This story is for MizJoely. What can I say about someone who has not only been my friend but a sort of 'writing role model' to me? She inspires me to do better. I pushed myself with this story, having never written a virginLock before. I thought it would be a good time to really try something different.

I hope you like it Miz. And thank you for everything, especially your friendship.

My dear friend from across the Pond MrsMcrieff beta-ed this, but any mistakes you find are all mine. Also want to thank o0katiekins0o for her advice and encouragement. : )

Couple of warnings: Description of a panic attack, mention of parental loss and a car accident. Oh, yeah... and smut!

I own nothing. Enjoy.

He had known about Molly's aversion to thunderstorms for years. He noticed it for the first time when they were working late one night in the lab and an awful storm blew in, causing a power cut. An especially loud clap of thunder caused the pathologist to nearly jump out of her skin. Sherlock realised she must have one of those irrational fear... things. He promptly collected his samples and left in an attempt get home ahead of the worst of the rain.

That was about three months after they had first met and shortly after he had realised she had some sort of attraction to him. Upon leaving he considered that the gentlemanly thing to have done would've been to stay and make sure she was okay, not to have left her alone in a cold, dark lab. But the emergency lights were on, and surely she knew there were others present should she become too frightened. He thought no more of it.

The second time he encountered Molly's fear, it dawned on him it wasn't just the storm, but the darkness following the loss of power that sent Molly into a panic.

He had been staying at her flat for a week and a half when it happened. He was back in London, resting up after a particularly nasty encounter with a group of rather angry and surprisingly skilled Hungarian mimes (well, they were dressed as mimes). Suddenly the skies opened up and all hell broke loose.

When the power went out Molly's normally calm demeanor disappeared. He could tell that months of keeping his secret and occasionally housing him was starting to wear on her. It was nearly midnight so her flat was bathed in darkness. Molly's breathing pattern changed and Sherlock quickly determined that she was on the verge of a panic attack.

"Molly?" he said as he walked toward her. She didn't answer; she was taking short, little breaths. By the time he reached her he was certain she was fully ensconced within the attack. "You're having a panic attack, Molly," he said in a calm voice.

The next part was tricky, because he knew that he had to touch her. Touch. It wasn't that he was averse to it, but he didn't often touch Molly Hooper and he wasn't sure if it would help or just make the situation worse.

She had touched him many times, of course. She had bandaged him on the night of the Fall, for instance. She had taped his cracked ribs and stitched his cut skin. This trip to her home was his third since that fateful day. The first time he'd been back she had extracted a bullet from his thigh (never failing to impress him with her steady hands.) The second time she had managed to relocate his shoulder after he tried to pull an assassin off of a motorbike, succeeding only in pulling his arm out of its socket, instead. So, being touched by Molly Hooper he was very much used to... touching her... well not so much.

"Molly, I'm going to touch you, do you understand?" he asked, slowly.

"Y-y-yes," she finally managed.

"Okay." He reached out and found her hand. He felt her jerk as he soon as they touched. He put his other hand on her shoulder. "Molly, just listen to my breathing and try to mimic me... please?" he asked. He could feel her nodding her head, which he took as a good sign, so he continued his deliberate breaths.

In and out – in and out – in and out. Finally after about two minutes she seemed to calm down. He pulled out a kitchen chair and directed her to sit down. "A torch Molly, where would I find one?"

"Ah, h-hall closet," she said.

As he released her hand to go down the hall he heard her exhale loudly. He quickly located the torch using the light from his phone and returned to her.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked as he sat down in front of her, taking her hand once again.

"D-do I really have to? You've d-deduced it already," she stammered.

He had, of course. He knew her mother had died when she was quite young. He had only ever heard her talk about her father. Either Molly's mother had died when she was too young to remember, or it was an even more painful memory than her father's death. Her subsequent reactions to storms and power cuts led him to the assumption that there was a connection there. He was right.

"The lights hadn't come back on when the police came to tell us that she was dead. A bad storm, roads were wet, no street lights. She ah, drove her car into a tree." She paused, gathering herself. "I h-hate power cuts."

"How old were you?"

"Nine."

Her breathing was nearly back to normal and she was only trembling slightly. "You'd be more comfortable on the settee," he said as he stood, not releasing her hand.

She followed him into the lounge. They settled down and Sherlock covered her with a small blanket that he found on an arm chair. He then lit a couple of candles she had sitting around the room in the hope that the small amount of light would offer her some comfort.

"I haven't done that in years. I'm s-sorry, I don't know what..."

"It's understandable, Molly." he interrupted. "I've put enormous amounts of stress on you these last few months. Something like this was bound to happen."

Molly jerked her head towards him. "I'm not weak, I can handle it."

"I know that. I wouldn't have asked it of you if I didn't think you could." He watched her as she stared into the flame of one of the candles. He wanted to say more; however he had used up just about all of his 'arsenal of compassion' and was left floundering.

The storm was still raging. Molly would jump or flinch every time there was a loud clap of thunder or bright flash of lightening. He reached over and took her tiny hand in his once again. It seemed to help; she didn't jump quite as much when the thunder rolled. He realised he wanted to do something... else, though he couldn't quite name it. He let his mind consider it for a moment.

When he had been injured, Molly always knew how to touch him, how to comfort him; her gentle hands always soothed away his pain. Why couldn't he do the same for her? Why shouldn't he? Because he had no idea how, that's why. But he wanted to. He wished for nothing more, at that moment, than to be able to wrap his arms around this woman and show her that she had nothing to fear. To show her that he would always be there for her, to sooth her painful memories and ease her worries.

But I won't be here- can't be... here, he thought.

And besides he was Sherlock Holmes: consulting detective, sociopath... the man without a heart. He wasn't supposed to want to touch people- comfort them, even sad pathologists. So he sat next to Molly Hooper, simply holding her hand. He watched over her until she fell asleep on her settee.

That must be it, he concluded. I simply wanted to comfort her. Interesting.

It was the first power outage since he had returned from his exile. He knew she'd be alone, no idiot fiancé to offer her support (that is assuming Tom had ever done so). He headed over to Molly's, deciding to walk rather than dealing with the gridlocked traffic, torch in hand. He heard her shriek as he knocked on her door (just as he expected) but it was unavoidable.

"Molly, it's me," he called.

The door opened up to a slightly frightened Molly Hooper, holding an aromatherapy candle. "What are you doing here Sherlock? I thought you were a polite looter."

He smiled. "I thought you might like some company tonight." He looked around uncomfortably.

"Right, come in." She turned and walked into the lounge and sat down on the settee curling up under the duvet from her bedroom. She had clearly armored herself.

Sherlock toed off his shoes as he took off his wet coat and suit jacket. "I'm just going to dry my hair... a bit," he said as he walked out of the lounge toward the hall.

When he returned, he was at a bit of a loss. He had come over to comfort Molly, but she seemed fine. Now what? "Where's the cat?" he asked trying to fill the uncomfortable silence.

"Toby's been hiding under my bed since the first clap of thunder. He's a bit useless in high stress situations," she replied with a half smile.

Sherlock nodded his head. "Mind?" He gestured to the spot next to her. He could have sat across the room, but all of the candles were on the coffee table in front of Molly. Makes perfect sense, he told himself.

"Course not," she replied as she pulled back the duvet. "Want some?"

He nodded. He wasn't cold, not really, though the walk over had been fairly unpleasant. Suddenly the thought of sharing warm covers with Molly seemed like a rather nice idea. He had to sit closer to her than he had planned in order to get under the duvet. Which was fine- more than fine actually. She was sitting with her feet tuck up next to her on the sofa. As he inched closer to get further under the covers, he felt her tiny feet up against his thigh.

She started to move them. "No-no don't. It's your sofa. I'm intruding. You shouldn't have to move your feet just because I'm here." It was far too long of an explanation and by the end he was slightly exasperated, for some reason. But Molly put her feet back nonetheless.

After about five minutes of listening to the rain fall and the thunder roll, Sherlock spoke. "You don't seem..."

"Like a frightened kitten?" she finished for him.

"Ah, well I was going to say as upset as last time, but..."

"That wasn't a proud moment for me Sherlock. Though I don't think I ever really thanked you for what you did." She turned so that her back was against the arm of the sofa and she was facing him. She had her knees bent, arms wrapped around them under the duvet. "It was kind of you."

"It was the least I could do, seeing as I was the cause of most of your discomfort." He was somewhat confused by her defensive posture, she has seemed comfortable just moments before. Was it because they were touching?

She laughed.

"What?"

"It's just, you admitting that to me that night... It was more shocking than you touching me- comforting me. I didn't think you had realised how hard it had been... for me that is."

Her feet were flat against his thigh now, and it was making it hard for him to concentrate. "Of course I knew Molly. I'm aware that everyone thinks that I'm a robot, but obvious feelings are apparent to me." He could stand it no longer, he reached over and pulled her feet onto his lap, telling himself it was simply to give her more room to stretch out.

Liar.

It felt so natural. He simply wanted to touch her. He'd been resisting the urge to touch Molly for a while now... for a long while.

"I may not express sentiment often Molly, but that doesn't mean that I completely dismiss it," he said as he rested his hands on top of her feet, not daring to look at her face.

If she thought his actions were odd, she didn't express it. "But you do dismiss sentiment, Sherlock. You even go so far as to mock those of us who don't." Her voice was strong, defiant.

He heard what she said, and even how she said it, but he didn't respond. He was too busy considering something. He wanted to touch Molly's skin. The last time they had been in a similar position (okay, perhaps not so similar) he had held her hand. But she wasn't in need of comfort this evening. He was a bit disappointed about that. He thought about it a moment longer before making his decision. Then he removed her socks.

He felt her tense then relax as he held the bottom of her left foot and he ran his other hand over the top of it. It was soft and smooth and quite warm having been cocooned in heavy fleece all evening. He repeated the action with the right foot, again not daring to look her in the eyes, too afraid of what he might see.

"I'm not sure mock is the correct word Molly. Perhaps, deride might fit."

"They literally mean the same thing, Sherlock," she chided, her voice surprisingly steady considering he was still slowly caressing her feet.

He shrugged.

Finally she seemed to have had enough. "What are you doing?"

"Sorry?" he deflected.

She huffed. "You wouldn't have that from anyone, Sherlock. You know what I'm asking." She waited for him to answer, when he didn't she continued to push. "Why are you rubbing my feet?"

"Because I wanted to touch you," he answered flatly, completely shocked by his own honesty.

"What if I don't want to be touched."

"Then simply tell me so and I'll stop," he replied, finally looking at her.

Lightening flashed but she didn't seem to notice as she studied him for a moment, she seemed to be considering something. "It's fine," she said in a slightly higher pitch than before.

He nodded and pulled his eyes off of her then returned to his tactile exploration. He continued to rub gently until reached her ankle. He traced circles around her right lateral malleolus bone. Then touched her calf inside the leg of her pj's, first one leg, then the other. He rubbed and stroked, but it wasn't enough, he wanted more. There was more of Molly to explore, to touch. She had closed her eyes, her breathing was a bit shallow. Her arms were folded across her stomach, hands balled into fists. He could see all of this because the duvet had slipped down to Molly's waist. He removed his hands from her legs of her PJ's and ran them up slowly, until they reached her hips. He was hovering over her slightly.

"Can we remove these?" he whispered.

"Oh God yes," she said as she raised her bum enough for him to pull them off.

Up until then they had still been, somewhat, under the duvet, but suddenly Sherlock felt very warm. He decided Molly would be too, so he tossed it on the floor. He returned to her and found himself kneeling in the v between her now bare legs. He took in the sight. Molly in nothing but a white tee shirt and blue lace knickers, lit by candlelight. He touched her thighs as she squirmed slightly, goosebumps erupting on her skin. She squirmed a bit more when he skimmed the lace of her pants and pushed up her tee shirt to expose her flat belly. He pushed her shirt up further then something dawned on him. "How much... ah, m-may I... that is..."

Molly sat up suddenly and took her shirt off revealing what Sherlock had suspected; she wasn't wearing a bra.

Okay, touching may not be enough. That's when he realised he had an erection. Interesting... right of course... what was I expecting?

She was still sitting up, only inches away from him now. He reached up and removed the band holding her pony tail. He ran his hands through her hair; it was just as soft as he had always though it would be. It smelled of strawberries and honey.

Naturally beautiful, just like Molly.

"Sh-Sherlock..."

"Yes, Molly?" he answered in a whisper right next to her ear, not remembering having moved so close.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"Not sure," he answered as honestly as he possibly could.

He brought a hand up and cupped her cheek, his other hand trailed down her back. He couldn't get over the softness of her skin. It was utterly fascinating. He found himself wanting to touch every inch of her.

Instinct really is a peculiar thing, he thought. Having given no actual forethought... well that might not be true. He had thought about touching Molly Hooper before. Kissing her. Tasting her. But that was without intent. He had never actually planned on doing anything about it, until a few moments before. But instinct was driving him now and stopping would be incredibly difficult. Oh, he could if she asked it of him, and would of course. Please don't ask, he thought as he placed his lips on her jaw and heard her sharp intake of breath.

Finally, finally Molly touched him back. Her touch felt nothing like it had in the past, however. She ran one hand up his chest and the other gripped the back of his head lightly. He felt like he was going to explode. Suddenly nothing was enough. There she was, nearly naked in front of him, touching him, his lips on her... oh, her neck, interesting, but he wanted more- needed more. She seemed to be of like mind as he felt her start to unbutton his shirt. She made it as far as his trousers then started to tug it out of them. He had to rest his head on her shoulder as she took hold of his wrist and carefully unbuttoned his cuff, first one, then the other. Then his shirt was gone and she was exploring his skin.

How can anything feel this good?

Everywhere her hand touched felt like it was on fire. Somehow, he didn't quite know how, but he was suddenly sitting once again and now Molly was straddling his thighs. She cupped the back of his head and pressed their cheeks together, her breasts pressed up against his chest. The skin on skin contact was like nothing he'd ever experienced before.

"What's happening, Sherlock?" she whispered in his ear.

He inhaled deeply, breathing in Molly's scent; her skin seemed to have its own natural fragrance. He found it intoxicating. "I don't know, but please don't stop." He was once again shocked at the shear honesty that had overcome him. Did I really just beg? Perhaps this was why he had avoided intercourse for so long. Perhaps, for him, it was like some kind of truth serum.

He brought his hands up to her hips and pulled them down to meet his. They moaned in unison as her sex ground down on his erection. Molly threw her head back and dug her nails into his shoulders. The sensation should have been painful or distracting but it only caused him to buck up into Molly and moan once again.

His eyes were closed tight and he was desperately trying to calm his racing thoughts. He wanted this. For the first time... ever, he wanted this. Molly had stilled on his lap, possibly realising he was having some difficulty. He didn't want her to stop though. He opened his eyes. He found Molly's sweet face inches from his.

"Sherlock, what are we doing?" she asked with a look of such vulnerability in her eyes, it made his chest hurt for some reason.

"I- I..." he tried to speak but the words wouldn't form. He placed his hands on either side of her face and closed the distance between them bringing their lips together.

Sherlock may have been a virgin but he had kissed before. Half-hearted attempts at uni, cases, and oh yes- Janine. He had just never kissed like this before. Molly's lips seemed to fit perfectly with his as she sighed and completely relaxed, leaning her body into his as she moved her hands into his hair. The kiss was intense even though their mouths remained closed, that is until Molly brushed her tongue along the seam of Sherlock's lips and he naturally opened for her. His tongue met hers and all reason was lost. He had been trying to come up with answers to Molly's questions somewhere in the back of his mind while he allowed himself to enjoy what her body was doing to him. He gave up on that endeavour altogether and just gave himself up to her glorious mouth and tongue and... oh, her hands were tugging on his hair. How can that feel so good, he wondered. Right, sensitive follicles. Actually makes sense. Molly bit his lower lip, sucking it into his mouth and Sherlock gripped her bottom harder than he intended. She let go and whispered something so indescribably erotic into Sherlock's ear, he was afraid he was going to embarrass himself right there, in his trousers. He took a deep breath and followed Molly's instructions. Reaching behind her, between her legs, he pushed her pants to one side and slipped the tip of his finger between her folds. "Oh God, Molly! You're so wet!"

"More, Sherlock. Please," Molly begged in his ear before licking and nibbling on it.

Sherlock Holmes had witnessed pornography (quite a bit more than he would have actually admitted aloud.) He also had a complete catalogue of human anatomy. He steadied himself. He could do this. He went over a couple things in his mind and decided it was now or never. He pushed a finger into Molly's soaking channel as she cooed and moaned in his ear. He took this as a good sign and continued. He moved it in and out trying to find what pleased her the most. She was rolling her hips as he was exploring her with his hand but she seemed to want something more. Suddenly he remembered something. YES, the clitoris, he thought. Of course. He removed his finger and moved it forward until he found the small but slightly hardened nub. When he touched it softly- shyly, Molly called him a tease and giggled. He press harder and rubbed in circles until she started whispering his name over and over again. He continued, assuming he had discovered what she was needed for release.

"Oh Sherlock, don't stop," she begged before latching her mouth to his and for the first time in his life Sherlock Holmes had a very hard time doing two things at once. He did manage though, because the extra stimulation of the kiss seemed to be aiding in her pleasure. He suddenly had what he considered to be a brilliant idea, and brought his free hand up to her lovely breast, which he realised he had woefully neglected. He palmed it at first, then taking her erect nipple between his thumb and forefinger and gave it an experimental pinch. Their kiss ended. Molly tossed her head back and yelled, "God yes!" Sherlock didn't need to think about his next move as he ducked his head taking her nipple in his mouth and sucking. Molly held his head to her breast as he felt her body start to convulse and a string of expletives poured from her mouth.

Sherlock released her breast and moved his hand as he watched Molly, lit by the flickering candlelight, she looked radiant. She seemed to be adrift. Boneless. Blissful. An absolutely gorgeous smile played on her lips and he suddenly felt a ridiculous amount of male pride for putting it there.

"Ahhh. Mmm. God, Sherlock." She took his face and kissed him lovingly. "That usually takes ages."

"Really?" he asked

She nodded. "I, ah, have to get a condom." She giggled and kissed his neck. "That is... I assume..."

He was momentarily lost, then realised what she was as saying. "Oh, yes. Of course... I'd like to... I mean, if you'd... We- we don't have to though." Oh God, I'm stammering.

Molly extracted herself from his lap. "Yes, I'd like to." She stood there looking at him for a moment. "We should stay out here, rather than try to move all these candles. I'll be right back." She picked up the torch that was lying on her coffee table and carefully made her way down the hall.

Sherlock took a very deep breath. I'm about to lose my virginity to Molly Hooper... okay... no big deal. I'm 38 years old, probably something I should tick off some sort of list, I suppose. Right. I should take off my trousers. He stood and removed his trousers, pants and socks, taking the time to fold them and put them on a near-by chair.

He sat back down and ran his hands over his face. This is good. This is... I've been thinking about doing this for... oh God, years, and now it's happening. Right. It's fine. It's just sex. Sex with Molly. Sweet Molly. My Molly. Molly who saved my life. Molly who always takes care of me. Molly who has had her heart broken by so... many... bastards, including me. Damnit!

He sat forward with his elbows on his knees. I can't do this. I can't just have sex with her. It will break her. She deserves more. More than just sex. How did this happen? I have more control than this. I won't do this to her.

He leant back, his cock still quite hard. Oh, but I want her. What have I done? He ran his hands over his face again, the scent of her sex still on his fingers, it was driving him mad. He lay his head on the back of the sofa and steepled his fingers under his chin. He was still debating the pros and cons when he felt a hand on his thigh.

"Sherlock?"

He opened his eyes to find Molly sitting on her knees next to him. "Sorry."

"S'okay," she said with a shrug. "You've changed your mind."

Her eyes were so sad it made his insides twist into a knot. "I- I want you."

She nodded. "Yeah, I got that much."

"I don't want to hurt you, Molly."

She looked down at the condom packet in her hand. "If it can only be once, just tonight, I think... I think that I can live with that. Or not, either way. We don't have to..."

That's when it dawned on him. "Can it be more? Something... more?"

Molly nodded again, this time with a smile on her face. "As in...?"

He brought their faces together kissing her with new found confidence. He traced her lips with his tongue, then deepened the kiss trying to convey what he had been trying to say. When the kiss ended he guided Molly back to his lap. She put her small hand around his cock and deftly restored it to its previous state causing him to moan and toss his head onto the back of the sofa. Molly leaned down, taking advantage to kiss and lick the expanse of his throat. She still had the condom in her other hand, she released him and tore it opened then rolled it on while he was reveling in her attentions.

He knew he had to tell her, just in case she had high hopes. Also it was the decent thing to do; to let a woman know they were taking a man's virginity. Molly raised up and was about to sink down on him. He was literally about to enter her when he stilled her with his hands.

"Molly," he said barely holding on to his control.

"What?" she asked, then she bit her lip in a way he'd always found inviting.

"I'm." He swallowed. "I'm... that is this... I've never..." He took a breath. "I'm a- a virgin."

Molly stared frozen, wide-eyed. "What? S-so... do you? Are you sure about this?"

Sherlock nodded. Molly was perfectly still though, she seemed too stunned to move.

He decided to show her how sure he was. He thrust up and pulled her down at the same time entering her completely. He groaned and Molly gasped, her eyes still comically large. He held her hips tightly. He tried to concentrate on the feeling of her, but she was clearly taken-a-back and considering halting their activities.

"Oh my God," Molly whispered, but she didn't move, one way or another. They stayed that way for several seconds.

"Please Molly," Sherlock begged.

"Sherlock are you sure?"

He chuckled. "Are you fucking kidding me?" He grabbed the back of her head with one hand, pulling her in for a searing kiss. "I just told you I want to do this, not just once, but to keep doing this... with you. Do you not understand? I want to be with you." He kissed her again then rested his forehead on hers. "For the love of God, Molly, please move!"

It must have worked because Molly pulled up slightly and sank down on Sherlock's cock with the most tantalizing results. His mind was filled with Molly. Molly's breathe on his neck. Molly's breasts against his chest. Molly's nails scraping at his scalp. And most enticingly; Molly's heat was engulfing him. It was spectacular. She moved- no, rode him, causing him to thrust up as he gripped her hips.

"Feels... so g-good. Oh Sherlock. Fuuuck."

Hearing Molly's approval and clear enjoyment pushed Sherlock to redouble his effort. Then he remembered his earlier actions and took hold of both of Molly's breasts at once. She leant into his hands changing the angle at which he was entering her. Molly gasped and cried out and he felt the change in her inner muscles as they seemed to reacting to his ministrations. Molly moved even faster, wrapping one arm around his back, with one hand still buried in his hair.

Molly's body suddenly went rigid as her inner walls clamp down on him. The effect was instantaneous. He had been completely focused on Molly's pleasure, but suddenly he could only think of his own. He released Molly's breasts and took hold of her hips thrusting up into her at an alarming pace. "Kiss me Molly," he pleaded and she obliged. Then he lost himself within her, pouring his seed into her, moaning into her mouth. She released his lips and kissed his jaw, licking the sweat that was dripping down his face. "Oh God. Molly." He trembled as aftershocks rippled through his body. She ran her fingers through his sweat soaked hair and kissed his cheeks, his eyes, his forehead. Finally when his body seemed to have calmed down and the tremors subsided, Molly sat back.

"You okay?" she asked with warmth, kindness and a bit of fear in her eyes.

He nodded, unable to think of any other response.

She started to get up but he wouldn't allow it. She huffed then giggled. "At least let me get the condom."

He released her and she took care of it, tossing it into a nearby bin. She then sat back down across his lap and pulled the duvet back over their rapidly cooling bodies.

After a few moments Molly finally spoke. "The storms finally let up." She rested her head on his shoulder.

Sherlock stroked her back. "Mmmhmm."

"Are you, ah, staying here tonight?"

"I may never leave," he said causing them both to giggle as he laced his fingers through hers. "You seem to think I'm kidding, Molly Hooper." He kissed her forehead.

She giggled again. "Seriously Sherlock, a little warning would have been nice."

"That's exactly what I gave you," he said with a smile. He thought for a moment. He really did feel different. Interesting. "This changes things, Molly." He felt her instantly tense up in his arms. "Not like that," he said as he to ook her face and turned it towards his, then he kissed her. "Do you think you can continue to weather my storms?"

Molly giggled. "It seem sex has some unexpected side effects for you."

Sherlock gave her a sideways smile. "How's that?"

"Bad puns."

So the last few lines are my attempt cheek and a reference to the first comment MizJoely made on one of my stories. ; ) It made me realise that maybe I should keep going – that perhaps I didn't suck at this! LOL! That was one year ago and I'm still here!

Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think, love hearing from all of you! ~Lil~