Molly cheered when the buzzer sounded, and watched as the fans rushed the field in celebration, excited from the adrenaline that pulses in the veins after seeing your team win. She'd started watching football as a young girl with her father, and she maintained the tradition even now, after he'd been gone several years. She loved her father dearly and still grieved his loss. It was the little things, like watching a match on a Saturday afternoon, that made her feel close to him again.
Sitting up and stretching, she turned toward her boyfriend; the man she'd been using as a cushion the past two hours. As expected, Sherlock was sitting still as death, his hands clasped beneath his chin, deep in his mind palace. This had become their routine; he'd come to her flat after a case, settle into her sofa, then enter a meditative state to organize his thoughts and facts from the case. She made herself tea, then curled up next to him to watch telly.
She assumed if the formula wasn't working, he would tell her. After all, Sherlock wasn't one to mince words. He was always blunt - except the one time he wasn't. Molly smiled fondly with the memory. It took Sherlock a week to ask her out, once he decided he would. Of course, she knew what he was trying to do after the second day, but she let him stumble through it. Perhaps she enjoyed being confident a little too much, watching him be the awkward one.
"You're staring," his deep voice brought her back to the present. She didn't need to ask how he knew that with his eyes closed.
"Done already? Must've been an easy case," she said instead.
"Mmm, yes. Thought it was an 8, but turned out to only be a 6. The butler did it. Boring," he pulled her into his side with one arm, "So, who won your match?"
"West Ham, of course!"
"Right, right… and who were we rooting for?"
"West - oh, nevermind," Molly said, noticing with a tolerant sigh that he was already distracted by something else. She put out her hand and stroked his knee, moving up his thigh. His eyes once again focussed on her.
"Hello," he said with a wicked grin.
"Hi," she breathed in return, unzipping his trousers. He lifted his hips as she knelt between his knees, pulling his clothes down around his ankles.
By the time she came back up, Sherlock was already half hard, anticipating her actions. Molly circled his cock with two fingers, applying a little pressure as she wet his member, base to tip, with her tongue. Only when she was satisfied that he was well lubricated did she take his head fully into her mouth, tasting the precum and meeting her hand with her lips halfway down the shaft. She started slowly, pumping with her hand as she bobbed and sucked, feeding on Sherlock's groans.
She started humming when he fisted his hand in her hair, knowing he was getting close as he started thrusting along with her movements.
He moaned, "I'm going to cum -" she moved faster, swallowing his orgasm with satisfaction.
Wiping a little from the edge of her mouth, Molly took a sip of her now-cold tea, leaving Sherlock panting against the cushions. She then stood up, thumbing the elastic band of her sleep shorts before slowly removing them and her underwear.
"Molly," he sighed, reaching for her, pulling her down to straddle his lap. One large hand travelled up her thigh, squeezing as it went, feeling the moisture dripping from her center. The other pulled her close to his mouth so he could lick the hard peak of her nipple, using the cotton of her camisole as extra friction.
As he switched to her other breast, this time taking the whole thing into his mouth to suck and flick, Sherlock inserted a finger, moving with the thumb that was circling her clit. The pace of his machinations increased with her moans, and it wasn't long before she was gasping and shuddering in his arms.
She fell forward as he rubbed her back, and they softly giggled in each other's ears. Molly reached between their bodies, grasping Sherlock's erection, - really, the man had the refractory period of an 18-year-old - and positioned herself to lower onto him, connecting with a mewl of pleasure.
Lightly thrusting into her rocking body, Sherlock's hands travelled up and down Molly's sides, stroking her sensitive skin. Her hands tenderly pulling at his curls, she buried her face in the crook of his neck, sucking at the flesh there.
Soon after her moans changed tone, from the light pants of arousal to the deep groans of impending orgasm, he grabbed her ass, using the leverage to thrust deeper. Molly threw her head back as she came, grasping Sherlock's head to her breast. She felt him thrust a few more times before he stilled.
They exchanged sloppy kisses as he went soft between her legs, his ejaculate slowly running down her thighs. "Hello," he smiled.
"Hi," she responded, rubbing her nose against his.