Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.
Sherlollyloves gave me this prompt on Tumblr: "Please could you write a (Sherlolly Obvs) Demonlock with a bit of Jealous!lock".
"All the stars may shine bright
All the clouds may be white
But when you smile
Ohh how I feel so good
That I can hardly wait
To hold you
Enfold you
Never enough
Render your heart to me"
"All mine" - Portishead
It was a dark, and stormy night. To tell the truth, it had been a sequence of three long dark, stormy and unsuccessful nights, spent in the St. Bart's labs, trying to find the culprit of a high-society murder.
It wasn't that he didn't enjoy these kind of cases:actually, they were his favourites, the boring 4 that suddenly transform itself into surprising 9; it was just too frustrating, trying to solve a challenging case and, at the same time, ignore Molly Hooper's presence.
She didn't do anything wrong, per se. She was the usual willing, helpful, and awkwardly cheerful pathologist he had learnt to use first and, only later, to appreciate; and that was the problem. How could he ignore her when his demonic side, the one he had always struggled to hide, found Molly so alluring and exciting?
Every innocent brush of her fingers on his skin, every intake of her sweet, feminine fragrance, jolted straight to a part of his anatomy not so often entertained, and it was becoming rather difficult to conceal his true nature, and the effects of her simple proximity could cause to the consulting detective.
Thankfully Molly didn't seem to notice his struggle, and every night the pathologist had assisted Sherlock...well, with the exception of the Halloween night. Her friend Meena had a party, and Molly couldn't miss it: Meena's parties were always a good time, and an occasion to meet new and interesting people. Since her failed engagement with Tom Molly had decided to avoid dating, first because there was the Moriarty's threat looming over, and secondly because she didn't feel ready. But after more than a year, with the consulting criminal under six feet of soil, the pathologist felt more confident, and inclined to meet someone funny, intelligent and uncomplicated. Like Elijah, the man who had flirted with her the entire night at Meena's, and had surprised her the next day with a beautiful bouquet of gerbera daisies, that ranged in colour from yellow to pink. It was a sweet gesture, and she couldn't help to find the note attached rather charming. "Thank you for last night, it was magical...like you. I can't wait to see you again, Elijah ". It felt refreshing, being pursued by a man without an hidden agenda...even if he wasn't as breathtaking as Sherlock Holmes.
Sherlock didn't want to snoop, but the note was just over the results he had asked her, and it was impossible not to read it. Every syrupy words left a bitter taste in his mouth, like foul bile; they evoked abhorrent images: another man's hands on Molly's waist, his breath tickling her ear, whispering sweet nothings, and eliciting a timid smile from her...
"It's unacceptable!" roared the demon inside him. His breath grew erratic, and he could feel his fingernails elongating, leaving marks on the desk. With a last ditch effort, he left the office, storming out of the lab, Molly's startled words behind him unheeded.
He was lost in his meditation, still wearing his coat on the sofa, when he sensed her again. It wasn't her heavy steps on the stairs, or the quiet greeting to Mrs Hudson, that alerted him. it was her scent. Heady, intoxicating, full of promises and hopes...in one word:overpowering.
"Sherlock, I came to bring you the results. You said they were important, and when you left I thought you had them with you, but then I found them still on the desk, so...".
"Out!". His order, growled by a voice even deeper than usual, didn't have the desired effect: Molly remained still, the papers still in her hands.
"Sherlock, what's wrong? If there's anything I can do, you can-" she started, and the consulting detective leapt down from the sofa, his face just inches away from hers.
"Have you? How can you still say that, when we both know it's not true?".
"Sherlock, what are you talking about?".
She could almost taste his deep breath against her half-closed lips. Tobacco, coffee, and dark chocolate. "The note from your paramour...the man who can't wait to see you again".
She let a giggle escape, amused by his unexpected jealousy, but his sour expression stopped her. His eyes were slowly darkening, and like a star by a black hole, she felt engulfed by them. Tentatively she raised a hand, and Sherlock stepped back.
"Go away, Molly. You don't know what I am, how dangerous I am for both of us...". His warning fell on deaf ears; her soft fingers traced the crimson scale appearing around and under his eyes, which were now black as coal.
"You are...". Her feathery voice made him recoil, and in silence he waited for her horrified reaction. He was a monster, an abomination...and she was not his to take. He could hear his demon laughing at him, cruelly. "Look at you...you're a pathetic fool!".
Molly got up on her toes, and breathed the rest of her sentence against his lips. "Beautiful...you are beautiful, and I-". The rest of her words were silenced by his forceful kiss, and her delighted moans sounded even more spine-tingling that in his imagination.
His long fingernails tore her clothes to shreds quickly, but tenderly; not a drop of blood stained her pale body. When they fell naked on his coat (it was a pure accident, and also the successful completion of one of Molly's dirtiest fantasies), his firm body cushioning her collapse, they stopped for the first time since their first kiss.
"I want to see all of you..." Molly whispered, while brushing her lips against his entire form. She undressed him slowly, deliberately torturing him with her lingering touches.
"I can't..."he moaned, when her tongue caressed his length, tasting him leisurely. " But I need it...I need to see all of you. I want all of you..." she begged, before sucking the tip of his cock with languid suctions.
"You, teasing- Ah!". He felt for the first time the full depth of her mouth, and his resolve crumbled away. His long, scaled tail appeared, embracing her waist, and with no effort lifted her up, positioning her exactly how he wanted her most. She was so deliciously wet, and warm against his groin, and he couldn't wait anymore. Her initial discomfort at his girth when he entered her was soon forgotten, and a crescendo of "Harder!" and "Faster, please!" left her mouth.
His demon purred in his mind. "You heard the lady...let me out...I will show her...". Sherlock tried to resist, but in vain. With a swift move he flipped them over, his cock leaving her welcoming warmth, and his tail curling up on her head, caressing her hair.
"Is. This. What. You. Want?"he asked, mouthing the words against her breasts. His teeth and tongue lavished of attentions her erected nipples, ignoring her begging requests of filling her again. Instead he followed the drops of perspiration on her body, memorizing every mole, every freckle, until he arrived at his target. "Or maybe you want this?" was his rhetoric question, his mouth hovering over her mons veneris. The first strokes of his tongue on her labia was like the first sip of water for a thirsty man: he was frantic, encouraged by her increasing moans; then he slowed down, savouring her juices, testing his technique to find what she liked most. Her strangled cry when he finally sucked her clit sent a jolt to his painfully hard cock. "Please..." Molly implored again, and that time he didn't hold back: his forceful thrusts punctuated an escalation of moans, encouragements and pleas from her, and he didn't stop until she climaxed twice. Only then his demon found his satisfaction, emptying himself in her, his teeth leaving a mark on her collarbone, and his nails pricking her hips.
They were lying spent on his coat, Molly gazing lovingly into his inky, gleaming eyes, and the consulting detective lapping the cuts on her glowing body, when one of them dared to speak again. "Are you sure about...us?". Sherlock began, but her hungry kiss silenced him. After a few more nips, she answered with a simple "Yes, and now I want you to show me what else your tail could do for me".
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