NOTE:
This fic is many things. First and foremost, it's a sequel to my previous three-part story "Blind". I highly suggest you read that before reading this fic!
Secondly, it's not just Sherlock/Molly. It's also about John and Sally-yes, that's an odd pairing and certainly one I never expected to write, but here it is! I do love John dearly, and since I think he's such an integral part to Sherlock and Molly's relationship (mainly because he's so important to Sherlock's life) I always want him to get some form of happy ending. I hope I've done Dr. Watson justice!
It's a dirty story about sexual enlightening-realizing the kinks and things we enjoy. It's also a story about John and Molly's friendship, a theme that's continued from Blind.
With that said, I hope you enjoy!
Xxx
"You know, for someone who spends so much time with a freak, you really are quite normal."
John peered over the rim of his wine glass, taking in the smiling form of Sally Donovan. He hadn't really absorbed the fact that he was sitting in a nice French restaurant with the Detective Sergeant, let alone that she was smiling at him.
No. Not smiling.
Smirking.
And John knew that smirk.
It was flirtatious.
Bloody hell.
"Aren't we past calling Sherlock a freak?" He found himself asking, momentarily amused. While he wasn't sure if her nickname had moved towards a friendly case of slagging, he couldn't help but defend his rather… eccentric best mate.
Sally laughed and ran her fingers over the rim of her wine glass. John couldn't help but watch the movement of her manicured nails.
It's like the bloody Twilight Zone in here.
"I think he takes the name in stride now," Sally explained after a moment of reflection, "A badge of honor if you will."
John quirked an eyebrow. "How do you mean?"
Sally pulled at one of her loose curls, gracefully tucking the strand behind her ear. She met John's blue gaze, smirking at his undivided attention.
"Well," her baby pink nails caressed the body of the wine glass, drawing John's gaze with the descent, "he knows that my judgement of him was wrong. The nickname reminds him of my poor evaluation of his character."
John watched the small circles her thumb made on the moist glass, completely enthralled by the movements. He barely avoided choking on his subsequent gulp of wine.
"I wouldn't say your evaluation was poor." John explained, his eyes bouncing back and forth between her smirking face and the wine glass ministrations, "It was misled, maybe. Sherlock is no criminal, so you were wrong there. But he's a bit of an odd bloke."
"A bit?" Her laughter was rich. "Tell me, John, will he actually fuck Molly?"
Her vulgar language had John shifting in his seat. He swallowed and managed another gulp of wine, this time watching as she dropped her chin to her palm. Sally studied John, her elbow posed on the table, like a pupil waiting for guidance.
He coughed and smoothed the napkin sitting over his lap. "Uh… How do you mean?"
She smirked. "Come on. I always thought he was asexual. Will they actually shag?"
John was a bit concerned that conversation about Sherlock's sex life was making him flush, but he knew his bodily reaction was directly connected to the intense gaze of the woman across from him. The candlelight intensified her brown gaze, and by god did that white dress fit her well.
This is mad.
"No, he's not asexual." John began, watching as Sally began to move around. After a few moments, she had tube of champagne colored lipstick against her mouth.
There was no way he could look away.
"He…" John cleared his throat and shifted in his seat.
Chris, it's been way too bloody long.
"Well, he certainly had something going on with Irene. And he… You know…"
Sally smirked and smacked her lips together, before tucking the tube away. With another sip of wine, she was leaning across the table.
"No, I don't know John," She explained, her gaze locked on his.
John gulped. "Well, he's a bloke. We all do it."
"I always figured he'd be a healthy wanker," She laughed, her fingers back to caressing the glass, "But then again, who of us aren't?"
He opened his mouth to respond, but quickly shut it.
"Cat got your tongue, Doctor?" She purred.
John swallowed. "Sally, are you…" He cursed softly and fidgeted in his seat, "Are you flirting with me?"
Sally couldn't help but snort. She threw herself back against the chair, her arms falling to her sides in frustration. With a look of pure disbelief, she studied John.
"I take it I was wrong. You aren't normal."
John cleared his throat and sat up. "Come again?"
She rolled her eyes. "Here I am bloody flirting with you all evening and you have to ask if I am?" She scoffed and crossed her arms, her pink nails dancing on her bare skin, "Are you blind, Dr. Watson?"
He narrowed his gaze. "I'm not blind, Sally. Hence my question. I just…" he cursed again and ran his hand through his perfectly styled hair, "I just had to make sure. You don't exactly seem like the type of woman to…"
She laughed and leaned across the table, her face only mere inches away from his. "The type of woman to what, John? To flirt? To entice a man? To want a quick shag?"
John swallowed, his gaze dropping from her brown eyes to her champagne-tinted lips, "I meant—"
Sally smirked and moved her hand to cover his, her fingers playing with the sensitive skin. "You don't know me, John. You know Sergeant Donovan. You know Lestrade's right hand woman. You know one woman not falling at Sherlock's feet. But you don't know me."
His eyes darted from their hands to her amused face. He swallowed again.
"How do I get to know you then, Sally?"
She smirked. "Come home with me."
John was quick to pay the bill.
Xxx
He had barely noticed where her flat was, or what it looked like, or if they were even still in bloody London. Things had moved so quickly that John was concerned he might get whiplash. There had been lips and tongue and moans and a fucking impossible bra to take off and then so much beautiful, mocha skin that his evening had almost ended right then and there.
And then, she was on her knees, her brown eyes smirking at John in a way that her lips currently could not. He grunted and took a fistful of ridiculously soft curls, his fingers twisting and tugging at the strands for desperate control.
He laid in the middle of her bed, his pale skin in stark contrast to her frilly black bed linens. The set was far more feminine than he expected from the woman, but so too had her knickers been—a scrap of lacey pink fabric that John had tucked into his trouser pocket.
Her tongue cradled the head of his cock, and John desperately tried not to howl. His fingers dug into her scalp, his hips thrashing dangerously off the bed, his toes curling into the frilly embroidery of her comforter.
But, with one final squeeze from her hand, her pink tipped thumb brushing against the tip of his cock, he let out a cry, his body shaking. With a shuddering breath, he attempted to sit up, but Sally was quick to climb up his body, pinning him back down to the bed.
John swallowed and desperately tried to keep eye contact, but his traitorous eyes kept dropping down to her delicious breasts. Sally smirked and let him lean forward, moaning as he captured a nipple between his lips.
And then a locking noise caught his attention. John pulled away and met her gaze, noticing her smirking lips and playful eyes. It was then that the blood that his cock had so eagerly stolen returned to his brain. He looked from side to side, realizing that both of his hands had been handcuffed to the headboard of her bed.
"Sally?" He gasped out, already pulling at the restraints, "Why the hell did you handcuff me to your bed?"
She smirked and straddled his lap, taking ahold of his spent cock. With a squeeze, she met his blue gaze.
"You said you wanted to get to know me." She gave him another squeeze and bit her lip, "So we're going to fuck how I like to fuck."
John swallowed and stopped pulling at the restraints, knowing his movements were a useless waste of energy. Instead, he took a moment to appreciate her smooth brown skin, her bruised lips from their previous snogging, her beautiful tits, and of course her manicured hand around his cock.
"And how do you like to fuck?" he found himself asking, surprised by his own voice.
Sally smirked and gave his cock another squeeze. With a chaste kiss to his lips, she began to grind her hips into his form.
"With me in control, Dr. Watson."
John swallowed.
Bloody hell.
Xxx
Molly squealed and pulled at Sherlock's curls, unbelieving of the image playing out in front of her. She had been thrown across the kitchen table of 221b, her dress haphazardly shoved up to her stomach, her knickers ripped off in a passionate fury.
And stationed between her legs, which were currently propped up on the table, her feet resting flat on the wooden surface, was Sherlock. A rather preoccupied Sherlock, if the ministrations of his tongue and fingers were any indication.
Molly let out another cry and tugged at the hair, her hips wiggling in desperation. While he started off wiggling his tongue in every crease and crevice, he had now focused his attention on her clit, giving the nub a tug. Two fingers steadily fucked her while his thumb prodded at the protruding bundle.
She managed to last a few moments more before letting out a sob, pulling at his curls so hard that she was afraid she'd pull the bloody hair out. As her body stopped its erratic jumping and shaking, Sherlock finally rose to his feet, his normally bored face contorted in a satisfied smirk.
Molly moaned and propped herself up on her elbows. She met his gaze and couldn't help but giggle.
"I just came in to grab a bag of crisps!" She squeaked out, her voice only coming back to her after his oral attack.
Sherlock smirked. "And I've been considering when I would finally have you in the kitchen. It's been three weeks since our discussion. I was getting bored."
Molly moaned again and crossed her legs. "I was waiting for the right time! I cleaned the kitchen." She bit her lip and reached for his arm, pulling his body flush against the surface and her legs, "Because believe me, Sherlock, if this wasn't clean, even your tongue wouldn't have gotten me onto it."
He smirked. "I doubt that."
"While you're marvelous, I don't fancy having the residue of some bloke's liver and eyeballs up my arsehole."
Sherlock rolled his eyes and lifted her up, causing Molly to let out a shriek of surprise. He laughed and began to lead her down the hallway, towards the bedroom.
"John has a date tonight," Sherlock explained, dropping Molly onto the bed in the process, "I do hope it goes well. I fear he's lonely."
Molly sat up and pulled the man on top of her. She let her fingers dance in his curls, enjoying the soft spring of the luscious ringlets.
"I'm sure it's going well. John's quite the charmer. Any lady would be lucky to have him," Molly explained, snuggling into Sherlock's body, "And if it doesn't go well, I'm still trying to set him and my cousin up."
Sherlock made a face and wrapped his arm around her. "Which one? Monica? Is that the schoolteacher who's been thrice divorced?"
She groaned. "Sherlock, I'm not going to define her by her amount of failed marriages. She's wonderful. Extremely gorgeous too. A bit passive, though."
He considered her words. "Then you shouldn't be introducing her to John, Molly. He needs a woman who's going to lead the way." Mimicking the movements of his girlfriend, he began to play with her hair, "He needs a woman who's going to take control. Like Mary did."
Molly laughed and met Sherlock's gaze. She smirked and bit her lip. "Sounds kinky."
He laughed and rolled over, pining the woman down. His eyes were no longer playful.
"Perhaps for him. But you and I both know what you prefer."
Molly swallowed. "Which is?"
His lips quirked into a smile. "Being dominated. By me."
She whimpered. "That's a grand idea."
He smirked. "John's missing out."
Molly agreed whole-heartedly.
Xxx
"Agggh, Sally, Christ," John groaned and thrusted his hips upwards, desperately trying to contribute to the show she was putting on for him, "Fuck!" He hissed out.
Sally smirked and ground her hips into him. She leaned forward and captured his mouth in a kiss, her teeth pulling his bottom lip as she separated. With one hand, she caressed her breasts, while the other went to John's chest to steady herself.
"Does that feel good, Doctor?" She gasped out, continuing to ride him, "Do you like your cock inside me?"
John let out another cry and thrusted forward, his hands pulling at his restraints. "Oh, Christ! Yes! I do!" He moaned and squeezed his eyes shut, feeling his peak nearing.
Sally dropped her hand to their connection and began to rub at her clit, her eyes locked on his contorting face. With one last flick at the nub, she let out a cry and began to shake, her cunt quivering around his shaft. From under her, John let out a howl and shivered, her trembling form too much for him to take.
With a satisfied moan, she collapsed onto his body, enjoying the feeling of his seed dripping down her thigh. She pressed a soft kiss to his lips and snuggled into his chest. John swallowed and let out another shaky moan, his brain still absolutely useless.
"Sally?" he managed to gasp out, desperately trying to prevent his eyes from rolling back.
"Mhm?"
"I like how you fuck."
She smirked and unlocked his restraints, watching as he dropped his arms to his sides. He immediately wrapped them around her body, pulling the woman towards him.
"I figured."
"Can we do it again?" He found himself asking, his eyes beginning to drift close from exhaustion.
"Yes," She whispered, settling against his skin, "But next time, I'll restrain your legs too."
John swallowed.
Bloody hell.
Xxx
Many good things had come out of John and Molly's fake dating. The obvious, of course, being Sherlock's realization of his feelings and his eventual coupling with Molly. To a lesser extent, his extremely jealous outbursts had been quite entertaining as well. But, one consequence that neither Molly or John had expected was their burgeoning friendship.
And after weeks together, the two still gravitated towards one another, discussing two of their primarily loves—medicine and Sherlock.
"You should have seen it," John explained, scooping out the last bit of pasta from his takeaway container, "The cyst was bloody massive. I don't know why he waited so long to have someone check it out."
Molly, per usual, was unphased by the gross imagery and took another bite of her sandwich. "Who'd you send him to?" She asked, before dabbing a bit of mustard away from the corner of her mouth.
"Dr. Walters. Best dermatologist on this side of the Thames, I reckon." He tossed the container away and leaned back, watching Molly. "Did you have someone else in mind?"
The pair were sharing lunch in a park conveniently placed between their two work sites, enjoying their hour break before back to the fluorescent lights and smell of antiseptic.
Molly laughed and shook her head. "Just curious. My nephew went to Dr. Singh in Camden. He had some awful stuff on his face." She hummed and finished her sandwich with another bite. "Thankfully, he's grown into his skin."
The couple descended into a comfortable silence, simply enjoying the view from their table. Molly had begun to reapply her lipstick when John's cleared his throat and said her name.
"What's up?" She asked, dabbing at her lips with a napkin, "You and Sherlock didn't get into another row, did you? He came back angry after the case on Sunday, but I thought that was because of the Met's handling of the suspect."
John shifted in his seat and sighed. "No, no, everything with Sherlock is fine. I…" He cursed and bit his lip, considering his words, "I was wondering if I could talk to you about something. It's just that… I don't know who else I'd talk to."
That had Molly's attention. She tucked her lipstick away and eyed the man curiously. "Is everything alright?"
He cursed and nodded. "Yeah, yeah, everything is okay. I just…" He ran a hand through his hair and let out a deep breath, "I've started seeing someone. And things have gotten…" He cleared his throat, suddenly bashful, "Intense."
Molly considered his words. "How do you mean?"
John blew out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "We've only been on one date but we've…" He pulled at his collar, his cheeks darkening, "Well, we've shagged on about five different occasions within the past two weeks."
Molly bit her lip and studied her friend, never having seem him look so flustered. "That's the date you went on a few weeks ago?"
He nodded. "Yeah. And believe me, I hadn't expected for us to sleep together that night. It just sort of happened. And then again. And again." He swallowed and averted his gaze, suddenly embarrassed. "And then again. It's been a good two weeks."
She couldn't help but laugh. "Tell me about her."
John sighed and looked back to Molly. "That's kind of what I've been dreading. Part of the reason why I haven't gone to Sherlock."
She quirked an eyebrow. "Does Sherlock know her?"
"You know her."
Molly considered his words. "This isn't where you tell me you're shagging Mrs. Hudson, right?"
That had John choking on his mouthful of coffee. "Jesus, Molly, no!" He groaned and tugged at his hair. "Alright, I've been seeing Sally Donovan. You know, the Sergeant under Lestrade."
And that had Molly choking on her mouthful of coffee. "You're shagging Sally Donovan?" She squeaked out, now desperately trying to dry the coffee stain on her yellow blouse.
He groaned. "Yes. Ruth set us up."
"How in god's name does my Great Aunt know Sally Donovan?"
"They share a hair stylist."
Molly sighed and bit her lip. "Alright, so you're concerned about Sherlock's reaction, are you?" She gave his hand a comforting squeeze, "I admit, most of his complaining on Sunday was geared towards her, but he does like her." She paused and considered her words, "Actually, he respects her. And you know Sherlock doesn't respect many people."
John frowned and shook his head. "No, no, this isn't about Sherlock. Yeah, I figured he'd be a little shite at first, but I could care less about his reaction."
"Then what's wrong?"
He sighed and averted his gaze to the table. "I feel guilty."
Molly frowned. "About what?"
"The sex, Molly." He blew out another desperate breath and shut his eyes, "The sex is bloody incredible. Better than anything else I've experienced."
She squeezed his hand again. "John…"
He shook his head and frowned. "With Mary, it was slow love making. Which was wonderful, but I dunno…" He cursed and slammed his fists on the table, "It wasn't anything life-changing. It was just… nice."
John pulled at his hair again. "Does that make me an awful person? To remember making love with my wife, the mother of my child, as just plain?" He frowned and looked at his left hand, his gaze locked on the bare ring finger, "To remember our most intimate moments as just ordinary."
Molly frowned and shook her head. "Of course, not John!" She sighed and gave his hand another squeeze, "You can love someone terribly and still have only lackluster sex. That doesn't necessarily say anything about your connection. The same way you can have absolutely mad sex with someone you would never love."
She blushed and shifted in her seat, vividly recalling her past escapades over the years. "Thankfully, Sherlock and I seem to be very…" She bit her lip, "Compatible. Whereas, even though I loved Tom, our sex was incredibly boring."
With a bright red face, she continued. "When I was in uni, I had this lab partner called Oliver. He was awful. Not only was he incredibly disorganized and quite frankly, too stupid to be in our program, he was also the biggest womanizing prat I knew."
Molly cleared her throat and tugged at her cardigan. "But I was a warm-blooded nineteen-year-old who had a thing for blokes on motorbikes. So, we shagged. And…" She bit her lip and turned scarlet, "It was the best shag I had for many, many years. I still look back at it fondly. But I certainly never could have loved Oliver."
John sighed and nodded. "Right. You're right. I'm overreacting, aren't I?"
She smiled sadly. "I think you're just spooked. It's the first time you've been with a woman multiple times since Mary. I imagine it's a hard adjustment."
He groaned and ran a hand through his hair. "I just feel like I don't deserve it. The sex is just…" He let out another groan and shook his head.
Molly flushed at his reaction. "What's so special about it?"
He let out a rather masculine grunt. "She handcuffs me. Bosses me around. She's always in control." He shifted on the bench and pulled at his collar, "I guess I have kinks I didn't know about."
She swallowed. "I see."
"There's just something about someone taking the reins and making it their mission to give you pleasure. It's…" He sighed wistfully, his eyes staring ahead, "just bloody marvelous."
"When do you see her next?"
"Tonight." John responded, his gaze back towards Molly, "And please, for the love of god, don't tell Sherlock. I don't know what exactly we're doing, so there's no use getting his snide remarks tossed in without warranting."
Molly nodded. "John, you have to know anything you tell me is strictly between us."
"Of course." He rose to his feet and checked his watch. "I should head back. I have an appointment in thirty."
"I'll see you soon. Kiss Rosie for me."
John nodded and walked off, some tension off his shoulders. Molly, however, remained seated, considering John's words. His open discussion about being submissive to a dominate lover had her flushing all over and reminding her of Sherlock's promise to fuck her on the counter.
Because while she and Sherlock had been adjusting to making love quite well, it hadn't been anything extraordinary yet. Sure, his hijacking of her snack hour to eat her alive on the kitchen table had been out of the norm, but prior to that escapade, all their evenings had remained strictly in bed.
There's just something about someone taking the reins and making it their mission to give you pleasure.
She moaned softly and glanced at her mobile.
I'm sure Mike will understand if I go home sick.
She rose to her feet and headed towards the tube, typing away a text to her boss about a terrible stomach ache. All the while, she had her mind on a certain curly-haired detective, and what type of delicious damage he could do with a pair of handcuffs and a cocky attitude.
Xxx
Approximately thirty minutes later, Molly was strolling into 221b Baker Street. She now spent most of her time at Sherlock's flat, although she hadn't formally moved in. Toby, however, had taken to living at Sherlock's, since he was home more often during the day and could provide the fat cat with company.
Molly tossed her bag down and slipped out of her shoes. By the time she had shrugged out of her jacket, Sherlock strolled in, clad in only pyjama pants and a dressing gown. He looked at his girlfriend and quirked an eyebrow.
"You're home early. You weren't fired, were you?"
Molly put her hands on her hips. "Why would I be fired?"
"Well there was that fat bloke's body that I—" At Molly's changing face, he immediately stopped speaking. He cleared his throat and instead gave his girlfriend a soft smile. "Right. Well, I'm glad to see you home. Shall we watch Game of Thrones?"
As it turns out, the irritating detective did like the show, and was more open to watching the series the second time around. However, if Molly was honest with herself, she knew Sherlock's interest was mainly because he felt left out of the television show she and John shared an affinity for.
Molly cleared her throat. "No. I had something else in mind."
He considered her words. "What shows do you fancy?" A moment passed before he was spitting out titles, "Black Mirror, Altered Carbon, The Crown, Peaky Blinders, the show about baking with the Hollywood man—"
She waved her hand. "Not telly."
"Did you want to help me conduct—"
She groaned and stormed over to him. "You're going to put your money where your mouth is, Holmes."
He quirked an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"You promised to fuck me in the kitchen." She pressed her hands to his bare chest. "I'm waiting."
Sherlock smirked and wrapped his hands around her wrists, her limbs dainty in his grasp. He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to her lips, his eyes playful.
"If that's what you wanted, Molly, all you needed to do was ask."
And then, like the whirlwind torpedo that Sherlock normally was, he had the woman hauled into his arms, and made quick work of her trousers, lavender cardigan, and cute but practical knickers and bra set. Before she could even let out a squeak of surprise, he had her splayed across one of the counters, his head level with her stomach.
He began to press soft kisses to her skin, his nose gently caressing the skin as his lips moved along. "Just so you know," He began, his head now between her thighs, his lips traveling over every expanse of skin, "I cleaned the counters just for this."
With a lick along her slit, he smirked. "Just for you."
Molly moaned and grabbed a fistful of curls, reveling in the feel of his talented tongue and lips. He had immediately begun to lick and suck and stroke and just appreciate every inch of her beautiful cunt, his eyes however locked on her penetrating gaze.
In mere moments he had her quivering and screaming out in ecstasy, her legs flailing around his shoulders. He stood back up and smirked, making a show of licking his lips and fingers. Molly let out a desperate moan and watched him, absolutely hypnotized.
"Now, shall we move to the counter?" Sherlock smirked and dropped his pyjama bottoms, standing nude sans his favorite dressing gown.
Molly swallowed and nodded. "But… I…" She gulped and looked away, suddenly shy, "I want you to handcuff me."
Sherlock quirked an eyebrow and watched his girlfriend. He reached forward and tucked his hand under her chin, forcing her to look at him and met his gaze.
"Say it again."
"I want you to handcuff me."
He hauled her into his arms and set her on the counter, his eyes blown wide. Just like the night he had come to her flat and deduced her 'relationship' with John, he looked crazy. Mad.
Bloody gorgeous.
"I don't have handcuffs, Molly," He whispered, his hands running over her smooth exposed skin, his lips pressed against her ear, "So we'll have to improvise."
He set her on one of the kitchen counters. With a gulp, Molly watched him pull the strap of fabric that normally tied shut his dressing gown away from the covering. He held the long, black fabric in front of her face with a smirk.
"I'll simply tie you up. Is that what you wanted, Molly?"
She whimpered and nodded quickly. Sherlock pressed a chaste kiss to her lips before pulling her arms behind her back. Then, with skills quite like a boy scout, he tied the strap around her wrists in a neat bow.
And then, in a dramatic Sherlock fashion, he dropped the dressing gown to the floor. Molly watched, her eyes eagerly taking in his delicious body. And while he had scars and bruises and the typical markings of a man who played dirty for a living, his skin was beautifully smooth, forever reminding her of a porcelain doll.
He slid between her legs, grunting as she wrapped them around his hips. He rubbed his cock against her wet slit, meeting her gaze as he pushed forward. With one hand cradling her head, and the other wrapped around her back, he plunged in, cursing at the sensation.
Molly let out a cry and kissed him, enjoying his movements. He began to thrash his hips against her, his arms holding her close to his form, her legs doing the same. He bit her lip and removed himself almost entirely, before once again entering her eager form.
"You're a tad naughty, aren't you Molly?" He gasped out, his hips continuing to pound her petite form, "You like being dominated and tied up. Where did that come from?"
She let out a cry and pulled at the restraints, desperate to feel his skin or pull at his curls. Instead she managed to choke out sobs, instead only responding to his words with shaky nods and the tightening of her legs around his hips.
Sherlock groaned and ran his lips down her jaw. "So naughty. I should have known you'd like this. Ever since I watched your pupils dilate as I used a riding crop on a corpse."
She squealed out his name and curled her toes, knowing what was coming. He smirked and went harder, his mouth now leaving little love bites along her neck.
"Perhaps I need to buy a riding crop. Along with handcuffs." He licked one of the newly formed bites and met her wide gaze, "Especially if you continue to skip work for sex."
With one final thrust, he had her coming apart. She let out a cry and began to shake, her spasming body having a similar effect on Sherlock. With a mangled curse, he dropped his head to her shoulder, his body shaking in release.
The two remained in the same positions, desperate to catch their breath. Sherlock groaned and kissed her softly before untying her hands. She immediately wrapped them around his neck, her hands settling his soft, albeit sweaty curls.
Finally, Sherlock spoke, his lips drawn into a satisfied smile. "Captain. Jockey. Mas—"
Molly quirked an eyebrow and quickly interrupted him. "Sorry? What was that?"
"Those were preliminary suggestions for your nickname for me."
She couldn't help but snort. "Are you serious?"
"Very. While I am happy to be called Sherlock, you give your closest companions nicknames. Therefore, I desire one."
Molly laughed and ran her hands to his sweat-soaked chest. "I'm not going to call you Captain, Sherlock."
"Why not? It makes me sound like a pirate."
She sighed and smacked him gently, although her face still with a smile. "Don't push me or I'll call you something ridiculous."
He rolled his eyes. "Believe me, after Janine, you'd be hard pressed to find a ridiculous nickname for me, Molly."
Molly smirked. "Try me."
He groaned and kissed her, knowing a bit of snogging would surely give her inspiration.
Xxx
John had shown up to Sally's flat, fresh from dropping Rosie off at Mrs. Hudson's. The woman seemed to sense his excited energy, and only regarded him with knowing smirks, insisting that she could watch the girl until the morning.
And he was thankful he hadn't run into Sherlock during the trip to Baker Street. There was a time and place for speaking to Sherlock. Currently, with his mind on running his tongue along Sally's tits, was probably not the best of time.
So, he had shown up to her place, the two rather cordial. It seemed like any normal relationship. They discussed life, and her time at the Yard, and his time at his practice, and of course Sherlock stories sprinkled in-between.
They had dined on cheap wine and takeaway pizza, just enjoying the candlelight glow of her flat. John felt like a young man again, without a child at home or a concern for his diet, or what the morning would hold after a passionate evening with a woman.
But the relaxed atmosphere faded as soon as the pizza box was emptied. Neither John nor Sally had romance on their mind. It took mere seconds for the pair to be undressed, John again strewn across her bed, his wrists tied to her bed posts.
Instead of her work standard handcuffs, she had migrated to a pair of red, silk scarves. She quite enjoyed the contrast with his pale skin. And for John, although he didn't say anything in fear that any criticism would end whatever it was that they were doing, the scarves were far more comfortable than the handcuffs.
Since the latter were created to restrain criminals and all.
Sally straddled his form and quickly impaled herself on his cock, moaning as he slid inside her. She gave him a hard kiss before moving her hips. Her hands slid up his pale chest, her now red finger nails digging into his sensitive skin.
He cursed and pulled at the restraints, his eyes roaming all over her form. He was absolutely captivated by every inch of the woman—from her soft curly hair, to the way her mocha skin contrasted to his pale complexion, to her smart mouth and take-no-shit attitude, to her sinfully perfect body.
John let out another groan, desperately trying to meet the movements of her hips. His toes had taken to pulling at her bed spread, his body already close to release. She simply smirked and continued her movements, her nails pushing deliciously into his skin, her mouth lowering to his ears.
"Next time," She gasped out, her voice losing steam as she continued to ride him, "we'll have to get creative," she moaned out.
He grunted and raised his head, successfully capturing her lips in a passionate kiss. Once satisfied with the snog, he pulled away and met her chocolate gaze, his cock getting another jolt at the sight of her dilated pupils.
"Creative?" He grunted, continuing to try to meet her thrusts, "I like creative."
"How about fucking me over my desk in my office?"
John just moaned and lost the little control he had left, his body beginning to shake. At the feeling of Sally's clenching cunt around him, he nearly died from the pleasure. As he gasped for breath, he simply nodded, his face red under her smirking gaze.
"I can't wait for you to bend me over my desk," She whispered, her lips now coating every inch of his skin in soft kisses, "but I want something first."
He just moaned. "Anything, Sally, anything."
"I want us to go on a double date with the freak and Molly. I need to see them to believe it."
John grunted and considered her words. While his brain recommended avoiding merging his two worlds (that was, his newfound sex life and Sherlock), his cock won out.
"Whenever you'd like, Sally."
Xxx
Sherlock groaned and followed Molly, continuing to complain as he had the entire cab ride over. Not only did he not want Indian food for dinner, but he also wasn't in the mood for the entire evening. Molly grabbed his hand and sighed.
"I don't know what your issue is, Sherlock. You normally love Indian food. And, John wants you to meet his girlfriend. What's the harm in that?" She asked, although she was having doubts herself. However, unlike her boyfriend, she knew the mystery identity of the woman.
Her boyfriend groaned. "I want chips. Why does John get to pick the restaurant? And why should I have to meet his newest conquest?" He pulled at his scarf and scoffed, "These things never last as it is."
Molly sighed and kissed his cheek. "If he wants us to meet her, that means he likes her. So, behave."
Sherlock stopped walking and smirked at her, his eyes darkening mischievously. "I think you're the one who needs to behave, dear Molly."
She swallowed under his gaze and pulled him inside. The two immediately spotted John, who was seated at a table in the corner of the restaurant. Beside him was a handbag, the only evidence of his date. Sherlock looked around before dropping into the seat, his eyebrow quirking at his best mate.
"Where's your girlfriend?" He asked, his voice filled with thinly-veiled distaste.
John rolled his eyes. "She had to take a call. At any rate, can you pretend to be a nice guy for the evening?"
Sherlock gave him a look. "The last time I shared a drink with you and a 'girlfriend', we got into a fight in a pub."
"Oy! You attacked me!" John sputtered out, "Not to mention, look where that got us!" He motioned towards Molly, who was conveniently studying the menu instead of listening to their conversation.
Sherlock made a noise of acknowledgement and crossed his arms. After a few moments, he finally looked back to John. "So, who is the woman?"
And, as if on cue, the lady in question approached the table, clad in a tight black dress, her hair straightened and cascading down her shoulders. She smirked at Sherlock.
"Hiya, freak. Fancy seeing you here."
The End
NOTE:
And that's that! Writing Sally was an interesting experience, since she gets little character development outside of her job. I imagined since she holds her own, she'd be able to control a man with the snap of her finger if she'd like. Hence my writing of her.
If people like this enough, I will write another follow-up, completing this arc as a trilogy. But, only if its desired, as I realize John/Sally is not everyone's cup of tea, allow part three would also heavily as Sherlock/Molly and be about their relationship :)
As usual, thanks for reading, and please let me know what you thought!