The One Where Sherlock and Molly Are 'Just Friends'
*Molly's flat; lying in bed*
Sherlock:*smoking* We can be friends who sleep together.
Molly:*fiddling with the sheet* Yeah, this could be just...something we do. Like tennis.
Sherlock:*nods* Sounds smart and healthy to me *glances at her* Whilst we're on the subject, do you currently have any other tennis partners?
Molly:*shrugs* Just Mary *pauses* That’s actually tennis, though. But she is setting me up with a mate of hers next week.
Molly:*swallows* Did you want me to cancel it?
Sherlock:No! *sits up; avoiding looking at her* No! Because, if you did, you’d be cancelling for me, and we’re just friends.
Molly:*smiles weakly* Exactly. I- my thoughts exactly.
Sherlock:*ruffles his hair* I’m not fine, Molly. I’m not. How can I be fine? Picturing you with someone else, doing what we've been doing *sighs* Would it be so terrible if we were...friends who don't date other people?
Molly:*hopeful* You mean like exclusive friends?
Sherlock:*shrugs* Why not? Let's face it, this has been the best month. Even if we were friends who lived together *playing with his cigarette* Or, friends who stood up in front of their other friends and vowed to be friends forever.
Molly:*grinning* You've thought about that sort of thing?
Sherlock:More than is healthy, yes.
Molly:*sits up and strokes his arms* One day, we might even hear the pitter patter of tiny, little friends.
Sherlock:I'd like that.
Molly:*kisses his cheek* Me too.
Sherlock:*flicks the cigarette; smirks* Quick game of tennis before work?
Molly had coaxed Arthur to take a leave on his birthday, the one day that they all could get together as a family and celebrate. She’d kept the actual plan a surprise and told him that it was going to be a normal family day where they’d just laze around at home with the kids. Molly blew off all the lights and waited for Arthur in the dark to return from his office. Obviously he was going to reach past midnight.
I see a lot of Drarry fan art with them together on couches and things, and I needed to write something drawing inspiration from that. So here it is?
There were a few couches set up in the eighth year common room, and most students used them at their leisure. There were a few larger ones, a few singular ones, a lot of them had footstools or side tables for books and parchments and things. Every couch was mismatched as a lot of them were.
On a fairly busy day in the commons, Harry found himself a corner and plonked down on the smallish two seater there, reading his latest missive from Molly. George was doing better it seems, Ginny was doing well with training but Molly spoke between the lines on that one.
He didn’t notice Draco Malfoy slouched against the other side of his chair but felt his bodily warmth radiate towards him.
It was two days later when he realized he prefered sitting on that couch in the corner, when he caught Malfoy there again. He was strangely asleep, curled up in his robes, his blonde hair falling across his face.
“Hey Harry,” Hermione found him.
Harry shushed her with a finger to his lips, pointing at Draco’s sleeping form with his quill. He made notes to his essay, and scribbled out a whole paragraph where he had waffled on a bit, so he didn’t see the strange way Hermione’s brow scrunched up, and then relaxed into a pensiveness, leaning down onto his chair arm.
Harry caught Draco asleep on the corner couch another six times that week, he thought about asking him why he seemed so tired but thought of better of it, instead letting it slide when Draco’s feet jutted into his side that sixth time.
“I’ve heard from Padma that Draco’s roomed with Boot. Apparently they get on so badly that most nights Malfoy doesn’t even bother head back to his room.” Hermione whispered to him in Transfiguration.
“Terry Boot is a dick, even I know that.” Ron whispered back.
Harry nodded, unsure of why he felt as if knowing this changed something for him. Why it suddenly mattered, why it agitated him.
Malfoy was scribbling away three rows in front of him, dutifully keeping notes.
Harry was reading a book on Friday night, it was date night. Ron and ‘Mione were off somewhere being coupley and Harry, well Harry was reading alone in the common.
“Shove over Potter.” Draco slumped into the couch with his heavy book bag beside him.
They sat alone for a while, Harry rereading his page a few times before he heard Draco’s breathing settle rhythmically. He was asleep finally.
Malfoy had long eyelashes he noticed, and a small scar on the bridge of his nose that one wouldn’t noticed until they were staring, which he realized he was. His insides lurched strangely by the time he noticed how pink Malfoy’s mouth was.
He turned away and let Draco sleep, allowing his wandering feet to rest in his lap after he had rolled from his left side to his right. Who knew Malfoy owned muggle trainers?
There was a party in the common room and Finnegan had brought Firewhiskey, Ron has smuggled some Weasley party favours and after not long at all everyone was either drunk or on their way. Harry was staying out of the way on his couch. He didn’t like to drink, it made him down and sour, it brought up memories…
“Potter!” Draco cried exuberantly, slapping his knee as he rolled down into the couch beside him. Draco made no attempt at sleep, instead he leaned in with his back against Harry’s side, cradling a Butterbeer (that he was sure had been spiked by Seamus and Dean!) in hand.
“Malfoy,” Harry murmured in return, Draco’s hair smelt like vanilla.
“Don’t drink and fly Potter, I hear it ends horribly.” Malfoy says.
“Right.” Harry doesn’t know what to say, instead focusing on the way Draco slumps into him.
“How’s your Charms thing going? I still half a foot left with no idea how to finish.”
Harry chuckled throatily, smirking and relaxes for the first time that night.
The last of them have either gone to bed or have found a couch of their own, Malfoy is asleep in his lap and as Harry runs his hands through his hair mindlessly he supposes he better start admitting to himself that he’s been Draco for a very long time.
He wakes up on the couch alone.
Draco doesn’t go home for Christmas.
“Are you staying here for Christmas then?” Harry asks, Draco is awake on their couch for once. ‘Their couch’?
Draco suddenly seems ruffled, tucking his feet underneath him. “Well, Mother’s still not settled in France yet, and well without Father it seemed like an effort to drag me out of school and back again just for the holidays.”
“Oh!” He’d forgotten that Lucius had been imprisoned, his testimony had only saved Draco and Narcissa of course. He didn’t even know that Mrs. Malfoy had left the country. Does this mean that Draco would too at the end of the year? “That’s got to suck.”
“Yes well,” Draco breathes, letting his parchment fall by the couch a little. “What about you? No Weasley’s this year?”
Harry’s breath catches, “Nope. They’re off to Romania this year. To be with Charlie, the um, Dragon rider.”
“Dragon rider?” Draco looks back at him, and Harry can’t help notice how dark a grey Malfoy’s eyes can get.
They sit a little closer to each other the next three days, until it’s New Year’s Eve and Malfoy is nowhere to be found and Harry realizes that he misses Draco beside him.
“Hey Harry, how was your Christmas?” Hermione begins, and Harry swallows thickly. He’s on their couch but Draco isn’t there again.
“Um, I think I like Malfoy.” Harry spits out before he can will himself not to.
Hermione looks at Ron, who looks from her to Harry and back again.
“Draco. I mean, I like, I like Draco.” He breathes.
“Have you told him mate?” Ron whispers.
“No.” Harry laughs.
A month after Christmas and Harry is sure Malfoy is avoiding him. The only time he ever finds Malfoy is when he’s asleep on their couch, and when he does all he can do is sit there and relish in the way Draco rolls around him, let’s his feet tuck into him.
He doesn’t touch him, though he wishes he could.
On nights he finds himself with a lapful of Draco he thinks that maybe this will all end badly. He should tell him and wait for things to explode in his face. Or maybe he shouldn’t say anything at all.
“Morning Potter,” Draco wakes up in his lap smiling happily, sated by sleep.
“Morning Draco,” he can’t help but smirk back.
Then something changes and Draco considers him with a tilt of his head. “Potter?”
And then Draco lifts off from his elbows, reaching up to kiss him softly. So softly it’s barely there.
Harry smiles and bites the bottom of his lip as Draco leans away, “Good morning then?” Harry smiles.
“It seems that way.” Draco kisses him again, leaning on one arm to cup the back of Harry’s head.
“I don’t know how you managed to sneak this thing out of there.” Ron mumbles slowly dropping the couch down onto the ground.
“I have my ways Weasley, I have my ways.” Draco pats him on the shoulder, moving toward the kitchen counter to help Hermione unpack.
“Not all nefarious I hope for your sake,” Ron says to Harry, who tugs on the other side of the couch until it’s perfectly straight.
Harry sneaks a shared glance at Draco in the kitchen, ‘their’ new kitchen and hopes for his sake that he can keep some of his nefarious ways.