As a man with an almost exclusively monochrome wardrobe, it always surprised Sherlock how well bright colours suited Molly Hooper. Her own wardrobe was filled with sunshine yellows and cobalt blues, occasionally broken up by beige or black, for work purposes. The pathologist’s personality seemed to show in her vivid clothing – Sherlock had once asked what the lack of colour in his wardrobe said about him.
“Oh, lots,” Molly had giggled, working his plain black shirt off of him and reaching down to do the same with the matching trousers- had he not been very pleasantly distracted, he probably would have demanded further explanation.
Some of her clothes were gaudy, he did admit. She had a penchant for mismatching patterns, striped jumpers with an aztec print blouse, cherries and checks, spots and florals. Yet, somehow, she managed to look lovely in whatever she was wearing.
And when she began commandeering his clothes, Sherlock couldn’t believe he had ever even considered insulting her choices.
Surely it was impossible for such a tiny woman to look good while swamped in his clothes. Admittedly, he wasn’t the broadest of men, but he had at least a foot on her in height. But the sight of her stumbling into the kitchen – hair mussed from their activities the previous night – with his blue dressing gown on was enough to make even Sherlock Holmes’ heart flutter. The silky material was gathered tightly around her small waist, the hem brushing lightly against her ankles. The sleeves were folded up, her fingers barely poking out as it slipped off her right shoulder to reveal a smattering of purple marks on her neck.Sherlock was out of his chair like a shot, grabbing her by the upper arms and steering her back towards the bedroom. That time, she kept the robe on.
Just when he thinks Molly Hooper can’t possibly surprise him anymore, she goes and proves him wrong. He bursts into the bathroom in search of a towel to mop up a broken beaker, and stops short.
She’s piling her damp hair into a bun, and she’s wearing nothing but a pair of bright red pants.
Molly turns, smiling at him slightly.
“Are you alright, Sherlock? You look a bit flushed.” He only just hears her through the blood rushing to his head and other parts of his body.
“What? Yes, I’m- Is that new underwear?”
“What, this?” She looks down at the garment, completely oblivious to exactly where Sherlock’s gaze is. “They’re yours. I found them in the drawer and they looked pretty old, and all of mine are in the wash. Is it alright for me to borrow them?”
His. Of course they bloody were. Sherlock lets out something close to a whine, covering his eyes.
“No it’s not alright.”
“Oh,um… Okay. Sorry. I’ll j-“
“Because, really, you don’t need to be wearing anything at all.”
One of Molly’s eyebrows practically disappears into her hairline. “Is that so?”
“It is. I need some help with an experiment, Miss Hooper.”
“Really?” She steps closer, her smile growing as her bare skin makes contact with his clothed body.
“Really. In fact, I’m going to need you to try on a few more things. For reasons purely scientific, of course.”
“Well if we’re talking science, Mr Holmes, then time is of the essence. We’d better start right away.”
She trots out of the bathroom, throwing him a wink over her shoulder, and he takes a moment to appreciate how spectacular she looks in red.
BLAME APRIL SHE MADE ME DO IT