#how DARE he take my cotton candy heart and dissolve in water like it was nothing

[bluehibiscusgarden]

I thought the B in Baxter's initials was supposed to be stand for black not bitch 🧐

[bubmyg]

funnel cakes - myg

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre/warnings: vampire!yoongi, fluff (literal sugar fluff), non chronological and in the same universe as my other vampire!yoongi drabbles

word count: 1,799

summary: new accommodations for vampires appear on a daily basis or yoongi takes you to an overnight amusement park

He was standing in the foyer when your key granted you entrance and no matter how long your heart was hopelessly endowed to him, you couldn’t stop the small panic that forced the glance over your shoulder out to the sunset. But it was that, the sunset, darkened hues of purple and red taking up the majority of the sky as bright yellows and oranges disappeared underneath the treeline beyond the house.

Your heart calmed and you found him smirking into diligent fingers fiddling at the sleeves of his black sweater when you shut the door behind you.

But even though the sunset partially explained Yoongi’s premature emergence from his study in the basement (one that didn’t require you to bound down the stairs and shower his lukewarm skin in welcoming kisses until he agreed to come make dinner with you), it didn’t explain his attire.

Dark jeans rolled over sleek boots, a soft black turtleneck tucked in at the waist, thick frame glasses resting on the edge of his nose. The only comparison to his normal crisp button downs and slick dress pants was his jewelry. Earrings stacked into various piercings, engraved rings over gaunt knuckles, but the heavy collection of bracelets were gone off his wrists with the exception of a delicate silver chain, his birthstone tucked neatly into one end, yours an addition on the opposite side. The jewel dangled into milky veins as he rolled his sleeves one more time, a habit, pushing the black just above his wrist bones.

“What’s the occasion?” You were caught gaping too long to peel off your shoes or place your bag down. You clutched the latter item at your waist instead.

Yoongi pushed his glasses up his nose, a nose that wrinkled when black eyes settled on you and your gape melted. Something about them made his generally sharp features soft, smoothing out his jawline and pursing his cheeks and magnifying the flecks of brown that bled into resting black. The finger in his hair spread to his hand, one that caught behind his neck and you swallowed the coo in your throat.

He was nervous.

“How was today?” Yoongi’s gentle inquiry dissolved your scold of don’t answer a question with a question and you dropped your bag to accept the hand he stretched toward you. His fingers crooked underneath yours, bringing your hand against his chest with the latter arm falling around your waist as his lips met your hair, “Well, I hope?”

You hummed, leaning into the cinnamon scent that clung to his sweater and you made a mental note to keep buying him that particular type of coffee. After a moment of his thumb stroking over your knuckles, you sighed, “Did you actually manage to keep a dinner a surprise this time?”

Two weeks prior, Yoongi had booked a table at one of the best restaurants in town only to mistakenly give them your phone number instead of his when they called to confirm the reservation. You would have had a great time regardless, but teasing him was essential.

“Hush,” You felt him smile against your hair, “I did manage to keep a secret. But it’s not dinner.”

Yoongi stepped around you, hand still connected to your hip as he snatched his wallet off a tiny glass table containing some picture frames and an artificial orchid. Prying fingers fishing into the pouch, lips pouting as he worked, until two pieces of paper came triumphantly into his grasp while the black leather tumbled to the floor below.

“You know the carnival that’s in town? The one that’s open all evening?” He flicked the tickets apart with a gummy grin that made the glasses on his nose rest on the swell of his cheeks instead, “We can go. If you like…”

You hooked an arm around Yoongi’s neck to peck the dead center of his heated cheek, “I’d love to. Can we leave now? Let’s—”

His kissed your lips to hush you, melting the stretch of your feet onto your toes back until your heels rooted into the ground. “You need to change first, my love. And eat some dinner...”

“Oh!” You glanced at your work clothes, uncomfy shoes still cutting into your feet, “Okay, I’ll go change and then we can go. We can share cotton candy at the carnival!”

You missed the hopelessly endeared sigh that relaxed Yoongi’s shoulders as you bounded into the house and he didn’t have the heart to tell you that although you smelled of straight sugar, the real thing was repulsive.

“Where should I put him?”

Yoongi was referring to the giant plush bear you’d won him on the skee ball game, soft brown fur that tickled his nose was he nuzzled into it and adorning a bright pink t-shirt with the word love etched on it. The word wrinkled where Yoongi’s clasped fists clutched the toy to his chest, protective of it for your sake. So he said.

“Bring him with us,” You gestured to the ferris wheel where it rotated endlessly in front of you.

“What if I drop him?” He was genuinely pouting. A vampire among a crowd of other vampires, dressed head to toe in black with pouted lips tasting of leftover candy granules and round irises a complete gentle carmel that matched the plush animal squished in his grasp.

“You better not. I’m not winning you another one,” You touched Yoongi’s wrist, using it as leverage to peck his pout and confirm he did, in fact, taste like blue cotton candy. “You vampires are expensive on your carnival games.”

He wasn’t looking at you, throat jumping when he swallowed and he hadn’t bothered to fix his glasses where they’d bounced to the end of his round nose. You nudged crooked fingers underneath the sleeve of his sweater, scratching your nails up and down his forearm until he glanced at you again.

“Are you scared of heights?”

A disgruntled scrunch over took Yoongi’s features and he grumbled out something lowly as he shoved his glasses up with the heel of his palm. “No. I’m just…”

“I was going to say, that kind of ruins the whole turning into a bat thing—”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re infuriating?”

“Yeah, a big scary vampire who does happen to be afraid of heights. He’s cute. Kind of looks like you. Maybe I’ll introduce you two sometime…”

He was too busy whining to realize it was your turn next and you thrust two tiny blue tickets into the attendant’s hand before Yoongi could flash to the opposite end of the carnival grounds. He stumbled into the metal box after you, his bear now clutched by its paw and dangling limply against his thigh while he watched you slide across the tiny bench. You took his free hand, tugging him down next to you as the door locked shut behind you and the ride began to creak with movement once more.

“This sucks.”

“We’re barely off the ground.”

“It still sucks.”

“C’mon,” You traded his hand for his thigh, giving it a soft squeeze, “We have to get that top of the ferris wheel kiss.”

Yoongi’s lips mouthed over your shoulder, “Should I win you a toy too? I’m supposed to, aren’t I? That’s a thing you humans do…”

“You were once human too, Yoon,” You nudged him, earning his lips on your jaw this time and the bear dangled against your ankles where it hung sadly from his grasp.

“Seriously,” He dared to look at you when your car had paused at the very top, overlooking the twinkling lights of the fair just aside from the city still alive well into the hours of the night. His chin ducked to search your gaze, “Do you want me to?”

“If you want to go to the rubber duck pull before we leave, we can. Everyone wins something.”

“But shouldn’t I do something challenging? We can go back to the game you won Tubby at—”

“Tubby?”

Yoongi’s tongue sandwiched in his front teeth. Caught.

“It says it on his tag.”

“Okay, bub.”

“It does!—”

“You don’t have to win me a toy, Yoongi,” You distracted him with a kiss on the corner of his dimpled mouth when the ride jerked with movement again. “In fact, I’ll wave to the attendant when we get to the bottom and we can get off. Go do something you want to do.”

“I want to do whatever you want to do. Like a normal boyfriend taking you on a normal date.”

He’d avoided the blood infused treats in favor of the general food stands, nudging you past the vampire themed rides in favor of the generic fun and never stopping too long to chat with people he dismissed to you as old friends. He’d fed you a bag of cotton candy even if you could tell the sweet smell was burning his nose and he’d tried a tiny dollop for your benefit. He’d spent half the cash in his wallet, letting you win him something and had blushed when you let him pick it out.  

Unwarranted tears watered along the edge of your eyes and a soft laugh stretched your smile higher on your features.

“Want to know a secret?” Yoongi hesitated to nod but you were going to tell him against the seam of his sweet tasting lips, anyway, “This is the best date I’ve ever been on. Period.”

You didn’t have to tell the attendant to let you off the ride because your turn was up by the time you pulled away from Yoongi’s lips for air and he stood on jelly legs to lead you off the ride, clutching the bear’s paw and your hand against his chest all the same as you trailed him until you got into an empty, less busy clearing.

“Okay, now—” You managed to free your index finger from his grasp to poke his chest, “—what’s something you want to do?”

“Do you think…” Yoongi trailed off as his gaze did over his shoulder, eyeing the food stands behind you before spilling out in a series of squashed syllables, “Do you think we could grab a funnel cake before we leave?”

“Do you think it will taste the same?”

He shrugged, and the deadpan nature in which he spoke made your heart swell four times over until it lodged in the base of your throat.

“Everything feels a little more human with you, my angel.”

For the second time in ten minutes did you tear up but this time, a droplet lipped down the slope of your nose. You laughed again to cover it, gleeful and drunk on sugar and adoration.

“Come on, Yoons. Let’s get you a funnel cake.”

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Don’t Judge A Book By Its Cover

Characters: Derek Morgan x Reader

Word Count: 1,429

Warnings: pure fluff

Summary: Derek takes you to the local fair, and your favorite game is the shooting game. He uncovers a secret he didn’t know about you.

Author’s Note: This is the July 2nd fic “Local Fair” for the 30 Day Writing Challenge and if you have any requests, please send them in! this is unbeta’d and every mistake is all on me.

Feedback the glue that holds my writing together

Tags at the bottom

“Is this the part where you try and woo me by playing these carnival games just to win me something that my heart desires?” you asked the men you’ve been dating for two months. There wasn’t much that you knew about Derek Morgan just that he works for law enforcement and he loves every minute of it. The relationship is fairly new, so you two are taking it slow to see how you two enjoy being around each other. From the beginning, you knew he was on call a lot and would be gone for long periods of time, but so far, it’s been great.

For your date night this week, he decided to take you to the local fair that was going on in town. He thought it would be best if he stayed close to home and work in case something does come up and he would need to leave at a moment’s notice. Since arriving, you two had gone on every rollercoaster, the log ride (twice), and that big ride that goes super high in the air only to come crashing down at a fast speed. The day had been filled with laughs and joy, and you two decided to settle down and play some of the fair games that were rigged.

“I’ll gladly do that for you if you want me to,” he grinned as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder. Taking a big bite of the cotton candy that he got you, you let it dissolve in your mouth before you spoke.

“Fine, then I get to pick the game.”

“Deal.”

Looking around the crowded venue, you enjoyed seeing families trying to win at ring toss just to get the chance to win the big stuffed teddy bears that would sit in the corner of the kids’ room after a week of playing with it. Skeeball was a popular game among the teenagers who thought they were in love. It gave the boys a chance to caress their girls from behind to “show them how it’s done”. It pulled on your heartstrings for a second until you realized they didn’t know real love even if it hit them in the face.

Competitive men and women played the game where you shoot water into a tiny hole to make their racehorse run across the board quicker. It was a fun game to place bets on, but that isn’t what interested you. Moving your eyes to the lake that was near, you saw older couples take paddle boats out for a relaxing way to end their night. It was something you wanted to do with Derek, but it wasn’t something you wanted to do right now. Those older couples looked so in love, you caught yourself wishing you would have that when you were their age. Maybe with Derek depending on how this relationship will go. It looks promising but never say never.

The one game that caught your eye was the shooting game where you had to hit the impossibly tiny stars located all over the backdrop as well as on the moving parts. Ever since you were little your father had taken you out shooting every year on the dot. It didn’t matter what you were shooting—rabbits, pigeons, turkeys, deer, etc.—you just enjoyed that you got to spend some time with him. When shooting season was at a low, he would take you to practice shooting in the woods as well as paintball shootings that always ended up with you two just covered in paint. It was a nice way to bond with him, but since he’s too old to handle a gun, you had to find something else that you two could enjoy.

Seeing that shooting game brought back many pleasant memories of the times where he made you shoot all kinds of things. He thought it was best if you knew how to handle a gun, especially different kinds. There was nothing that you couldn't miss, and the great thing about this is that Derek didn’t know that. With him being in law enforcement, you knew he had to know about guns and how to shoot one, so you wanted to see his reaction when you got a shot at the game and totally whooped his ass.

“I want to play that one,” you grinned as you pointed to the only game that looked badass enough for the two of you. He slyly grinned before taking your hand and leading you over to the man who smiled once he set his eyes on you.

“Do you dare try to beat the high score?” he asked excitedly.

“You go first,” you smiled as Derek paid the man. In exchange for the money, he took the gun and waited until the man told him to go. Once he got the green light, he began shooting. He missed a few of the moving targets and some of the standstill ones, but he got an impressive high score by the end of it. He looked so confident and focused, you couldn’t wait until it was your turn.

“You get to pick any of the medium-sized stuffed animals!” the man said.

“Which one do you want?” Derek asked with a victorious grin. After picking the stuffed dolphin, Derek was about to hand it to you when you slapped some money on the counter and took the gun from the man.

“It’s my turn,” you grinned as the man collected the money.

“Don’t be sad when you can’t get them all,” Derek smirked. He wasn’t trying to be mean to you, and you didn't take it that way. He was just teasing and playing around, and you were all for playing a little game with him.

“I won’t,” you chuckled before lining up your shot. Everything you learned from your father about shooting came forward in your mind, and you didn’t let anything distract you. When the man said you were in the clear, you began shooting quickly, hitting every single target you possibly could, and even hit the ones that Derek missed. He watched with wide eyes and a slacked jaw at your ability. You two have only been dating for two months, but he didn't expect this from you. When you hit the last target, you set the gun down when you achieved the high score.

“You won one of the big animals!” the man gasped.

“Never assume a woman can’t shoot, Morgan,” you grinned as you turned to face him. “Pick whichever one you like.”

“I’m impressed,” he nodded before picking out the same dolphin but in a bigger size. As the two of you walked away, you held your small dolphin close to your chest as Derek had to basically drag his.

“Where did you learn to shoot?” he asked as the two of you sat down to get something to eat.

“My father taught me. Every year he took me shooting for hunting, and for fun. When the season was at a low, he would take me practice shooting and paintball shooting.”

“What did he do for a living?”

“He was a police officer. He retired now, but I learned from the best,” you grinned.

“Do you ever think about going into law enforcement?”

“All the time. I grew up with it. Backyard parties crawling with cops. I couldn't even sneak out of my own house without one of my dad’s friends busting me, and when they did, I was lucky enough not to go to jail. He’s taken me to his work a bunch of times, I know the system pretty well. He even let me sit in on an interrogation for something minor as well as teaching me how to process someone.”

“My team could use someone like you.”

“And what does your team do? You never talk about your work.”

“Most people won’t want me to. I work for the BAU in the FBI.”

“Behavioral Analysis Unit. Why do you think that is a good fit for me?”

“I have a hunch, and my hunches are usually spot on,” he grinned.

“Oh yeah? What’s your hunch about me?”

“That you're smart and tactful. You don’t do anything without thinking about it first so I know that when you do act, you know it’s the right thing to do,” he began.

“Touché Derek. How about you buy me dinner and we can talk about whatever else you’re extremely good at,” you flirted. He laughed as he got up with a nod.

“That I can do,” he smiled.

wanna be tagged? add yourself to this document! if your tag doesn’t work, find out why!

@kendall-michele  @megsyrae

[geekmama]

Dream Baby

Yay! I managed to write something! Many thanks to Ellis_Hendricks for feedback and editing.

After the "Sherrinford debacle", Sherlock's waking mind may once again be entirely focused on The Game, but even the World’s Only Consulting Detective can’t control his dreams... 

He woke with a convulsive gasp, and lay blinking at his surroundings for a long minute, the incongruity of the moment striking him with devastating force. 

Three months after the Sherrinford debacle, he had thought everything was once again in order. His flat (and its surrounding environs) had been repaired. He and Mycroft had weathered their parents’ wrath and dismay. A positive relationship with his mad sister was being established. 

And he and Molly Hooper were, once again, good friends. 

Just friends. 

Though, in that case, how was he to explain his current state: body still a-tremble, sheets now in need of laundering (and not by Hudders, he could just picture the speculative, teasing gleam she’d throw at him), and his dream still vividly, vibrantly with him? 

He found himself swallowing hard, his inner eye helplessly riveted on the slender yet shapely form of dream-Molly, her silken hair strewn messily over the pillow, sheets rumpled beneath her, and her smile… sated, yet oddly innocent, and completely loving… took his breath away. 

There was a helpless twitch of reviving desire against the already damp sheets, and he groaned, cursing, threw off the covers and fairly leapt from the bed, and stood there for a moment, swaying. 

Was he some spotty adolescent, unable to master his baser instincts? 

This entire episode must be deleted immediately! 

And yet, as he stripped the bed, throwing the evidence of his discomfiture in a pile on the floor, and repaired, with what dignity he could muster, to his new state-of-the-art and beautifully tiled shower, he found his determination to delete fading. 

And this was what philosophers and theologians warned about. 

Temptation, thy name is Woman. 

And, more specifically, in this case, Molly Hooper. 

How on earth can that be? he asked himself as he soaped himself down, annoyed and strangely flustered. 

And, again, inspired by that vision of her smile. 

Not to mention the rest of her. 

He cursed again. 

He should turn the shower straight to cold. 

Was this the way to think about his friend? 

Was this the way a man of mature years and disciplined habit behaved, even in the privacy of his own flat? 

The warm water ran down his body. The warm eyes of Dream-Molly swam through his brain, enticing. 

No. Enchanting.

He sighed, and finally leaned his forehead against the cool tile. 

Apparently this was the way such a man behaved. 

He closed his eyes to the world and was lost in that ephemeral vision… sighed again… and surrendered to the moment.

 *

 He had thought the dream would fade, as most dreams do, dissolving into a misty subconscious, leaving, perhaps, a warm afterglow, but affecting day to day existence very minimally. 

This did not prove to be the case. 

Strangely, every detail of that dream remained alive in his mind, and he found himself returning to it over and over as the hours and days passed. 

He did not contact Molly. For one thing, she had gone out of town for a few days, traveling to the Lake District with a couple of her co-workers – both women, thank God, or he suspected he would have been piqued toward intervention. And after her return… Dream-Molly still plaguing him… bewitching him… there was a dearth of legitimate reasons to visit Barts – Lestrade was fairly astounded at the lull in criminal activity – and Sherlock was reluctant to visit his Siren’s native ground for the less orthodox purposes that had served in the past. 

This lack of real life Molly seemed to do little to assuage Sherlock’s predilection for Dream-Molly’s companionship. He began to wonder, in fact, if Dream-Molly’s perfection would taint his view of the actual woman – which might be a good thing, considering what his imagination and subconscious were capable of in Dream-Molly’s regard. Disappointment might yet cure him of this sudden, very strange obsession, and things could go back to… to what they had been before. 

That his heart invariably sank at this idea told him how contorted had become his thought processes. He would have said deformed, but could not quite bring himself to use such a derogatory term in relation to his… beloved. 

He was sitting in his new chair by the fire, drinking a cup of tea supplied by his landlady (who was still unaware of his state of unrest, thank God), when this description… this endearment… occurred to him. 

Beloved. 

Well, she was, of course. Had been, as a friend, for many years. 

But Dream-Molly was… different. So much more. 

Ridiculous, he told himself for the hundredth time. 

Or was it? 

There was only one way of knowing. 

And fortunately for his sanity (for he had begun to wonder about it, of late), Lestrade called that very evening regarding a possible homicide that looked to be a seven, if not an eight. 

A visit to Barts morgue was in the offing. 

And, ever-cognizant of Molly’s schedule, Sherlock knew that she would be on duty.

 *

 He swept in as per his habit, and there she was… there it was, as she turned to greet her visitors: that smile that lit not only her countenance but her whole being. The element of satiation might be missing, but the happiness, the love was there, as in his dream. He found himself halting in his tracks, and felt an odd tingling against his cheeks. 

My God, he was blushing! 

Her smile was fading at his hesitancy, and she suddenly looked concerned. 

“Molly!” he blurted, forestalling the question on her lips, “It’s good to see you. Can you show us Mr. Steed? Lestrade here has promised me an eight, but I’m reserving judgement until I see the body.” 

“Yes… yes, of course. Hello, Greg.” 

“Evening, Molly. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? But the forces of evil never rest quiet for long – much to Sherlock’s gratification.” 

Sherlock said, with a slight wince, “Gratification is hardly the word, in spite of what you may have assumed in the past.” 

Lestrade rolled his eyes. “Assumptions be damned, you’ve always been like a kid in a candy shop when there’s something wicked afoot. Though maybe recent events have changed things up a bit?” 

“Yes. Well. How could they not?” Sherlock said, glancing furtively at Molly. He felt heat in his cheeks again, and said abruptly, “Mr. Steed, Molly? None of us wish to be at this all night.” And then his heart sank as he realized how that must have sounded to her. Like the old Sherlock. 

Who, in many ways, was no more. 

And indeed, a look of annoyance slightly diluted the fondness of her gaze, though there was still a question in her eyes, too. However, she obediently turned to do his bidding and Sherlock stood silently watching her comply. Studying her. 

Wondering what it would be like to ease that lab coat off her shoulders, let it fall to the ground… slip his fingers beneath the edges of that cherry-bedecked cardigan… brush his thumbs over the sensitive peaks that swelled beneath the flowered cotton of her blouse and the soft lace of her bra … take in her look of surprise… wonder… her small gasp of pleasure… 

“Here he is, John Steed, age 41,” said Molly. “The preliminary exam showed deep slashes to the abdomen reminiscent of the ritual suicide customs of Japan. Unfortunately not deep enough to sever the descending aorta.” 

Lestrade grimaced. “So, a helluva death. Poor devil.” 

“Yes,” muttered Sherlock, though he was rather thankful than not for the gruesome distraction. 

It was all business for the next quarter hour or so as they examined the corpse and questioned Molly on particulars. 

“Murder,” Sherlock said, finally. “I’m nearly certain of it. Lestrade, can we get a look at his flat?” 

“Sure. But it can wait until morning, eh? I have a meeting at nine that I can’t miss, but after that I’m your man. Say 11:30. Shall I pick you up?” 

“No, text me the address and I’ll meet you.” 

“Right.” Lestrade gave Molly a grateful smile. “You’re the best, love. Thanks for taking us in on such short notice.” 

“Always happy,” she said, returning Lestrade’s smile with great sincerity. 

Almost too great. Sherlock felt a familiar twinge that he suddenly realized was jealousy. 

Bloody hell. Had he never known himself at all? 

His consternation was obviously writ large on his face, for when she turned to bid him farewell the words died on her lips and her brows rose. “Sherlock?” she queried uncertainly. 

He stared at her for a long moment, then cleared his throat and said, “Your shift ends soon, do you fancy some takeaway? I can wait for you.” 

Her eyes widened. Perplexed. But also gratified. “Yes. I… yes! That would be lovely!” 

Lestrade was observing the two of them with amused interest, of course. However, all he said was, “Well! In that case I’ll take my leave.” 

“Yes, off you go,” said Sherlock. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Good night, Greg,” Molly said, laughter in her voice. But as soon as the door swung to in the detective’s wake, she turned to Sherlock, eyeing him curiously. “Sherlock, is everything alright?” 

“Yes, certainly. I mean…” His voice trailed off as fear, confusion, chagrin warred for primacy in his breast. 

But he could not lie to her. He would not. 

“Molly… there is… something,” he said finally. “But it should wait until we’re back at the flat. Is that… acceptable?” 

“Yes. Of course,” she replied, smiling again, though somewhat worriedly. “Just let me finish a couple of things and I’m with you.”

 *

 He wanted to take her hand as they were leaving Barts, but did not dare. He glanced down at her as the lift rose to the ground floor and wondered at his trepidation. It was only Molly. But somehow, now, he knew she was so much more. Everything, really. His better half, as old husbands said of their wives, being aware of so much history between them, good and bad, Heaven and Hell, and siting it as a matter of course. 

There was a great deal between him and Molly Hooper, and it was past time the Heaven outweighed the Hell. 

It was a black night, not too cold, but drizzling rain, and unfortunately, for once, his ability to flag down a cab failed him. 

“Let’s take the Tube,” Molly said, giving his coat sleeve a tug, near the wrist, and leading the way, a last flash of her smile seen in the pool of light by Barts’ doors before they were swallowed up by the night. 

He turned his hand swiftly and caught hers. He knew she turned to look up at him in surprise, but he ignored it, and together they walked up the street. 

Almost immediately the rain began to increase, from a drizzle to a shower. 

“Oh, no!” said Molly, laughing as they walked faster – and then five seconds later she gave a squawk of dismay as the heavens opened and they were caught in a real downpour. 

“Come on!” Sherlock shouted. Together they hurried across the silver and gold of the lamplit street to a place he knew, the side entrance to an office building that was situated down a few stairs, a well drained and solidly sheltered alcove at the foot of the tower of steel and glass. “Careful!” he admonished, as she slipped a bit and half fell down the ill-lit steps, but as he steadied her he found she was still laughing. 

They fetched up against the solid door and, in that small, cold space, hidden by the noisy curtain of rain, he took his life in his hands, bent, and swiftly kissed her. 

He felt her small gasp, felt her stiffen, felt her small hands clutch at his coat. He drew back slightly, and he knew she was staring up at him, trying to see him in the black night. 

“Sherlock?” 

She sounded so shocked that his fear reared up again. “I… I suppose I should have asked first.” 

There was a moment’s hesitation. And then she kissed him. 

A sound escaped him that he could not but acknowledge was a small moan of relief, and he slipped his arms about her slight form, pulling her close against him, his head bent to hers, her kiss turning to kisses, tentative, yet eager, too, the moment stretching out, his heart thudding in an admixture of wonder and delight. 

They were both panting a bit when they finally paused for breath. And Molly said, “Sherlock… is this… what is this something?” 

“I dreamt of you,” he said, shamed. And, at the same time, thrilled. 

“A dream? Wh-what sort of dream?” 

He gave a chuff of laughter. “The sort I haven’t had in years,” he admitted, cheeks burning again, and infinitely grateful for the blind, cool night. “Molly… I know you will always be my friend. But… I want more. And you… you still think of me in that way… don’t you?” 

Her hand rose to caress – he turned his head and placed a kiss on her palm – her slim fingers brushed the wet curls from his forehead. And she was silent for a long moment, 

But then she spoke. “Are you sure? I mean—“ 

He kissed her again, with nothing tentative about it this time, showing her a little of the passion that was so new to him: a shining, beautiful thing with which to show his love. 

He had never thought of carnal relations in this light. But with Molly… 

When it ended, and they were forehead to forehead, warm breaths mingling, keeping the cold at bay, he demanded, low and intent, “Do you still want me in that way?” 

“Yes. Of course I do,” she said, her voice shaking. 

They held each other, then, for a time, and those moments were replete with such tenderness, such heart-filling love, that neither of them noticed when the downpour slackened, faded, then turned to mist.

 *

 It was past nine when the small sounds of the arrival of morning tea served to wake Sherlock, still lying abed, snug and warm with his Beloved. His Better Half. 

His Molly. 

His Molly. 

“Oh! Oh!” came Hudders’ startled coo, and he could not repress a crooked grin. She must have noticed the pile of discarded raiment: still damp coats, Molly’s cherry cardigan and flowered blouse, his own shirt – the aubergine Dolce and Gabbana, worn last night as extra insurance, what with the whole of his future happiness at stake. Shoes, too. But not trousers or underthings. 

The bedroom had been the place for that… and the beginning of intimacies… well, that he had only dreamt of. 

Prolonged, and oft repeated, through the hours, and the dark night, and the sound of rain. 

Intimacies that had left them both wrung out… probably a bit sore… and yet even now he could feel renewed desire seeping through him. His fingers twitched against her skin, 

Hudders was leaving – his landlady now knew which way the wind blew and he had no doubt he and Molly would be subjected to some twitting and smug laughter when they eventually emerged from their nest. 

And now Molly was waking. 

She moved… groaned a little, and when he loosened his embrace, she turned onto her back. 

He followed, for fear suddenly prodded him once more. 

What did she think of all this in the light of a new day? 

But there had been no need to worry. 

There was nothing but love in the brown eyes that looked into his… her silken hair strewn messily over the pillow… the sheets rumpled beneath her... 

Beneath them. 

“Good morning,” she said, her voice soft, and edged with that now-familiar admixture of wonder and delight. 

And her smile… that smile… took his breath away. 

 ~.~