Miz-Joely's Prompt: "I would love to see your take on John walking in on Molly & Sherlock being, um, affectionate!"
Soooo…. I kinda ran a different direction with this because my mind is CONSTANTLY in the gutter. Hope you like! Oh, and this takes place before Mary comes into the picture. Just because I love her and I don't see the events of this happening after she turns up. I took some inspiration from Emcee's fic The Deal.
John closed the door to 221 Baker Street with a discreet snap, hoping to not alert his troublesome flat mate to his presence. He just wanted to escape up to his room and get some much needed sleep. His dinner date hadn't ended in her inviting him up to her flat for coffee but he wasn't too disappointed. Well, he was, but he knew there was a high chance of it happening next time.
He glanced over at Mrs. Hudson's door. She was in Brighton, visiting her nieces. Pity, that meant that John would have to make breakfast and tea in the morning. It was late and he wasn't looking forward to having to get up early. The doctor shrugged and headed up the stairs, tiptoeing to avoid being caught.
About halfway up he stopped dead, hearing a faint sound from the dark flat. Worried that Sherlock was in trouble, John rushed up only to stop outside of the door after hearing a very distinct, very feminine moan.
What the hell?
John wavered outside the door, undecided as to whether he should enter or not. The sound of a slap made him jump and he sank to the floor, resting his back against the wall, confusedly wondering what on Earth was going on behind the closed door.
Suddenly, the low voice of his flat mate reverberated through the flat.
"Shall we begin?"
"Please, sir," came the reply from the woman, and John was shocked to realize that he knew that voice. It was Molly Hooper, the girl from the morgue. John's brow furrowed in confusion. Sherlock treated Molly coldly, using her for whatever he needed.
Wait, using her for whatever he needed. John might not have been a genius like the man in the other room, but he was smart. Smart enough to put two and two together with the commanding way Sherlock acted around Molly in the morgue and her response just now.
Sir.
John shook his head, somewhere between disbelief and amusement. And arousal, he grimaced as he glared down at his cock, which was beginning to harden with the direction of his thoughts. He looked over at the stairs that led to his room as he reclined against the wall, debating whether to go on up, or wait and see what happened. His curiosity won out.
John closed his eyes, his mind supplying the images of the scene he was hearing.
Molly kneeling on the floor at Sherlock's feet, completely nude, her nipples hard and pebbled from the cool air. Her alabaster skin glows a faint pink, a leftover from the blush she must have had when stripping herself as he watched hungrily. She's panting lightly, so aroused that John can almost smell the musky scent from his position outside the door.
"Let's start with the riding crop. Open." Her tiny mouth pops open immediately and he thrusts the tip of the cool leather between her lips. She closes around it, sucking eagerly.
"Don't move," Sherlock commands. "You're desperate to touch yourself aren't you? You need it. Not yet, pet, not yet."
A drawn out moan and panting. The tip of the crop rubbing her, gliding through the slick folds of her sex and grazing her swollen clit.
"Look, you're already so wet for me. Lick it clean, pet." He brings it back up to her mouth.
She obeys, lust shining in her eyes as she greedily sucks the soaked leather, tasting her juices on it.
John once again considered going to his room, but hesitated as Sherlock growled.
"Come here. I want your mouth." She scrambles over to him on her knees, clutching the backs of his thighs and smiling up at him adoringly. The one he gives her is feral.
A click and thunk as Sherlock's belt hits the ground. Molly's tiny hands and nimble fingers unfastening the button and zip of his trousers. They too, hit the ground with a muffled rustle and gasp as she mouths at his length through his pants.
"I'm going to fuck that sweet mouth. Tap the back of my legs if it's too much for you."
The fingers of one huge hand lace into her long, silky hair, using the mahogany locks for leverage as she impatiently pulls at his pants, freeing his throbbing erection. She wastes no time in wrapping her lips around the head of his cock, already wet with pre-cum. A groan of pleasure from him and a stifled moan of satisfaction from her. His other hand dangles limp by his side, still holding the crop loosely.
As she takes in further in, John can hear her sucking, her cheeks hollowing out with every pull. Sherlock's head falls back in ecstasy, hands tightening, pushing her to go faster and faster until she just holds on for dear life as he uses her mouth brutally, the pattern of sucking giving John a good idea of just how fast Sherlock is fucking her mouth. The contented hmmms make it obvious that she enjoys every second of it. He pulls back panting heavily, the smell of sweat is in the air and she groans with disappointment.
There is the sound of the crop hitting the floor, then Sherlock's voice again, still unsteady from the effort.
"Look at this, pet. I've got us some new toys to play with. Some new rope," a pause, John guessed that Sherlock was holding the item in question up, "it's soft and smooth, nothing to hurt your delicate skin tonight." John could almost feel the texture of it between his hands. He didn't even notice that his hand had drifted down to unbutton his trousers and slip inside to lightly stroke his hard cock.
"I got this too. Touch it, pet. I can't wait to stick this in that tight little arse while I fuck your wet pussy."
John's eyes were screwed shut, and he was concentrating on his breathing. He couldn't be loud or they might hear.
"But first, the rope. I'm going to bind your legs to the chair. What is your safeword?"
"Ice."
"Good. And the other?"
"Fire."
"And what do they mean?"
"Ice means stop. Fire means it's good, keep going."
"Good girl. Now sit in the chair. I'm going to tie you." She scrambles up hastily, bumping her knee in the process, wasting no time in obeying.
A muffled moan of approval comes from her as he pulls her in for a scorching kiss.
"Sit back now." He stalks towards her, the coiled rope in his hands.
Ropes pulled across wood. A sharp inhalation from Molly.
"Alright? Safeword?"
"Fire."
"Good." A pause. "You're so beautiful like this all trussed up, your legs spread for me. I want to taste you."
"Oh God," she whispers as his lips close around her sensitive clit and for the next little while, the obscene sounds of Sherlock's tongue lapping at her and her moans are all that are heard. She comes, a long, low whine, and he growls up at her when he pulls back from her cunt.
His kisses up the inside of her thighs, whispering all the while. Telling her all the dirty things he wants to do to her. John approves of each suggestion, his hand still stroking the soft flesh of his prick. He feels dirty, listening to this intimate encounter, but he's also hornier than he's ever been. He couldn't leave now even if he wanted to. He spreads a bead of pre-cum across the head of his cock, then brings his hand up to his mouth, sucking the saltiness of his arousal off of the pad of his thumb.
Movement from within the room. Rubbing. Sherlock has untied the ropes. A loud thud sounding suspiciously like two bodies hitting the floor.
"God, pet, I want you. I'm going to fuck that wet pussy." John hears her struggling under Sherlock's huge frame. He's holding her hands above head with one of his much larger ones. "But first," a pause, a wicked grin. "We're going to use this."
John held his breath wondering what Sherlock was doing now.
"On your hands and knees, pet." A cap popping open, a tube of lube. John bit his lip to keep in the moan as he realized what Sherlock was up to. Sticky wet noises, rubbing the lube on the object in question.
Sherlock knelt behind Molly, his impressive erection lined up with her cunt, which was slick and shining with her arousal.
"You like that, don't you? You like it when I rub my cock on your sweet pussy. You like it when I push against you, rutting into you just like this."
Molly whimpered, nodding enthusiastically.
"Sherlock please."
John jumped at the loud pop that resounded through the flat as Sherlock's hand contacted the soft, ivory skin of Molly's arse. John pictures the flush of pink that blooms across her bum, almost feels the skin of the hit on his own hand.
"You don't have permission to speak, pet!" he growls, before smacking her again. An incredibly loud moan comes from Molly and John realizes that it's because Sherlock has pushed the plug into her tight arse hole. He almost comes right there.
"Safeword?" he questions, and John hears the well-masked concern in his voice.
"Fire. Oh God, sir, please. Fuck me, please." Molly babbles out, brokenly.
Sherlock relents and John moans with them when he enters her, pausing to let her adjust to his girth. She impatiently moves against him and he chuckles, the low baritone of his voice echoing through the silence.
Grabbing her hips, he pulls out slowly before slamming back into her, making her grunt, a surprised, but not unhappy 'oh' escaping her.
"Tell me how it feels, pet. Describe it to me."
If he didn't know better, John would think they were doing it for his benefit.
"Ugh, so full. God, with your cock in me and that thing in my ass, the metal is still a little cold and the difference, uh, the difference is driving me crazy," Molly manages to get out, her words punctuated by short, shallow gasps.
Sherlock picks up the pace, fucking into her over and over; the filthy sound of their skin slapping with every thrust urging John's hand on his own cock. He keeps the same rhythm as Sherlock, imagining himself sliding in and out of the warm wetness of her cunt.
Sherlock is whispering as he ruts into her, low enough that John only catches snatches of it through the heavy breathing and their hips meeting.
"… you love this… thrill of it… tell me… I want to hear it… say it Molly…"
John is getting close and he can tell by the sounds that the two on the other side of the door are as well.
Suddenly Sherlock growls out, "Say it, Molly!" accompanied by a slap on her arse.
"I'm yours, Sherlock, yours , only yours, please, oh God!" she screams out as her orgasm hits her, digging her nails into the floor as her body shakes from the force of her release.
Sherlock finishes not a moment later, roaring something that sounds like her name and freezing inside her, coming deep within her, with John right on his heels, spilling his release into his hand.
John breathes out long exhale, listening to what he guesses is Molly collapsing onto the floor along with a metallic object, which must be the plug.
He stands up quietly, not wanting to be caught with his pants down, quite literally, and begins to creep up to his room to clean up and go to bed. Before he even gets to the stairs, he is frozen in his tracks by Sherlock's voice.
"Well, John certainly enjoyed that."
"Don't tease him, Sherlock. It was for my benefit too."
"My kinky little girl, who knew you enjoying showing off so much?"
"You did."
"Yes, I did. And John can hear every bit of this considering he hasn't made it to his room yet."
"Sherlock!"