Hello, this is my first published fic. Please, tell me what do you think, and as you'll see, I do ship them hard. ;)
His purple shirt. "Where the hell has it going?" He wonders.
He remembers he wore it on Monday, "you have to look good for press" John has told him.
He has literally looked for it in every corner of the 221B but nothing.
Yes, he wore it for press, his face and that shirt on every newspaper and tele of the city, tight around his well toned body, showing pale skin where a tie he insisted not to wear should be.
Little did he know Molly Hooper went to visit Baker Street when Mrs. Hudson was doing the laundry last Tuesday and she spotted it, teasing her and making her mind fly. Her fingers traces the soft silk shirt and she can't help but bite her lip to stop the moan of pleasure her limbic system is making her feel. Her lust makes her mind go wild and in a rush of adrenaline (she keeps blaming adrenaline of her actions) takes the shirt and places it inside her handbag. She makes such a ridiculous excuse for leave the apartment that even Mrs. Hudson asks her to "be more inventive" next time. She nods and leaves Baker Street.
When she arrives to her flat, she looks at herself in the mirror: face flushed, pouty lower lip and 'sex-eyes as her friend Rachel used to call them when they studied together at university. Shaking her head, she moves to her sofa, taking off her coat in the process and letting it fall down her arms to the wooden floor. She sighs and takes a seat on the right end of it, closes her eyes, trying to compose herself, staying like that for a couple of minutes, but, indeed, failing miserably. She opens her right eye, daring to look besides her and finding none other than her handbag, neatly placed on the opposite side of the sofa, a sleeve of Sherlock's shirt elegantly hanging out of it. She sighs and opens her other eye, turning a little to face her handbag, she licks her lips and timidly extends her arm and brings the handbag closer to her. Tentatively takes the purple piece of cloth out of its confines and she can´t help but bite on her lower lip as his cologne fills her nostrils, bringing memories of black curls, beautiful and filled with passion irises, luscious and such a kissable lips, wondering how'd they feel against… "Stop, Molly!" she tells to herself, but as her logic tells her to stop fantasizing with a certain consultant detective, her lust and desire tells the opposite, that's why she brings the shirt to her face and takes on the scent of manly cologne, the same that announces the presence of Mister Sherlock Holmes wherever he enters. She closes her eyes and shifts on the comfortable blue sofa, quickly placing the handbag on the coffee table to lay on it, letting her shoes off of her feet and moving till she's finally completely comfortable. Her eyes closes and purple on her left hand, she takes off the hair band that is holding the long brunette hair and lets it loosened, the same hand, moves to caress the side of her neck, feeling the pulse of her jugular increase "Adrenaline" she tells to herself and smiles, thinking how even in this situation she can't stop relate everything with medicine. The thoughts are cut off by her hand, when it moves to caress her collarbones, tracing the palpable bones with her fingertips and moving them down to cup her right breast, squeezing it softly and letting out a soft moan as she pinches her still clothed and already hard nipple. Hand keeps moving southern on her body as the other one fists harder his shirt, her fingers playing with the soft silk fabric; her hand slips on his pants and on her brand new black lace knickers, feeling how aroused and wet she is, she's also amazed at how the mere scent of him made her feel, (aroused, hot and hungry for him) and she can't take it anymore as her fingertips caress her little, now engorged nub, fingers slipping between her folds because of her wetness, she moans as the feeling overwhelms her, encouraging her hand to move faster in between her moistened folds, she places one of her fingers inside her, her thumb circling and caressing her clit, moaning against Sherlock's shirt; both, the feeling of her finger inside her, picturing him instead of herself and the scent of his shirt driving her closer to the edge. Fingers pumping inside her faster, deeper "Yes, just like that, Sherlock" she keeps finger fucking her pussy and she can't take it anymore and explodes, feels her muscles contract around her fingers as wetness pools in her folds, her moans stiffening on the purple material as she feels herself relax, still patting her folds and nub, she closes her eyes and falls asleep, pleasured and Sherlock Holmes in her mind.
It´s late on a surprising warm night and Mrs. Hudson notices the Holmes' flat lights are still on, sighing she boils some water and places it on a cup. She walks upstairs, wearing her nighties and opens the door. "Sherlock, I know you don't care, but we want to sleep, please, go sleep now, the lights are annoying" she tells him, placing the plate on the table besides him. He seems not to notice her presence so she turns around to walk out of the flat, murmuring something about John and control of Sherlock. The sweet smell of butter biscuits makes Sherlock get out of his trance and turns to look at the plate with a cup of tea and the origin of the smell besides him; his mind is going wild "Where do I left it?" "What if there's someone who wants to use my DNA?" "Was it Moriarty?" "Was it Mrs. Hudson and that new washing machine the reason of his lost?" he wonders in his mind, thoughts running on his head in an incredible fast speed.
Mrs. Hudson stops on her tracks before she closes the door and turns around "Oh, by the way, Sherlock" He grumbles at her interrupting his thoughts one more time "Mrs. Hudson…" he speaks in a warning tone, standing up and walking to Mrs. Hudson, making her walk outside the flat "Molly, Molly Hooper was looking for you earlier today, she brought me a cooking book, such a lovely lady…" Sherlock stops the door at the name of the pathologist and gets into the old lady words, he sighs and smiles softly to her "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson, and goodnight. Sorry about the lights" He kisses her cheek and closes the door.
He smiles at the thought of Mrs. Hudson, she's such a kind person, not that he's going to ever admit it to others but she is, she does his laundry, cooks for him, brings him tea, and takes his messages. His messages. Maybe he now knows where the location of his shirt is.
Sitting on his chair, blowing on her cup of tea, Sherlock smirks and sips elegantly on his hot beverage. Places the plate with biscuits Mrs. Hudson brought him and takes out his mobile, typing a new text and pressing the send button, takes another sip of his tea and crosses his leg, enjoying the power of his deductions.
Molly Hooper's mobile ringtone wakes her up, she carefully turns around not to fall to the wooden floor and takes his mobile out of her handbag. ´My, my, Molly. Playing the bad girl now? I believe you have something that is mine and I want it back. –SH´. She smirks as she finishes reading it and types a response, standing up of the sofa and walking to her room. She decides that night has the perfect weather to wear a light nightie, so she changes into nothing but Sherlock's purple shirt, pooling on her fit body, she hops on bed and lays closing her eyes, a smile spread on her face.
When Sherlock is walking to his room, his mobile beeps again and he reads the text, smirking at the words. ´If you think I have it, then come and get it. –MH´. He chuckles and shakes his head as hops inside his bed, his mind only focusing on Molly Hooper, his Molly Hooper's mind palace. He'd get back his favorite shirt, oh and how will he do it.