This is for WillSherJohnKhan, any issues, not my fault! Unbeta'd so forgive my errors.. Tis the season..
"Come on Molly! Just come for an hour," Meena offered, waggling her brows, "There's a santa there.." Dragging out the words suggestively.
Molly had a strange sort of thing for Santa, she'd even dated a couple, but they'd both asked her to dress as a school girl and considering the job, it made her feel…uncomfortable.
Sighing, her will already slipping, she nodded reluctantly, cursing herself for a fool. "Alright," holding up her hand, "But just for an hour Meena."
Smirking, Meena nodded, "Promise."
~o0oo0oo0o~
Smoothing her blouse down over her skirt, she looked around for Meena and Harry, stopping short when her eyes alighted on the Santa - wow.
He was tall, graceful, moved like a dancer, and if that suit was any tighter.. He cut a figure like Sherlock come to think of it, she couldn't help but laugh at the thought.
Picking her way through the crowd, she finally found Meena and Harry, they'd clearly been at the eggnog already.
They turned to her with open arms and flushed cheeks. "Heyyyy, Molllllly, Meena says you like Santa, we got you a spec- hic - special santa, just for you," bopping her nose to emphasise.
"Is he a stripper?" Molly asked nervously, looking horrified at the idea.
Meena giggled darkly, "No, better! You're late, everyone else has told santa what they want for Christmas, he's waiting for you," breaking off into gales of laughter again.
Feeling like the punchline to a joke she didn't understand, Molly approached the Hire-a-Santa. To her immense surprise, without a word, he sat on his big red chair and slapped his knees in welcome, his expression inscrutable behind his cotton wool beard.
She sat, as delicately as possible, cheeks pink with embarrassment. Almost immediately her senses - always on red alert for Sherlock, whether she wished them to be or not - ascertained that he wore the same aftershave as Sherlock, bergamot making her mouth water. Again the thought posed itself, she pushed it away as absurd.
A sudden shift in his knees sent an absent-minded Molly flying.
Santa, ever the gentleman held her hips lightly to steady her but when his fingers made their way under her blouse and began scratching her skin lightly, she gasped and turned beet red.
Looking up she found that half the room was watching them with baited breath. Frowning, she turned to ask Santa a question, glassy green eyes stared back at her, answering her unspoken question.
Though he did possess impossible eyes, they were not his impossible eyes. The pair belonging to the man that she dreamed of in a santa suit, arranging presents for their kids under the tree, before bringing mama an extra special present.
Mary called out, "Tell him your Christmas wish! No lying!"
John pressed a glass of eggnog into her hand and herded everyone away.
Left alone with the admittedly sexy santa, Molly gulped at her eggnog before trying to slip off his knee.
Fingers tightened and he tut-tutted.
"So, obviously you aren't going to speak, they want me to believe you are Sherlock Holmes and I don't know what your motivations are but you've apparently agreed."
A short, sharp inhalation followed this deduction, Molly grinned.
"Okay, so since you already know, yes, I am in love with Sherlock Holmes and I want him in my stockings this year, and every year from now on, that's my Christmas wish. Okay?"
Molly made to get up but his hands clamped tightly around her, turning her to face him, even as he held her closer.
"You love me?" His voice tinged with awe.
Closing her eyes, she felt the hot sting of tears pricking under her lids. What a cruel joke and from the way they'd all been behaving, they all knew. Humiliated, she felt the first tear, plump and heavy, stretch out until it finally gave into the pull of gravity and made its way down over the apples of her cheeks.
"Swiping her hand over it angrily, "Let me go Sherlock, you've all had your fun," she turned and faced him, adding, "Wasn't one Christmas enough?"
Pulling the beard off, guilt in his expression, "I'm sorry Molly, I - "
Standing up, she held her hands out flat, "I know Sherlock, you didn't mean it - you never do."
Sadness surrounded her like a cloud of smoke as she walked away from him, her sense of betrayal visible in the lines of her back.
Barely three steps before she felt Sherlock's fingers lock around her wrist, she stopped but refused to look up.
"Molly?"
She sighed and her shoulders fell, exhausted, she explained, "It's okay Sherlock, I just need a moment to - I just need to be alone okay? I understand, I do, it's not your fault that you don't feel these sorts of emotions."
His voice stretched out between them, a taut wire when he spoke, "You think I don't feel? Do you really imagine that I would dress up in a Santa suit knowing your weakness for all things Christmas in order to humiliate you? Do you truly think so lowly of me?" The heart ache in his voice was palpable.
Molly faced him but didn't lift her head, her voice was small, "I don't know what to think."
"May I tell you why?" Hopefully, he held his hands out to her and she took them tentatively, still afraid but wanting to trust his intentions and those of her friends so badly.
Regarding her with soft eyes, voice filled with regret, "I wanted to be your dream man tonight, I wanted you to forgive me, I wanted you to agree to start again."
Molly's face crumpled, "Start again? Why?"
Rubbing his thumbs over her smooth skin, he settled them over her pulse points. "It's been over a year since I came back Molly, a whole year of wanting - "
"Wanting?" Finally Molly met his eyes, an unfathomable sea green stared back at her, "Sherlock, your eyes, I - "
"May I - give me a moment?" Staring at her with barely disguised terror, he waited for her reply.
"I'll wait for you," she nodded, adding carelessly, "I always have, what's another few minutes?"
Trying unsuccessfully to stifle a smile on hearing this, his dimple playing a peek-a-boo as his lips pursed, he strode to the bathroom.
Unabashedly watching his arse work those tight red pants, Molly looked like the cat who had got the cream.
When Sherlock turned and saw where her eyes were focussed, he winked.
Dissolving into a blush, Molly fell back against the wall, her thoughts and emotions wildly spinning. Lost in thought as she was, barely a moment seemed to pass before he came striding back down the hall, Belstaff swarming around him like a movie villain.
"We need to leave."
Confused, Molly frowned, "Oh?" Peering over his shoulder into the party, she could see nothing amiss, drunk people dancing and snogging, mostly; typical Christmas party, regrets aplenty waiting for the following morning.
"Yes." He came to a stand-still directly in front of her, his expression kindling fires in her belly, to have that intensity, that hyper-focus turned on her, heat flushed the length of her body.
His deep, cultured voice, rattling her very bones, "I want you Molly, very badly, do you still want me?" Vulnerable, eyes brimful of fear, he waited.
Desire crackled in the air between them, "Kiss me?" Shivers ran over her skin in patterns, as he threaded his hand into the hair at the base of her neck.
Leaning into his touch, a soft sound, little more than a sigh, encouraging him, assuring him that he was very much wanted.
His lips were soft and he smelled like rain, his dragged his nails gently over her skull as he kissed her like she'd never been kissed before. Finally, the need for oxygen tore them apart.
Sherlock smiled, a sweet, genuine smile, "May I take you home with me?"
Nodding, dazed, Molly returned his smile, "I'd like that Santa, I haven't had my Christmas wish yet and I've been ever so good."
Swallowing, Sherlock raised his brows, a silent question.
Smiling and biting her lip, she leaned up on to her tiptoes and whispered, "Yes, Sherlock, your deductions are correct, I am wearing stockings, Christmas tradition."
Pulling back to look at his face, she was pleased to see him blinking rapidly. Slipping her hands into his and locking their fingers together, she dragged a willing Santa Claus behind her. As they made their way out, a cheer went up from the party.
"Snog her Sherlock!" Mary's voice rose above the crowd clearly and a chorus of drunk voices began chanting, "Snog her, snog her.."
Molly, ears tipped with red, ignored them and kept her head down. She gave a cry when Sherlock spun her back toward him, using her hand as a hook. Bumping against him, she looked up, his eyes, those eyes, burning into hers.
"Let's give them what they want," lowering his voice he whispered, "I don't want to be bothered for days, so it make it look good Hooper."
Already feeling her knees wobble, she nodded. When his lips caressed her own, she threaded her hands into his hair and tugged him down, while at the same time rising up and pressing her body against his own.
Hands on her arse, he lifted her and pulled her legs around his slim waist, his tongue stroked her own lightly and they whirled around until Sherlock's back hit the wall. As far as kisses go it was fairly indecent and there was a stunned silence from the party.
Molly's moan cut the air and finally John had the presence of mind to shut the door and give his friends their privacy.
Shaking in his arms, Molly slipped down, needing the ground beneath her feet and looked up at him in awe, "You - you kiss well."
Levelling a dark, sexy, look at her, he invited, "I do everything well Molly Hooper, care to find out?"
"Yes," nodding vigorously, lest there should be any confusion.
Fingers danced across his mobile, summoning a car. Molly watched with joy bubbling up in her stomach, he was hers, after all these years, finally.
The ride to Baker Street passed in a flash. Bright lights blurring through lids that were half closed in ecstasy as Sherlock made his way down the length of her - according to him - "Irritatingly sexy body."
Molly had laughed at this, reminding him "You've been tormenting me forever."
~o0o0oo0oo0o~
Leaning back against the upstairs door of 221B, already feeling fairly debauched. Molly lifted a foot, rested it on her thigh and slipped off her shoe, before repeating the process with the other. Grinning when Sherlock stopped to stare half way up the stairs, well aware of the view he currently was enjoying.
Slowly, she started unbuttoning her blouse, the mother of pearl buttons smooth against her fingers, when the last button gave way, she relaxed her shoulders and simply let it pool at her feet. Reaching behind, she unzipped her skirt and gave it a gentle push, it slipped over her stockings easily and landed around her ankles; from there she simply stepped out of it and gracefully kicked it away.
Breath coming hard and fast, Sherlock unhooked the large, iconic belt buckle with shaking hands, before pushing the oversized coal black buttons through the exit of their buttonholes. Peeling off the ludicrously red jacket, and then his singlet.
Molly thought she would black out with desire, it was him, Sherlock, and he was so beautiful, body and soul.
Bending to remove his shoes, his abdomen rippled and she sucked in a breath, when his eyes met hers she expected to see amusement but what she saw was dark and dangerous.
Falling back against the door heavily, slack jawed, she waited, nerves fluttering in her belly, she wanted to be taken.
His boots thumped onto the stairs, when his trousers joined them, he stood, proud and glorious under her gaze.
"Are you sure Molly? Do you want to be mine?" His eyes were endless wells of darkness and Molly fell willingly into them.
Arousal, so intense it was almost painful ripped through her, leaving her body tingling with desire and she begged, "Please?"
Two steps and he was upon her, mouth ravaging her, he lifted her easily and without ceremony, Molly was lost in the storm of him.
They landed on the bed, a tangle of limbs, hands caressing and touching what they wanted for so long. His fingers were nimble as he unclasped her bra and slipped it off, impatience soon got the better of him, so he simply tore her pants off and tossed them away.
He looked at her, finally bared to him, his eyes travelled slowly, missing nothing. It should have felt intrusive and nerve wracking, it didn't. It was the sexiest thing Molly had ever experienced, his gaze was like a caress, warm and sensuous on her skin, her arousal building.
"Are you sure?" Desperation coloured his words but no pressure.
Arching up toward him, she again whispered, "Please?" Her entire body aching for his touch
Covering her body with his own, he pushed in slowly, eyes on hers the whole time.
Molly threw her head back and moaned, her hips rocking up to meet his.
Smoothing his hands over her hair, he whispered to her how beautiful she was and how lucky he felt.
Molly's finger nails bit into his back as she cried out his name, coming apart under his touch.
"Molly? Do you love me?" Dewy eyes met her own even as he rocked into her, faster and faster.
She understood, he needed the safety to let himself go. Her eyes were soft, "I do love you Sherlock, I'm yours."
"Oh, Molly," he claimed her mouth in a bruising kiss and made a sound almost like a sob when he throbbed inside of her. "I love you Molly, I want to be yours."
Loving eyes met his own, a gentle smile and happiness, "Sherlock, you already are."
~fin~
Thanks for reading! Happy holidays! I've got one more one shot coming tomorrow, set in my The Cure or the Kill 'verse but not a chapter, just a smutty morsel to say thank you for reading...
Tumblr? I'm sweet-sweet-escape, come and find me, I post drabbles and other nonsense..