A/N: Okay, so this is my first Sherlock fanfic. I've been wanting to write some Sherlolly (I ship them; I ship them so hard), but I lacked plot and inspiration. Finally, I came across this prompt and decided to give it a shot. It's pretty daring of me for my first Sherlolly to be sexual in nature, but hey, between the prompt and Lana Del Rey's "National Anthem," I think I finally tied things together into something I was satisfied with. Okay, enough talk. I'll let you guys get to the story.

Disclaimer: Sherlock and all its respective characters do not belong to me. If I did, Sherlolly wouldn't just be a fantasy for all of us. In addition, the included lyrics from "National Anthem" belong to Lana Del Rey.

Reckless Abandon

Sherlock wrinkled his nose at the tin of loose-leaf tea. It was one of those eccentric concoctions that attempted to artistically fuse flavors of rose petals, caramel, and peppermint. Why the peppermint? It was that burning scent that forced Sherlock to immediately dismiss the tea.

"Don't you have anything normal?" he inquired from Molly's kitchen as he returned the tin to its original resting place in her cabinet.

"What's wrong with my tea?" Molly asked as she placed herself in the kitchen doorway while gracefully wearing an oversized t-shirt and flannel pajama pants. She was rubbing a towel against her freshly washed hair, and the apple scented soap made its way to Sherlock's nose, mixing hideously with the lingering peppermint.

"It's not normal," Sherlock responded blankly.

"I thought we talked about this… so long as you're hiding here, I shouldn't do anything out of the ordinary. This includes purchasing grocery items I wouldn't normally purchase."

"You mean you normally purchase that rank combination of flora, confection, and peppermint?" Sherlock accused. Hurt flashed across Molly's face as she sifted through her thoughts, and Sherlock continued to speed through her supply of sustenance.

"Sherlock…" Molly mumbled.

"Mmm?" he responded as he inquisitively studied a package of wheat pasta that he had found amongst her collection of goods.

"You should be nicer to me…" she began. She didn't know what else to say. The combination of embarrassment and frustration was boiling in her gut, and she wasn't sure how to manage this unfamiliar surge of emotion. Best to remain Molly-like… sweet and soft-spoken… right? Sherlock paused at that and looked up as Molly twisted her towel with her slender fingers.

"Nicer." He tried on the word for size, but it didn't feel appropriate. Nicer wasn't in his nature; it was barely in his vocabulary. Honest, sure. But nicer? What did that mean? 'Not yourself,' he could feel John demanding deep within his unconscious. Oh, John… if we had it your way, things would be strikingly different at this moment. "I meant no offense," he decided. It was his best attempt at being nice. "I just think you have some very unusual tastes," he finished. Molly relaxed ever so slightly at that. But unusual tastes? Sherlock truly had no idea… Molly exhaled deeply, trying to control the tirade of hurtful words she suddenly felt like spouting off at this magnificent man currently investigating her kitchen.

Sherlock, since he was probably the most perceptive man on the planet, at least as far as Molly was concerned, noticed this strange shift in the atmosphere. "Molly?" he tried before the situation could feel any more alien to him.

"You…" she muttered as she weighed her words and her emotions against one another. It was a difficult call, but she decided to go for it since she technically had him cornered. He had nowhere else to go and no one else to rely on. She was his last hope, and for once in her boring life, she took advantage of that.

"You are the most hurtful person I have ever known. Just because you think something does NOT mean that it is appropriate to voice it. Since I have known you, I have absolutely hated myself! I see all the flaws in me that you see! Er, well maybe not all of them… but still! I at least know that I will never be good enough…" she trailed off as the rage left her in this incoherent stupor equivalent to one that had indulged in too much evening wine.

For once in his existence, Sherlock was speechless.

"I've given you everything," Molly breathed, tossing the injured towel across the room. "Everything. You've taken advantage of me time and time again." As she was saying it, she was starting to realize the truth in her words. "This last time… I thought… stupid me," she croaked as she looked up to finally lock eyes with this magnetic personality standing in front of her. It was the very same magnetic personality that had gotten her into this mess from the start! "I thought you would finally understand…"

Sherlock was taken aback. "What is there to understand?" he asked blatantly. Of course, this was Sherlock, so plain words to him were daggers to the heart of another. Maybe it was just the intensity of his last encounter with Moriarity that made him maintain this temperament… maybe he enjoyed being disconnected from emotion. It was safe.

Molly gasped. She was rendered absolutely and undeniably astounded. She couldn't find any words due to the multiple emotions racing through her veins. She fought herself… trying to decide whether to snap at this amazing man in anger or give in to her perpetual state of infatuation. She was already in this far… so, why not?

"Sherlock Holmes!" she began. He stared at her blankly. Oh, so very Sherlock of him, and this fired her up even more. "I… uh, er… bah…" She was so frustrated that nothing coming from her mouth was making any sense.

Sherlock turned his body toward Molly as he raised an inquisitive eyebrow and she struggled with her reality. He squared his shoulders in an attempt to be prepared for practically any insult she decided to spew at him. After all, words were just words, so whatever negative thoughts she had to share would likely not affect him in the very least. Boy, was he in for a treat…

When words failed dear Molly, she began to chew on her lips. Her thoughts were racing by so quickly she could have easily been characterized as experiencing some sort of mania. Thought after thought flew through her mind, each more painful than the next. She glanced at Sherlock in the midst of it all only to meet his expectant gaze. 'Oh, why the hell not?' she asked herself as she geared up to act upon her most desperate desires.

Instead of firing off random syllables meant to represent pain, she threw herself into his chest no longer able to control herself. Molly tightly gripped the collar of his shirt, so tight her knuckles drained of color, and her mouth collided with his. At first, Sherlock did not reciprocate… he was too busy interpreting the swift and unexpected movements of his long time friend. What the hell was she doing?! Finally, he placed his fingertips atop her shoulders and gently pushed her away. Not far, mind you. She was still so close to him she could smell the curious blend of laundry detergent and something reminiscent of cinnamon.

"Molly," was all he said. There were no other words he cared to say. Molly flushed a violent shade of scarlet but was still experiencing this internal struggle that told her not to regret her actions. In fact, this same voice told her to do it again. All the while, Sherlock was trying to decide how to diffuse the situation. She had just requested that he be 'nicer,' and so it occurred to him that this lack of nicety was what had lead to this bizarre scenario

"Molly," he tried again. "This isn't what I want for us."

"Liar…" she whispered. He had to be lying because why else would she be able to hear his heart thudding against his rib cage? Wait, maybe that was her own heart she was hearing. Sherlock gave an exasperated sigh at that comment. "I mean," Molly recovered. "How do you know that this isn't what you want?"

That was a fair question, but not one he was up to answering. He had recently died and wasn't sure he wanted to create a situation in which someone else wanted him dead… it would be even worse if it was the very woman who had saved his life. Yes, it was Molly who had saved him. His lightening mind backtracked through all the times they shared together… their first encounter, late nights in the lab, the lack of any hesitation when Sherlock came to her about staging his suicide. And then there were the observations he made, voiced, and had invariably hurt her. He recoiled at this and could feel something strange begin to radiate within him. Was that… guilt? Indeed it was. He truly didn't deserve her after the continuous antics he subjected her to. Why was she still here? Better yet, how could he repay her?

When Molly reached for him again, he knew what he needed to do. She let her fingertips run down the front of his shirt as he mentally prepared himself. Then it happened… he recklessly abandoned all faculties of intellect and became a primal being of physicality. This was foreign to him, but maybe allowing Molly to experience him would somehow wipe away his debts.

"He loves to romance them

Reckless abandon

Holding me for ransom

Upper echelon"

The moment Sherlock landed his lips on hers, Molly was done for. She tangled her fingers in his dark curls and allowed herself to melt into him. But this wasn't enough for her! She grabbed again at his shirt and used it to shove him up against the wall. Mousy Molly was owning this moment. Sherlock traced his fingers down her thigh, gripped the curve just behind her knee, and hitched her leg up around his waist. Molly's breath caught in her throat at this and fireworks were igniting deep in her belly.

Sherlock's other hand twisted in her still damp hair at the back of her neck. She breathed into his mouth and pushed her body more aggressively into his. This initiated a foreign animal sound rumbling in Sherlock's chest. Soon enough, they had fallen to the floor there in the kitchen and continued to explore each other's bodies throughout the night.

"He says to 'be cool' but

I don't know how yet

Wind in my hair

Hand on the back of my neck"

By morning, the cool tile floor was beginning to bite at their naked skin. It had been a reprieve when their flesh was feverish with passion, but after hours of such an exchange, both participants were utterly spent.

The breathing had finally slowed and heart rate had stabilized. Sherlock and Molly laid sprawled out, limbs still intertwined.

"Well…" Molly croaked awkwardly. Sherlock repressed a satisfied chuckle as he watched her revert from this dominant, aggressive, and highly sexualized woman back into the shy, modest, and desperately unsure young lady she normally was. "That was… that was really something," she decided.

Something had changed between them that night. Now Molly wasn't just the only woman he had ever literally entrusted his life with, she was the only woman he had enjoyed such physical intimacy with. Sure, during his more irresponsible days characterized by substance dependence he would find himself in strange rooms with women he didn't even know the names of. But Molly? Molly was special.

"Reckon we could do that again sometime?" Molly suddenly asked. She wanted to ask before the adrenaline of the moment had completely faded. This time, Sherlock let the chuckle loose. The baritone laugh ricocheted off the walls and reverberated in Molly's chest. She suddenly felt slightly embarrassed, and her nerve was beginning to fail her.

"Under one condition," Sherlock requested. "Wait, two conditions," he quickly corrected himself.

"Oh?" Molly inquired. This wasn't what she was expecting, and it excited her that he was actually considering it.

"Don't ever buy peppermint tea again," Sherlock commanded.

"Heh, noted," Molly agreed as she blushed. "And second?" Sherlock reached across her face and twirled a strand of her hair around his index finger.

"Don't ever cut your hair."

She grinned. "Deal."

"I said, 'Can we party later on?'

He said, 'Yes, yes, yes.'"