The car pulled up slowly to the great house at the end of the drive. It was barely dusk in the late June day but the was still sufficient light for Molly to duck her head down and gaze at the architecture. The Holmes manor was located near Oxford, and seven generations of Holmes' had been born and raised within its walls, including Sherlock and Mycroft. No wonder the boys are so up themselves, Molly thought to herself, they grew up in a palace for god's sake! She continued driving until she reached the gravel driveway just outside the main door. Every different type and model of car seemed to be parked on the same stretch of gravel as she, and she checked herself to make sure her skirt had not ridden up during the journey from London. She had been invited by Sherlock, who she had been seeing for two months now, to spend the weekend down at his Mother's for her birthday 'get together' in an attempt to find the evening more tolerable. She had bought a new dress especially for the occasion and it fitted her beautifully. The emerald green silk-like material clung to her small but curvatious form and she looked like a 1940's film star. The dress had small; spaghetti straps so she had opted for no bra, leaving her feel slightly vulnerable. God I hope it doesn't get cold in there. She thought to herself, picturing the horrid scene in the back of her mind. She had retreated to the hair dressers earlier that afternoon, and she had had it 'volumised' and curled, framing her delicate face beautifully. She grabbed her hand bag from the passenger seat and exited the car, attempting to seem graceful and poised in case anyone was watching. She began the walk to the door and was met half way by the tumbling mess of black curls that was Sherlock. He was in a tuxedo, bow tie included, which had been obviously fitted to his requirements. The trousers were fitted and the shirt as always was taught enough to see the marble outlines of his torso. She sighed at his appearance, congratulating herself once again at her conquest. Their first month of the relationship had been a steep learning curve, mostly for Sherlock. He had no knowledge of the physical side of a relationship, so each night for the first three weeks, Molly would teach him. He knew her weaknesses and she his, both finding the lessons rather stimulating.
"Hiya Sherlock" Molly said to him as she lightly kissed him on the lips.
"Hello my dear" Sherlock responded, his voice like a low strung cello. "Mother's being irrational as usual, she's had far too much to drink for a woman aged her age. Mycroft's handling it though, so the family secrets won't be scattered into the wind.'
"Oh really? What kind of secrets?" Molly puzzled.
"Now they wouldn't be secrets if I told you Molly." Sherlock exasperated. She loved to irritate him, knowing that he couldn't lash out at her in his usual retorts. Otherwise, he wouldn't be getting his lesson tonight.
He loved the company of Dr Hooper and relished their nights together. His desire for her he found couldn't be contained to just her house or his flat. They had had encounters in the lab, during lunch hours, in cabs the list went on. Each time, he felt he wouldn't be able to contain himself to just 'encounters'. He felt he needed to have her. Right then, right there.
"I had better meet the famous Mrs Holmes then, before we sit down for dinner I mean." Molly said, checking her watch and seeing it was only fifteen minutes before they were scheduled to sit down for dinner.
"Yes, you better had. Mycroft kindly informed her of your impending arrival. Oh and by the way, that dress looks simply stunning on you." He said, silently moving his hand to the small of her back and guiding her through the door. The interior was exactly like the villain's country house from a Bond film. Every wall was plastered with mahogany and the floor was much the same, only parquet. People milled about around the couple, and they bee lined for the drawing room where Mrs Holmes resided.
"Mother? Mother, this is Molly." Sherlock gently pushed her in the direction of his mother and she whipped her head around in fear.
"Hello Mrs Holmes, it's a pleasure to meet you. I hope Mycroft hasn't said anything too bad about me."
Mrs Holmes slowly gazed her eyes over Molly, taking in the incredible dress and soft brown eyes. My my, she thought to herself, my son has chosen well. She continued to chat to Molly throughout the evening, enjoying her innocence and interest in her now deceased husband. Her bemused son watched them both, resembling his father strikingly. The shrill tinker of a bell herded the vast number of people into the dining room, soup bowls already prepared at the table. Sherlock sat on the left side of the never ending table, slap bang in the middle and beckoned to Molly, who was looking confused as she entered the room. Every guest, one by one, filed into the expansive dining room and stood behind their chairs, waiting for the guest of honour to appear. Sherlock reached for Molly's hand which was currently residing on the back of her chair, and inched his little finger to intertwine with hers, letting their hands fall to their sides. She glanced up and caught his startlingly bright eyes staring into her own boring ones.
"I hope she didn't irritate you too much, my mother I mean." Sherlock apologised.
"No, I rather like your mother actually! She's very lovely, despite your harsh words Sherlock." Molly scolded.
"ha! Don't make laugh, that woman could irritate god if he were real."
"Oh hush, you! She's coming" Molly said, indicating to yet another mahogany door that lead from the drawing room to the dining room. Mrs Holmes walked in with grace and poise, despite her crippling arthritis. The room, which had been filled with idle chatter suddenly stilled, and a sombre silence took its place. She smiled and drew a deep breath:
"My friends and my dear sons, I am delighted that you all arrived safely and in good cheer. Now, please, take your seats and our first course shall be served swiftly. Please ask the waiters for any information regarding the meal, don't be bashful." The last comment received a chuckle from a few of the guests, despite none was required. The idle chatter resumed as everyone took to their seats, ignoring the servers as they doled out the portions of pea and parsnip soup. Molly and Sherlock were directly opposite Mycroft, and Sherlock watched in humour as Mycroft sucked up to a government official sitting beside him. He and Molly seemed to be surrounded by an enclosure of peace amidst the violence of sound emanating from the other diners. Their fingers were still intertwined between their seats and Molly shifted her hips round to look at him. He mirrored, staring down at their hands.
"Your house is incredible." She almost whispered to him. "what was it like growing up here?"
"I hate this house. It stands for everything I hate: pomp and ceremony. It's unnaturally big for just my brother and my parents, and I was never allowed to inquire." He responded, still staring at their hands.
"Never allowed to inquire? What do you mean?" Molly, sensing his face cloud over with memory.
"I wasn't allowed to question. Ridiculous, really. If mother said it was so, it was so. If my father said do this, then it was done. Never any reason, never any logic. It irritated me." He shrugged. His brow furrowed as he thought of the days when his only companion was a book on wildlife in Britain. The Molly took his whole hand and clasped it tight.
"Don't worry about it, you don't live here anymore. You can inquire all you like with me." She smiled. His eyes still hung low, his chuckle rumbled in his chest, god he was sexy when he did that she thought. She pulled their intertwined hands onto her lap and under the table as the server came round to them. She gave his hand one last squeeze and let go to collect her spoon and begin the meal. However, his hand did not move to his side and instead slid to the right and up, to rest on the top of her thigh. A blush blossomed over her cheeks and she hurriedly glanced at him in anxiety. He shifted his chair closer to hers, perfectly concealing their encounter within the folds of the table cloth and the tangle of chairs.
"Sherlock! Not now!" She hissed, trying to ignore the heat spreading around her groin. Sherlock smirked, acknowledging her dilated pupils and her clenched fist on her lap. She was starting to become aroused indefinitely. He picked up his spoon in his right hand, keeping his left still resting on her thigh and spooned the hot soup into his mouth. He cringed at the heat and taste. He had never favoured pea and parsnip, and the heat scolded his tongue slightly, causing it to smart. He placed his spoon on the saucer surrounding the bowl. Molly took the spoon from her saucer, deciding to continue the encounter instead of diminishing it. After all, she was getting something out of it. The soup tasted expensive, yet the taste was too sweet and she gulped only a few mouthfuls down before setting down her spoon. She was desperate not to be rude and not eat it at all. Sherlock tried to turn to Molly, wanting to advance their encounter but was snagged into a conversation involving his line of work. He couldn't resist the urge to brag, after all, he was not a modest man.
Molly was also caught in a conversation to her left, a line of enquiry from a friend of the family, inquisitive on how she and Sherlock had met. She briefly her line of work and then his, her infatuation (although she described it as 'a liking towards him'), and their eventual unification. She excluded the segment where she hid him in her house after faking his death, deeming it too complicated to explain over dinner. His hand was still resting on her thigh, but had began to trace patterns over the silk, edging closer and closer to her inner thigh. The heat began to rise again both in her groin and her face: the blush sweeping over her cheekbones.
Both conversations seemed to drag to them, and they desperately wanted to return to the utopia of concealed quiet. The next course was served: chicken liver pate with melba toast and a variety of chutneys. Each attempt at returning to their sanctuary of each other was barred by another separate line of enquiry. The course was filled with the conversation of others, while his hand remained on her thigh. The barely touched pate of Sherlock and Molly was cleared away by the men in white, and each of their mundane conversations finally ran dry. They finally turned to each other smirking at each other, relishing in the feeling that no one knew what they were doing under the table cloth. His slender fingers edged their way further into the gap and she opened her legs just a slight more, inviting his touch. Even through the material of her dress, her body reacted the same way at his touch. She considered pulling up the hem of her dress and reached down, but was stopped short when a server placed the main course of seared duck with a summer salad and orange dressing. Both Sherlock and Molly were once again pulled apart by conversation on each corresponding side. The heat between her thighs was becoming unbearable, and her breaths becoming lightly faltered. They both, once again, barely touched their meals and his hand remained were it had comfortably rested. Their plates were cleared away, but their peace was not granted and they remained locked in conversation. He began to stroke in small circles with his thumb, edging closer and closer to her sex. She had to bite her lip to stop herself from whimpering. Her nipples were beginning to harden, pebbling within the covering of her dress. I hadn't prepared for this she thought; she hoped it wasn't obvious to the other diners. She wasn't sure how much more teasing she could take from him. She slowly slid her left hand to his thigh, feeling the fabric strain around his cock. He was feeling the same sort of thing then. He glanced down at her hand in surprise, gritting his teeth, his own indication of arousal. Their independent conversations continued, ignorant to the change within one of their participants. The dessert soon followed, ignored by Sherlock and Molly and they sat in comfortable silence, hands still in their respective places. The plates were cleared and the congregation was scattered in high spirits as Mrs Holmes found herself struck down with tiredness. She had been the only one at the table to notice her youngest son and his new accomplice pleasure each other from under the table. She smiled to herself, pleased to see her son indulge himself in the normal pleasures of a man, but frowned at the timing of it all. At her birthday supper? Hardly appropriate, she thought, especially with this number of guests. She left the room quietly, trying not to make a fuss as she took herself up to bed.
Back in the dining room, Molly and Sherlock were becoming impatient for each other. Her hand had wondered further and now was placed over his half-erect penis. His fingers had begun to massage her near her opening. Luckily for them, the rest of guests exited the dining room including Mycroft and they managed to leave each other alone long enough to leave the room. The loss of each other's touch had caused them both to groan with tension. He grabbed her hand and pulled her up the large staircase only to falter at the last step. The unison laugh that could only be produced by a large group of men wafted out from a cracked door. Sherlock cursed under his breath.
"That was my old room" he said, gritting his teeth out of frustration. "Mother must have converted it into a smoking room of some kind." He had to have her. Now. But he had no idea where he could without being disturbed. A sudden thought sprung to his head and he dragged her down the staircase once more, tuning left into a small corridor. His strides were incredibly long and she found it difficult to keep up. They sped through what seemed at a quick glance as a waiting room, complete with reception desk and embroidered waiting chairs. He continued on into a luxurious study, lined with bookcases and a large wooden desk sat in the centre. He switched on the accountant's light on the desk, his hand still firmly clasped over hers. He turned to face her, smirking at her flushed cheeks and obvious arousal. She soon wiped the smirk off his lips with a forceful kiss. He was pushed against the bookcase, the spines of his father's cherished collection sticking into his back. His hands found her waist and he slipped his tongue over Molly's lips. She returned his advance, opening her mouth in response and their tongues intertwined. She moaned breathily, releasing the tension that had built up between them during the endless meal. His hands wandered over her back, applying small amounts of pressure with his fingernails through the dress, sparking shivers within her. He's learnt well she thought, the tension she recognised from before began to mount in the belly. Her nipples were rock solid by now and his hands moved from her back to her front, gently caressing her stomach and cupping her right breast in his palm. He stroked the small pebble of flesh with his thumb over the emerald material and she tipped her head back in ecstasy, a moan escaping from her small lips. He gently pinched and the heat in her belly rose incredibly fast, another louder moan seeping from her lips. He returned to her lips, whilst dragging the front of her dress down only to find that it jarred. He broke from her lips, frowning down at her chest. Exasperated, she reached behind her back and zipped the dress down, the material folding down in front of her and revealing her breasts. His once half mast erection stood fully to attention at the sight of her half naked body. He kissed her between her breasts before making his way to her nipple. He took it between his teeth and pinched it tighter than before. Her gasp echoed around the empty room and her back arched into him. Her hand instinctively moved to his groin, cupping and rubbing the tent which had formulated. He jerked ever so slightly and straightened his neck, bracing both arms above her head on the bookcase. She undid his trousers and slid his boxers down to his lower thigh. She took his length in her hand and ghosted her fingers up and down the shaft. His body almost convulsed and he groaned deep within his throat. The art of passion was patience and tension, both of which were presiding in the study they inhabited. He recovered quickly, although his breaths still ragged. She immediately clasped her hand around the shaft, smirking at his grimace, and began to run her hand up and down. His pre-cum offered as an effective lubricant and he was obviously on the tipping point. She grabbed his hand, extending one of his fingers and guided his hand downwards. He took control from there on, sliding his digit to the point she wanted. He knew he had reached it when she closed her eyes and sighed. He began to work from there, pressing small circles around the area. He soon slid a second digit in and pressed even harder.
"Oh god, oh..." She moaned as the ground beneath them began to crumble.
"Stop. Now. I need you..oh god.." She breathed in his ear. He took the signal and hoisted her up onto the edge of the bookcase. She rucked her skirt up to her waist and wrapped her knees and ankles around his waist and buttocks. He looked into her eyes and she nodded. He aligned himself, teasing her opening with the tip of his erection. She moaned, anticipation becoming unbearable.
"Don't make me beg." She whispered. He suppressed a smile and allowed himself to enter her. His completed the action with just one long thrust and she gasped as he filled her, his own gasp suppressed. They met each other for a kiss and her hair fell as a curtain over their faces. They broke apart when he began to thrust, just slowly to begin with. She tipped her head back into the shelf, panting as he pushed her closer and closer to the edge. He increased his speed, taking note from her knees pressed against his waist. She could no longer suppress her cries and they rung out through the cacophony of creaking of the bookcase and Sherlock's own moans of pleasure. She came with a shout soon followed by him. They writhed in each other's ecstasy, inhibitions dissolved like aspirin in water. They came to a halt and pushed their foreheads together, staring into each other's eyes.
"Don't we look a mess." She breathed into his ear. Her dress lay around her waist, the material pooled in shimmering likeness to water. Her breasts her still exposed and now too was her upper thighs and her sex. His trousers were also around his knees, his buttocks bare and his shirt barely covering them. He laughed to himself and she joined him. A sudden turning of a handle whipped both of their heads up in surprise. Mycroft entered the room without looking up. Molly hurriedly pulled the front of her dress up and Sherlock yanked his trousers up. Mycroft looked up, shocked by what he found. His shock soon transformed into amusement.
"My my little brother, what have we been doing?"