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amaliakWritten for a prompt found on the Sherlolly meme for post-Reichenbach Swaplock and really, I can't resist that. I have now expanded the story a bit.
Title: A Thousand Questions
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Sherlock
Subcat: Swaplock
Ship: Molly/Sherlock
Sally Donovan felt herself really relax for what was probably the first time in three years, sitting on the couch in 112E Grocer St, a warm fire crackling away in the fireplace and a sense of quiet contentment around her.
If only the same could be said for her best friend.
The twenty four hours since the arrest of Kate Butler and the last thread snapped of Irene Alder’s massive web had made the newly resurfaced Molly Hooper positively ecstatic. She had taken to even dancing a bit around the flat, pulling Sally along with her in a few wild spins and a grin so wide it looked like it might hurt.
But the time for elation did not seem to last as long as it probably should have. While it would appear to anyone else that Molly was simply settling back into 112E, running her fingers over the spines of her books and bug collections, Sally knew better.
Molly was restless, like when she knew she had missed something in a deduction but was too proud to ask what it was, determined to find the answer herself. She had taken to pacing but catching Sally’s questioning eyes, would sit and pretend that she hadn’t been pacing.
After catching Molly reach for her mobile only to drop it back into the pocket of her dressing gown with a frown, Sally had to amend her assessment of the consulting detective: she was trying to come to a decision.
“What is it, Molls?” Sally finally asked, putting aside her laptop, The Return of Molly Hooper blog entry in progress saved and tucked away.
“Nothing, nothing at all. Glad to be home,” Molly answered with a forced smile, plucking a book from the shelf and pretending to read it carefully.
“Bollocks, that,” Sally replied, causing Molly to shut her book with a snap. Sally carried on, “You’ve been wearing a path on the floor--which Lestrade won’t like much, mind you-- and every five seconds you’re checking your bloody phone like you’re expecting someone to die!”
Molly’s eyes narrowed when Sally’s widened in realization. “Oh that’s it, isn’t it? You’re waiting for someone to die so that you can go out on a case? Already? Christ, Molly, you just got back!”
“That’s not what I’m waiting for!” Molly snapped, all pretenses of being happy wiped off her face as she nearly pouted. “I’m not waiting for anything, at all.”
She walked over the the piano, flipping the lid and sitting at the bench, her fingers clinking on a few of the keys to warm up. “Besides, even if a case did come up, I doubt DI Hudson would call me so soon. And I wouldn’t take a case that isn’t at least an eight seeing as I just came back from the dead.”
Molly began playing a fast and loud tune that was meant to drown out any sort of retort Sally could have come up with.
Sally knew there was something else going on here, but under the circumstances perhaps it was best for a tactical retreat. To be honest was surprised --if not a bit relieved-- at how normal it would be to fall right back in with Molly, complete with an argument mostly due to the detective’s stubborness. Sally thought about Molly’s offer to come back and live at Grocer St, and how an hour ago it was tempting. But now she was beginning to think that keeping her flat in Kensington might be a better deal afterall. Besides, Myron had talked about maybe moving in with him. There was a lot to think about.
Sally was lost in these thoughts when she heard the loud piano playing abruptly stop. She looked up to see Sherlock Holmes standing in the doorway of their sitting room, slightly panting, his hair damp from the drizzle that had been falling outside for most of the day. Sally’s eye flitted over to Molly, only to find her friend frozen in place in front of the piano, her eyes fixed on the dark haired pathologist.
“You’re back,” he said, his deep baritone voice barely above a whisper and Sally couldn’t help but feel like she was intruding on something.
It was confirmed when Molly stood up from the piano and rushed over to Sherlock, pulling him down by the front of his jacket to press their lips together firmly. Sally’s astonishment furthered when the pathologist wrapped his arms around Molly even as she moved her arms around his neck, sinking her hands into his damp hair as the kiss deepened.
Sally felt her cheeks flush in embarrassment at the display before her, but was moved to action when a deep groan from Sherlock made it clear where this was going.
“Right, I’ll just be going then. Text me later, Molls,” Sally said, gathering her things quickly and exiting the flat as fast as she possibly could, doing her best not to notice how Sherlock --nice, quiet, unassuming Sherlock-- had pinned Molly to the wall and was ravishing her neck.
“Yes, Sally, goodbye. Give my regards to your mister Anderson,” Molly managed to reply breathily as Sally shut the door to the flat firmly behind her. Ducking into a cab just off Grocer St, Sally began to smile to herself. Oh, there were questions, thousands of them, and Sally was determined that eventually Molly would have to answer every single one.
_______________________
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She looked away from him uncomfortably and for a second he panicked, thinking that she would pull away. He placed his hand on her cheek, reaching out and kissed her.
“You could have told me,” he mumbled against her lips.
She sighed deeply, but didn’t pull away. In fact, she shifted herself so that she was on top of him, pressing her face into his neck. He knew that she was avoiding the question. He brought his hands up to run up the skin of her back, relishing in the feel of it, still not quite believing that she was there with him. Neither one of them was much for showing their affections so freely, but they hadn’t been in the same place at the same time in over a year and he was relishing the ability to be able to have her within his reach, to be able to hold her in his arms.
Molly was kissing him again, pressing her lips softly over his pulse, his collarbone, slowly sliding her way down. A distraction. Sherlock debated for a moment just letting her do it (it was an old habit, letting her have her way, they were both used to that). But no, this was too important.
Sherlock gripped Molly’s shoulders and hauled her back up to face him.
“Molly,” he made sure to capture her gaze, “You came back. You came back and I had to hear it from Mycroft, of all people. Why didn’t you tell me?”
She swallowed thickly and took another deep breath. “It wasn’t safe for me to tell you...before. I still didn’t know about Butler or where she would be and I couldn’t pull you into it. I just...couldn’t.”
She looked away and buried her face in his neck again, hiding from his enquiring eyes and he decided to let her.
“And then?” he asked.
“How was I supposed to just...call you? I wasn’t about to just...send you text. ‘Hullo, Sherlock. Back in town, all the baddies are gone, care to come over for a celebratory shag?’” She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
Sherlock managed to laugh at that. “I think you’ll find a flaw in that.”
Molly pulled back to frown at him.
“Well, isn’t ‘celebratory shag’ what’s going on here?” he asked, lifting a brow and giving her a cheeky grin. But he grew serious quickly as he reached up to run his fingers through her hair. “I had to hear it from Mycroft, Molly. Which I suppose is better than reading it in the paper, but my point still stands.”
“I’m sorry,” Molly said, holding his gaze. “Sherlock, believe me, I...I didn’t know how.” She swallowed thickly. “Can you forgive me?”
He held her gaze for a bit longer, running his thumbs over her cheekbones. He should’ve been angry, furious that she hadn’t contacted him, that she’d been...well, herself. And it was only because he knew her, well and truly knew that she was doing her best, still trying to figure out how to get over those things that made her afraid that he smiled at her.
“Of course I forgive you, Molly. You’re safe and more importantly, you’re here. You’re here with me and that’s all I ever wanted,” he admitted to her.
She was relieved at his answer, literally letting go of the breath she’d been holding before giving him a wicked grin. “Well, I don’t see myself going anywhere for the foreseeable future.”
Sherlock seemed to be considering this. “Well that’s good, because I have a lot more questions to ask you before we can even think of leaving this room.”
Molly frowned at this, her protest being cut off by a yelp of surprise as Sherlock effectively flipped them over, her eyes going wide as he grinned down at her.
“First question, Miss Hooper,” he said in a mock serious tone.
“Yes, Doctor Holmes?” she answered, schooling her features into a business-neutral even as Sherlock skimmed his long fingers down her side, resting on her hip and she did her best not to squirm.
“Are you still ticklish?”
_____________
THE END
Title: A Thousand Questions
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Sherlock
Subcat: Swaplock
Ship: Molly/Sherlock
Sally Donovan felt herself really relax for what was probably the first time in three years, sitting on the couch in 112E Grocer St, a warm fire crackling away in the fireplace and a sense of quiet contentment around her.
If only the same could be said for her best friend.
The twenty four hours since the arrest of Kate Butler and the last thread snapped of Irene Alder’s massive web had made the newly resurfaced Molly Hooper positively ecstatic. She had taken to even dancing a bit around the flat, pulling Sally along with her in a few wild spins and a grin so wide it looked like it might hurt.
But the time for elation did not seem to last as long as it probably should have. While it would appear to anyone else that Molly was simply settling back into 112E, running her fingers over the spines of her books and bug collections, Sally knew better.
Molly was restless, like when she knew she had missed something in a deduction but was too proud to ask what it was, determined to find the answer herself. She had taken to pacing but catching Sally’s questioning eyes, would sit and pretend that she hadn’t been pacing.
After catching Molly reach for her mobile only to drop it back into the pocket of her dressing gown with a frown, Sally had to amend her assessment of the consulting detective: she was trying to come to a decision.
“What is it, Molls?” Sally finally asked, putting aside her laptop, The Return of Molly Hooper blog entry in progress saved and tucked away.
“Nothing, nothing at all. Glad to be home,” Molly answered with a forced smile, plucking a book from the shelf and pretending to read it carefully.
“Bollocks, that,” Sally replied, causing Molly to shut her book with a snap. Sally carried on, “You’ve been wearing a path on the floor--which Lestrade won’t like much, mind you-- and every five seconds you’re checking your bloody phone like you’re expecting someone to die!”
Molly’s eyes narrowed when Sally’s widened in realization. “Oh that’s it, isn’t it? You’re waiting for someone to die so that you can go out on a case? Already? Christ, Molly, you just got back!”
“That’s not what I’m waiting for!” Molly snapped, all pretenses of being happy wiped off her face as she nearly pouted. “I’m not waiting for anything, at all.”
She walked over the the piano, flipping the lid and sitting at the bench, her fingers clinking on a few of the keys to warm up. “Besides, even if a case did come up, I doubt DI Hudson would call me so soon. And I wouldn’t take a case that isn’t at least an eight seeing as I just came back from the dead.”
Molly began playing a fast and loud tune that was meant to drown out any sort of retort Sally could have come up with.
Sally knew there was something else going on here, but under the circumstances perhaps it was best for a tactical retreat. To be honest was surprised --if not a bit relieved-- at how normal it would be to fall right back in with Molly, complete with an argument mostly due to the detective’s stubborness. Sally thought about Molly’s offer to come back and live at Grocer St, and how an hour ago it was tempting. But now she was beginning to think that keeping her flat in Kensington might be a better deal afterall. Besides, Myron had talked about maybe moving in with him. There was a lot to think about.
Sally was lost in these thoughts when she heard the loud piano playing abruptly stop. She looked up to see Sherlock Holmes standing in the doorway of their sitting room, slightly panting, his hair damp from the drizzle that had been falling outside for most of the day. Sally’s eye flitted over to Molly, only to find her friend frozen in place in front of the piano, her eyes fixed on the dark haired pathologist.
“You’re back,” he said, his deep baritone voice barely above a whisper and Sally couldn’t help but feel like she was intruding on something.
It was confirmed when Molly stood up from the piano and rushed over to Sherlock, pulling him down by the front of his jacket to press their lips together firmly. Sally’s astonishment furthered when the pathologist wrapped his arms around Molly even as she moved her arms around his neck, sinking her hands into his damp hair as the kiss deepened.
Sally felt her cheeks flush in embarrassment at the display before her, but was moved to action when a deep groan from Sherlock made it clear where this was going.
“Right, I’ll just be going then. Text me later, Molls,” Sally said, gathering her things quickly and exiting the flat as fast as she possibly could, doing her best not to notice how Sherlock --nice, quiet, unassuming Sherlock-- had pinned Molly to the wall and was ravishing her neck.
“Yes, Sally, goodbye. Give my regards to your mister Anderson,” Molly managed to reply breathily as Sally shut the door to the flat firmly behind her. Ducking into a cab just off Grocer St, Sally began to smile to herself. Oh, there were questions, thousands of them, and Sally was determined that eventually Molly would have to answer every single one.
_______________________
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She looked away from him uncomfortably and for a second he panicked, thinking that she would pull away. He placed his hand on her cheek, reaching out and kissed her.
“You could have told me,” he mumbled against her lips.
She sighed deeply, but didn’t pull away. In fact, she shifted herself so that she was on top of him, pressing her face into his neck. He knew that she was avoiding the question. He brought his hands up to run up the skin of her back, relishing in the feel of it, still not quite believing that she was there with him. Neither one of them was much for showing their affections so freely, but they hadn’t been in the same place at the same time in over a year and he was relishing the ability to be able to have her within his reach, to be able to hold her in his arms.
Molly was kissing him again, pressing her lips softly over his pulse, his collarbone, slowly sliding her way down. A distraction. Sherlock debated for a moment just letting her do it (it was an old habit, letting her have her way, they were both used to that). But no, this was too important.
Sherlock gripped Molly’s shoulders and hauled her back up to face him.
“Molly,” he made sure to capture her gaze, “You came back. You came back and I had to hear it from Mycroft, of all people. Why didn’t you tell me?”
She swallowed thickly and took another deep breath. “It wasn’t safe for me to tell you...before. I still didn’t know about Butler or where she would be and I couldn’t pull you into it. I just...couldn’t.”
She looked away and buried her face in his neck again, hiding from his enquiring eyes and he decided to let her.
“And then?” he asked.
“How was I supposed to just...call you? I wasn’t about to just...send you text. ‘Hullo, Sherlock. Back in town, all the baddies are gone, care to come over for a celebratory shag?’” She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
Sherlock managed to laugh at that. “I think you’ll find a flaw in that.”
Molly pulled back to frown at him.
“Well, isn’t ‘celebratory shag’ what’s going on here?” he asked, lifting a brow and giving her a cheeky grin. But he grew serious quickly as he reached up to run his fingers through her hair. “I had to hear it from Mycroft, Molly. Which I suppose is better than reading it in the paper, but my point still stands.”
“I’m sorry,” Molly said, holding his gaze. “Sherlock, believe me, I...I didn’t know how.” She swallowed thickly. “Can you forgive me?”
He held her gaze for a bit longer, running his thumbs over her cheekbones. He should’ve been angry, furious that she hadn’t contacted him, that she’d been...well, herself. And it was only because he knew her, well and truly knew that she was doing her best, still trying to figure out how to get over those things that made her afraid that he smiled at her.
“Of course I forgive you, Molly. You’re safe and more importantly, you’re here. You’re here with me and that’s all I ever wanted,” he admitted to her.
She was relieved at his answer, literally letting go of the breath she’d been holding before giving him a wicked grin. “Well, I don’t see myself going anywhere for the foreseeable future.”
Sherlock seemed to be considering this. “Well that’s good, because I have a lot more questions to ask you before we can even think of leaving this room.”
Molly frowned at this, her protest being cut off by a yelp of surprise as Sherlock effectively flipped them over, her eyes going wide as he grinned down at her.
“First question, Miss Hooper,” he said in a mock serious tone.
“Yes, Doctor Holmes?” she answered, schooling her features into a business-neutral even as Sherlock skimmed his long fingers down her side, resting on her hip and she did her best not to squirm.
“Are you still ticklish?”
_____________
THE END
