How to Play a Game Called Murder

Chapter 16: New Tactics

It was just past midnight when the key turned in the door.

Sherlock was seated at the kitchen table, peering at a slide through his microscope. He feigned indifference as he listened to Molly, who thought she was being oh so quiet, tiptoeing into the flat. He leaned back in his chair, carding his hands through his hair.

Unable to keep his jealousy to himself, he called out, "Isn't it a bit late to be stomping around loud enough to wake the dead and Mrs. Hudson?"

The footsteps ceased, and then started up again, no longer tiptoeing. In fact, they were dangerously close to the stomping he'd accused her of a moment ago.

Molly appeared in the entry to the kitchen, hands on her hips and fury on her face. "Last time I checked, you were not my parent. You're just my flat mate and you have no control over what I do or when I get home."

Sherlock flinched at her tirade but recovered quickly. 'Just a flat mate' my arse.

"Really, Molly? How long are you going to keep pretending that you have gotten over your feelings for me? Everyone knows that isn't true."

Molly shook her head emphatically. "I am! I'm with Daniel now and there's nothing you can do about it!"

Sherlock rose from his chair at that, and strode over to the pathologist, towering over her intimidatingly. Molly shrank a bit, but held her ground, her jaw set. He scowled at her and grabbed her upper arms, holding her tightly. Her eyes widened and her pupils dilated (from fear or arousal he didn't know for sure) as he observed her.

"Watch me."

With that, he bent down and pressed a searing kiss to her lips. She stiffened as their lips met but he didn't stop and suddenly she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him to her as they kissed.

Abruptly, she pulled back with furious tears in her eyes, and slapped him across the face.

"How dare you?!"

He turned slowly to look at her, one hand holding his cheek.

"Sherlock, stop acting like a child that has had his toy taken away! You're just jealous that I'm not pining over you anymore. You don't actually want me; you just want me to be miserable!" Molly all but screamed.

She turned on her heel and swept past him, sprinting up the stairs to her room and slamming the door. Sherlock listened to her leave, frozen in his spot in the kitchen.

There was no doubt in his mind that Molly still loved him but he couldn't understand why she refused to admit it. What is she so terrified of? She had reciprocated his kiss with the same passion that he had felt but then she pulled away.

Sherlock stomped into his room and threw himself on the bed, musing over the problem of his pathologist. How can I show her that I want her? Molly, why are you being so difficult? After coming to the conclusion that he was going to have to change his methods of wooing her, (because let's be honest, they just aren't working,) he finally fell into a fitful sleep, filled with dreams of reaching for Molly, only to grasp thin air.

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The next morning, Sherlock was up early doing research on his laptop. He checked the time. Molly would sleep for a while yet; she doesn't work today or tomorrow.

He grabbed up his coat, pulling it on as he clattered down the stairs and rapped loudly on the downstairs flat.

After a moment, Mrs. Hudson opened the door and Sherlock brushed past her into her flat, his hands clasped behind his back. He focused on the woman, who looked positively bewildered, with a wide grin that said 'I need something and you are going to help me.'