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She was entirely fed up with the man. After countless times trying to ask him to coffee, she decided that she was not going to allow herself to be a hopeless romantic. Molly Hooper was going to tell herself that she had no feelings for Sherlock Holmes until she could believe it herself.
She couldn’t decide where the breaking point should have been… maybe it was the numerous times he manipulated her to get unlimited access to the lab, or have her stay late and do extra work that she shouldn’t even be doing for him. Or maybe it was after she helped him fake his death and risked everything; her career, everything she had worked for. She could’ve been arrested and lost her whole pathology license.
Though maybe, just maybe it was him living in her flat to lay low for months after his faked death. She never once got a thank you. He spent his time in a bad mood, putting her down, making her run around and do everything for him.
Now Sherlock had come out of the shadows- he had reconciled with his best friend John Watson and the rest of England three months ago, and immediately he made himself go back to everything as it was with pushover pathologist Molly Hooper.
She huffed as she milled over the reasons she would be done pining over Sherlock, trying to get her paperwork done. It had been a long day, and Molly was feeling bitter and annoyed. All she wanted to do was go home and drink some wine until she wasn’t so angry anymore.
Her phone buzzed, it was from her best friend Mary Morstan.
Drinks after work? I just got out, and a few of the girls from my floor wanted to go out. I bet you need a girls night, I know you’ve been pretty stressed lately. –Mary M.
I’m not sure I’m up for it tonight, Mary. -MH
Oh, come on, stop wallowing! What is so important that you have to do? Going home to drink by yourself is not going to make you feel better, Molly, but a night out with the girls will! It will get your mind off of things. Please? –Mary M.
Well, okay. I’m leaving in a few minutes. I’ll meet you there. –MH
There was no way; Mary was right. Why should she sit at home and continue to wallow in pity when she could go out and have fun and make herself happier?
She sighed with relief as she closed her last file of the day, and threw on her coat. As she was walking over to the door, two familiar friends waltzed in through it, one in particular looking positively annoyed.
You’ve got to be kidding me, Molly thought.
“Molly!” Sherlock exclaimed, his demeanour changing and his voice sounding friendlier as he looked at her now. He could tell she was not in the best of moods and he would need to be somewhat pleasant if he was going to get her to do anything for him.
She did her best to give a sincere smile, though it was anything but. She just wanted to go out with Mary and chat. Sherlock was probably the last person she felt like dealing with right now, especially when he was about to take advantage of her access to the morgue… again.
“I need to see a body,” he said cheerily, “Mr Williams?”
“Uhm- well, I was just… my shifts about to end, I was leaving actually…”
“Nonsense, it won’t take long,” he said, turning around to hang up his coat on the rack. His attempt at pleasantness faded, “I’m sure whoever this date is will probably be another failed and disappointing attempt at a relationship anyway, as you do have bad taste in men.”
John’s eyes bulged impossibly far out of his skull as he processed Sherlock’s words, and then looked to Molly apologetically, mouthing sorry to her for him.
She kept telling herself that it wasn’t her fault- that it would be easier for her to stand up for herself if he wasn’t so bloody gorgeous. She knew she should have cut him off right there, but of course she didn’t.
She let out a long drawn sigh and smiled insincerely at him. “Sure,” she said, turning around and walking over to the slab where Mr Williams was. Though, as she began to walk away she heard him ruffle a bag.
“And I’ll need your help with these samples I’ve just brought from the crime scene.”
Molly’s teeth ground together as her back was to him, but she nodded and continued walking over to the body.
After he was done looking it over, she sat down at a microscope and began the tests that he wanted her to help with.
I could kill him, I swear. I’m going to throw him off of Bart’s myself!
But then she stopped herself. No, Molly, it will be fine. The quicker you help him, the sooner you’ll be away from him and can meet with Mary.
But as she was doing her tests silently, Sherlock spoke up again without looking up from his microscope.
“Could you make me some coffee, Molly? Black, two sug-”
“No.”
Sherlock was taken aback; this was clearly not a word that he’d ever heard from Molly. As he looked over to her, she was no longer looking into the microscope, but facing Sherlock and John, still in her seat.
Her eyes were closed as she breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth one time, trying her best not to release her anger.
“Sorry?” he replied, looking at her sceptically as if he had no idea.
John realised before Sherlock did that she was about to blow, but watched curiously- maybe she would finally stick up the infuriating man.
“You keep me after work when I’ve been here all day and when I try to tell you I’m leaving you manipulate me anyway because poor little Molly Hooper always says yes to everything Sherlock asks for.” She said this angrily, flailing her arms around.
Sherlock stared at her but said nothing- he had never dealt with an angry Molly, but he couldn’t help but smile at it, not noticing the smirk form on his face at her anger. He found it… amusing? Stimulating? Attractive? He shook his head. Surely it was not attractive as Sherlock didn’t care about those things, but the smile still held on his face as he saw Molly’s jaw drop when she noticed his expression.
Her eyes narrowed in disgust as she became more insulted. She stood up from her chair, grabbing her things, and stopped as she was at the door. “Get your own bloody coffee!”
Sherlock looked at the door for a lingering moment, his face puzzled by this new side of her.
“Unbelievable,” John said, shaking his head.
“I asked for nothing beyond what I normally ask for,” Sherlock huffed, looking down to his microscope now.
“Yeah, that’s my point; you always treat her like rubbish.”
“I do not- Molly is essential to my work, she knows she’s important- for that,” he said, dragging out the last two words.
John rolled his eyes, dragging a hand down his face as he crossed his arms. “How are you so brilliant, yet have moments like this?”
“Sorry?” Sherlock said, raising an eyebrow as he looked back up at John, annoyance crowding his face again.
“You’re an idiot. She cares for you, you know? But you throw her around like a doll.”
Sherlock said nothing but looked back to his microscope, “could you get me coffee, John?”
“Oh no,” John said, shaking his head and waving a finger at Sherlock, “I am not going to be your replacement Molly because you made her mad; you’re on your own.”
As John walked out of the morgue, Sherlock looked around, deciding he would just get the coffee himself.
As he walked across the room, something purple caught the corner of his eye. He turned around and walked over to it, finding a phone. He pressed the middle button, a cat picture as the lock screen- as if that was not even more of an unnecessary confirmation that the phone belonged to Molly. He slipped the phone into his pocket and got his coffee, returning to his microscope.
Molly walked up to the bar before Mary even noticed she had arrived, taking the shot out of Mary’s hand and downing it herself, ordering another.
“Well then,” Mary said, looking in astonishment at Molly, “bad day then, Miss Hooper?”
“Dr. Hooper,” Molly scoffed, picking up the next shot and downing it, scrunching her face as the burn hit her throat.
“Is it Sherlock again? I was wondering why you were so late getting here…”
“Of course it is,” Molly sighed. “Who else would expect me to stay after my shift ended and take advantage of my resources?”
Mary looked at her apologetically, “Maybe John will say something to him?” she said with false hope.
“Cause he listens to him anyway,” Molly replied, taking back her third shot… in under five minutes.
“Woah, Molls, maybe you should slow down…” Mary said, her eyes bulging.
“Speaking of John,” Molly said, ignoring her and changing the subject, “weren’t you supposed to see him tonight?”
Mary bit her lip, failing to conceal a smile. “Tomorrow; I quite miss him though.”
Molly was happy for her, but felt the urge to vomit. She decided that her bitterness was preventing her from wanting to talk about dates, and relationships; she didn’t usually indulge into a ton of alcohol at once, but she felt she was entitled to it after her long day, and especially after Sherlock. She took back a fourth shot; being there for less than ten minutes… the alcohol was hitting her quick and she had no plan of stopping quite yet.
As Sherlock was finishing up, he put the evidence back in the bags, tidying up as he usually did- probably the one polite and respectful thing he did in return for using Molly’s lab.
When everything was put away, he began walking out of the morgue, about to shut off the light when he felt something vibrating.
He took Molly’s phone out of his pocket and saw that it was Mary, -he answered it, knowing that she had been going out with Mary tonight (and not on a date, that had just been his way of irritating her).
“Hello?”
“Molly!” Mary yelled on the other line, still in the loud bar, but she was obviously belligerently drunk.
“Sherlock,” he replied.
“Molly! You forgot your keys here!”
Sherlock didn’t bother to correct her again, but told her that he would go get Molly’s keys from her.
As he walked up the stairs, Sherlock saw Molly, and probably at her weakest. The contents of her purse were scattered all over the floor in front of her door. She was whining and banging on the door, clearly in defeat.
“Let me in!” she yelled as she banged on her own empty flat’s door.
She looked up to see the tall figure putting the key in the doorknob, and just stared, her brows furrowing as she realised who it was.
“You should be more excited to see the man who is letting you in to your flat and returning your phone.”
As she tried to get up, she fell back against the wall, hitting her head as she let out a groan and leaned there for a moment.
Sherlock sighed, helping her to her feet.
As she went to take a step forward, she almost fell and Sherlock caught her. Their faces were so close to one another. Sherlock was observing her symptoms from the alcohol, waiting for her to steady her feet again. She lay against him though, not removing her gaze from his lips.
Due to her drunken state, everything she told herself about moving on from Sherlock was momentarily tossed right out the door, lost among the contents of her purse scattered everywhere.
“I’m- I’m fine,” she slurred, as she stood on her feet now, still staring at Sherlock as he was grasping her shoulders, expecting her to fall again.
She shrank back a bit at his touch and he let go, and then let herself fall against the wall.
As he went to help her up again, she waved her hands around. “No-no, that was on purpose. My things are still on the floor.”
Sherlock rolled his eyes, watching her closely as he leaned down to pick up her things she was failing to get into her bag.
They walked into the flat and he helped her over to the sofa.
Her head was spinning- she propped her elbow up the arm of the sofa and placed her head in her hand. The alcohol was still hitting her hard. This was awful, she had forgotten her keys and her phone, leaving Sherlock to pick up the pieces and witness her in worse of a mess than she normally was around him.
A moment later a glass of water was placed on the table next to her.
“Why are you helping me?” she groaned.
“Mary was too drunk to help you, as John is helping her,” he said matter-of-factly, looking to her. He smirked a bit, knowing what to say to get a rise- “though maybe I shouldn’t be, you were quite rude to me today.”
“You’re always rude to me,” she scoffed under her breath, crossing her arms.
“Sorry?” he said, one side of his mouth curling into a bigger smile as he raised an eyebrow; he was finding just as much amusement frustrating her as he had before, but he still couldn’t figure out why.
She stood up, struggling to walk the few feet from her sofa to get to him. She was close to his face again and she looked at his eyes this time. “You. You’re. A. Git.” She said, poking him in the chest with each word. “You’re always rude to me! Why are you always so rude to me?” she was pouting now.
She was looking at her hand that was now laying on his chest, getting lost as he held her shoulders again, trying to prevent her from falling again, which she was clearly oblivious to.
“You need to go to bed before you fall,” Sherlock said to her, attempting to turn her around, but her feet held still to the ground now.
“No! You didn’t answer my question!” hesitating before she added, “and stop ordering me around.”
She was poking his chest again, but he caught her hand in his gently. His face was closer to hers, and their eyes were locked- his eyes were so soft and gentle, she had never seen them that way. “I am not intentionally rude, Molly. I observe, and I deduce- and somehow I end up treating you poorly.”
Molly let her eyes fall, not noticing that her hand was still in Sherlock’s. “I’ve done a lot for you… and I don’t ask for anything in return- and it’s not that I expected that from you ever, I don’t… but you don’t even say thank you.” She stopped herself when a tear fell silently down her cheek.
She cringed now, realising her drunk was getting the best of her. She took her hand out of Sherlock’s and wiped the tear away. “I’m drunk,” she said, slouching still as she realised that she was leaning into him again. He had given up holding her shoulders since she kept falling into him.
“You are,” he said softly, still looking at her, but she kept her eyes down. “Now, you need to-,” he said, but then stopped himself, “will you please go to bed?”
“Fine,” she agreed, but she didn’t move away from him.
They stood there silently for a moment, faces close, practically sharing the same breath.
Her eyes were rather dilated- Sherlock was convinced that it was only because of the alcohol, but one hand slid down and his fingers wrapped around her wrist; her heart was rapid fire.
Sherlock was staring at her lips now, forming new opinions that contradicted the previous ones. Her lips weren’t too small- she was wearing the lipstick that he liked on her. He was surprised that it hadn’t smudged with all of the fumbling going on. He moved a piece of hair behind her ear, and her eyes went a bit wide at this.
When his gaze finally broke, he scooped her up and began to walk towards her bedroom.
“Sherlock! What are you doing?” she asked nervously looking up at him, but he kept his eyes forward.
“You will never make the walk to your bedroom on your own- this is much quicker and more convenient than guiding you.”
He placed her down gently on her feet next to her bed, holding her up as she started slouching- not in the direction of the bed, rather the floor. “Perhaps consider drinking less than an alcoholic needs to get drunk next time, Molly.”
“I can hold my alcohol fine,” she whined, “see, let go of me.”
“That is not wise.”
“Let go of me!”
“Molly.”
“Sherlock!”
He sighed, doing as she said, but she stood there now, slightly leaning against the bed to hold herself up.
“See?”
He rolled his eyes a bit, turning around and beginning to walk away- “good night, Molly.”
“Wait!”
He turned around to look at her, raising one eyebrow.
“Come back here,” she said, sitting on the bed now and smiling nervously.
“What is it, Molly?” he asked, not moving.
She said nothing, but pat the spot next to her, and so he humoured her, sitting down on the bed.
She was staring down and wringing her hands. “I’m sorry I was rude to you earlier.”
“I deserved it.”
She looked up at him wondrously.
“Did I not?” he questioned.
“No- no, you did, I suppose.”
He chuckled at her agreement, “then there is nothing to apologise for.”
They were silent for a moment before Sherlock spoke up again.
“Molly?”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry.”
And that was all it took before Molly’s lips were against his; he froze for a second, unsure of how to react but then melted into her kiss. He cupped one side of her face. Her arms were wrapped around his neck; she was kneeling on her bed and leaning into him, leaning deeper into the kiss.
This was the first time Sherlock was experiencing this since his beginning teenage years; which those experiments had convinced him that these matters were not interesting enough. It was different with Molly though; her lips felt so gentle and innocent, but still so hungry against his, and he found himself wanting more from her, even as their lips were still touching.
Both of his hands were cupping her face now as Molly pushed him down on the bed, straddling his lap. Her hands were entangled in his curls as she never left her lips from his.
She moved her hips in a small circular motion now, eager for him, and he took in her small moan through their opened mouth kisses. His immediate reaction had been to slightly buck his hips against hers, beginning to kiss her more hungrily, but then he realised this was too quick. He had barely kissed anyone, let alone done anything further. All of the supressed tension was surfacing and it was overwhelming trying to handle it all at once.
His mouth pulled away from hers as he sat up with her still in his lap, “Molly, no.”
Immediately her head was looking down now, her cheeks burning as she was fighting back tears. Great, Molly. He comes and helps you and you fall all over the place –I’m sure you’ve thoroughly irritated the man, so it must be such a great idea to throw yourself at him, at Sherlock Holmes, the man who has never been interested in you in the slightest.
She tried to move off of him, but he held her still there. He was staring at her, but her head was still down, eyes closed tight. “Go home, Sherlock.”
“No.”
She was silent for a moment before she let out a deep, heavy sigh, her breath shaky. “You never listen. Why can’t you listen, just this once?”
He said nothing.
“Please,” she pleaded. The embarrassment was burning inside her, the alcohol making her head pound now as her drunken state was starting to make it worse.
He lifted her chin up with his hand, resting his thumb on the dip under her lip,
When she opened her eyes, he was staring at her, his eyes soft as they were before. “I will not leave,” he said, “I have disappeared too many times after hurting you without properly apologising to you.”
She held her gaze on him, calmer now, not feeling so much like pushing him to leave. She bit her lip as she stared at him wondrously.
He moved his thumb up to smooth her bottom lip, touching her so gently. “You are drunk, and as much as I am a git,” he said, remembering her words from before, “I would not take advantage of someone unable to consent.”
Molly opened her mouth to dismiss the notion that it would be taking advantage, but he spoke again, looking away from her now, “and I- this is not my area, Molly. I have barely had contact beyond a handshake with most personal relationships of mine.”
She nodded, understanding as she lay on the side of the bed now, watching him as her mind was beginning to rest, her eyes becoming drowsy.
To her surprise, he lay down next to her, facing her as he moved her hair behind her ear again, but he kept his hand pressed against the side of her face. He leaned in, giving her one more long, passionate kiss before pulling away to look at her.
When he pulled his head back, he pulled her over to him so she was lying against his chest as he rested his cheek on top of her head.
This was all very odd to Sherlock, he did not realise his feelings for Molly until she had moved her lips against his, but they were there all along.
“You’re not leaving then?” she said softly, starting to doze, her eyes closed as she was pressed against him.
“Do you still want me to?”
“No,” she said, wrapping an arm around his waist and hugging him tightly. He kissed her forehead and then she nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck. “Stay, please.”
“Will you be yelling at me tomorrow when your head is pounding?”
“Why would I yell at you?” she asked, confused. She had pulled her face away and was looking up at him, her face close to his.
“People often get frustrated with people they consider to be a git,” he replied, a devious smile on his face.
She furrowed her brow and gave a small pout, “well, you are one.” And then her brow furrowed further, “why are you so amused by it?”
“I rather like it when you’re wildly frustrated with me.” And with this his lips were on hers again, hungrier than before. She wilfully made herself more awake, with one hand cupping his face as she reciprocated the kiss.
Molly Hooper did not need to force herself to get over her feelings Sherlock Holmes anymore; she had better things to be irritated with.