained him to speak, "I yelled at her. I called her names. I told her that I never loved her. I lied. I lied to her and I'm so afraid. I'm so afraid that she will hate me forever. And I couldn't bear that."

John sighed and passed a hand over his eyes, before handing his daughter to Mary, who discreetly left the two friends to talk.

A long time passed with both men deep in thought, until finally John spoke.

"Sherlock, this isn't going to be easy to fix. You know Molly's been waiting for the other shoe to drop ever since you two started dating. It won't be easy to convince her that you didn't mean what you said to her."

Sherlock looked perplexed. "Why John? Why would she think that I don't love her? I know I said things to her in the past but surely my actions have shown her that I truly regret my past actions."

"It's not that simple, Sherlock. A woman is, more difficult. I once heard someone say that if you tell a woman she's beautiful, she'll remember for a day but if you tell her she's ugly, she'll remember it a year. They hoard all those things inside them, afraid that they are what we really feel. It's so hard to get them to believe that you were just angry."

John broke off and looked to the door that Mary had disappeared through some time earlier. Sherlock followed his gaze, understanding that John spoke from experience. He hadn't been kind to Mary when her deception was uncovered and he'd said many things that he hadn't meant. Sherlock knew that John had been trying to repair the damage ever since and that Mary still feared that he would wake up one morning and decide that he wanted nothing more to do with her.

John sighed deeply. "God, Sherlock. I don't know. I just don't know how you are going to fix this."

Sherlock stood after a moment and headed for the door, his movements sluggish, with none of the manic energy that John was so used to. The former army doctor stood as well, making to grab his friend's arm. He knew that this was possibly Sherlock's biggest danger night to date and wanted to stop him from leaving. Sherlock shook his head though.

"I need to think, John. Alone, away from distractions. I won't," he licked his lips and his gaze dropped to the floor, "I won't be in any danger."

He looked back up at John with an unbearably forlorn expression on his face, turning his mouth down and accentuating the lines on his face.

"Molly wouldn't like that."

John immediately dropped his hand, nodding at the detective. He knew that Sherlock wouldn't relapse again, not tonight. Not while he still had any shred of hope that the woman he loved would take him back.

Sherlock hailed a cab once he was outside, and directed the cabbie to take him back to Baker Street. He stared, unseeing, out the window for the duration of the trip, his mind far away. The cabbie had to shout to get his attention when they arrived at the flat and Sherlock grimaced, handing the man some money, not bothering to wait for his change.

He opened the door and made his way slowly up the stairs, his feet heavy and actions lethargic. It was as if all the life had been sucked out of him, left behind in the flat with the tiny woman with the expressive brown eyes.

He didn't bother shedding his outerwear, settling onto the couch with his Belstaff and scarf still hugging his chilled body. The coolness he felt was not from the cold winter air outside, but from within. His fire, his drive, everything that made him Sherlock was missing. He blew out a long breath and lay back, stretching out over the length of the couch, and steepled his fingers once more, delving into his mind palace, searching for the pathologist with the gentle smile and soft voice.

Three days later, Sherlock found himself outside of Molly's flat, too terrified to knock on her door. He could heard the sounds of her telly, a low, indistinguishable murmur through the wood. He was terrified, genuinely terrified that she'd shut him out, that he'd never feel the warm of her body pressed against his as they slept, never hear the sound of her voice drifting out of the bathroom as she sang ridiculous pop songs in the shower, never taste the sticky cherry flavored lip balm she stubbornly refused to change every time he mentioned it. He considered fleeing, but his overwhelming need to see her, hold her, apologize for his asinine behavior was stronger than his fear.

He managed to hold his ground and reached up, timidly rapping on the door. The sounds from the telly continued, and there was no movement from inside the flat. His brow furrowed. Was she not going to let him in? He hadn't even considered the possibility that she might not open the door for him. The woman he knew wouldn't shut anyone out, no matter how badly they hurt her. She was too kind, too sweet, to deny anyone the chance to say what they wished.

Nevertheless, the door stood firmly closed, dulling the garbled voices of the telly. He leaned against the cool wood, resting his forehead against it and sighed heavily.

"Molly, please let me in."

Nothing. No sound, no movement from within the flat. He drew back, puzzled. She'd called in her vacation time from Bart's, Sherlock had discovered that little fact when he snuck in the service entrance to catch a peek at her while she worked.

_She hates me._

Sherlock felt as if his lungs collapsed from the force of the air leaving his body. The pain caused by the thought of Molly Hooper despising him was worse than any physical pain he'd ever experienced, including the time he'd flat lined due to blood loss from a bullet wound. It was a miracle he'd survived that; his determination and his attacker's sentiment insured his continued existence.

Now, Sherlock wasn't so sure he'd make it.

He turned abruptly, sinking down to the floor with his back to the door. His spindly legs were drawn up, knees in the air, feet up close to his arse; he knew it looked ridiculous, all splayed long limbs, but he was far from caring.

He tucked his head into his arms, hiding his face from the world, unwilling that someone should see the tears that welled in his piercing blue gaze.

"Molly-" his voice was ragged, raw with emotion and fear.

"Molly please, if you won't open the door at least listen to me. Please– I– I'm so sorry. I was so afraid. You're- you're everything to me. I can't imagine life without you, I can't THINK without you. You're my mind palace, you're everywhere I look, all I see. I can't concentrate, can't focus, can't breathe when you're gone. You've saved me so many times, in so many ways, and I don't know what I'll do if you stopped caring, if you didn't love me anymore. It's not the work anymore, it's not the only thing that matters. You are. You're the only thing that matters to me. I'll do anything. I'll stop taking cases. I can be what you need me to be, I promise. I'll do anything. Anything, Just please," his voice cracked and he choked, "Please love me."

He finally broke and a ragged cry tore from his throat, and he gave in, his chest heaving with dry sobs. There wasn't enough air, and Sherlock gasped for precious oxygen. The door behind him remained firmly closed and his heart shattered, a fragile glass structure breaking into a million pieces with no hope of repair.

A breath of air stirred in front of him and he lifted his tear-stained face towards it, sure that it was John or Lestrade, coming to collect him after Molly called them, wanting him away from her flat, out of her life.

Instead, stormy, bloodshot cerulean eyes met soft chocolate colored ones, and he sucked in a gasp of the stuffy heat of the hall. Not daring to move, he pleaded with her silently, his expressive face saying the words his lips couldn't form.

After a long moment of soul searching, Molly's gaze dropped and Sherlock panicked. Before he could think his hands were around her slender waist, pulling her off balance and making her fall from her squatting position into the space between his knees. He held her close, frantically murmuring apologies in between peppering her hair and face with light kisses.

Molly let him wrap his body around hers, let him cling to her, his anchor in the storm that was his existence. He prayed to every God he didn't believe in that she'd always be his safe place.

Eventually his desperate affections slowed and she pulled back slightly, and Sherlock's arms tightened around her, a silent plea to stay with him, though he loosened his grip when she winced. She reached up to slide her key in the knob above his head then turned it and pushed the door open, steadying him as he nearly feel back at the loss of his body's support.

She still hadn't spoken and Sherlock didn't let go of her as he got to his feet and stood in the doorway. He felt a twinge of hope when she pulled him into the flat, closing the door behind them, but was growing more worried with each passing second of silence.

"Molly?" he questioned tentatively, his voice scratchy and almost inaudible. He didn't know how long she'd been there, watching him fall apart in the hall, hearing the piteous begging pour from his lips.

Sherlock's eyes searched her as she stood, still silent, her eyes fixed at a point off to the side, not once flitting in his direction. His hope dwindled and he hung his head, waiting for the dismissal he was sure would come from her sweet, never too small, mouth.

Finally, Molly heaved a sigh and tossed her keys onto the table, the clanging of metal breaking through the thick air. Sherlock jumped, despair written on his handsome features as he continued to wait for the only person he'd ever loved to tell him that she didn't want him anymore.

"Do you love me?" Molly asked, and Sherlock's head shot up, his dark curls mussed from where he'd run his hands through them countless times in his agitation.

"Yes, Molly. God yes I love you. I've always loved you. Please, just please." Sherlock begged, and was unashamed of it. Where once The Woman had told him that she'd have him beg for her and he'd been repulsed by the indignity of it, Sherlock was completely without shame as he entreated Molly to believe his sincerity.

He loved her more than he could ever begin to prove and being separated from her was killing him.

"You always say the most awful things. Every time. Always."

Molly held herself tightly, arms wrapped around her middle in a protective stance. It was shutting him out and Sherlock couldn't bear it. He slowly, quietly approached her and took her hands in his much larger ones, unwinding her arms from her body and bringing both of her hands up to his mouth. He kissed her knuckles tenderly before replying.

"I know Molly. And I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry. I promise, I'll try. I'll try so hard if you'll just," he paused and swallowed, "if you can just please, please take me back. I'll do anything. Anything you ask, I'll do it, I swear."

Her eyes finally met his, deep pain shining in them and he felt as if he was being stabbed, the cold steel twisting in his gut. He'd do anything to never see that look in his love's face again.

"Please." It was barely a whisper as his full lips formed the words.

An eternity later, Molly nodded slowly.

"I believe you Sherlock. I believe in you."

She worked one of her hands free and stroked it across his cheek, tracing the prominent bone there and his eyes fluttered shut as he leaned into her feather soft touch.

"Take me back?" he breathed, eyes still closed.

A long pause and then a simple nod.

"Yes," she answered, the word more an exhale than a syllable.

Sherlock's eyes popped open, the icy azure of his gaze intense as he searched her face for the truth of her reply. Within a millisecond of his confirmation of the sincerity of her affirmation, his lips crashed on hers and he pulled the breath from her, kissing her as if the air he took from her could sustain his life.

In a way, it could.

The kiss was all passion and adoration, a tangible expression of his love for her, his worship of her.

She returned it with equal fervor and Sherlock would swear on everything holy that he could taste her affection for him. It was sweet on his tongue and he reveled in its tang, savoring the exquisite flavor.

He wanted, needed her to know how much she meant to him, how lost he would be without her.

He scooped her up, holding her bridal style, his lips still hungrily seeking hers, and carried her to the bedroom, kicking the unlatched door open and turning to fit through. He held her close to his chest, arms circled tightly around her, and marveled once again at how such a tiny body could house such a formidable soul. Molly was a pillar of strength, HIS pillar of strength and she'd never wavered, never crumbled under the weight of his warped humanity.

Sherlock sat on the bed with Molly still encased in his embrace, and kissed her again, letting his actions show her everything that couldn't be expressed with mere words. She moaned softly, writhing in his arms, clutching him closer as he relearned the contours of her mouth, his tongue exploding its recesses. Sherlock twisted, just enough to set her on the bed and stand, leaning over her to follow the kiss down to the mattress. He carefully draped his body across hers as she stretched out across the duvet, pulling him to her, both of them loathe to give up the warmth of their embrace.

Finally, Sherlock broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers.

"I love you, Molly Hooper," he breathed as his clever fingers found the first button of her shirt.

From there, it wasn't long before Sherlock was worshipping her body, wringing cries of ecstasy, sighs of contentment and whispers of love from her soft, kiss stung lips. He lost himself in her, the sound and scent and warmth of her all around him, making his long-denied heart swell with the most human emotion possible.

He made love to her slowly, their bodies intertwining in a languid rhythm, a push and pull of his soul and hers, heavy with unspoken promises.

When they finally reached their peak, and the sweat on their bodies was cooling as he held her, Sherlock pressed a light kiss to her lips. He held her as they drifted into a sated sleep, and he knew that no matter what, this was how he wanted it to be for the rest of their lives.


	10. Sunscreen

**Prompt fill for Tiatess on tumblr **

**Prompts, you say? Celebrating summer here (it's not just the kids that are happy with the end of the school year, furshur). How about Sherlolly + summer afternoon?**

**(thanks to Ellie for the idea!)**

* * *

"I fail to see the point in this, Molly."

His baritone voice sent chills down Molly's spine as his long fingers worked the lotion into the soft skin of her back. He poured some more from the bottle between her shoulder blades and smiled as she squirmed.

She huffed in fake exasperation.

"I don't want skin cancer, Sherlock. And I don't want to burn either, I had enough of that as a child."

She shuddered, remembering the time when she was 11 and her family took a holiday to the seaside. She'd forgotten her sunscreen and been burnt so badly that she became sun-sick and had to stay in bed with chills for the rest of the trip.

He knew, of course he did; he could probably read in it some tiny, obscure scar on her shoulder, normally hidden by the veil of long honey brown hair that was now swept up into a messy bun on the top of her head.

Her head was turned to the side, one cheek resting on her arms as he applied the viscous liquid and he couldn't resist sweeping a finger through it and touching it to her upturned nose, leaving behind a fingerprint of sunblock. Her noise wrinkled in that particular way he found irresistible and Sherlock smiled, returning to his task of rubbing the lotion into her fair skin.

He silently thanked Mycroft for the "case" that brought Sherlock and his beloved pathologist to the white sands of Fiji. He eyed Molly as she sat up, wondering what she was thinking. Sometimes she was an open book but others she was his greatest mystery. One that he wanted permission to study more in depth. And he would ask. As soon as the time was right.

Molly grinned at him and raised a brow.

"Sherlock, really. You think too much sometimes."

She leaned in and pressed her lips to his, eliciting a gasp from the flustered detective. She giggled and pulled back, smiling broadly at him.

"Alright then, we can just go down to the beach and pretend to watch a suspect if you aren't ready to give up your little excuse for this trip."

She winked at him and stood to wrap her cover up around her hips, but was interrupted by a pair of large hands that suddenly found their way around her waist and pulled her back down to the floor where Sherlock was more than willing to admit it was all a ruse to get his pathologist alone.

Not that Molly was complaining.


	11. Hairy

**Prompt from thestarlitrose on tumblr - Molly finds a dog in an alley and Sherlock takes it**

**(Thanks to Ellie/canibecandid for the idea!)**

* * *

Molly Hooper made her way slowly down the street, shuffling along under the weight of a large cooler. Normally, she would be taking a cab to Baker Street to drop off a body part for one of Sherlock's insane but incredibly well thought out experiments.

Today there was a… complication. A large, hairy, slobbery complication.

At Molly's side, complacently following along, was a bedraggled excuse for a dog. Its brown hair was far too long and matted with mud and a million other things that Molly didn't want to think about.

She'd been leaving Bart's and passed an alley when she heard a low whine from the big floppy eared animal. Its leg was cut, a piece of glass from a bottle sticking out of it. Molly had promptly run back to the morgue and grabbed up a few supplies before cautiously approaching the dog, still in the same place, and attending to its wound. The affectionate animal had licked all over her face, causing Molly to sputter (she really was a cat person) and followed her when she resumed her journey to Baker Street.

She couldn't leave the poor animal, so she'd resigned herself to a very long walk and prayed that she didn't run into any policemen on her way (or at least if she did that it would be DI Lestrade.)

Now, she huffed along, pulling out the spare key John had given her the time she'd sat outside waiting on Sherlock to return from a case for nearly two hours. The detective had been texting her, wondering where his liver was (well not HIS liver, the one he wanted to experiment on) but Molly'd had her hands full and hadn't replied.

She pushed open the door and the mangy dog didn't hesitate to follow her inside. Silently hoping that Sherlock would be in his mind palace and so not notice her or the animal, she wearily climbed the stairs.

No sooner had she stepped through the door of the upstairs flat than the detective in question was figuratively all over the bewildered pathologist, checking her over for injuries and shouting questions at her a mile a minute.

"Molly where have you been? You didn't answer my texts! I called Lestrade and John ad they are out looking for you and I just came back from looking for you and where have you been are you ok-"

He took a deep breath and Molly took that as her opportunity to jump in.

"Sherlock, I'm fine, hold on…" she gazed at him perplexed. "Are you actually, worried? About me?"

He blushed scarlet, even his ears turning bright red and hastily coughed.

At that moment, his phone rang and he grabbed it up from the coffee table and pressed it to his ear. The dog sat on Molly's foot and she winced. He really was a massive animal.

"Yes, John? She's here. No I don't know what took her so long she just walked in and-"

He broke off mid-sentence, his mouth agape as he finally caught sight of the dog.

"I'm going to have to call you back," he said, and slowly pulled the phone from his ear.

"Molly," he gulped and the pathologist wondered what could possibly be the reason why he was staring at the dog like he'd seen a ghost. His lips formed a silent word that she didn't catch and he looked back up at her.

"I'm sorry Sherlock he was all alone and I couldn't just leave him there and he doesn't have a tag or anything…" She bit her lip and shuffled her feet.

Sherlock was still quietly eyeing the animal and Molly set the cooler down, edging towards the door. She was stopped by Sherlock's voice, which was a little hoarse.

"What are you going to do with him? You can't have that large of a dog in your flat and Toby won't like him."

Molly pursed her lips. "I'll have ask around and see if anyone I know can take him."

Sherlock took a quick step forward and looked almost eager. He knelt slowly and put his hand out. Molly watched, eyes widening as the dog lumbered forward, tail wagging and proceeded to try to climb into Sherlock's lap, knocking him flat against the floor. To her surprise, Sherlock's laughter pealed out, sounding more boyish than she'd ever heard it, and he wrapped his arms around the dog, scratching and petting playfully.

She smiled fondly and crept down the stairs, Sherlock's delighted chuckles following her out the door.


	12. Beauty Marks

**A tumblr prompt from the lovely Lokiilockk!**

**Is there any way you can write a little fic where Sherlock counts all of Molly's beauty marks? It could be a bit sexy if you wish. :) Thank you for doing this, darling! :) 3**

**Sorry it's so short but I thought it worked better this way! A ton of thanks to my bestie Lisa for the idea behind this one!**

* * *

Sherlock glanced up at Molly as she crossed the sitting room for the fourth time, her tired muscles wavering as she struggled to hold the lunge. She was sweaty and obviously exhausted but had been working out for over an hour, a determined expression on her face.

His eyes narrowed as he scanned her body, reading all the tiny clues that she held without realizing it.

"Molly?" he questioned, waiting until she straightened and looked over at him, panting lightly.

"Yes Sherlock?" she replied, reaching for a bottle of water, her walk a bit wobbly and unbalanced from the overuse of her leg muscles.

Sherlock could easily deduce why she was acting the way she was, but since they'd embarked on a romantic relationship, he had been very careful to not cut her down the way he had in the past. After all, those careless insults were the reason for her behavior now, and he didn't want to add fuel to the fire that was her emotional state, so he decided to ask.

"Are you alright?" he inquired, knowing full well that she wasn't. "I don't believe I've seen you so," he searched for an inoffensive word, "eager to exercise before."

Molly sighed and flopped down to the floor. She unceremoniously threw a hand across her eyes and laid out, not looking at him.

"You know I've gained weight, Sherlock." She stated it as if they were discussing the weather or any other mundane subject, but Sherlock knew from experience he was dealing with a loaded keg of gunpowder. He stood up from his chair and settled himself on the floor beside her.

"You know what I love about you, Molly?" he asked, grinning when her arm immediately lifted from her face and she beamed at him, still not used to hearing him admit his affection for her so readily.

"I love this." Sherlock leaned over and pointed to a mole on her leg. He knew she didn't like it, and had thought of having it removed several times. He continued, lifting her shirt slightly to poke at the light stretch marks on her love handles.

"I love these," he said, leaning to drop a light kiss to them, gratified to hear a quiet gasp come from her very still form.

"I love this, too." He pointed to her scar, a leftover reminder of an emergency appendectomy when she was seventeen.

She was silent as he pointed to various other scars and blemishes on her body, rubbing his fingers across some, dropping chaste kisses to others. When he finished, he glanced up at her, finding moisture in the corners of her eyes.

"I love all of you, Molly Hooper, whether you gain or lose four pounds is not going to change that," he smiled, and planted a final kiss to her delicate little mouth.

"Three," she mumbled against his lips, her arms snaking around his neck to hold him down against her.

"Nope," he chuckled, then deepened the kiss, before exploring her marks again, but this time in a much more convincing manner.


	13. Dear Dad

**Trigger warning: mentions of death**

Ok well, some of you may know that tomorrow marks the five year anniversary of my dad's death. I was 19 when he died, he was 53. He was in many ways my best friend. We liked the same things, had the same sense of humor, all the same quirks. When he died, I refused to really accept it. I pushed it to the back of my mind, refused even to grieve really.

Recently, my best friend lost both her mother and father-in-law to cancer. She lives far away from me, and so I was unable to physically comfort her, give her a hug, let her cry on my shoulder. So we talked about it. A lot. And talking to her about what she was feeling made me think about what I felt. What I refused to feel.

Lisa made a request a few days ago. She asked me to write about our losses. For a long time I just stared at my computer screen because nothing came to mind. I'd spent so much time blocking out my pain that I didn't know what to say. Finally, I decided to use my fanfics, something I was comfortable with, to confront the thing I wasn't comfortable with.

So here it is. This is what I feel, and what Lisa feels and what I think a lot of people who have lost a close loved one feel. I hope that it might help someone else who hasn't properly grieved over their loss. And as always, there is a ray of sunshine at the end.

* * *

"Hey dad, it's me. Sorry it's been so long, it's been crazy at work."

Molly dropped her heavy canvas bag unceremoniously to the ground and spread the blanket across the grass next to the base of the tree. She sat heavily and leaned her back against the trunk, reclining as she stretched her legs out in front of her.

"So, where to begin? What had happened already last time we spoke?" She mused for a moment.

Some people found it odd that she held such firm belief in something after death. After having seen so many people come through her morgue, Molly needed to believe that it didn't really end there. So many lives cut short needlessly, so many mourners left behind. It would have beaten her down eventually, even with her cheery demeanor. So she held fast to the hope that one day she'd see both of her beloved parents again.

"Oh! I watched Firefly. Why didn't you tell me about it?! I'll never forgive the Americans for cancelling it." She grinned. "We could've watched it together like we did Star Wars and Indiana Jones. Oh, did I tell you that they came out with a new Indiana Jones a few years back? It was awful." She scrunched her nose in disgust. "Not like the ones we watched."

Molly tucked her arms behind her head as she rested against the tree trunk. It was always so peaceful here. While Molly was already one of few people who didn't mind the company of the dead, she had to admit that the cemetery was much more peaceful than her morgue. For one, there were far fewer consulting detectives about. Not that Molly minded Sherlock being around exactly, but sometimes his filter didn't work and he said things that were hurtful without even realizing it.

Granted, he'd gotten a lot better about it since his return from the dead, and then even better after his five minute exile. He'd taken to bringing Molly coffee instead of placing his order with her, and had even shown up with Thai one day, complete with all her favorite dishes, when she'd had a rough day and needed to stay late. Funny, that day he didn't even ask for any body parts to experiment on.

"So everything is pretty much the same. Toby had a nasty stomach virus and threw up all over the apartment while I was at work last week. The security guy called and told me about it but they had it cleaned up by the time I got home. Oh yeah," Molly paused, thinking over the events of the past few weeks.

Moriarty's return had taken a toll on everyone, tensions were high, especially where Sherlock was concerned. Molly had tried to argue that she was in no danger but found herself saddled with a security team that followed her day and night, and watched her home and work.

"One of my exes is back in the picture," she chuckled ruefully. "Not like that, dad. It's Jim, you remember him? Yeah, the psycho one. He's apparently not dead and is back to try to prove that he's better than Sherlock again."

Molly sighed. It seemed like conversation always came back around to the consulting detective, no matter how hard she tried for it not to. He was a huge part of her life, though not in the way she'd always wished. She shook her head and changed the subject.

"Oh, I got my promotion! You are looking at the youngest head of pathology in the history of Bart's! I'm so proud, you know how hard I worked to get there." She stopped and sniffed. "Maybe too hard."

She thought back on the day of her hiring interview with Bart's, the day that her father had collapsed in the hospital and finally lost his fight with the lung cancer that had been eating away at him for months. She hadn't been able to check her phone until she left the interview, and her happiness had promptly disappeared when she listened to the voicemail left by the cancer specialist, urging her to drop everything and get to the hospital as fast as she could. She'd gotten the message an hour after he left it and by the time she made it, he was unconscious. Not long after, he'd peacefully passed, leaving Molly to sit alone in the room with only her thoughts to keep her company.

It hit her hard, especially since he went the same way her mother had. Not lung cancer in her case, it was bone marrow, but the same evil took her away from them little more than a year before her father succumbed. She visited his grave as often as she could since her mother had been buried in her hometown more than an hour outside of the city. Molly wiped a tear away and smiled brilliantly.

"I miss you, you know. I miss you lots. I miss you so much it hurts some days. I still pick up my phone to call you when I have good news to share. But then I remember you're gone and there's no one to share it with. You're gone, mum's gone. I'm all alone sometimes." Molly sniffed and wiped at her nose. "I mean, I've got friends, some friends. But no one cares about me like you did. I miss being your little girl. I never felt as safe as I did when we were curled up on the sofa watching James Bond movies. Oh daddy, why did you leave me?"

She sobbed once, brokenly, and desperately wiped at her eyes. The stress of the last days was getting to her, making her more openly emotional than she normally was. Most times she visited, she laughed and chattered. Rarely did she cry anymore.

"But I know you're proud of me."

She changed the subject again and went on for a while, telling him all about her new duties, and her plans to find a flat in a better part of town, perhaps closer to work. It was getting chilly when she stood, and collected her bag, wrapping her coat around her. She kissed her fingertips and pressed them to the top of his gravestone, smiling crookedly.

"Love you dad. See you soon."

She turned, shouldering the bag and walked away, smiling at her silent protector who'd been watching from a respectful distance.

Ten minutes later, another figure stood in front of the same grave.

"Umm, hello."

Sherlock ran his hands through his hair, glaring at the ground in exasperation. He didn't know exactly what he was doing there. Well, he did. He'd been following Molly nearly everywhere, keeping out of her sight, but not entirely trusting the security to keep her safe from a determined Moriarty. He'd been about to follow her away from the cemetery when he'd stopped.

"Introductions, introductions. I'm Sherlock. The consulting detective Molly talks about all the time though you probably figured that out already. Umm," he shifted, distinctly uncomfortable. "Well, I wanted to show you this."

Sherlock stuck a hand in his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box and popped it open, thrusting it forward slightly.

"I got this, for Molly. I've been carrying it around for months, ever since I first found out that her engagement to meat dagger was over. Did she tell you about him? He was… amusing. Stupid, far below Molly, but amusing."

Sherlock paused and squared his shoulders, as if he was about to do something unpleasant.

"Listen, I don't make a habit of talking to graves but I thought she'd like it if I informed you of my intentions. I heard what she said to you. I heard her say that there was no one who cared about her good news. I heard her say that you made her feel safe. I want to be the one she feels safe with now, the one she shares her good news with."

His voice dropped to a whisper, as if he was afraid to admit it.

"Even though I'll be able to deduce her news before she tells me, I'll let her think it's a surprise. Promise."

He stopped again, thinking over his next words carefully.

"Mr. Hooper, your daughter is far too good for me. No one could ever deserve her. I will probably forget her birthday at least once. I might not remember our anniversary either. She'll most likely have to berate me on a daily basis for being insensitive and rude. I can promise you," he stuttered to a halt, an exasperated expression on his face, before looking around quickly, making sure that no one was nearby.

"You've got to understand, I always thought that sentiment was a weakness. A defect. Then Molly showed me how much strength can come from loving someone. Your daughter is the strongest person I know and she's held me up many times when I was sure I would fall. Quite literally, actually. I'm fairly certain that if she were to ever leave me, I would be dead or worse within days. She keeps me right."

He stopped, realizing that he was rambling, and put the ring back in his pocket.

"So that's it. I thought that you might like to know that I intend to marry your daughter. As soon as possible. Though," he ran a hand through his curls again. "I haven't asked her on a date yet."

The detective nodded curtly to the ground and turned on his heel, walking mechanically, his mind working over the strong feeling that a certain pathologist incited within him and the best way to surprise the same woman with a proposal.


End file.

Sherlock, Humor, Romance