Disclaimer: I own nothing. Just an idea I got while rereading Sherlock and came across a line about how Sherlock has no interest in the "softer passions."
The softer passions. That's what Molly Hooper thought of when these encounters occurred. They were both running themselves ragged; the last few months of the year seemed to create an upswing of crime and bodies. When they were together like this it didn't matter that Molly had spent the afternoon elbow deep in a chest cavity. It didn't matter that Greg had spent his day tracking down villains terrorizing the people of London. What did matter was that they stripped down as quickly as possible and spent the next 7 hours tangled in her bed.
It was a rare night that neither of them received a call to come into work. Out of sheer habit Molly stirred at an early hour. It must've been 3 or 4 am. The sky outside was still dark, probably would remain that way given the weather they'd seen lately.
Molly glanced around the room, taking a deep breath as she did. There was something about Greg's presence that made her much happier to be curled up in bed. The nights alone she functioned on autopilot, climbing into bed and trying to ignore how cold it felt without him.
They kept saying that they'd make it something more when things slowed down. And she was sure they would eventually. But at the moment she was more than pleased to feel him shifting behind her, an arm coiled around her middle, realizing that he was still completely naked. She mostly was, save for his button up shirt that she had grabbed from the foot of the bed before falling asleep.
It was bizarre… and a bit embarrassing to think of how the whole thing started…
Molly did not usually read those kind of books. But everyone was talking about it and her sister loaned her the trilogy so that they would be able to discuss it on those rather strained weekly phone calls. A shy girl falls in love with a wealthy recluse with odd tastes… well Molly could certainly relate to that. But it wasn't the surly, pale detective who came to mind while she read. Maybe it had to do with the title. When she saw the word 'grey' she thought of Greg. It wasn't a bad connotation, she just always thought how distinguished and handsome he looked with grey hair, but how he managed to come off as boyish at the same time.
As soon as the thought entered her head it didn't leave. So as she made her way through the three very… VERY dirty books, it was DI Greg Lestrade she pictured. Thanks to a well-formed habit of imagining herself as the heroine she saw herself doing all of these things with the DI in question. This wouldn't be a problem, if it weren't for Sherlock.
The bastard.
Greg and Molly had been on good terms ever since the catastrophic Christmas party and Greg's divorce. He would pop by the morgue for coffee, one poorly timed visit he arrived shortly after she had finished a particularly racy chapter on her lunch break. This also happened to coincide with a visit from Sherlock looking for a corpse to test a theory on.
"Molls?" His voice cut through the silence of her lab. With a startled squeak Molly closed the book and pushed it onto the floor.
"Greg. Hi."
"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you."
"Oh, no, you didn't. I was just- reading- You know how I get sucked into books."
"I brought coffee." She smiled brightly, leaving the book where it was and taking the cups from his hands.
"Great. Thanks."
"So, what book has you so-"
"Molly, I need- oh, good lord! Not him." Sherlock moaned as he dramatically leaned against the doorframe. Molly and Greg both turned and regarded him with confusion.
"What?" Molly asked, her eyes darting back and forth between the two men.
"You two have started with this nonsense."
"We're friends." Greg shrugged.
"For now. Molly's clearly got something else in mind. Her pulse is elevated, her cheeks are flushed, meager chest is heaving-"
"There's nothing wrong with her- I mean- they're quite lovely." Greg stuttered, flushing enough that he surpassed Molly.
"Oh for the love of God, why don't you just run to the back room, get it out of your systems and I can get my corpse. I'll be in the hall. Given her experience and your post-divorce rut it shouldn't take more than 5 minutes."
"Sherlock!" Molly tried to admonish him.
"Oh, I forgot foreplay. 7 and a half minutes." As the door swung shut behind him nothing followed but silence.
"Sorry about him." Greg offered, stooping down to pick up her book. She watched as he looked over the cover. "Isn't this-?"
"Just a book." She quickly took it from him, shoving it under some files. "I'm not that inexperienced."
"There's nothing wrong with your chest." They managed to say at the same time.
They fell into silence again.
"I don't hear copulation in there!" Sherlock shouted from the other side of the door.
"I should go." Greg said rather sadly.
"Please, don't let what he said keep you away. I do like you Greg. I like spending time with you."
"You do?"
"Of course." She paused, trying to keep her cheeks from burning any brighter than they already were. "In fact- maybe we could have dinner tonight?"
"I'd like that." Her head shot up, taking in his cheerful smile.
"Really?"
"Yes. I'll see you later than?"
"My place, 8?"
"Sounds good." Molly watched as his disappeared through the door leading to the hallway where Sherlock was waiting.
"4 minutes, I over estimated."
"Shut up, Sherlock. You don't give a nice girl a quickie in the closet of a morgue."
Everything just moved forward from that day. They never got around to dinner. Halfway through the takeout in her living room they found themselves more interested in each other than in the curry.
"Awake?" He murmured, nuzzling against the back of her neck, pulling her closer as he did. She grinned, stirring from her memory as she felt him grow against her.
"Softer passions becoming firmer." She giggled, pressing back against him.
"What?"
Molly froze; she hadn't meant to say that allowed. Thankfully Greg gave her the opportunity for distraction from her awkward moment. Like he always did, nothing made her embarrassment fade faster than his lips finding a bit of bare flesh to kiss. He pushed down the collar of the shirt, allowing full access to her neck.
"Much firmer." He whispered, forcing Molly on to her back before slowly climbing on top of her.
Molly was incapable of holding back a content moan as he pressed against her. Greg made quick work of the buttons, pushing the fabric aside to reveal her to him. The shirt stayed on, but they were skin to skin now as he returned his mouth to her neck. She could feel his fingers trailing down from her breasts, along her sides, finally stopping between her legs.
"Don't require much coaxing." He observed quietly. She could feel her face flush as she reached between them and took him in hand.
"Nor you." Her smile was coy. She would never have been so bold five months ago. But now? Now she had him in her bed on a regular basis. She wasn't completely changed, it still threw her when he'd comment on how beautiful she was or openly stare at her "perfect breasts." There was just a boldness that she never felt before. That he brought out in her.
His fingers brushed against her again, provoking a deep moan as she arched up. Her hand was still wrapped around him, fingers tightening as she writhed beneath him.
"Please Greg..." She couldn't control her hips as they continued to shift upwards with each move of his fingers.
"Please Greg, what? What do you want me to do, Molls?"
"You know what I want." She gasped as his movements slowed, teasing her.
"Tell me, you know I love hearing you say it."
Molly gazed up at him, flushed and breathing hard. She bit her lip for a moment, her hands clutching his biceps. With a little effort she pulled herself up, moving close enough to whisper in his ear.
"I want you in me, Greg." He groaned, his hips rocking against hers. She could feel him pressing against her entrance. "In me, Greg… deep…"
She squirmed, desperate for him to just move forward. Her legs wrapped around him, encouraging him to give in.
"Molls, you have no idea what you do to me… 'specially when you talk like that." He shifted, finally entering her. A moan escaped as her fingers tightened on his arms again. "Always look so sweet and innocent… makes me so hard to hear those words come from your mouth."
He leaned down to kiss her, every time he kissed her it felt like he was trying to cling to life. That she was the only thing keeping him from drifting away. Neither had the strength to last very long. Greg collapsed on top of her with a tired sigh.
"So fantastic, Molls." She heard from somewhere around her left shoulder. She hummed her agreement, tightening her arms around him. They just stayed that way for a few minutes, not moving, reminding themselves how to breathe normally again.
Greg finally shifted back to his side, reaching down to pull the comforter over them. Molly could scarcely contain her smile as she curled up beside him.
"Oh, I meant to ask you, what would you think of going out next week?" He asked, rousing her from the sleep she had been drifting towards.
"Out? On a date?"
"Yeah, I'm off early on Wednesday."
"So am I."
"I know, I took a peek at your schedule."
"Sneaky DI." He chuckled at that, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
"So a proper date?"
"What will we do on this proper date?"
"Well, a nice girl like you, figure you deserve some actual courting instead of just me pawing at you every couple of nights."
"I like you pawing at me. Men don't usually paw at me."
"Thank God, leave that to me, love."
"Fair to say I paw at you a fair bit." She laughed, settling her head against his shoulder.
"Softer passions where'd that come from?" He asked, the phrase rolling back into his thoughts after her hand found rest on his stomach.
"Read it in a book I think. Always comes to mind when we're together, given what our professional passions are."
"Making time for the softer… should've been a poet, Molls." Her laugh was a deeper one he hadn't heard before.
"What kind of poems would I write? An Ode to a Corpse?"
"Ballad of a Mortuary Attendant."
"Not much of a ballad. Maybe of what the mortuary attendant does in her free time."
"I would read that." He chuckled. A phone ringing of course interrupted their moment. Greg groaned, hunting down the annoying device. "Sorry, love."
"It's all right." She smiled, reaching for the buttons of the shirt she was wearing.
"What- what are you doing?" He asked, pulling on his pants.
"Well, you're going to need your shirt, aren't you?" She shrugged it off, handing it over to him.
"Yes-," he stared at her, struggling to put the shirt on. "You do make it hard to leave."
"You'll have to bring an extra shirt next time." Molly laid back down in the spot he just vacated, uncommonly daring as she rested her arms above her head.
"Oh, fuck it." Greg pulled his clothes off as quickly as possible before climbing back on top of Molly.
"You're going to be late." She moaned as his lips met hers.
"Worth it."
