Author's Note: SPOILERS- the Final Problem. Stop reading now if you haven't watched Series 4.

This story references my other piece called "Come Into My Sleep"- post final problem Sherlolly, you should definitely check it out!

THIS STORY CONTAINS MATURE CONTENT- DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

DEAR READER IF YOU ENJOY THIS PLEASE LET ME KNOW SO I CAN PROCEED WITH WRITING THE SECOND HALF!

Disclaimer: Unfortunately I don't own these characters but Moffat, if you want, I can write series 5 for you! Title references Nick Cave and the Bad Seed's song

Her Midnight Man

Molly was trembling.

Wearing nothing but the flimsy lace robe, she looked up into her lover's pale eyes. The look of hunger there made her knees weak just as it gave her strength to proceed with her plan. She knew she was blushing but the heat in his eyes, the desperation that lingered to the corners of those clear, extraordinary eyes….

She had to do this for him, for them.

The past few months with him had been…a dream. They were everything she had imagined, the good and the bad. He had become her entire world, consuming her every thought, every molecule of her being. He had been such a huge part of her existence before they'd become lovers but now, she felt him swallow her completely.

She was still Molly, but she was a Molly that Sherlock owned, that Sherlock consumed. She was a different version of the same person that had pined for him for all those years, that had let him control her even in his arrogance and ignorance. He inhabited her skin just as completely as she inhabited it. She only had to close her eyes to feel him wandering around in her skin, touching her from the inside.

She licked her lips as they stood in this perfect, pregnant moment, watching each other, studying each other. She remembered the first night…that first time.

He had appeared in her bedroom in the middle of the night, looking older, as if the weight of the world had suddenly crashed down on him. She had been terrified by how broken he had seemed that night, and the tears that wracked his body throughout had broken her heart. She had held him in her arms, kissed his tears away. And by the following evening, he had told her what had happened with his sister, with John and Mycroft…why he had called her and demanded she say "I love you".

And how the revelation in that stressful moment, when he had thought she was going to die, had shaken loose the truth from his soul.

They'd made love that night with a ferocity and passion that she knew was from the true Sherlock, the passionate man who could no longer contain the part of him that drove his every decision. She'd woken up the next morning with bruises and sore muscles in the most delicious places, and he had made love to her in that insane way twice before allowing her to get dressed and go to work.

But something happened…in the past six months, the ferocity was being forced down again. He hadn't quite reverted back to being the robot, the man who refused to acknowledge or understand anything associated with feelings or human emotions. The revelation from his sister had brought him to a point of no return, but he was regressing…He didn't hold back the way he used to, but he no longer let himself feel to the capacity of that first night.

The memories still made Molly shiver…the way he had licked the inside of her mouth, entering her with such hard thrusts that her body had moved across the bed, the way you he held her down by the neck when he took her from behind, the sound his hips made when he slammed against her.

Oh, that had been delicious.

But after that…after that it had become tamer. She had watched the wildness recede progressively. They still had amazing sex but he held back. When he was inside her, when she looked deep into eyes as he thrust inside her with measured beats, she saw the ferocity in their pale depths, saw the desperation for control, the absolute conviction that control was key.

And he still didn't let her leave the bed, insisting on holding her against him the entire night, demanding to know where she was going if she so much as reached for her mobile on the nightstand or had to use the loo at night.

His hugs were tighter every time he had an appointment to meet with his sister. The way he held her when he was about to leave always felt as if he was drawing strength from Molly, standing straighter, breathing deeply, and carrying his head high. And the way he held her after he returned…she absorbed him then, taking all his hurt, all his confusion, gathering the shattered pieces of his heart and nurtured them back to his beautiful self. She would hold him hours and hours those nights, sitting in her darkened flat with nothing but the shadows for company as she stroked his hair and placed kisses all over his face.

She didn't want the old Sherlock back, she wanted him to be free with her. Wanted him to know that whatever he needed, whatever he was feeling, was safe in her heart, always.

So, she had come up with this scheme. Trapping him, essentially, in this moment. In this very room, taking all his control away.

As she wet her lips, gazing into those iridescent eyes, she refused to acknowledge the fact that she had gotten the idea from someone having thrown Irene Addler's name into a conversation.

"Molly?" he lifted a brow, his voice deep. He was still wearing his overcoat, the blue scarf hiding the elegant column of his neck from her, his hands stuffed into his coat pockets. His tone made her think of a conversation long gone, when she had compared him to her dead father, and he'd told her to never try to make small talk. "What's going on?'

She didn't answer him, dropping the scrap of lace to the ground, smiling as she heard him catch his breath. She was completely nude, save for the smile on her face. Her hair up in a bun, wearing a touch of lipstick, she stood before her lover. "Running an experiment," she murmured, putting her hand on the center of his chest, feeling his heart hammer beneath her palm.

"What sort of experiment Dr. Hooper?" he murmured, his eyes somehow never leaving hers.

"It's a two parter actually," she stepped closer to him…close enough to feel the heat from his body but not touching. Not yet. "First part is how well does Sherlock Holmes follow instructions," she brought her lips close to his, a whisper away, "the second is how fast can I make Sherlock Holmes orgasm?"

"Mmm," he hummed, trying to sound non-pulsed. But his heart was pounding against her palm, his breath being pulled from his lungs as if he'd just run a marathon around London. "What are your parameters?"

"Simple really," she stepped closer, shivering as her nipples brushed against the rough material of his coat. A shock of electricity went through her body, warming her, making her more wet than she already was. "You don't get to touch me until I tell you," she smiled, her lips now a sigh from his, "actually, you don't do anything unless I tell you to do it."

"What's my incentive?" his voice was a low growl, a wild jaguar trapped in the elegant confines of a Stradivarian cello.

"If you follow instructions, I will let you touch me in turn, and give you one-week free reign at Bart's," she couldn't help feeling pleased at herself.

"And this study," he was fidgeting in his spot, she could tell by the way his shoulders bunched that he was making fists in his pocket, gripping the material of his coat from inside to keep himself from reaching for her, "what is the objective?"

Molly smiled, having anticipated the question successfully. She wrapped her arms around his neck, loving the way his clothed body felt against her naked one, the way the flaps of his coat brushed between her thighs, the way the wool scratched and teased her sensitive nipples. He felt so good, he felt so vital. He was her destiny, and there was no use in fighting him. He was the unstoppable force in her life, and she'd been the immovable object for so long. "My love," she murmured, finally brushing her lips against his, "my darling," she flicked out the tip of her tongue to lick the crease of his closed mouth, "my Sherlock," she smiled for him, "we shall discover the objective together."

He swallowed, opening his mouth slightly, his own tongue wetting his lips in anticipation. She was pressed so tightly now, rubbing against him, feeling his bulging erection against her stomach, "I accept," he whispered.

"I had hoped that would be your answer," she grinned broadly at him now, butterflies fluttering in her stomach, anticipation gripping her, lust filling her and driving away any doubt. Any insecurity. He was hers, this gorgeous man was now completely at her mercy. "As a reward my love, you can hold me."

Sherlock didn't need to be told twice, his arms wrapped tightly around her body, holding her against him with a vice-like grip. He was running his broad elegant hands down her back, feathering across her shoulder blades, whispering down her spine to grip her buttocks, kneading her flesh expertly, drawing her closer to his erection. "As ever, Molly Hooper, I found myself in need of you."

If you enjoy this, please leave a comment and giving me incentive to let you guys read the second half.

-Mav. X