statists are morons

Speak Now or Forever Hold Your Peace (A Sherlock Fanfic)

CHAPTER 3:

“Sherlock!” Molly exclaims with surprise, as if he were the last person on Earth she’d expected to see. Her breathing hitches as a light blush rises in her cheeks. “What are you doing in here?” She asks with an undeniable smile in her voice. She was alone, just as he’d thought, and frantically donning the last of her jewelry.

Sherlock grins with indisputable delight at how pleased she is by his presence, knowing the effect he had on her and loving it. “I wanted to see you,” he replies calmly, taking a step forward. “It is your big day after all.” Another step. “And you look beautiful Molly,” he adds with sincerity.

She did look truly stunning in her floor-length chiffon gown. The intricate lace bodice hugged her slim figure as far as her waist and from there layers of material cascaded down to the floor like a delicate waterfall.

A meek “thank you” is all Molly can manage in return to his compliment, embarrassed by Sherlock’s unnatural formality.

They gaze into one another’s eyes for a time, each of them unsure of what to say to the other.

“H- how’s your hand?” Molly asks suddenly, remembering he’d cut himself yesterday.

“It’s fine,” Sherlock assures her, touched and amused by her concern over such a trivial injury. “Healing up quite nicely thanks to your prompt medical attention.”

“That’s good.”

Sherlock looks around, desperately searching for something to say, because in reality, he wasn’t sure why he was even there in the first place. He’d just followed a vague instinct to seek out his friend. His pathologist. His Molly. “Look, Molly I just wanted to congratulate you,” he says offhandedly. “You deserve nothing but the best and I hope you’ll be very happy with the life you’ve chosen.” He didn’t mean that. He wanted her to be happy of course, but it was a statistical impossibility with that moron of a fiancé. 

Molly nods once and bites her lip shyly, looking down at the necklace in her hands.

Sherlock follows her gaze toward the delicate chain. “Would you like some help with that?”

“Oh, umm, yes that’d be lovely,” Molly agrees distractedly, handing him the piece of jewelry and turning around so he could put it on her.

She reaches up to push her hair aside, but Sherlock is already doing so. His large hands brush gently across the back of her neck, sending electric shivers coursing through Molly’s body. She swallows anxiously, her mouth suddenly very dry. Molly does her best to keep still as he reaches over her shoulder and drapes the piece of jewelry around her collar. She watches silently in the mirror as Sherlock strives to fasten the tiny silver clasp. He had that signature, meticulous look of laser-sharp focus in his eye, even when performing something so mundane. Molly’s heart pounds uncontrollably in her chest as a flood of familiar warmth spreads through her.

Sherlock notices, of course. She was practically quaking beneath him. However, he does his best to remain indifferent.

Molly suddenly feels very guilty, as if her body were betraying her on the most important day of her life. I’m marrying Tom, she reminds herself. Not Sherlock. Don’t do this. Don’t let him get to you…

“There you are,” Sherlock announces- breaking her train of thought. He glances upward and their eyes meet in the mirror as he admires her image. “Now you’re perfect.”

“Thanks,” she practically mouths, unable to produce a sound.

Sherlock places his hands on her shoulders proudly and bends down to kiss her cheek. Molly closes her eyes as his lips meet her skin, slowly leaning into his touch. The detective hesitates before pulling away, unsure what to make of her reaction. Molly opens her eyes and finds Sherlock looking down at her with an openness and curiosity she’d never seen before.

Instinctively and simultaneously, they lean in to each other and Molly twists around until their lips meet. It was a perfect kiss. Hesitant, but also desperate. Slow, but deep. Necessary, but forbidden.

Sherlock takes hold of Molly’s waist, pulling her into him securely. It wasn’t the first time he’d kissed a woman. But it was the first time he’d kissed a woman he genuinely cared about, and it was surprisingly… pleasant. He loses himself in her enticing aroma as Molly reaches up and tugs at his hair with a tormented kind of need. He could feel her rapid heartbeat against his chest, making him ache to please her. He wasn’t ready to let her go. If this was going to be their first and last kiss, then the detective was sure as hell going to make it a good one.

Sherlock twists them around and shoves Molly backwards, pinning her firmly against the nearest wall as his lips continue their assault. His tongue begins to explore, ever-so-reluctantly, and Molly involuntarily sighs, too far gone for logical thought to register. All she knew is that she needed him. She wanted him with all her heart.

Both desperate for breath, Sherlock finally leaves her mouth, trailing his lips gingerly along her jawbone and down her neck.

“Sherlock…” Molly exhales with concern, slowly coming out of her daze and realizing what they’d just done. However it was what the detective said next that sent her into a complete emotional tailspin.

“Don’t do this,” he begs solemnly. “Don’t marry Tom.”


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