"I do not understand why you were so instant on wearing that damn dress, Molly." Sherlock persisted at the door at 221 Baker Street slammed closed behind them, probably waking up Mrs. Hudson on the bottom level.
"Sherlock, be quiet." Molly pleaded, holding her heels in one hand and climbing up the stairs as silently as possible.
"I absolutely will not be quiet. I told you not to wear that dress, and you deliberately put yourself in danger." Sherlock raged, slamming the door of the upper level.
"In danger? It was one dance!" Molly cried, flinging Sherlock's beloved Belstaff on to the couch and revealing the deep purple floor length gown. Sherlock schooled himself to not let his eyes travel as Molly crossed her arms in a huff before turning away from him. The low dip of the back of the dress coming to the edge of her bottom, using sheer will to keep itself attached to her body. While he had tried to focus on the case, Molly had danced and he seethed with the fact that everyone of them had felt the smooth expanse of her back and nothing else.
"Yes, one dance with the murder. You're not very good at just picking one single ordinary man, are you?" Sherlock countered, refusing to lose this battle until she saw sense. Of course this only caused Molly to turn angrily at him, the long slit up her dress exposing her creamy legs to his viewing.
"Obviously not." Molly countered, her eyes sliding up his body with a pointed look. "And what about your coat jacket? You know I hate that one, so why did you insist on wearing it?"
"This isn't about what I'm wearing it's about-"
"Oh don't you bloody start with me." Molly raged and Sherlock lunged forward. Their teeth clacked together as they clawed and pulled at each other. His fingers wove into the loose waves that cascaded down her shoulders and gave a tug as he pulled himself away from her soft lips and down the column of her throat. Molly gave a sharp hiss as he nipped her collarbone, one of her hands fisting into the front of his jacket, while her other hand sought purchase on the the desk and knocking off books and paper work to the ground as her fingers clamped around her scalpel and flicked the safety lid off.
It was too late for him to pull away from the quick flick and turning of her hand that had a jacket sleeve pooling at his wrist. He pulled away from the coloring patch of skin that he'd been working attentively to look at the fabric in mild surprise. Slowly he released her and slid the maroon velvet off of his arm, raising an eyebrow. He looked at Molly's swollen lips and labored breathing, knowing that his own matched, but he kept his voice steady.
"You might as well make it even now, Molly." He told her, watching her react to his words. Another quick flick of her wrist and the right sleeve is gone as well. His hand traces up the side of her neck and to the thin clasp that holds her dress up and it snaps open easily, the chiffon sliding down her slowly and revealing the backless lace bra that she'd picked out.
Sherlock had been pleased to find that while her taste in regular clothing was abysmal, Molly's choice in lingerie was much more adventurous. She pulls the elastic sidings off carefully and drapes it over the back of the chair slowly, his eyes trained on the dusty pink of her nipples. The crook of her finger was an unneeded invitation as their bodies realigned. Molly moaned as her breast brushed against the remaining velvet and the silkiness of his lapels, his clever hands sliding her dress down her hips and leaving the fabric to gather at her feet.
"God I hated that jacket, but that feels so good." She shutters as the velvet runs over the peaks of her breast only to be followed by Sherlock's eager hands.
He takes the abandoned scalpel and makes quick work of the lacy underwear that she'd selected, stripping it off of her and lifted the scrap to his face and inhaling deeply.
Filthy, that's what he was, absolutely filthy. Her toes curled and she lifted herself on to the cleared table.
"I wonder if you're just as soaked at this film that you call pants." Sherlock muses, crumpling the fabric in his hands and stuffing it into his trouser pockets. Molly doesn't say a word, only sighing and fluttering as his fingers danced over her skin, brushing the sides of her areola as his tongue flicked out and his teeth graze before moving onward. His right hand plants firmly on her hip as he stares up at her, keeping eye contact as he swipes a single finger into her heat. Molly bit her lip and her hips ground down of their own accord, She reached for his belt, only to be denied.
"Oh no, I'm going to have you my way. You are mine, Molly Hooper."
With a sound almost like snarl, his tongue delved into her warmth and she let out a loud moan. Molly quivered with want and plead with him as he circled her with his mouth but refused to pay any attention to her aching clit. He brought her to the edge and then stopped just as she would peak, denying her release.
"Sherlock, enough, please!" Molly cried, her cheeks flushed with heat and sweat trickling down her body.
"Tell me that you're mine. No one elses." He demanded.
Molly tugged on his hair, urging to return to his activities.
"Tell. Me. That. You're. Mine." He ground out, even as her body writhed with want.
"I'm yours, Sherlock, please. I'm yours." She chanted as he resumed his worship, making her cry out his name as she finally toppled into bliss.
"Now about my jacket."