This fic is for my darling tutu1b.. Happy belated birthday angel!

Thanks as as always to my beta, she got this done so fast and she's so busy and I just appreciate it

so much.. She's on AO3 if you want a good read ~ OhAine.. Breathtaking..

Tugging his key from his pocket and slipping it into the lock, Sherlock turned it. Cocking an ear, he concluded that Molly was cooking, the music flowing out to greet him a dead giveaway. Molly Hooper was a creature of habit.

She stood at the kitchen bench in her stocking feet, peeling potatoes. Her slim hips swaying gently to the music. In order to compete with the thunder storm outside the volume was turned up, but Sherlock knew that Molly would consider the rolling and rumbling outside an enhancement.

Just as she turned, tossing another skinned potato into the bowl she had set down for the purpose, the sky blushed with a silver flash of lightning, etching her profile and the graceful line of her neck into his retinas.

She radiated calm, completely at peace with herself and her world as she rinsed and relieved yet another potato of its jacket before flinging it carelessly into the bowl. Her voice was soft as she sang along happily, not at all bothered by the fact that she was getting far more of the lyrics wrong than right.

Rain dripped from his hair, sliding down and around the corkscrews of his curls before trickling into his eyes. Blinking the water away, he realised he was staring, and, preferring not to be caught looking like a pervert, admiring her without announcing himself first, he cleared his throat softly.

Nothing. No reaction whatsoever. Her shapely hips didn't so much as skip a beat, her voice still rang out like a bell.

Sighing, he called her name softly, sorry to ruin the moment.

Her hips stilled and her head swivelled, though she clearly wasn't certain what she had heard. Eyes widening, she dropped the paring knife and potato into the sink unceremoniously before picking up a tea towel to wipe her hands. Bustling over to the stereo, she spun the dial, reducing the volume.

Three more steps and she looked up at him, clucking her tongue. "You're soaked to your very skin! Why are you so wet Sherlock?" She scolded. "Don't you know enough to come in out of the rain?"

Stifling the urge to retort that he had come in out of the rain, he simply looked at her fondly, a smile dancing at the corner of his lips.

Without waiting for any sort of answer, she placed her hands on his chest, fingers splayed.

Swallowing hard, he suppressed the shudder that wanted to dance up his spine at her familiar touch. "I had a case, there was no shelter."

"Is the case finished then?"

"Yes, Lestrade has taken over, my part is done. I came here because it was closer to…" He trailed off as he realised that it certainly wasn't closer and Molly would more than likely hear the details from Lestrade or John's blog. Such gossips. "That is to say, ah - " In a sudden burst of inspiration, he continued, "Well I was hungry and you're closer than Angelo's and you have a shower. Mrs Hudson is entertaining a beau."

"Oh! A shower! Of course, how rude of me, sorry. Erm, you go and get in and I'll go grab your pyjamas. I'll leave them just outside the door."

Smiling, he took her in, worrying about him, looking after him, loving him. His voice came out lower than he intended, "Thank you Molly."

Leaning in, he brushed a kiss over the corner of her mouth, closing his eyes briefly when her breath hitched. Catching her eyes, he held her gaze for a long moment, wanting her to see how grateful he truly was.

When they finally broke away from each other he had to wonder if he'd shown her more than just gratitude. Certainly he'd seen more than just an acknowledgement burning in Molly's dark eyes.

In a bright voice Molly ordered him into the shower and he bit his tongue in order to stop himself from asking her to join him.

Making his way down the hall, he pulled a towel from her linen cupboard and found Toby in there, nestled comfortably in a pile of spare blankets. Scratching his head, he whispered, "Hello little man, been looking after our girl?"

Toby purred and Sherlock took this as a confirmation, "Good man. I'll save you some of that Shepherd's pie, she always serves too much." Apparently satisfied with this, Toby curled up into a ball again and drifted back to sleep. Sherlock left the door ajar and headed into the bathroom.

Emerging a half an hour later, after making good usage of Molly's over-sized hot water tank, he found her in the final stages of preparing the filling.

She looked around at him and smiled, "Fancy doing the mash?"

He did fancy doing the mash, very much so. He took great satisfaction in hunting down every single wayward lump, not to mention adding just the right amount of butter, milk and salt to make the creamiest, tastiest mash. It was a skill, and one he was proud of.

Grinning at him, Molly poured the meat and veg mixture into the casserole dish, ready for him to garnish with the mash once he'd deemed it ready.

The Shepherd's pie was placed in the pre-heated oven and the timer set. Job well done, they grinned at each other before leaning back on the bench next to one another.

Glancing at him from beneath her lashes, Molly said, "You don't need an excuse you know, to come here. You're my friend, you're welcome here any and every time."

Again their eyes caught.

Sliding his hand across the edge of the bench, closer to her own, he reached across with his pinkie and stroked down the length of hers idly.

Her breath caught and she held it.

The all too subtle touch only made him greedy for more. "Dance with me?"

Swallowing hard, she nodded, eyes never leaving his for a moment.

His hand folded over hers and he brought it up to his lips, dropping a kiss onto her wrist. She shivered and he smiled, genuinely happy. Turning her slowly, he aligned her body with his own and slipped his other hand around her waist.

The music was still low, the murmur of the rain and the raging storm outside guiding their movements. As Sherlock led them around the room, he kept his eyes fixed on Molly, when she finally dropped her gaze he felt a surge of such bitter disappointment that it bordered on agonising.

The cogs whirred in his brain and finally slipped into place; he wanted her to be looking at him. He'd observed John and Mary dance at their wedding and they had never once looked away from one another.

"Molly, look at me." He beseeched.

Her eyes flitted up to him and then skipped away, one shoulder hitched as she flattened her lips into a line, clearly uncomfortable. When she pushed against his hold as though to turn away, he called her name urgently.

She froze, didn't move a muscle and he could almost hear her thoughts careening and colliding as she decided what to do, her pulse throbbing wildly in the hollow of her throat.

Again he called her name, softly this time and when she looked up at him, eyes shimmering, he kissed her.

A soft noise emanating from the back of her throat encouraged him, so he pulled her tightly against him. Releasing her hand, he instead cupped her head, dragging his fingertips over her scalp. As his tongue brushed hers, she moaned into his mouth.

Pulling back for oxygen, he leaned his forehead against hers.

Their eyes consumed each other as they resumed their slow turn around the room.

Impossible to keep the smile from his lips, nor did he even wish to try. Dressed in his pyjamas, dry and warm as the storm raged outside, with Molly wrapped in his arms and clinging to him, while looking at him as if the whole world was contained in his eyes. Sherlock felt something that he'd never felt before, never expected to feel, a feeling he would previously have scoffed at. Contentment.

And it was as beautiful as the big brown eyes currently plumbing the depths of his soul.

~fin~