"That's what it feels like when you touch me. Like millions of tiny universes being born and then dying in the space between your finger and my skin. Sometimes I forget."― Iain Thomas

Twice more during the night, they came together. The middle instance, the one that began with sleepy smiles and come-and-go kisses, that one was his. The candles had burnt out but the fire still flickered in the grate. It gave enough light for her to see him, blue eyes heavy and hazy and pillow creases marring his cheek. His curls stood out in madcap bedlam, a shade darker than the shadows filling up the corners of the room.

She hovered above him, lithe and lean…make golden by the ambient light of slumbering embers. Her lips followed her hands as she took a leisurely study of his form. Gentle fingers were feather light as they traced his cheekbones, the curve of his jaw, and the aquiline slope of his nose. Avoiding his mouth for the moment, she mapped out the length of his neck, the planes of his chest, wandered over his shoulders and down the length of his arms…lingering on the softness in the crook of his elbow. It pleased her to see a rash of gooseflesh pebble his skin in her wake. She kissed his pulse points at wrist and the base of the neck; dropped another at the place where his heart beat out a hypnotic rhythm. His chest rose and fell beneath her with every breath, hitching and stuttering when she found another sensitive spot. Attentive to every detail, she took note of where and how and then stored it away for later. His belly button. The crest of his hip bone. His neck craned as he sought out her mischievous gaze.

She quirked a grin at his sudden interest in her movements, watching him with coffee dark eyes as she bent over him and took him in her mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut and canted his head back into the pillow, hands knotted in the sheets. Slowly oh so unbearably slowly…she worked him deep. Relaxed her throat and hollowed out her cheeks. One hand rested on his hip to hold him steady. She lifted up on her knees to give herself more of an angle. One small hand encircled him when he began to move, hips revolving to match her progress.

"Molly, please…"

"Please what, love?"

"I want to…I need…please…"

His hands on her shoulders were urgent as he pulled her up and kissed her hard. They came together in a tangle of limbs and muffled admissions.

"Like that?"
"Yes, oh yes."
"What do you want?"
"You."

That echo of a long ago night in another life was enough to tip them over…him first and then her. They came down slowly…breath and heart easing into an all-consuming somnolence. It was a rarity for him to feel like that; and for her to be so at ease with another at her back as she lay in that place between sleeping and waking. She pressed her face into his back, kissed him lightly between his shoulder blades and whispered the words into his skin…as softly as the day she'd first said them during that call. "I love you."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The last time was just as dawn broke over the city…misty gray and silver white where the fog lingered along the river. She awoke to the warm tide of his breath on her face, his fingers slipping through the tangled length of her hair. Once he'd fanned it over the pillow to his liking, he turned his attention to the sheet haphazardly draped over her. He smoothed and shaped it until it hugged her curves. In his mind, he pictured 'The Birth of Aphrodite' but that painting couldn't hold a candle to the vision before him. As attentive as she'd been with him the previous night, he returned the favor tenfold now.

Every look, every touch, every muttered utterance of her name was a revelation. Cold, contained unerring reason…his higher power more often than not…gave way to the wants of his fledgling heart. It was heady, a free fall, liberating in a way he'd seldom known. Emotional context was everything…lending each discovery a depth and texture and substance that he could not deny.

"I love you, Molly."

The admission came easily, naturally, uninhibited.

Her soft gasp and tremulous smile as she returned it was perhaps the loveliest thing he'd ever seen.

He told her so and then laughed at the way her ears turned pink and she hid her face in her hands.

Sherlock had only made a vow one time previously…one that made him swear to never do so again. But in that moment, he vowed to let her know how beautiful she was in his eyes. How good and brave and loyal. That he was hers as much as she was his. That he loved her.

He was a man famous for having all the answers. But in this arena…this sentiment…this unfamiliar language, he was adrift. He found himself longing to master it and Molly…dear Molly, sweet Molly…she was the one he wanted to learn from.

The End

a/n Thank you! Thank you! Thank you so much for reading this crazy little experiment of mine. I cannot express how much your kudos, reviews, and favorites have thrilled me.