Are you OK? - J

She stole the sheets at one point, this was of course after making him get used to her sleeping on his chest, which was unusual enough as it were. He had however never slept so deeply either, so when he unexpectedly woke up due to cold, finding her tangled in the sheet on the other side of the bed, face planted into a pillow; he was a bit startled over her greediness, and the fact that he wanted her in particular close to him.

It was unsettling, he had almost considered scrambling out of the bed, but he managed to get some sheet off her instead admiring her shape. She gave to sigh, as she slept – while he gingerly touched her, ushering small responses, such as the corners of her mouth lifting up in a smile when he gave to kiss her ever so lightly on her neck. At one point when he kissed her on her mouth, she responded in turn, still absolutely asleep, which made him interested in those dreams, that uttered small untimely sighs from her lips.

A woman who had always liked him, never expecting anything in return, playing small games with him, without giving it any particular thought, that he'd ever notice, and one day he did – when he finally saw who she was. She was not mousy; she was playful, brimming with silent confidence, a great deal of mirth – sudden exclamations, which shook him, and made him wonder what else she'd hidden. From her flat, to her life, to her entire being. Her body gave much away in itself, but what lay locked away in her mind – he knew not. He felt determined to figure her out, at least, and he'd start slowly with her body.

There were three freckles forming a triangle on her lower back, a birthmark in her inner thigh, a thin scar on her waist – her hands dainty, capable of holding her tools precisely, maybe even having dabbled in some instrument, most likely piano, her dark hair curling up, and her bottom unimaginably soft (so was the rest of her).

He wondered idly, while caressing her arse, if every single female were that soft in particular. When he had dabbled in the arts previously, there was very little interest in staying, than pure curiosity over the issue itself, since everyone were admittedly speaking of it in such terms as comparing it to be better than any known substance. For his sake, it didn't really hold up then, however, everything lacked, when comparing it to the healthy exercise that had kept him up most of the night with her, who seemed in the end as insatiable as he was.

At some point fatigue did indeed hit them, and he assumed he was going to turn around, when she suddenly laid down on his bare torso, her face cuddled into his neck breathing him in, as her fingers stroked his chest gingerly, and he gave no startling protest. Now, only accepting this other aspect, which was the freedom to touch her, and her him. There was something pleasant in doing something, that wouldn't lead into strenuous activities, which he would in idea abhor, but in fact take sheer delight in – for her responses, her smiles, and her kisses. If this was what everyone painted out to him for years, talking of in such a sparkling delight of, he understood it, for there was relief in the pit of his stomach, and a feeling of being absolutely overwhelmed. He had never been overwhelmed in such a state in his life, not even managing to compare it to any previous feeling, and not knowing what to when the pair of brown eyes opened behind those lids.

I really hope you're still there. John's worried. I'm not - MM

This was the point of no return, and she'd already lost it. She had hoped all of her tiny illusions might be shattered. Maybe he'd be deliriously ridiculous, that when he finally gave to leave her, she wouldn't feel at all devastated, but he didn't leave – and he was absolutely beyond a doubt not dreadful.

The idea that he could whatsoever be bad was ridiculous, the man was interested, beyond interested in every curve of her body, whispering into her ear, kissing her neck, as he murmured questions to her, of what she wanted him to do, making her to the point of useless really.

She could barely speak a word in the duration of it, her body only curving towards him, but luckily she had many a turn to drive him to the edge of madness. It was most fun to watch him unravel beneath her touch. Even though he was naked, he didn't seem entirely bare, until she touched him. He'd fallen asleep first, when her fingers were tucked into his hair, straightening out a tendril in her hand, as she smiled at his sleeping calm face.

That was a particular innocent face, the most innocent of any of those he'd made – he was of course covered in bruises, which she'd luckily see disappear off by time. His familiar skin, which she gazed with crimson cheeks, would return once more. Every part of him was particularly interesting, it was a comfort to finally inspect the body she'd been imagining for years, and it was certainly living up to her high expectations. That was saying something. From those darkened curls, to his muscular torso, and the veins prominent in his large spidery hands - every bit of the man was a marvel to be watched.

There was something childish about him, from the moment he had succumbed to telling the truth, or trying to position himself away from it; all was out, for her to see, and it was funny in a way – simultaneously terrifying, since she knew not what the morning held.

Half asleep, with her face into the pillow, she felt a gentle hand caress her lower back, itching its way towards her bottom giving her a playful slap. Molly's eyes widened staring at the naked culprit besides her, "That's not how you greet people good morning," she said mock-affronted lifting her head off the pillow.

"Problem?" he said, his palm on her arse, looking at her questioningly, a smug smile on his lips.

He was very at ease naked - she might never need to get dressed again.

"No," she said with a smile, and he gave her another slap.

She laughed; he grabbed her towards him, taking to kiss her already swollen lips several times, before just staring at her wantonly.

His hand sliding down from under her chin to her hips, before his fingers slipped in effortlessly inside of her.

She gasped at the attention, "Molly, tsk, tsk, I've barely touched you," he reprimanded.

"Shut up," she giggled silencing both their mouths with her lips, while his fingers bent inside of her, but then the unmistakable sound of a door opening was heard.

She blanched pulling back from his lips; he still held her listening quietly to the intruder "Mrs Hudson?" she mouthed.

He shook his head at this, taking to look at his own bedroom door, which was carelessly left open, an easily solved problem, but her clothes were still in the living room scattered in various parts of the flat's floor.

"Sherlock," cried the familiar voice of John, who had obviously returned from Mary's.

Molly gaped, a laugh almost escaping her lips, but she pressed her mouth shut in outright fear of being heard.

Sherlock quirked a brow, untangling himself from her shutting the bedroom door quietly – as if that was enough at the moment, before returning to the bed.

"Ignore him," he said his mouth on her breast.

She pushed him off, "You're not serious," she whispered in return, hoping that he would use the same tone of voice.

He looked at her in surprise, "I'm not?"

"We can't-," she started, when a finger slipped in – a moan escaping her lips, "No – I – oh."

"He'll leave soon enough."

"Sherlock," she just said sternly trying to ignore his administrations.

"Sherlock," continued the voice of John, sounding eerily close.

Sherlock took to roll his eyes clearly disgruntled, slipping on a robe nearby, before demonstratively walking out. Molly pulled up the sheet to her chin, lips pressed together, as she listened intently.

John had been looking around a bit, sensing that something was off – there were plates of overturned Chinese food just laying on the carpet, "Sherlock," he repeated irritated as he picked it up, and saw the other plate present, "Shit," he muttered to himself a bit worried, as he bended to prize it up too, trying to scoop up the remains of the food, which clung to the carpet.

It was then bended down amidst the scoop that he saw a pair of lace knickers near the entrance of the kitchen. John gaped, soon catching sight of a dress, and then a bra – all at different spots. He dropped the plates immediately on the floor with a mild disgusted expression.

"John," said the all too cheerful voice of Sherlock who appeared in just a robe. "Good to see you."

John stood up from the floor, taking to opening and shutting his mouth, as he said whispering a bit in his speech, "Are you – did you – no – don't tell me – I'm – really – here?"

Sherlock pursed his mouth, giving soon an blameless expression, as he kicked the knickers by his feet aside – apparently in the hope that he hadn't caught on, "You're a bit too obvious, I'm sorry," said John a bit more loudly laughing over Sherlock's expression.

"I don't know what you're talking about John."

"Really – you don't? – Explain the plates, then," said John crossing his arms giving a brief nod to his friend.

"An experiment," Sherlock replied with ease.

John grimaced, "Yes, well – Molly's dress is here, if she needs it, since I'm sure she does – at some point – I'll pop back to Mary's then, and leave you at it – to it – no – I – I'm going," he said heading towards the door, as Sherlock just stood surprised on the spot.

"That's it, then – no questions?"

John's brows rose, "I don't really want to know."

"Oh," said Sherlock seeming a bit displeased.

John chuckled, "Next time – just – hang something on the doorknob – that's what people usually do," he said half-way out.

"You don't," Sherlock remarked.

John just shook his head, before leaving.

She almost laughed at the conversation she'd overheard, with John being baffled, and Sherlock pretending to be guiltless. Not that there was anything to be guilty off, yet she found herself still clinging the sheet to her front, in case John suddenly felt tempted to sprint inside the bedroom, but Sherlock appeared snapping the door shut behind him. He lay down on the bed confidently, still in his robe, slowly tugging the sheet away from her front, his eyes on her body, as he said, "Now, where were we?"

Two years later

Her flat was probably filled with dust, she could only imagine, having been abandoned for so long. This was the longest she'd been away from it, and now she'd decided it was a perfect night to stay at home. Well, she hadn't decided, it was more of a thing she was forcing herself to do, so she could tackle those nights he was away better. She dealt with them badly, tossing and turning in bed, when she'd gotten so used to his warmth encircling her that it was the point of ridiculous.

The state of her cat Toby was good, he wasn't lounging in the flat, of course, that would be ridiculously cruel – he was at Baker Street, having taken residency there, when it was apparent that sending him from friend's to colleagues didn't work. Sherlock brought the cat in the moment she was going to spend the night away from him, because of her feline. The thought didn't make the man very happy, to see the cat come before him, and he wasn't any better by having a guest that clawed all over the place. Yet, Molly knew quite well that Toby's increasing width was not due to his strict diet, but the fact that Sherlock snuck him tuna.

Besides the cat, most of her essentials were in his flat, including some ridiculous dresses that he'd hand-picked when she couldn't make it home to change, before one of their nights out. The fact that he always chose something with a bare back, easily removable, and of a soft fabric – left all of her more sensible clothing at her flat. Not that she would argue against his choices, as they always ended up going nowhere at all (except the bed).

So, when she'd resigned herself to spending a quiet night in her flat, mentally preparing herself for tea and telly – her key didn't work. Molly stared in wonder at the door for a moment, speculating if she was at the right place, and if this indeed was her door, since her familiar doormat was gone. She counted the floors, the doors, and stared at her key – forcing it in, but to no avail – the door wouldn't budge.

She brought up all her keys, staring at them for a moment, knowing fully well it was the right key, before she brought up her mobile phone disgruntled phoning up the landlord.

"Hello – Mr Norton, I can't seem to get into my flat – you haven't changed the locks, have you?"

"This is Miss Hooper, right?" he questioned for a moment.

"Yes," she said slowly, starting to wonder if it was just because it was very late that this was happening. Maybe this wasn't her key at all.

"Well, I must say I'm surprised you're phoning me," he uttered, before giving a little laugh.

Molly blinked several times, "Err – why?"

"You gave up the flat, remember, about a month ago, if I'm not mistaken – you should phone up your new landlord."

Molly gaped, "But – I – I haven't – wait – what? I haven't moved."

"Yes, you have. The papers and everything are already signed for."

"I haven't signed a single paper, Mr Norton."

"Your boyfriend sorted it out, said he'd gotten you to sign, and it was your signature – couldn't be mistaken about it. Every little detail carried out by him."

"What?" she repeated colouring, until she blurted out, "What about my things?"

"Oh, he's gotten them already – spent most of today packing them out. Nice chap, really. It's a pity you're moving, but I can see why."

"I – I – thank you – I've got to go," she said, hands shaking, as she hung up on the man. Molly stared a bit on her phone, trying to reason with herself for a moment. Was this why Sherlock had turned down a cup of coffee with her, then? That was ridiculous. He'd tell her, if he wanted her to move in, but then she recalled their brief conversation some weeks ago.

Molly lay with her back on the bed. Sherlock was fully clothed, just taking to button up his sleeves, as he eyed her dress on the chair. "You've got a great deal many things, here, Molly," he had said. She had assumed he was worried about the clutter and the cat.

"Might as well move in I suppose," she had said, before falling fast asleep.

Not that was even remotely a conversation, at all, but apparently it was enough for, "Sherlock," she snapped into the phone.

"Hmm?" he gave to reply, as if she was interrupting him mid-thought.

"Sherlock – where do I live?"

"That's a question I think you'll know the answer to Molly."

"I just spoke with the landlord – you've just moved me in, then?"

"You said it would be easier."

"So-," she started with furrows in her brows.

"I moved you in."

"But – but- I – there are-,"

"All of your things are here. I suggest you unpack, makes it a bit more easier to move about."

"But what about John?"

"He's already moved out."

"Moved out?"

"To Mary's. Keep up Molly. They've been speaking about it for months. Whispering conversations behind my back. John isn't very good at keeping secrets either."

"Yes, well – it doesn't – you could have asked."

"I did – you said yes."

"I was asleep," she said crossly.

"You make your best decisions in bed. Who am I to disagree with you?"

She frowned, a smile threatening to burst forward, but she said rather tersely, "Remind me to punish you later."

"I'll be delighted to," he said, "Now come home, I need a cup of coffee – a case has come up, let's hope it is as good as it appears to be."

Molly rolled her eyes, "I love you too," she said, before hanging up on the man.

A/N: I hope you're happy for now. No, this isn't the end of these two. I've been carefully planning another tale with them, there are several hints in the fic over-all. It will be three years later though, and I will try to finish everything, before putting out a single word. Then you'll get frequent updates, instead of these infrequent ones.

For now I'll finish off Mother knows best, before I proceed anywhere. Sorry.

Thank you for reviewing, favouriting, and everything. The general love for this fic has been overwhelmingly lovely. You've all been absolutely sweet, and I recommend you to "author follow" (?), so you'll be notified when the sequel pops up.

Thank you for reading!