This story is for MrsMCrieff. About a year ago she made a comment on Clothing Malfunctions (ironically enough, we're back to clothing once again) and we started chatting. That started it all. Now I can't go a day without talking to her. We're celebrating a year of fanfictionfriendship by gifting each other stories. Her story is called Smokin' Hot. It will no doubt, be amazing... and hot! Go read it! I had a naughty request for an activity that I no longer part in, but I do love seeing our favorite detective occasionally indulge. (I know it's bad, don't judge!)
A special thanks to MizJoely for betaing this story. She was, as usual, amazing and insightful. She's truly a wonderful friend. I take full credit for any and all mistakes you might find though, those are all mine.
Warning: There are tiny little mentions of/images of bondage at the end. Nothing too graphic though.
I own nothing. Enjoy.
~Mrs, Thank you for everything. Thank you for putting up with my histrionics. Thank you for all the photos and gifs (especially of Graves falling down), and for making me laugh. Thank you for teaching me about Brit Life and constantly answering my inane questions (even if it causes you to burn your tea). Thank you for helping me to trust people again, and believe that friendship doesn't have to be painful or cruel. I hope this story expresses how much you mean to me.~ Lil
Molly sat in the Path lab in the foulest of moods, papers spread out in front of her, rage building by the minute. She usually dealt with paper work in her office, but not today. No, today she was fixing mistakes and needed the extra space to lay out every inventory report she'd printed, in order to find out which intern had screwed up. She was gonna find them, and then she was gonna make their life a living hell. When she was an intern, she had to do inventory, and she had done it with pride. Not the sloppy mess that she was looking at. She had it narrowed down to two suspects.
She was closing in.
Suddenly the lab doors banged open. Molly looked up and sighed. Not today, she internally groaned. My God, he just wore 'em two days ago. And three times last week. She immediately averted her eyes back to the piles of reports on the counter and greeted him, "Hello Sherlock." And hello Sherlock's jeans.
"Molly," he replied.
After the initial greeting, she kept her head down and focused on sifting through the information, though she couldn't keep her eyes from cutting up at the man every so often. It was a warm June evening and he'd left off the Belstaff. He immediately removed his suit jacket, tossing it over the bench next to him. Really... the purple shirt too? Is he trying to kill me? she wondered as she looked away just in time to keep from being caught. I've done so well staying focused while he prances about looking like my wildest wet dream come to life... well, at least lately, she thought. No! I have an inept intern to eviscerate.
Molly sighed loudly as she resumed her work. Unfortunately, that caught Sherlock's attention...
Sherlock had chosen his attire with great care. He had paired his tightest jeans with the purple shirt that he knew had captured Molly's attention on many, many occasions. As he walked into the lab he saw the look on her face as she took in his appearance. Was it attraction, arousal, annoyance? He just couldn't tell anymore. Once was a time he could read her every thought, almost before she had them. But that was the Molly Hooper of three years ago. Suddenly she was... a challenge. And Sherlock Holmes loved a challenge.
Unfortunately what started out as a game three months ago, had somehow, become an... obsession.
Molly once adored him, now she seemed indifferent. Her once warm and welcoming personality was now nearly, but not quite, cold. And she was definitely distracted. But by what? Was she deliberately trying to distance herself from him? He'd already eliminated the possibility of a new lover in her life. She was clearly not having regular (or any!) sex. Something had changed, but what was it? He couldn't figure it out. Not that he was dedicating a great deal of time to the Molly Problem. Well, not at first at any rate. She still helped out when he needed her but didn't seem as eager to please - as pliable. That in and of itself wasn't entirely surprising given the events of the past year and a half. He had entertained the idea that she simply wasn't over his behaviour surrounding the events at Appledore. What was surprising, however, was the fact that he actually missed her adoration, her devotion.
He realised this about two weeks into his this little exercise. Contrary to popular belief, he wasn't completely oblivious when it came to self-analysis. One day, after failing to garner a reaction from Molly during a particularly impressive deductive rant, he went home and considered the situation. He decided that, yes, he indeed wanted his old Molly back. Then he realised something else, something far more disturbing, something that took another month and a half for him to come to terms with. He realised that he wanted Molly.
That's when the dreams started.
He'd wake up, sweaty, hot, panting. Molly's name on his lips, memories of long brown hair, kiss stained lips, moans, her moans. Breasts, small yes, but firm and delicious. In his dreams he'd had her on her knees, on her back, in his chair (okay, that one wasn't a dream so much as a fantasy) she'd let him fuck her until they both cried out their completion. He'd never had dreams like this in his life. So vivid, so unforgettable.
He was suddenly very grateful for the fact John had met Mary Morstan, married her and moved out. The situation would have been unbearably unconformable with his blogger around. John had a tendency to see but not observe, but the man wasn't deaf.
Though not practiced in the art of seduction, he was Sherlock Holmes and he would figure it out. So he'd set out to find a way back into Molly Hooper's heart, because that was the way to her bed. He decided getting her attention was the first step, hence the change in his attire.
Today's dismissive Hello Sherlock and attempt to concentrate was indicative of her recent behaviour. But Sherlock didn't miss Molly's glances at him while she worked. Then that sigh. Is that frustration, Molly? Good, he thought. My patience is wearing thin and these jeans are not comfortable.
Finally Sherlock stood up from the bench and walked over to glance at Molly's piles of reports. He rolled up his shirt sleeves as he walked. This never fails to get her attention. As he got closer he could smell her shampoo, her body wash and the natural fragrance that was Molly. He shivered, but thankfully he was behind her by this point.
"I could just tell you which one made the mistake," he said leaning slightly closer than necessary and looking over her shoulder. "Mistakes, I should say."
Molly jerked her head up, dropping her pen in the process. She turned to face him. "Thank you, but no. I think I'm pretty close actually. I'd like to figure this out on my own." She started for the pen, which had rolled about five feet away, but Sherlock held up a hand, signaling that he'd get it for her. He walked over, bent down, facing away from her, and picked it up.
"Your pen, M'Lady," he said with a grin, as he handed it to her.
Oh sweet Mother of Jesus, he's trying to kill me, she thought as she watched the already tight jeans mold themselves across that perfectly biteable bottom. Molly held her breath in order to keep from letting a gasp or, God forbid, a moan escape from her mouth. She smiled and accepted the writing implement from the divine specimen in front of her. Wait, did he just say M'Lady? What the hell?
She shook it off. "Thank you, Sherlock." He's pouring it on thick today, isn't he?
He gave her a grin, an almost... seductive, grin and nodded once. But he didn't move, he stayed by her side, eyeing her.
"Is there something you need?" she asked.
Your legs wrapped around my face, begging me not to stop. "No, just ah..."
"Bored?"
Desperately horny, I think is the vernacular. "A bit. No cases. John's being annoying and Gregory..."
Molly smiled, an adorable little giggle escaped her mouth.
"What?" he asked.
"You got it right."
Oh damn... I did. "Well, it was bound to happen eventually." He rolled his eyes and tried to play off his slip of the tongue. "At any rate... I thought perhaps you could entertain me."
Molly narrowed her eyes. Sherlock immediately assumed he'd made an error and quickly started to back track. But Molly spoke up.
"You know what? I could use a break," she said capping her pen. "The more I look at these reports, the more I think of interesting ways of inflicting pain upon interns. What did you have in mind?"
Sherlock breathed an internal sigh of relief as his mind flooded with dozens of filthy suggestions at once. But he schooled his reaction. Molly seemed to be acting like her old self once again, at least somewhat. He wondered if it was finally time to move this forward. Forget all the game playing and just flat out ask her... though he wouldn't beg... no, Sherlock Holmes never begged.
Molly had by no means been deliberately trying to distance herself from Sherlock, as he assumed. No, she was just overworked, and trying to keep her focus there instead of Sherlock and his neediness. She was actually aware of his recent attempts to catch her attention. She knew he liked to be the star of the show, the grand dame... such a drama queen. The last few months she simply didn't have the patience for it. She wasn't exactly upset with the man, just too busy to deal with his shenanigans. She helped him when he need her and even got him his requisite coffee, but didn't go out of her way to fawn over him like she used to. What was the point anyway? He was Sherlock Holmes and she was Molly Hooper. It was almost amusing watching him try to catch her attention once again. There were times, if she really thought about it, that she found it insulting. He didn't want her, but he needed her to want him.
The egomaniac.
Finally she decided that it didn't really matter, she knew her place and if he needed a little attention, what did it hurt... really? Besides, she could use a distraction.
"Are you working on an experiment?" she asked, glancing over to his work station.
Sherlock's eyes cut to the side as he pursed his beautiful lips then said, "Of sorts."
Molly stood up and folded her arms across her chest. "What are you doing, Sherlock?" Besides being unbelievably sexy.
He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Hmm, no. I can't really call this an experiment."
"And why not?"
"Because that would be... insulting and inaccurate."
Oh, so we're speaking in riddles now. "What would you call it, then?"
Sherlock moved closer to Molly, she watched as his eyes darted from her eyes to her lips and then back again. "Would you like to have an adventure, Molly Hooper?"
There was something about the way he said it... it was so fucking erotic. Molly felt her pulse speed up and knew she was blushing. Damn my pale skin. She couldn't let her overactive imagination (and under-utilized reproductive bits) run away with her. She swallowed, trying to do something about her suddenly dry mouth. "I thought you said you were caseless."
"It's not a case," he answered, not missing a beat.
"I'm still working."
"Your shift ended forty-eight minutes ago."
Molly licked her lips and tried to think of a reason why she couldn't join Sherlock on his adventure. Nope, nothing. "Okay." She turned to the reports that were sprawled across the lab desk. "Let me just..."
"I'll take care of that. Go get your things," he interrupted.
"But I need to keep them in order. I still have to figure out..."
"It was Carlow. He's an idiot and a compulsive liar. He also has the worst halitosis I've experienced in my entire life," he continued his deductions as he stacked papers.
Molly turned toward her office. Even I knew that, she thought. What the hell have I gotten myself into?
As Sherlock sat next to Molly in the back of a cab on the way to 221B Baker Street he found a sort of nervous anticipation building. It felt like the moment in a case when the first vital clue presented itself. Like he was just starting to figure it all out, but not quite there yet.
He wondered if she'd be surprised to find out that he'd been dreaming about her. Should I tell her or is that giving too much away? That could be quite enjoyable... yes. Nothing wrong with a little dirty talk. More like filthy, considering the things he'd imagined doing to the woman sitting to his right. He suddenly remembered his most recent dream. He'd taken Molly up against his kitchen counter while she clung to him, her blunt nails digging into his back. She'd begged him to keep fucking her, to never stop. She told him she loved his cock, her legs wrapped around his back, her face buried in his shoulder. He glanced over to see Molly looking out at the passing buildings. She was so unassuming in her tan trousers and floral button-up. Noting special. Yet... He shifted in his seat. Oh God, not now. He took a deep breath.
"Sherlock, are we going to Baker Street?" Molly asked.
"Well spotted, Dr. Hooper," he said trying to sound casual, not incredibly aroused... because he was.
"Our adventure is at your flat?"
"Indeed."
Molly angled her body towards his. "What exactly will we be doing?"
This was the moment, wasn't it? Could he simply lay it on the line here in the back of a black cab? I'll just tell Molly Hooper that I've been dreaming about having her lovely little body underneath mine for weeks, and that I must make that dream a reality tonight. Sherlock took a deep breath looked into Molly's beautiful brown eyes and...
Suddenly the cab jerked to a stop. "Here we are sir."
Perhaps that wasn't the moment.
Molly was confused. She was confused and more than a little aroused. Sherlock was acting very strange. Was he in such need of her attention that he would actually attempt to seduce her? The very idea was beyond absurd. But he was acting so... No... The more likely scenario was that he'd collected all the cadaver parts she'd given him throughout the years, managed to store them, preserve them, and Molly was being led upstairs to witness him do his best to reanimate some monster of a creature. She was simply to be Dr. Frankenstein's assistant for the evening. A belly laugh escaped from Molly before she had a chance to try and control herself.
They were standing in front of the door to the flat, Sherlock turned and looked at Molly with a curious eye. "Something amusing, Dr. Hooper?"
"Unbelievably so."
He unlocked the door and let Molly in first. "Make yourself at home," he said as he once again removed his jacket, depositing it on John's chair.
Molly chose to sit on the settee since John's chair was occupied and there was no way she was sitting in Sherlock's. His hands in his pockets, Sherlock turned to her and asked, "Would you like something to drink?"
"Tea?" she asked as she dropped her bag on the floor.
"I was thinking something a bit more... adventurous. Perhaps Mycroft's emergency scotch." He winked then headed to the kitchen.
This was decidedly not reanimating corpses. Molly felt a familiar fluttering in her stomach. What is he playing at? She looked at the door and considered making a run for it. There had to be an end game, Sherlock always had some sort of plan. He clearly wanted something from her, this wasn't just about getting her attention anymore.
Soon enough Sherlock returned with two tumblers and a bottle of scotch. Somehow he'd lost his shoes and socks. His lovely purple shirt was untucked as well. It was possibly the most casual she'd ever seen him look.
"Why does Mycroft keep emergency booze at your flat?" she asked, trying to seem unaffected by his state of dress.
Sherlock sat down very close to her, only about a foot separating them. "He comes here to hide from Mummy." Sherlock poured them each a finger.
Molly picked up the glass closest to her and shook her head. Grown men calling their mother mummy, it never failed to amuse her. "Isn't that dangerous? Both of you at the same place? And a bit obvious, I would think." She took a drink. Good God, this stuff's amazing.
"It's genius, actually, though I'd never admit that to him. We don't exactly socialize, Molly." He took a large drink as he reclined putting his arm on the back of the settee, behind Molly's head. "This is the last place she'd look." He then crossed one leg over the other, leaning toward her. He studied her for a moment then said, "We didn't make a toast."
"It's too late now," she replied.
"Is it?" he asked. The question definitely had a double meaning, the way he phrased it, it was unmistakable. His eyes were burning her and the already heavily charged atmosphere seemed to change once again.
"I suppose we could make our own rules," she said, not really knowing how to respond.
Sherlock swallowed, and she watched his Adam's apple make the journey down his throat then back up again. He then brought his glass up in front of him, Molly mimicked his actions.
"To making our own rules and having our own adventurers." Sherlock tapped his glass to Molly's then took a drink.
Okay, there was no mistaking that! That was a come-on. Sherlock Holmes had just used a line on her. What the actual fuck? She took a much larger drink this time, trying to decide whether or not she was pleased about this. Of course, it all depended on his motivation, didn't it? "Sherlock, just how bored are you?" she asked.
She's suspicious. It's time to convince her, make my intentions clear. "Right now?" he asked as he put his, now empty, glass on the coffee table. "Not bored at all."
Sherlock watched as Molly drained the rest of his brother's expensive scotch, then put the tumbler on the table next to her. He considered offering her another, however he wanted her completely lucid for what was about to occur.
She turned back to him and said, "Then what are you, exactly?" She licked her lips; her breathing had quickened and she was rubbing her thighs. He didn't think she was even aware she was doing it.
He knew he should say something subtle and seductive, but the build-up had been too much. Besides, he couldn't resist... "Hard," he said and he watched Molly's dilated eyes flick to his lap and quickly back to his face. "I have been since the cab."
She let out a breathy sigh, so Sherlock decided to continue, "I've dreamt of you, Molly." He moved closer, putting one hand on her knee. "Completely inappropriate dreams to have about one's friend and colleague." He moved his other hand to the back of her head, holding onto her ponytail and using it to tilt her slightly towards him. "Would you like to hear about them?" he said, deliberately lowering his voice.
Molly nodded.
He moved until his nose came into contact with her throat, his hand traveled up her thigh. "I dream about kissing you... here." He placed wet, open mouthed kisses along the expanse of her neck. This is what Molly Hooper tastes like. Fuck me! He sighed in contentment as he felt Molly's hands land on his shoulders. He had to refocus to get back to his task. "I dream of your breasts, tasting them, biting them. Leaving them marked." He moved up to her ear. "In my dreams you let me taste you... everywhere. I devour you." He sucked her earlobe into his mouth as she whispered a curse. "I touch you and tease you... and I fuck you. I've had you so many times, in so many ways. But only in my dreams, Molly."
So caught up in the retelling of his nocturnal adventurers, he hadn't realised that the hand on her thigh and migrated to her centre, his thumb rubbing her not-so-gently through her sensible trousers. He pulled back to see that Molly was on the verge of... something. Her eyes were shut tight, she was biting her lip, her head thrown back. No, not like this, he thought. But he did take notice that she was already so wet that he could feel it.
He took a deep breath and stopped immediately, causing Molly to whimper a complaint. "I want to see you," he said leaning into her and cupping her face. Then he watched as reality washed over her. She looked as if she wanted to speak, but didn't quite know what to say. "Not just sex." He paused knowing there was more to be said, but no quite knowing what to say. "Is that- is that enough?" He held his breath and waited for Molly's reaction. He knew that this was THE moment. It could all crash and burn right here...
"I can't get undressed with you on top of me," she said, pushing gently on his chest.
Sherlock jumped back like Molly was made of fire and started helping her unbutton her shirt. Their hands tangled more than once, but finally she tossed the garment onto the floor. I love it when I'm right. Molly's choice of undergarment was just as lovely as he'd expected. A lacy blue thing, that frankly needed to be gone. As if reading his mind Molly reached behind her back to unclasp it, then let it fall. Suddenly she was bare from the waist up.
Sherlock's mouth went dry and his cock throbbed. "Sit on my lap, Molly." He needed her, now.
She raised an eyebrow. "I'd be happy to, on one condition: if you take off that fucking shirt, it haunts my dreams. I think I deserve to see what's happening underneath." Molly stood up and started removing her trousers.
Sherlock divested himself of his dress shirt, never taking his eyes off of the beauty in front of him. The sight was breath-taking. Her breasts were even better than he'd imagined, firm and round with perfect pink, slightly upturned nipples. There was more of her to see, more data to collect, but he couldn't take his eyes off of her breasts. He reached for his zip, but Molly, now dressed only in her knickers, stopped him.
"Wait, not yet." She climbed onto his lap, straddling his thighs.
"Molly, for the record, those dreams didn't include you teasing me until death took me."
She let out a laugh like nothing he'd ever heard. Sherlock held her onto thighs tightly, trying to ground himself. He hadn't even kissed her and he felt like he was about to come in his pants like a teenager. When did I lose control of this situation?
Molly wasn't about to let Sherlock have all the fun. No. He didn't know everything about her, that was evident by the look on his face when she told him to leave his jeans on. No doubt he'd deduced her preferences the moment they met six years ago. But that was six years ago. A lot had changed since then. She wasn't nearly as meek as she once was.
She was Molly Hooper and she was pretty damn awesome.
As she climbed onto Sherlock's lap she realised she should have been in awe of the situation, but she wasn't. This had been a long time coming, in fact. What the hell not just sex meant, she had no idea. She had her doubts that it meant the same to her as it did to him, but she wasn't letting this opportunity slip through her hands.
When he accused her of teasing him to his death, she couldn't help but laugh. Didn't he know how much she wanted him? "I'm not teasing, Sherlock." She ran a finger just under the waistband of his jeans. "I just want the pleasure I taking these off... myself," Molly said as she leaned close, their lips almost touching.
She felt Sherlock's cock twitch beneath her then he closed the distance and their lips finally connected. There was no soft, chaste prelude to this kiss, it was instantly intense, instantly consuming. His tongue was in her mouth before she could adjust to the feel of his lips. He gripped the back of her head with one hand and her thigh with the other. Teeth clashed, Sherlock growled and Molly heard herself whimper.
Sherlock pulled back slightly, their lips still touching. "Fuck, Molly get on with it."
Molly ground down on his lap feeling his erection through his jeans. The friction was delicious. "Ever hear of foreplay, Sherlock?"
His head dropped to the back of the settee with another growl, this time of frustration. Molly took advantage. She leant forward and began doing a bit of devouring herself. Oh that neck, she'd dreamed of that neck. So long, so elegant as he'd lean over the microscope, focused on solving a puzzle. As soon as her mouth came into contact with his skin he made a hissing sound and his hands found her hair, pulling out the band holding it up. He gripped the back of her head and pulled her hair as she nipped at his throat.
His patience must have well and truly been gone because as Molly moved her assault down to his chest, Sherlock slipped a hand between her legs. He stroked her through her pants and said, "Molly, do you have any idea how tight these jeans are? I'm in pain here."
She considered letting him continue his work, it did feel fantastic, but she finally took pity on the man and dropped to the floor between his legs. She lightly danced her fingers up his thighs, loving the coarse texture of the fabric under her hands, but even more, loving the way his thighs trembled slightly at her touch. Then she moved one hand up to the impressive bulge beneath the material, stoking him firmly. She heard Sherlock moan and looked up to see his mouth moving, though no words came out. She had no idea what he was saying, but she had a feeling he was attempting to concentrate on something to keep from embarrassing himself. She couldn't help the intense pride she felt at that moment.
She undid the button, then slowly, carefully, pulled down the zip. That's when she heard Sherlock whisper, "Thank Christ." But instead of releasing him she immediately started kissing, licking, biting the skin that covered his amazingly taught abdominal muscles. Sherlock bucked up, pressing his still-clothed prick into Molly's chest. The man was desperate, and she knew it.
"Oh God, Molly... you have to do something." He was nearly, but not quite, begging. His voice still had an air of authority.
She continued. Her tongue found his navel and she licked him from his bellybutton to his pelvic bone then back again. She tugged down the jeans and his pants until she found the top of his curls. Oh, she could smell him, that natural Sherlock scent, but also something else that spoke of arousal and want. Now she was tormenting herself. Sherlock's hands were in her hair and he was still bucking up toward her, grunting with effort. Molly snaked her hands underneath him and squeezed his ass, that ass she'd dreamed about, all the while never stopping her oral assault.
Finally Sherlock broke.
"Please, Molly I need you. I need your mouth. Oh... Fuck, please!"
Molly sat up and quickly freed him from the confines of the jeans. Oh... hello! What a lovely sight. Long and thick, but not frighteningly so. She looked up at Sherlock. He was breathing heavily, a look of shock on his face, whether it was because of what she was about to do or because she'd made him beg, she didn't know.
His cock was already leaking as Molly held it firmly. It felt hot and heavy in her hand, as she licked the pearl of liquid off of the tip, never taking her eyes away from his. She was going to enjoy this...
I just fucking begged... He couldn't believe it, though the thought quickly banished itself as Molly's small hand took hold of his cock, then her lovely pink tongue darted out and she licked him. Oh, I'm not going to make it, he thought just as Molly closed her eyes and slowly took him into her hot little mouth. He suddenly wondered why he had asked for this, he'd never be able to keep from coming down Molly's throat. Deeper and deeper. In and out. She constantly worked him with her hand and lips, using just enough teeth, her tongue licking him as she sucked. Her other hand was suddenly on his balls, gently tugging.
And that was it. It was overwhelmingly good... no, amazing. He dug his hands into Molly's hair and thrust his hips up as he came feeling her swallow his seed. Oh, I love her mouth... I love her lips, her tongue... Oh, God... I love her. Molly Hooper I love you!
His body finally relaxed after the mind-numbing orgasm. He felt boneless, and lighter than he'd felt in his entire life, including his myriad of experiences with drugs, or at least that's how it felt in that moment. After a few minutes he realised that the flat was almost completely silent, except for his laboured breathing. He looked down to find Molly staring up at him, wide-eyed, flushed and slightly terrified. He had to think for a moment... then it hit him. I said that out loud, didn't I? Oh God! Was that the orgasm speaking or... or...
"Molly, I..." Sherlock started, but she stood up quickly and started gathering her clothes.
"It-it's okay, Sherlock, really. Sex can be overwhelming. I understand. Um, it's just that... well that's a bit more than 'not just sex'. So, I'm gonna go. Before..." She was still looking for a shoe as her sentence died. She started for the door, still nearly naked, only one shoe in hand and clutching her clothing. Where she thought she was going in that state, he had no idea.
Sherlock jumped up from the settee, adjusted himself en-route and lunged for her just as she reached the door knob. "Stop, please." He tightly held her hips, pressing himself to her back. "Molly," he breathed her name against her hair. "I-I..." Damnit. "Okay, I s-said, what I said. I..."
She shook her head. "You didn't mean it."
Did he? If she left right now, hurt, confused and rejected, could he live with himself- with the consequences? Could he live with the possibility of Molly never wanting to see him again, not just in the lab, but at all? No more Molly Hooper. Because that's what he was facing on the other side of that door. This was a turning point. How he'd not seen this as a possible outcome, he wasn't sure. Feelings, of course. He considered it and considered it some more as she stood pressed between him and his door, trembling.
NO! No, he couldn't- wouldn't live without this woman. I suppose that only means one thing. Well, this is unexpected...
"I did," he spoke softly into her ear. "I meant it Molly. I may have only just realised it, but that doesn't make it any less true." He brushed her hair off her neck, tucking it over her other shoulder. "I suppose the rest is up to you." He placed a soft kiss just below her ear. He wanted one more taste, in case he was about to be rejected. Then he stepped back.
She didn't turn around immediately but finally, after what felt like an eternity, she took a deep breath and turned to face him, dropping the bundle of clothes in the process. "Really?"
Sherlock nodded. "Yes," he simply stated.
"I stopped thinking..." She looked away as if she was still collecting her thoughts. "I stopped hoping, Sherlock."
He stepped closer, kicking her clothes out of the way. "I know." He brought his hands to her face. "And now I realise that I hated seeing that hope die, because I needed it. When you loved me, I felt human. I felt... honoured, Molly. I thought I just craved your attention, then your body. But what I need is... perhaps it is too late." He let his hands fall.
A few beats passed in silence. He wasn't looking at her anymore, but her could feel her eyes on him. Is this how I made her feel all these years? Fuck, it's awful. She was thinking, but so was he. Everything was coming together, the puzzle was solving itself.
"I said I stopped hoping... not loving." He looked at her once again and found her big brown eyes shining with unshed tears. "I've never stopped loving you, Sherlock. I just tried to distract myself and pretend that I was too busy to feel my heart breaking... anymore."
She still loves me. "Molly," he whispered just before placing his hands back on her face and taking her mouth in his. This kiss was slow, exploratory. It felt so very different. He just held her lips in his for a long, peaceful moment before sucking her bottom lip into his mouth then slipping his tongue in gently. He took his time, he needed her to feel what he was feeling, to know that he was being sincere. She still loves me, he thought over and over as he kissed her.
Is 'happily terrified' an emotion? Molly wondered as Sherlock whispered her name then kissed her in a way she'd never been kissed before in her life. She felt like she was floating and drowning at the same time. She didn't want it to stop but she was still disorientated by his orgasmic I love you and his explanation. It had been so much easier when they were just going to have sex... well, not just sex, he said that, but...
Sherlock kissed across Molly's jaw, her neck, down to her chest. He walked her back until she was suddenly against the door once again. He cupped both breasts at once and mumbled something about how perfect she was against her skin. She tried to listen but she was still hovering in some nebulous place between anxiety and bliss.
His hands still on her breasts, fingers toying with her nipples, he looked her in the eyes and suddenly stopped. "You don't believe me." His hands moved to her hips. "H-how do I..."
Molly watched as he licked his lips, then puff out a breath, his shoulders slumped. He'd never looked so desperate, so utterly lost. Oh, my God... he loves me. He really does. Shit. Sherlock reached up and stroked her cheek and she realised that she was crying. He was drying her tears. "I'm an ugly crier," she said before she could stop the words.
He smiled. "Just tell me how to make you happy."
"I am happy, Sherlock. But if you want to stop the crying, sex might work." And most importantly, don't break my heart.
"Does that mean..."
Molly nodded her head. "I'm still scared though, Sherlock. I thought we were going be sewing together body parts..."
"What?" he interrupted.
"Then we were drinking Mycroft's scotch and making toasts and talking about dreams... Now you suddenly love me. It's a lot to take in."
"Understandable. We could, ah, wait. If you'd prefer." He stood back, hands on his hips.
Well, that would prove it, wouldn't it? Although, he'd already come, so... Molly considered it. Then she considered the man in front of her, standing there all beautifully disheveled, half dressed and perfectly shaggable. Oh, and he loved her.. so, yeah, no waiting.
"I don't want to wait. I trust you." She released a deep breath.
"But you're scared?"
"That doesn't mean I don't want you," she said with a smile, finally feeling her confidence returning.
Sherlock picked Molly up and she immediately wrapped her legs around his hips as he kissed her like his life depended on it. One hand under her arse, one on the back of her head, his mind reeled. He tried to banish all the implications of everything they'd just discussed at the moment and focus on giving her pleasure, not an easy task for a mind like his, but he'd do it, for her. Molly's nails cutting into his shoulder blades, her tongue tangling with his as he swallowed her moans, did wonders to keep his mind focused.
He turned with her, having every intention of walking through the kitchen, down the short hallway to his bedroom, but suddenly it seemed too far. Then he had a stroke of brilliance. He settled her back on the floor, near the end of the coffee table, which was clear except for his empty tumbler. Mrs. Hudson had been on a cleaning rampage earlier that day and had made him put away all his papers and other detritus, so she could dust it off. Bless that woman. She was the best housekeeper he could have ever hoped for!
Molly seemed momentarily confused until he knocked the glass onto the floor, surprisingly not breaking it, then returning to her. "Sit. I assure you it's sturdy enough. I stand on it frequently and you weigh significantly less than I do."
She sat down and Sherlock immediately knelt between her legs. He'd never felt such an overwhelming sense of primal need in his life. He needed to consume this woman in front of him, he needed to make her his. To prove himself to her.
He kissed her gently as he could. Molly whimpered as she buried her hands into his hair and tugged. That's when he nearly lost control, deepening the kiss, sucking her tongue into his mouth as a growl came from deep inside. Breaking the kiss he moved to her neck, her clavicle, then to her delectable breasts. Molly leant back, bracing her arms on the table and giving him full access. He took his time with each until they were nearly red with his marks. Molly encouraged him with her moans and the occasional adorable squeak.
Sherlock kissed and licked and bit his way down her flat stomach. She took the hint and slowly let her body drop to the table's surface, hissing at the coolness of the wood. By the time he reached the top of her pants he was in no mood to tease. He pulled them off immediately to find neatly trimmed curls. She was so wet, not surprising considering how long they'd been at it. He draped her legs over his shoulders, spread her with his thumbs and buried his face in her cunt. Molly let out a lustful sigh, followed by a moan. He licked her from her center to her clitoris, collecting as much of her juices as he could, then flattened his tongue against the bundle of nerves. He moved his hands up her body taking hold of both breasts at once. He alternated between licking, sucking and nibbling at her clit until Molly was cursing, begging him not to stop, her thighs tightening around his head. She soon lost control; he felt the moment her orgasm washed over her. She called out to him, bucked up into his face as he pinched both nipples at once and he moved his mouth lower to drink her up. It was utter bliss. She tasted like sin itself. He knew he could never stop now.
He was an addict, after all.
What the hell? Was all Molly could think as she came back to earth after the orgasm to end all orgasms. That was... well, no... I can't try to put it to words right now... As her breathing normalized she was acutely aware of one thing: empty, she felt empty, she needed him, now! She managed to sit up to see Sherlock was still kneeling between her legs, wiping off his mouth, a very smug look on that gorgeous face. She had the presence of mind to twist her body to her left and grab for her purse. After a moment of blind digging, she found a condom. As she sat at back up she saw Sherlock starting to stand. No! She said as much and he cocked his head to the side. Then she tossed the johnnie on the floor next to him and crawled onto his lap.
"I'm not waiting anymore. Here... now," she said before kissing him, tasting herself on his lips, his tongue.
He wrapped his arms around her back as he let them fall to the floor, though in fairness, she didn't give him much of a choice.
She kissed his amazing cheekbones, his temples, his eyelids, then whispered, "I need you Sherlock, please don't make me wait." She kept kissing him as he fumbled with his jeans and pants. She didn't stop as he kicked his legs free. She sucked a mark onto his neck as he blindly searched for the condom, making a very out-of-character victory cry when he found it. She had moved to his nipples, biting one as she pinched the other, just as she heard the foil ripping open. She sat up, snatching it from his hand and rolling it on.
Time suddenly slowed down. She looked at this man who had consumed so much of her life over the last six years, so much heartache, so much pain, so much excitement, but so much love. This was really happening. He loved her... and she had always, always loved him. She started to tell him, to say the words, it seemed like the right moment, like an important thing to say... before.
Then something happened.
"My God Molly, I love you," Sherlock said, his voice actually shaky and strained.
He'd already said it, it shouldn't have mattered that he said it again. But it did. It mattered that he said it now, like this.
She could feel herself starting to get emotional once again, and she'd be damned if she was going to ruin this moment with more fucking tears. "I love you too, Sherlock." She raised up and impaled herself on his beautiful cock.
Perfect, so tight, so hot... Fucking hell, her cunt is actually perfect. Sherlock had no idea if he was saying or thinking the words, he was too far gone. The sensations were almost too much. Molly was riding him, her hands on his chest, her heat engulfing him, her moans and breathy sighs in his ears, driving him closer to his own completion. It was magnificent. He thrust up to meet her, grunting with effort as he held tightly to her fleshy hips. She was so soft, yet unyielding. The contradiction was delicious, and kept him wanting more. In his dreams she was malleable, she bent to his every whim. The reality was so much better. She was a force to be reckoned with.
She leant forward grinding herself on his pelvis, seeking the stimulation she needed. Sherlock suddenly sat up; she followed his lead, using his shoulders to steady herself. He braced himself with one hand and pressed his other between them. She might not be shy, but neither was he. Nor was he inexperienced, and she would find her end before him or he'd die trying, though the chances of that happening... Focus! Sherlock started rubbing Molly's clit. The effect was instantaneous. Molly threw her head back then she came forward for a quick, hard kiss.
She put her forehead on his. "Yes, that's it! You- you feel so fucking good! Oh God, I'm gonna... yes... yes!"
He felt her start to flutter against him, tightening more than he thought possible. She tossed her head back once again and called his name, clutching him close to her. Molly's orgasm triggered Sherlock's. A quick tightening of his balls and he was coming, grunting into her shoulder like some kind of animal. White hot light exploding behind his eyes. Then he was whispering her name over and over as his cock shuddered in small aftershocks.
He didn't want to pull out. He didn't want to ever be apart from Molly Hooper's glorious body. He held her tightly, hoping with everything he had, that she felt the same. Don't ever leave me. Please. I won't survive it. Please, Molly.
Molly was running her hands up and down his back and making hushing sounds. Why? Oh, he thought. I said that out loud. I have to stop doing that. Orgasms have a strange effect on me...
"Who hurt you, Sherlock?" she whispered, leaning back so she could look him in the eyes.
"What?"
"Why did you say that? Why are you afraid that I'll leave you?" she asked as she ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair.
He was completely overwhelmed. So many feelings, so much stimulation. His instinct was to shut down, hide away in his mind. But that wasn't an option, and he knew it. He had recently learned enough about human nature to know that that would kill all the good that they had just built.
"I've never been loved before, Molly. Not like this. I don't want it to... st-stop." He was suddenly at a loss for words. He knew he sounded like a child, but he knew of no other way to phrase it. Not to mention his now-softened cock was slipping out of her as she shifted on his lap. Timing, he thought to himself.
But Molly just smiled as she sat back further on his legs. She reached down and removed the condom, tossing it in a nearby bin. Then she returned her gaze to him. "Sherlock, I've loved you through everything. All the ugliness, all the brilliance." She took his face in her hands. "I have no intention of stopping. Do you?"
He shook his head.
"Good," she replied, with a soft kiss to his lips.
"Now what?" He was truly lost.
"Well, I need a shower, food and sleep. Perhaps another shag at some point."
The shift was almost too quick for him to process, but he managed. Perhaps it was the promise of more sex. Sherlock couldn't help the predatory smile that had formed. "I can definitely get on board with some of those. However, food will have to be ordered, and I'm not sure I will allow you to sleep, Miss Hooper."
Molly rolled her eyes and kissed his nose.
Sherlock huffed. He'd have a talk with her about nose kisses.
"Dear God, what have I started?" she asked as she stood up.
"Technically, I started it with the jeans and all."
"Please, I've been imagining this moment for years," she said making her way through the kitchen and down the hall.
"Yes, but I made the first move, so to speak." Sherlock followed right behind.
Molly stopped and turned around, putting her hands on his chest. "What exactly would you call me asking you out for coffee right after I watched you beating a corpse with a riding crop?" She raised an eyebrow.
Sherlock swallowed. "Molly..." he warned.
A beat passed as they both stared at each other. Sherlock's mind suddenly flooded with a who new set of ideas. Images appeared of Molly tied to his bed as he stood over her, crop in hand. Then it changed, she was kneeling by his chair, then again she was draped over the kitchen table, looking good enough to eat. Oh, Molly Hooper... the things I'm going to do to you.
He refocused his eyes and found that Molly had a very interesting look on her face. He'd never missed his ability to read Molly's thoughts more than at that moment, because she seemed to be thinking of something quite...
She shrugged then continued on her way.
"Hold on," he called out.
"Shower first."
He didn't miss the opportunity to swat her pert bottom as he caught up with her at the bathroom door.
"Sherlock!" she shrieked.
Okay, well there you go. I do hope you all enjoyed it. Please let me know. You know I love a review. Hit me up. ~Lil~