AN - My first ever attempt at writing anything! An idea that came to mind after re-watching The Reichenbach Fall. Be nice to a new girl lol
It had been three months since Sherlock had jumped from the rooftop of St Barts. Three months since Molly had helped Sherlock fake his death. Three, long months where she'd had to lie to everyone who was important to her. Molly hated lying, with a passion, but she knew that Sherlock's safety depended on it.
Jim Moriarty had underestimated Molly, people usually did. Underneath the shy and nervous exterior beat the heart of a warrior who loved with an intensity that sometimes scared her. She was a loyal and loving friend.
Sherlock had certainly underestimated Molly. Oh he knew she loved him and knew she would do almost anything for him. God know he'd used her infatuation to his advantage over and over again. What he hadn't known was how well Molly knew him, she could really see him and see what he was thinking and feeling. He had been shocked when Molly had told him she knew something was wrong in the lab at Barts. So shocked that he'd asked what he could possibly need from her. When it came to faking his death, though, he knew that Molly could and would help him.
Sherlock was bored! He was hiding in a safe house on the outskirts of London and having had no contact with anyone, the loneliness was starting to get to him. He had been keeping an eye on John from afar. He had seen him visit his grave and ask for "one more miracle" in an anguished voice. He hadn't seen Molly and he found himself surprised to realise he missed her. He wanted to just check on her without her knowing.
Molly had had a frankly shitty day at work. There had been 4 post mortems with accompanying tests and paperwork. Her feet ached, and on her way home from work she decided a hot bath and an early night were in order. As soon as she entered her flat she started the bath running and poured herself a large glass of her favourite wine. As she soaked away her aches and pains she thought of Sherlock and wondered what he was doing and how he was. She missed him.
After drying herself and wrapping a robe around her she poured out another glass of wine and took it to her bedroom. Molly unwrapped the towel from her hair and brushed out all the tangles. Brushing her long hair had always been relaxing for Molly, when she was a girl her mum would brush it out every night and afterwards Molly would be sleepy and ready for bed. Slipping out of her bathrobe Molly slipped a nightie over her head and got into bed with her glass of wine and kindle. After an hour of reading her current book she felt pleasantly sleepy and switched off the lamp, snuggling down under her duvet.
An hour later Molly woke up after a particularly smutty dream. Blaming it on the book she had been reading before she fell asleep she realised she'd awoken with her hand between her legs. It had been some time since she'd felt like this, the upset over everything that had happened in the aftermath of that fateful day, three months ago. Being in love with Sherlock didn't have many perks, in fact the only one was having the consulting detective come to mind whenever she was feeling horny. The image of him was so indelibly imprinted on her brain that she hardly had to imagine him to have his face in her mind as she tentatively moved her fingers over her body.
Throwing back the covers she removed her nightie and lay back, her hair splayed out over her white pillow. Sherlock had sneaked into her flat ten minutes before Molly had woken, he had watched her sleep, watched her dream unfold and heard her whimper as she'd touched herself. It wasn't the first time Sherlock had watched Molly sleep, he'd snuck into her flat many a time and found some peace from the internal voices and the workings of his brain as she slept peacefully. It was, however, the first time he had witnessed her touch herself and he felt his trousers become uncharacteristically tight as he heard her breathing deepen. Sherlock had long ago schooled his body into denying his sexual needs, he felt that sexual desire and the accompanying urges and physical responses were a drain on his mind and a distraction he could ill afford in his work, but unexpectedly his body was responding and there was nothing he could do about it. He tried all his usual mind tricks and thoughts to will his growing erection away, but with each breath from Molly's mouth he felt himself grow harder instead. He cursed his body and that was when Molly woke from her dream.
From his hiding spot, Sherlock had a perfect view of Molly's naked and flushed body and he found himself oddly curious to know how her skin felt and even more how it tasted. Molly had lain back down on her bed, she started to gently touch herself, starting from her throat she stroked her self lightly with her fingertips, slowly reaching her breasts. As she reached the swell of her breasts her breath hitched and she moaned, twisting her nipples gently, tugging the turgid peaks making them harder. Throwing her head back she continued to pull her nipples imagining Sherlock's mouth was on her. Her fingers started to creep down over her ribs and flat stomach, her body tensing as she imagined Sherlock's hands in place of her own.
Sherlock was struggling to keep himself in check watching Molly. His hand crept to the bulge in his trousers and he palmed his erection, closing his eyes and imagining Molly's tiny hands stroking his long, hard cock.
Molly's fingers had now reached her thighs and her breathing had deepened as she stroked her inner thighs, her legs finally falling open giving Sherlock a glimpse of her glistening curls. Her fingers sought out her clit and circled slowly moaning as she felt how wet her slit was. Delving first one finger then two into herself she moaned out Sherlock's name. She rolled over slightly to open the bedside drawer and brought out her trusty vibrator. She switched it on and started again at her breasts rubbing the vibrating tip around her nipples, dragging it round and round then down in the vee between her breasts and lightly over her stomach. With one hand she spread her folds open revelling in how wet she felt, and slid the vibrator along her slit, avoiding her sensitive clit. Plunging the vibrator to the hilt she moaned as her walls tightened around the hard vibrating phallus.
Sherlock gazed at Molly's glazed expression and dilated pupils and wondered how he could escape without her seeing him, he was feeling overwhelmed watching Molly pleasure herself, he felt every whimper and moan deep in his stomach, his cock quivering and twitching. He was starting to panic when suddenly Molly spoke.
Molly's voice was calm and deep and commanding, a tone he'd never heard from Molly before, it made his already rock hard cock harden and lengthen even more.
"Sherlock, either come and help me cum or fuck off so I can enjoy it in peace!"
Sherlock started as he realised she had known he was here all along and had been putting on a show for him. For the first time in all the years he had known Molly he felt himself to be the one at a disadvantage. He was unsure of himself and he really didn't like the feeling.
Taking a deep breath he walked to the bed and watched as Molly continued to move the vibrator in and out of her wet pussy. The impulse to run was uppermost in his mind, but slowly and surely the curious side of Sherlock's nature came to the fore and he watched, fascinated as Molly writhed on the bed.
He lifted his eyes to Molly's face and found her eyes locked on him, he felt a punch to his gut as he realised how beautiful his favourite pathologist actually was, especially in this moment. He felt like he had never seen her before, in truth he hadn't and the realisation hit him that he had used this woman over and over and hurt her countless times and every time he did, she forgave him without question. What he had initially thought to be her weakness was now, he realised, her biggest strength; her capacity to love and forgive was something he was suddenly grateful for.
Sherlock slipped off his coat and shoes and approached the bed….