Disclaimer: I do not own BBC Sherlock OR the picture used for my cover photo. The cover photo belongs to hihiyas from tumblr, and you can find the post here
post/35829289816/this-week-has-been-rather-awful-creativity-wise
"Sleep. Please." Molly says, glaring at her husband who was currently stretched languidly on their couch. He was rustling through one of Molly's old medical journals. Her hands were on her hips, defiant. Molly's behaviour towards Sherlock had definitely changed over the years, especially since she killed him.
He brings his gaze to his short and sweet wife. "No." he says simply, before turning his attention back to his book. In the stretch of their marriage, Molly had learned to accept Sherlock's strange habits and stranger hours. But, someone had to draw a line. Sherlock had gone nearly three days without a case, and while their post-case phase was wonderful, it was getting borderline unhealthy. Molly had not seen him sleep for nearly two weeks, and while he reassured her that he genuinely was sleeping, she found it hard to believe. Sherlock had become more gaunt than usual, his cheekbones more prominent than ever. Molly knew that he wasn't going to let it get really bad, but she worried.
"Please, Sherlock? Do this for me." She says, sliding over to him and grabbing the medical journal. He glared at her, his own eyes bloodshot.
"Oh my God, Sherlock. How long has it been since you've slept? You haven't been on a case for half a week!"
He sighs deeply. "If I do go to sleep, will you quit bothering me?"
She narrows her eyes before nodding curtly and walking away.
Half an hour later, Molly is curled up on her side of the bed in Sherlock's –no, theirs- room. She is barely awake and is jolted to full awareness by Sherlock slipping under the covers to join her.
She smiles hazily as she turns around in their bed to look at him. Sherlock is sprawled on his back, the covers barely covering his tall frame. His eyes are closed in an uneasy fashion. She sighs, thinking it's probably for the best that she left him alone. He'd forgive her eventually. For now, she needed to sleep.
"Sherlock!" cried Molly. There was such fear in her eyes as a barrel of a gun was pointed at her left temple. Clutching her right forearm was none other than Moriarty.
"I told you that I would burn the heart out of you. Did you really expect that this wouldn't happen? Oh my, Sherlock, you've made it too easy! What happened to remaining unattached? Let this one get to you, did you?" He presses his hand more tightly into her forearm, (with enough pressure to give her a bruise)
His eyes were wide open, his mind working to get Molly from the Consulting Criminal's grip. They were at St. Bart's rooftop, the same place where he "died". His stomach was churning and he was trying to decide the best course of action but Molly's cry and face was seared on the back of his mind, making it difficult to focus. Before he could do anything, the trigger was pulled, and Molly Hooper crumpled to the ground.
Sherlock's eyes snapped open, his hair matted with cold sweat. He frowns and shifts to look at Molly, to make sure that she's alright. She was. His pathologist was safe and sound.
'Don't be ridiculous. Of course she is safe. Nothing happened to her, it was just a dream.' Sherlock told himself that. But a primal part of him wanted to wake her up, to let her know exactly what he felt and let that shade of protectiveness and lust slide over him.
Nonetheless, Sherlock slipped out of bed before warily glancing at the clock. It read 2:42. Sherlock had only been asleep for three hours, before the nightmares plagued him.
He left the door to their bedroom ajar and poured himself a glass of scotch. Being the former addict, Sherlock was usually very careful about these things. He was sure that if he relapsed, Mycroft wouldn't help him. But right now, he couldn't be bothered to give a damn.
Sherlock settled into his chair and took a sip. He closed his eyes and tried to regain his calm.
Molly turned around in her bed, stretching, and finding that the other side was cold and empty. She woke up, to confirm that he wasn't there. He wasn't. She sighed, and got up to see what Sherlock was up to.
She found him in the living room, with a glass of scotch in his hand and the lights all out, nothing but the outside city lights and moonlight spilling into their living room.
Molly walks up to him and wraps her arms around his broad shoulders. He stiffens before remembering it's her and relaxes into her grip.
"Come back to bed." She whispers, her breath tickling his ear, her hair falling on to his shoulder.
"Can't sleep." He murmurs, his voice just as quiet. For the life of him he doesn't know why.
She inwardly frowns before pressing a kiss to his earlobe, one of his more sensitive spots. They stumbled over that rather early on in their relationship.
"Mmm. Try to. For me." she says, before kissing lower, nipping at the side of his neck. He lets out a contented sigh before pulling her up and crashing their lips together. Slowly, their kisses become more refined, but passionate all the same. He breaks apart for a moment, placing his glass on the table.
"Well." She says with a laugh
"This is nice."
He smiles before returning back to her, not saying a single word. Their lips melded together, like they did so many times before. She snuck her tongue in his mouth, exploring once again, before pressing her hand to his growing hardness. He groans and slides his left hand up to cup her right breast. Her nipple is already hard and he gives it a pinch, causing her to moan against his mouth. Half way to their bedroom, she pries his shirt off while he slides her knickers off, letting them pool on the ground. The clothes lay forgotten as they stumble into their room. She pulls eagerly at the drawstrings of his pyjamas, allowing them to pool on the ground.
"Bed. Now. " Molly says against his lips, after she tugs his pants down as well.
Sherlock would never tell anyone this, but he loves it when Molly is assertive with him. He smiled against her mouth before pushing aside their covers and lay on his back.
She grins deviously before stripping her nightshirt off. Her nipples were pink and hard, and they indicated her arousal. Molly clambers onto the bed and straddles him. As she leaned closer, Sherlock saw that her pupils were so dilated that there was barely any brown left.
She captured his mouth again and slowly rolled her hips, causing Sherlock to groan audibly and he feels her grin against him before doing it again. His hands went from cupping her face to grasping her hips. He groaned again
"Molly…"
"Yes, Sherlock?" she asks, her voice sweet and innocent, as she gets up and glances down at her sweaty mess of a husband. She was secretly pleased at how she could turn the consulting detective into a hot sweaty mess. She rolls her hips again and watches, with an amused expression how his eyes nearly roll back into his head. He then reaches up and grabs her breasts, rolling her nipples in between his thumb and index fingers. She keened and arched up to his hands. She loved it when he did that.
Before she knew it, he had flipped them over. He bends down and kissed her again. He moves down to kiss her neck, her collarbone, her shoulder. Sherlock's hand grasps her breast again and he lowers himself even more to take her nipple in his mouth, his hand playing with her other one. Ever the scientist, his ministrations were precise and accurate.
Molly arched towards his mouth as he ground into her. He was fully aroused now. Sherlock pressed a hand between Molly's legs, sliding a knuckle between her folds to check if she was ready. She placed her hand on top of his and pushed. She needed to feel more of him.
"Please..." she whispers.
He grins devilishly and positions himself.
He enters her, slowly pushing himself in until he was completely immersed in her. Molly's eyes are half closed, as they always are during sex. Sherlock finds a steady rhythm, with Molly's legs outstretched and curled around Sherlock. He went faster and pushed harder while Molly clenched around him. Sherlock reached between them to rub Molly's clit. She gasped in surprise, holding on to him. Finally, it was enough. She came, with fistfuls of sheets in her hands and her toes tightly curled. Feeling her come around him was enough for him to spill into her. The aftershocks of their highs left them sweaty and gasping. He moved onto her other side.
"That was…that was amazing." Molly said, after her heart had somewhat calmed down.
He turned to her and pressed a kiss to her temple. Sherlock tried not to think about what else had touched her temple, in that horrid dream of his.
"Yes, Molly, that was." He says as an afterthought.
The room smelled musky and of sex. Molly curled up to him, placing her head on his chest. He smiled and put an arm around her before drawing up the covers.
"Do you think you can sleep now?" Molly asked.
She got nothing but a quiet chuckle in return.
Thank you for reading!
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