Touch had never been so vital to him as it was now, her teeth scraping down his jaw line and capturing his bottom lip before he pulled her in for a hungry kiss. Their teeth clacked together hurriedly, and he tried to tell himself to be gentle with her. Gentle for her.
"Molly, Molly, Mol-" He chanted as her fingers raced to his hair and she showered kisses anywhere she could. The curled and twisted gently at the roots, dragging him down to her, relishing in the feel of him with her.
"Alive," She said, gasping for breath as he greedily latched on to her neck. "You're alive." He smelled like cigarettes and tasted like spearmint on her tongue. She needed him, closer, stronger, drawing him in like a parting breath.
For his lack of patients, Sherlock tries to be gentle with her as he practically rips her blouse over her head. He takes a shuddering breath as he nudges her bra strap aside and kisses down her shoulder. But it's too goddamn slow for her. She doesn't want tender hands, she just wants to feel his skin under hers, the reminding that he's alive and well thrumming in her ears.
His hands are much rougher than she remembers them being from times past, and she will never ask him how he hardened them so. They palm over her and build her to the edge, Molly doesn't notice her loud cries and pleas for more. Clawing at his clothes and shucking them to the floor.
And when they join, she feels more whole than she has in the past two years. Her nails bite into his skin and drag down as she locks her ankles behind his back, meeting the grueling pace.
"Mine, mine. Safe." Molly manages as Sherlock nips at her bottom lip, their tonges sloppily meeting again. She doesn't know how she has it in her as she turns them so that she is on top of, slower now. Her vision clouds and she realizes that it's tears.
"Molly." Sherlock hesitates, his hand cupping her face gently.
"You're alive." She whimpers, leaning down and kissing him tenderly. Her own hands brushing the sides of his face. Her eyes close and she feels a few tears escape her. As she restarts and reclaims her pace, her hands slide down his body, doing her own inspection. That he's okay, that he's really here with her and that this isn't some dream that she's going to wake up from.
She moans as he cups her breasts, tweaking them slightly, and she knows that her dreams have never felt so good. Her tongue flicks out and tastes the light sheen of sweat and runs up the column of his neck, something she's only ever dreamed about doing. But his hands slide down to her hips and grip so tightly, that she's sure to bruise in the morning. Truly, she couldn't give a damn.
"You came to me." Molly says sometime later, curled into his chest.
"I came home."