This was supposed to be for SAW week prompt: Sherlock statement "I am sorry. Forgive me." but I clearly missed the boat on that whole thing. Sorry, guys. Life has been crazy lately. This will be some sort of AU, taking place after HLV. Season 4 never happened. It's a two-parter, written and beta'd (Thanking you, Miz!). The second part should be up in a few days. Mind the rating. It's gonna get hot in here.
I own nothing except for the mistakes. Enjoy ~Lil~
Part 1
Molly had just put on her favourite dressing gown (the fuzzy cotton one with paw prints all over it) when she heard the knock on her door. What did he forget this time? she wondered. She opened the door to find the wrong man standing in her hallway. "Oh, ah, Sherlock. Wh-what are you doing here so early?"
"Did I just pass Tom in your foyer?" he asked as he stepped inside.
Shit. "Ah, yes. You... probably did." She moved quickly into the kitchen. Coffee, I need coffee. And maybe a dash of rum.
"Have you and your ex reconciled?" he asked, following closely behind.
Sigh (triple sigh). "No, Sherlock. Tom and I are just friends." And with that Molly could actually feel herself being deduced. She tried to play along, making deductions in her head (in Sherlock's voice) as she made the coffee…
'Had sex within the last eight hours. Hair hasn't been brushed yet and cheeks still glowing. Has that just fucked look.' She giggled out loud then looked up to find Sherlock staring at her.
"You and Tom are not once again dating but you're sleeping together. I don't… That makes no… I'm not sure I…"
"Whoa!" She held up her hands. "Don't blow your emotion chip there, Data." Molly patted his arm then handed him a cup of coffee. "It's not something I'd expect you to under…"
"Ah, friends with benefits," Sherlock said with a nod, then added, "I'm not completely out of touch with pop culture, Molly," when she looked at him agog.
"Yes, you are but that's okay." Shaking her head, she poured herself a cup.
"Interesting…"
He seemed to be contemplating the situation, so she left him to it. Picking up the much-needed cup of caffeine, she sat down at the island and drank. She wasn't ashamed of her occasional trysts with Tom. She was a grown woman (despite her choice in loungewear) and could do what she wanted and who she wanted, for that matter.
Sherlock looked thoughtful as he finished drinking. Finally, he got up. "Very efficient system you have, Molly," he praised. "Oh, and I need you at Barts. Now."
"It's my day off Sherlock."
"Of course it is. Why else would I be at your flat at 8 am to fetch you? Go shower. Have you fed Tobias or were you too busy with Tom?"
Molly stood up. "No, he hides in the guest room when Tom comes 'round. I'm actually surprised that he didn't come out when he heard your voice; he freakin' loves you. Must still be asleep."
"No doubt you two disturbed his sleeping schedule with your coitus. Don't worry. I'll feed him while you get ready."
She shook her head as she walked to the bathroom. Such a strange life I lead, she thought. I'm shagging my ex and Sherlock Holmes is tending my cat while I bathe… hmmm.
Thankfully he dropped the subject. Molly was almost afraid he'd quiz her about the arrangement for the rest of the day. But by the time they got to Barts he was fully involved in his case, even though it was only a seven, and she spent half of her day off in the lab with him. In the end, she decided he must have deleted the whole incident.
Not so much…
No, Sherlock did not delete the information. More like he obsessed over it. It didn't disturb cases or anything, but when he had some free time, which he seemed to have a great deal of since his return from exile, he considered the merits of such an arrangement. It made so much sense that he was shocked that he'd never thought of it before.
Not only that, but it needled him that Tom the idiot was allowed no strings attached sex, with Molly Hooper no less, whilst Sherlock was left to fend for himself. Especially now that John had moved out and with him had taken his large library of pornography. Somehow, trolling his flatmate's pre-searched porn felt less… dirty.
He was a man and of course had needs; he usually just took care of them himself. But the added benefits of a partner… hmm. Sex was much more enjoyable than masturbation, even he knew that. He'd just decided long ago that all the effort it took to seduce a woman and then deal with the aftermath simply wasn't worth it. And he certainly wasn't cut out for an actual relationship. But the deal Molly had going seemed perfect. She, unfortunately, was unavailable since Gormless Tom got to have sex with her. Lucky bastard!
Molly had always intrigued him. They, of course, had similar interests: science, crime… death. But he also felt an attraction to her physically that he'd always tried, and sometimes failed, to ignore. He could never quite manage to keep that locked away, no matter how hard he tried. Though he had attempted to separate Work/Friend Molly from Sexual/Woman Molly in his mind palace, the two refused to keep from melding into one person. It was annoying but manageable.
Until now, that is. Now, he knew that his friend was a different kind of friend to that blithering buffoon. Tom had the privilege of sleeping with Molly. Tom got sexual relief from Sherlock's lovely friend's body whilst he had to settle for his hand and a few mediocre memories. Tom regularly fucked Molly Hooper and somewhere in the deepest parts of Sherlock's mind, he was jealous and bitter about this fact.
Nearly three months after discovering Molly's little arrangement, Sherlock was buying a cup of coffee at a shop in Chelsea when he saw it: his chance.
Tom, the ex, cuddled up with some… wow, large breasted blonde, his arm protectively around her waist, her head on his shoulder.
Molly's arrangement must be over. Sherlock's first instinct was to run to Barts and tell her but he was a different man now. He decided to take a new approach. She would be off work in a few hours, so he'd stop by her flat and have a casual conversation about the possibility of casual sex.
o0o0o
Unfortunately, he caught a case less than thirty minutes after he left the coffee shop; he worked double time to get it finished. It still put him at Molly's later than he had planned. He knocked on her door at 9.22 pm and was greeted by a pyjama-clad and freshly showered (no, she had a bath tonight. New oils. Oh, I've got something better than essential oils to relax you!) Molly Hooper less than a minute later. He took her in head to toe, noting the cartoonish kittens on her sleep top and dismissed his urge to mock it.
"Sherlock," she said, not at all surprised to see him. "Come in. Tea?"
"No thank you, Molly," he answered as he took off his coat. "Tom's got a girlfriend." He winced as the words left his mouth; he hadn't meant to blurt it out like that.
She just laughed as she sat down on the sofa. "Yeah, Jannette. I've met her. She's… nice."
Sherlock sat next to her. "I take it your… arrangement is null and void."
With a sigh, she said, "I thought you'd forgotten all about that, Sherlock."
"No. Not at all."
"Like I said before, we only see each other if we're not in relationships."
"So you have an opening?"
"It's not a paid position, Sherlock. It doesn't come with dental or anything."
"I've warned you about jokes, Molly."
"What on earth are you getting at?"
"Us, obviously. You need a new casual sex partner." He gave her his - in his own opinion - most charmingly rakish grin. "I'm offering myself."
Molly looked around then stood up, quickly walking to the other side of the room. She picked up a small taxidermied mouse and studied it before returning it to the shelf. "Am I on one of those hidden camera reality shows?" She continued to search, picking up books and moving potted plants. "Because if you think this is funny you'll never see another severed limb again, I can promise you that!"
Sherlock followed her. "I'm not joking and there are no hidden cameras. I removed them after my mission." She turned to face him, a frighteningly malicious look on her face. "Mycroft installed them, not me!" He smiled, his best innocent 'I'm a lovable genius' smile and reached out, taking her hand in his. "So, can we have sex now?" he asked hopefully.
She didn't respond for several seconds - Sherlock wasn't sure if that was good or bad - until finally she pulled her hand free and took a step back. "You're... serious? You think you and I could do... that?"
"I'm sure we could. I've pictured it."
"You've pictured…?" Her hand went to her chest, drawing his attention to her braless breasts. "No! This is… is… No!"
"Don't be a child, Molly. Don't pretend you haven't thought about…"
She shut him up with a look that said 'I could kill you and no one would ever find the body'.
And she could.
It made his dick twitch.
"Fine. But my point is we're sexually compatible and I think this would be beneficial to both of us."
"Benefi…" Holding her hands up in front of her, she took several deep breaths. "What makes you…" She pinched the bridge of her nose before looking at him and saying, "And I'm only asking out of curiosity, not because I'm actually considering this, but what makes you think we're sexually compatible?"
"We're like-minded. Attracted to each other. You're reasonably intelligent…" She scoffed something under her breath that sounded like 'gee thanks!' "We have converging interests. We're scientists, Molly." He was running out of reasons; there were more, he'd made a list on the trip to her flat. "We- we have the right parts! Why not give it a go?"
Molly started laughing. "That was the sexiest pick-up line I've ever heard." Her laughter stopped abruptly. "Wait! Did you just say you're attracted to me?"
"Obviously," he said, rolling his eyes. "It's getting late and you have to work in the morning." He took her hand, pulling her toward the bedroom.
"Now!? You want to…?"
"Why wait?"
Molly sat on the edge of the bed fiddling with the hem of her satin, button-up pyjama top (why am I wearing these PJs tonight of all nights?!) as Sherlock started methodically removing his expensive, tailored clothing. Holy fuck balls! He actually wants to have sex with me! she thought as she watched him untie his shoes. It looked so… clinical, so proper. "Sherlock, I'm not… I'm not sure about this."
He looked up, though never stopped undressing, now pulling off his socks. "Why? What's your objection now?"
She stood and tried to pace in the small room. "Well, we're friends…"
Getting to his feet and untucking his shirt he said, "Isn't that the point?" He unbuttoned it and pulled it off.
Molly was a bit entranced by his actions and couldn't immediately voice her objections (why am I objecting to this again?). She finally pulled her eyes off his lovely bare chest and lamely said, "Ah, normally."
"Oh, stop dithering, Molly," said a shirtless Sherlock Holmes.
Just to clarify, a SHIRTLESS Sherlock Holmes was standing in her bedroom, scolding her about not wanting to have sex with him and she was starting to wonder why she was arguing with him in the first place.
Shaking her head in an effort to clear it, she averted her eyes. "No," she said. "This is… different. Tom and I had already had sex…"
"Quite a lot of sex. Yes, I remember."
She made the mistake of looking back up at him. Not fair! He was standing with his hands on his narrow hips and looking positively sinful.
"So, ah, going back to him wasn't… It was easy. This, this is very much uncharted territory."
"Doesn't that make it even more appealing?" he said as he reached for the placket of his trousers. "Besides, you've always wanted to."
Not fair!
The closure undone, he reached for his zip and pulled it halfway down.
Molly jumped to her feet. "Wait!"
"Bloody hell," he said, flopping back down on her chair like a petulant child. "What's your problem? What could possibly be stopping you? You're attracted to me. You need a new fuck buddy…"
"I told you to stop watching Misfits with Mrs. Hudson! That show has seriously corrupted your mind!"
"This makes perfect sense and you know it. Think of the logic. Think of the convenience. It's no different than the arrangement you had with Tom. It's just casual sex, Molly. Why on earth can't we…"
"I can't have casual sex with you, Sherlock, because I'm in love with you, you great idiot!" She gasped, both hands coming to her mouth.
"Molly…" He stood again. Shirtless, his bespoke trousers hanging half opened, he took two steps towards her.
"NO! No, please don't." And with that she fled to her bathroom, locking the door behind her.
Well, this complicates matters…
In Sherlock's defense, he had truly thought that Molly was over those particular feelings for him, else he wouldn't have suggested casual sex.
"Bugger," he mumbled to the now empty room.
He had thought that having met and getting engaged to Tom Meat Dagger Phillips, coupled with having seen Sherlock high, running his drugs test herself and then witnessing his subsequent treatment of Janine, that he'd completely ruined any and all romantic notions she'd once had for him.
Apparently, he was wrong.
"I hate being wrong."
Instinct told him to get dressed and hightail it out of there as quickly as possible. But that was the old Sherlock, the one who had hurt Molly Hooper over and over again. He couldn't do that, not now. Not after all they'd been through. Not after what she'd just s…
"She loves me."
Love.
Love?
Lowering himself to the edge of her mattress, he replayed her words in his head. '...because I'm in love with you…' This time, now that the shock had worn off, he smiled. "She loves me," he said aloud, reverently. It felt… nice. Warming and oddly comforting.
But then something else occurred to him.
She loved him - still loved him when she had accepted Meat Dagger's ring and kept loving him whilst she shagged the oaf in a 'no strings attached', 'every few months' arrangement.
He stood. "Molly still loves me." Without putting on his shirt or fastening his trousers, Sherlock started for her bathroom. He didn't break stride, nearly tripping over Toby in the hallway. The cat would have to wait; Molly Hooper had some explaining to do.
"Bugger. Bugger. Bugger!" Molly chanted as she paced the small room. "Please let him leave! Please, God, just make him go and I'll never ask for anything ever again!"
She hadn't brought her mobile and wasn't wearing a watch, but she thought it had been about ten minutes since her mouth had gotten way ahead of her and she'd said the absolute worst thing possible. Certainly enough time for him to redress and leave.
How was this her life? Really, all she'd wanted for her evening was a simple dinner (check, the frozen pizza wasn't great but it was filling), a long bath (check, the new essential oils she'd bought had been extremely relaxing) and to read a chapter or two of the smutty romance novel that was waiting for her on her bedside…
"Oh, bugger!" If he was still in there, he'd surely find Fierce Love: A Story of Self Discovery and Sexual Awakening. It'd be hard to miss the (extremely fit) half-naked man on the cover, nor the prim and proper woman in his arms, her shirt half unbuttoned, her mouth opened in a gasp of pure ecstasy.
She was pulled from her fears by the sound of someone fiddling with the doorknob. Backing up and pressing herself against the wall opposite the door, she watched in horror. Oh, that jackarse hadn't even knocked, he was just going to pick…
Suddenly the door flew wide and a (still) shirtless Sherlock barged in. "You love me," he said breathlessly, a stern, almost angry look on his face.
"I'm not doing this right now, Sherlock."
"I believe you are," he replied, sounding a bit more controlled than he had five seconds before, though his expression did not change. Shutting the door, he kept himself squarely in front of it.
"Move. Now." She took one step towards him to… push him, maybe? Though she knew he easily outmatched her, that didn't mean she wouldn't try. Something in his eyes stopped her, though and she retreated. "Sherlock…?"
"You love me."
Though that was the second time he'd said the sentence in less than a minute, he sounded almost shocked, as if he somehow didn't believe it. Which was patently absurd.
"Of course I do, you know that." The words came out through gritted teeth. "Knew it before I…"
"I… thought…" He sighed. The stern expression melted away, leaving him looking confused and oddly vulnerable. "You moved on and I- I got high and you…"
"Slapped you," she finished.
He moved forward one step, then two. "I deserved it."
"Yes, you did."
Another step and he was within three feet of her. "I'm sorry, Molly Hooper. Forgive me," he said, sounding terribly earnest and sincere.
She damn near believed him.
Then he did something downright diabolical - something so irresistibly sweet that she did believe him: he smiled. It was the same resigned smile he'd given her that day in the train guy's building. She hadn't understood it then but suddenly it made sense. Well, sort of.
One step had her close enough to touch him, though she dared not. "For what?" she asked.
The silence in the small room was deafening as his eyes searched hers. It stretched. Seconds turned into a minute while the pair stared at one another. Sherlock licked his lips, his eyes dropping to her mouth before moving slowly down her body and back up. She could practically feel him making note of the fact that she wore no bra or knickers (she had read that women should go pants-less at night to let their bits 'breathe' - it might be total bullshit, but since she also planned a quick wank before sleep, she'd decided there was no point anyway). He could probably also tell that she'd just shaved her legs and, knowing him, he even knew that she'd spent ten minutes in the bath earlier grooming her pubic hair for no particular reason. Returning to meet her gaze once again, his eyes were suddenly heated.
"What are you sorry for, Sherlock?" she asked when she could no longer take the tension. Something had to give. He needed to get out of her way or… or...
"For this," he answered. His lips crashed to hers as his hands went to her hips, pulling her firmly into an embrace.
Her hands were in his hair before she could even process the fact that they were kissing. And she was kissing him back. It wasn't elegant or romantic. There was no finesse, more of a desperate grappling for control. Sherlock, competitor that he was, wouldn't concede, but neither would Molly.
Quick as a flash he reversed their positions, practically picking her up to move her to the bathroom door. He pinned her against it with his body as he pulled his mouth away from hers with a gasp. Dragging his lips across her jaw and nipping at the skin just under her ear, he once again said, "You love me." His voice was even deeper than usual; husky and gruff, it vibrated through her whole body.
She said nothing in defense, couldn't really, she'd said it - put it out there, there was no taking it back. Besides, he was grinding his hard cock into her stomach and - Oh, God! - he was palming her breast through her satin, kitten covered top. Words just weren't possible at the moment!
His mouth moved down her neck and Molly felt his nails scraping across the sensitive flesh of her sternum. She wondered for a split second what he was doing until she heard the rip and then buttons flew across the room. There was no time to be shocked or upset about her ruined PJs, as Sherlock was instantly cupping her breasts, closing his lips around the nipple of the left.
"YES!" she shouted, hands buried in his hair. When his teeth scraped, lightly at first, then bit down, Molly's hips arched off of the door, bucking towards him. Unfortunately, his body was bent away from her and she got no relief from the sudden throbbing need between her thighs.
He switched to the other breast, a hand slipping between her and the door to squeeze her bottom which only increased her need. If he didn't do something soon...
"Please," she begged wantonly.
"Please what?" he growled against her flesh.
Molly looked down and bloody hell, what a sight! His hair was a complete mess, his lips were red and wet and oh, the smirk he wore was sin itself. His eyes, however, they told a completely different story.
"Tell me what you want, Molly." Raising his head to meet hers, he moved back slightly. She instantly missed the feel of his skin against hers. "Tell me," he insisted.
But she couldn't. The look in his eyes sent cold chills down her spine. "You say it first. Tell me what you want," she said. Reaching up, she traced those impossibly sharp cheekbones with her thumbs. "Tell me why you're in my bathroom, ripping off my clothes and…"
"Because I do too."
Yes, yes I know. I'm a tease. A bloody awful tease. But you love me anyway, right? The fic is finished but it was terribly long and it just felt like a two-parter. Anyway, Miz agreed, so blame her. Or, if you want part two sooner, shoot me some love with a review. I'm gonna be super busy for the next three weeks, moving (and dealing with the evil twat who bought this house) so I could really use the encouragement. Thanks so much for reading! ~Lil~
