From a little prompt over on tumblr given me by the-doctor-wtf for something calm and sweet and Sherlollyish.

Enjoy!

His bones even felt weary, and suddenly the dramatic rooms of his flat on Baker Street didn't appeal. Mrs. Hudson would buzz around him, and John would quiz him about where he'd gone after wrapping the case up, and there wouldn't be a moment's peace. The two people waiting for him there would've already had their tea and all he could look forward to would be dregs or have to actually stand up and make a fresh pot. All Sherlock wanted to do was sleep, or at the very least not be expected to be human.

He wondered when he'd last slept—a good proper sleep. John had caught several hours here and there over the last several days, but Sherlock had only dozed off twice. After he hailed a cab for himself and got in, he rubbed his face wearily. To set things off even better he was getting a caffeine headache on top of feeling dehydrated and shaky with a nicotine craving.

"Where to sir?"

"Uhm…1492 Haversham, please." Molly would maybe make him tea, and even if she didn't she wouldn't buzz around. He wouldn't be facing a bloody inquisition about his appearance. Molly always understood, and she was lovely for it. Shutting his eyes and trying to calm the headache that way, Sherlock smiled a little. Molly was lovely in general.

The spring in his step as he climbed the three flights up to Molly's flat was because he was going to see Molly. Molly who didn't demand to know every little thing about him. Molly who cuddled into him on the nights he stayed over and willingly ate whatever he made her for breakfast without questioning if he was experimenting on her or not. Sherlock still felt awful, of course, but with his girlfriend—was that the word John would want him to use? Probably—he would feel better.

He rang the bell and leaned up against the door jamb trying to look nonchalant.

"Sherlock I gave you a key so you could come and go as you wanted," Molly huffed at him, a smile lingering on her lips as she let him in. Sherlock snaked a hand around her waist as he closed the door and leaned them both up against it.

"Hmm—didn't want to push my luck," he murmured, cupping his hand at the back of her neck to gently bring her forward for a kiss. For a minute or more, his aching body and his soon-to-be-splitting headache were pushed aside in favor of kissing Molly and trailing his lips across her face. He about jumped out of his skin when the kettle started up a howling whistle.

Molly dropped her hands around his waist, keeping him close to her for a second longer than was comfortable with the noise from the boiling water.

"Tea?"

"Please," he said, stepping away from her and following her into her little kitchen.

While the tea was steeping Sherlock raided the emergency supply of patches—Molly would toss him out if he smoked, he would have to deal with feeding the nicotine addiction rather than the fixation. Molly looked at him with a quizzical eye as he returned to the kitchen, and he held up one finger in answer to her. The smile he got in reward was more than enough to justify the promise that he not abuse the nicotine patches she kept here for him.

"Mrs. Wallace made biscuits and gave them to me, let me get them."

Sherlock didn't wait for her, instead walking into the living room with his tea and sinking down into her couch with what was not a groan of satisfaction. Molly followed soon enough with her own tea and the biscuits, and it occurred to Sherlock that she'd had enough water going for both of them.

"You knew I'd be over."

"I knew you'd be over," she agreed, curling up next to him. He only just felt her taking his teacup and saucer away from him as he fell asleep.

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