This story is for MrsMCrieff.

She celebrates her one year in Sherlolly this month and I wanted to give her a something to show her how much she means to me. What did I come up with? This smutty little number!

I owe a great deal to this fandom, you see, if I had never read The Full House (which led to ALL the other stories I've read since) and I wouldn't have started writing and I wouldn't have met my dear friend MrsMCrieff. She makes me smile every day and I'm so very blessed to have her in my life.

Speaking of wonderful friends. Many thanks to the amazing MizJoely for betaing this for me. Yet another reason to love fanfiction.

I own nothing. Enjoy!

It was the shirts! They were just so damn tight! Molly was quite proud of herself for 'getting over' Sherlock since his triumphant return from 'exile'. The exile that was never really an exile, as it turned out - just a very elaborate ruse. One large enough to fool Big Brother's bosses. Becoming friends with Anthea certainly had paid off, since the detective himself couldn't be bothered with saying goodbye to her. In the end, the absence of a proper farewell may have been just what Molly needed to prove that her ridiculous dreams of happily-ever-after with the socially inept detective were never going to come true and she simply had to move on.

She was doing a fine job of it too. Molly wasn't putting up with his flattery or his eye batting anymore, nope! She was standing her ground, no more working late simply because Sherlock Holmes complimented her hair (hair... how had she every fallen for a hair complement?) No, not this Molly Hooper, thank you very much!

Now, if she could only stop daydreaming about his tight ass shirts.

Lovely, fitted things they were... Oh, snap out of it Hooper... you are over this silliness! Oh, but they are so tight. And how, by the way? He's not a large man; quite slim actually. It's as if they are sewn right onto his body, or pinned in the back. Of course, that's not a possibility, because sometimes (more like oftentimes) he takes off his suit jacket and prances (yes, prances) around the lab. Sigh. The other day they were in the morgue and it was quite cold, she was certain she could see his erect nipples through his white oxford. She had to excuse herself before she reached out and tweaked one of them.

Not to mention the shirts seemed to be getting tighter (a feat she would have never thought possible) since his fake exile return. If he kept getting smaller and smaller shirts, he'd soon be shopping in the infants section!

Yes, she would be well on her way to being COMPLETELY over the man if it wasn't for the damn shirts!

And the buttons, of course. There were moments she actually felt sorry for the amount of work those buttons seemed to be doing. (She found herself pondering the tensile strength of the thread.) They appeared to be constantly on the brink of popping off. Sometimes, sometimes she thought if she looked long enough, she'd be able to catch the moment they finally gave up the ghost and his chest broke free...

"Molly, Molly!"

He caught me staring again... not doing yourself any favors, Hooper!

"Molly, you keep drifting off like this..."

"No, I, ah... was working something out. You have your mind palace, I have a, ah... well it's like a wardrobe," she said with increasing confidence. "I ah, was trying to remember something." She nodded and smiled. Wow, nicely done Hooper, she thought.

Sherlock turned and slowly got up from his seat in front of the microscope where he'd been working all evening (and basically keeping her from accomplishing anything) then he shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. He had removed his jacket upon arrival (of freaking course) and he was slowly making his way toward her.

"You've created you're own memory device?" he asked with a proud grin on his face.

Shit. "Sure. You're not the only one that can... do... stuff." Oh lovely Molly, eloquent as ever.

He leaned across counter until he was about two feet away from her. "Tell me about it."

She swallowed. You're an idiot. Really, the world's biggest moron! "Ah, well it's... wooden?" And I just made it up.

He smirked. Bastard.

"Are you asking me?" he questioned with a glimmer in his eyes that made Molly very uncomfortable.

"No, of course not! Ah, so it's wooden because it would be. And it's rather large. And I..." She paused, an idea blooming. "You know, I've never asked you about your mind palace because that's an invasion of privacy. So..."

He straightened, shoved his hands back into his pockets and nodded. "You're right. I, ah, wouldn't be comfortable talking about, mine." He cleared his throat. "I shouldn't have asked. Forgive me, Molly."

Internally breathing a sigh of relief, Molly simply smiled and changed the slide on her microscope. Oh my God, you just got very, very lucky Margaret Constance Hooper... very lucky. He could have eviscerated you, wait... why didn't he? Why on earth did he let that go? That... was... weird. Molly was quite lost in her musings, so lost in fact that she hadn't noticed that Sherlock had moved to stand next to her. She was no longer looking through the eyepiece, but rather staring off to the side.

"May I ask you something else, then?" Sherlock asked, leaning up against the counter just a few inches away from Molly.

An undignified squeak came out of her mouth, completely without her permission. "Oh, of course."

"Is it possible that the answer you were so desperately searching for in your... wardrobe, had to do with my state of dress?" he asked with a blank face.

Molly managed not to gasp, although she could do nothing about the blush she felt forming on her cheeks and chest. "Ah, wh-why would y-you th-think I care about how you dress?" Oh, absolutely lovely, good show!

"Well, you were staring at my..." He paused and lowered his head looking down at his chest then cut his eyes back up to Molly. "...shirt." he finished drawing out the word and over enunciating the 't'.

Molly thought for just a moment that she might faint. No, no... he doesn't get to do this, she thought. No, he's teasing me because I'm not as easily manipulated as before. Okay, Hooper, you can do this! "I was zoned out, Sherlock. If I was staring at you, I apologize. It wasn't my intent." She gave him a patronizing smile and turned back to her work.

Sherlock inched closer. "Are you absolutely certain about that Molly?" He leaned down. "I've been wearing these shirts for you, after all."

Molly froze. She didn't dare look at him or, well, move. What the hell? Okay, breathe... just breathe and breathe some more.

"I can't buy them any smaller, Molly. They're uncomfortable enough as it is," he said, now even closer.

Suddenly Sherlock's hand was on the small of her back and his lips were on her neck. Breathing really wasn't an option anymore. He kissed a trail up her neck ending at her ear. "I've been trying to get your attention, but you are a stubborn little thing." He licked the shell of her ear. "I suppose I'll have to take the more direct route."

"Sh-Sherlock, wh-what's this all about?"

"Molly Hooper, I wouldn't think I'd have to explain things to you, of all people. It's about us, finally... getting down to business, I believe is how the saying goes." He wrapped his hands around her forearms and hauled her up off of her stool. "Do I need to make it any clearer than that? I've researched other euphemisms. There's: doing the deed, getting it on, or maybe you like... bump and grind. Also, there's the slap and tickle. I found something called the unskinny bop, that one made no sense whatsoever, but it was American, what can you do?" He started kissing her jaw and unbuttoning her blouse. "Although I do have my favorite, would you like to hear it?"

Molly could barely think (had he just made several sex jokes?) because Sherlock's mouth was placing heavenly soft kisses across her... oh he's kissing my breasts! She was lost. "Ah, sure... wh-what do you like?"

He had gotten her shirt and lab coat completely off of her by the time she had managed to speak. "I prefer," Kiss. "making," Kiss. "love." He finally raised his head level with hers and looked deeply into her eyes. "So Molly," he said with the most unbelievable smile on his face that she had ever seen. "would you like to see what's under this shirt?"

Making love... he said making love. Okay, this could still be a trick. This could be a manipulation. This could be... amazing sex, what are you waiting for Hooper, take off his fucking shirt!

Molly reached up and started to unbutton his shirt, not an easy task since Sherlock was sucking and biting her neck like a damn movie vampire. She pulled it from his trousers and started to push it from his shoulders. He chuckled, she felt it rumble straight through body and pool between her legs.

"You forgot the cuffs, love," he said as he pulled back and Molly finally got to see what all the button-straining was about.

Oh, my. He was no Greek God, but oh, if he wasn't beautiful. Lovely. Molly put her hands on Sherlock's pectorals and moved them up to his shoulders, then down his arms, never noticing that he had gotten the cuffs opened and tossed the shirt on the floor.

"So?" he asked.

A thought suddenly occurred to Molly Hooper, Morgue Registrar. She looked up at the door, then back to the stunning man in front of her. "Um, wh-what about..."

"It's one in the morning Molly. The door is locked. Do you really think I'd remove your top if there was the slightest chance that anyone, other than myself, could see you?" He snaked his arms around her back and pulled her tight to him. "This is only for me."

That's when he finally kissed her. The moment his lips touched hers she couldn't have cared less where they were, the lab, his flat... Piccadilly Circus. She felt off balance even though he was holding her securely to him, so she anchored herself by sinking her hands into his hair (sure that's a good enough excuse) causing Sherlock to moan. Molly opened her mouth when she felt his tongue, that same one that had cause her so many tear-filled nights, slide across her bottom lip.

And there they were, half naked, snogging in the path lab, like a couple of teenagers. But they weren't teenagers, and Sherlock soon reminded her of that fact. He kissed her like a storm, like he was on fire for her. For her Molly Hooper... she couldn't believe it.

Suddenly his lips were gone and something else was missing as well. How did he get my trousers off without my knowledge, she thought. Oh, right, his tongue down my throat was a bit distracting.

"Molly," Sherlock said into her ear as he palmed her breast. "There is something I want... no, something I need to do. Something I dream about. If you'll permit me?"

Molly was in no position to refuse the man, well anything, at that particular moment. If this had been some elaborate attempt to maneuver an entire corpse out of the pathologist, it probably would have worked. Fortunately for Dr. Hooper (and her medical license) that's not what the detective had in mind, at least not just then.

"God yes," she answered breathlessly.

Sherlock reached behind Molly and unfastened her bra as he kissed her tenderly and lovingly. He took her pert breasts in his hands, pinching her nipples perfectly as if he'd been doing it for years.

"Molly, will you sit on the bench for me? Please?"

Molly turned and made sure that the bench she had been sitting on was indeed still there. She was a little doubtful since the world had just been turned upside down. As she sat, concentrating very hard on not falling off of the damn thing, she realised that Sherlock was kneeling in front of her. Oh... right... he's going to... of course, because that's the direction this day keeps heading, she thought as she looked into Sherlock's eyes. He was rubbing her thighs and kissing her knees.

"Lean back against counter, Molly, and relax. I want to enjoy this, but I won't unless you do as well," he said as he slowly pushed her legs apart, then rubbed his thumb over her damp knickers.

"Oh, fuck Sherlock."

He ignored her. "You are so wet Molly, and we've barely begun. Is that normal?" He kissed her skin just above her pants. "Or is it me?"

She gripped the sides of the bench. "Sherlock, pl-please?"

He stood up slowly kissing and at her belly then at her breasts, one at a time. Then slipped his thumbs into the sides of her knickers. She surprisingly had the wherewithal to raise her bum enough for him to pull them down, and he slowly lowered himself once again.

Looking back on that moment, Molly was certain that she started to come the moment Sherlock's tongue touched her cunt. Perhaps not an altogether realistic depiction of the events, but she would swear that's how it felt. Seconds or minutes (depending on which party was telling the story- not that they tell) after he started flicking his tongue over her clit she was screaming out his name and grinding onto his face.

As Molly was very busy recovering from a mind-blowing orgasm, Sherlock must have taken the time to rid himself of the rest of his clothes. Because by the time she finally opened her eyes, there he stood gloriously naked, proudly stroking his erect cock and smiling like a fool, his face still covered in her juices as he licked his lips.

Molly was on the verge of another orgasm from the sight of him alone.

"I think you're ready," he said just before kissing her once again. Normally Molly didn't like kissing after oral sex, but everything about this encounter was so surreal and really freaking hot, it just managed to turn her on more.

He suddenly had a condom in his hand. Where the hell did that come from, she wondered. Then it was on and he picked her up turning her so that her (bare, oh, that's cold) back was up against the wall. She wrapped her legs around his back, her hands gripping his shoulders tightly, though she had never felt so safe in her entire life. He gave her one last look and she smiled just before she felt him enter her.

Oh... this... this is what I've been waiting for. Sherlock lowered his head and kissed her shoulder, not moving as they both adjusted to all the new sensations.

"You're perfect Molly," he said just as he started pumping into her. He was holding her by her hips hard enough to bruise and breathing heavily in her ear.

She had never felt so full and so completely overwhelmed by sex in her entire life. It felt like he was consuming her. She held on as he continued to thrust into her, building a fantastic rhythm.

"God you're tight." He kissed her neck. "I'm close, Molly. Come with me, please... I... can't..." He was asking for something but clearly couldn't articulate it, as his concentration was a bit divided.

Molly, thankfully, got his message. "It's okay, Sherlock," she whispered. "I'm ready."

Sherlock leaned back and looked her in the eyes, never stopping his rhythm, and that's when Molly truly understood the term 'eye fucking' because her tenuous hold was suddenly gone and she came again even harder than before. A few more thrusts and Sherlock stilled, calling out her name loud enough for half the hospital to hear.

They stayed there for several minutes, regaining their breath and doing a bit of basking, of course. Molly wanted to enjoy this moment as long as she could because she had no idea why it had happened or what lay ahead.

Finally, Sherlock withdrew and took care of the condom, disposing of it in the nearby HASMAT container. Molly stood stock still, wondering what the protocol was for shagging you long-time crush in your place of employment.

As Sherlock started making his way back toward her, Molly spoke, "Well that answers some questions." So, not asexual.

He found his pants and put them on then grabbed hers off of the pile of clothes on the floor. As he handed them to her he said, "I should hope so."

She stepped into them, still feeling extremely exposed. Sherlock never took his eyes off of her. He was still only wearing his pants, he made no attempt to dress beyond that point. He just stood there, hands on his hips, smiling like he'd just solved the crime of the century.

She covered her breasts with her arms. Now that it was, well – finished, she felt scared, vulnerable, possibly even a bit used. "Yes, well, ah..." She started to gather the rest of her clothing, wishing he would stop staring at her.

"Molly..." Sherlock started.

"I, ah, what..." She turned, clothes in hand covering her top half, at least. "What the hell was that?"

Sherlock gave her an odd look, one she couldn't begin to place. "I-I thought I made myself clear," he said moving toward her slowly.

"Sherlock, I have no idea why we j-just..." Her breathing had picked up and she realised she was on the verge of tears. What the hell? No! Not now, she thought.

Sherlock rushed her, knocking the clothes out of her hands before she could stop him, and grabbing her by the shoulders. "I fucked this up, didn't I? I'm sorry Molly, I'm so sorry. I-I wanted to show you how much... I..." He stopped and looked away then took a deep breath. "I... want to be with you?"

"Are you asking me?" she questioned. "Because that calls for the operation of your mind. I'm certainly not qualified to..."

He cut her off with a kiss. "No, I'm not asking, just doing a poor job of explaining myself. I assume you're not surprised by that?"

She giggled, which seemed to make Sherlock relax, a bit. "No, not surprised. Not even a little. Just trying to take this in. You want a relationship? Or just sex?"

Sherlock's eyes widened. "NO! Just sex? How could you think... I'd never... That's..."

It was Molly's turn to shut him up with a kiss. When it was finished Molly smiled. "So you really wore those shirts just for me?"

He rolled his eyes and tucked a stray hair behind her ear. "Yes, you have no idea how uncomfortable they are. I popped a button at a crime scene the other day."

Molly laughed, though she secretly cursed her fate for missing it.

He tilted his head to the side. "It did hit John in the eye, so at least there's that."

What a sight they made; in the path lab, in their pants, in the middle of a fit of giggles, clothing all over the floor. Molly wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

Thanks for reading. Please let me know what you think and come visit me on tumblr, same name.