Written for the Let's Write Sherlock Challenge on tumblr. Shameless PWP fic. Thanks to Clare for the beta read-over. 3

"Was that necessary?"

"Of course it was."

"Great. That's fantastic." John stared out the window as the taxi turned onto Baker Street. Sherlock noted the tension in his flatmate's jaw, and his left hand curling into a fist. "Next time I say to wait ten seconds, we go on 10. Not 9. Not on 8, or 7 or 6, or certainly not on fucking 4. I almost shot you!"

"Nonsense!" Sherlock said brightly. He stripped his soiled gloves off and tucked them into his pocket. "You didn't even fire. You never even raised your gun, point of fact. They were getting away while you were counting."

"They did get away!" John swore again. "Forget it. You let the client know what happened. I'm going to Mary's." The taxi rolled to a stop and John climbed out. "And you can pay for the ride." The doctor took off down the street, disappearing into the night.

Sherlock sat in the back seat, watching the grey-blond head vanish into the crowd. A slow smile crept onto his face.

"Pay up," the cabbie barked.

Sherlock passed him the money and hopped out, while pulling out his mobile. Before he'd reached the front door of 221 Baker Street, the phone was pressed to his ear. He vastly preferred to text but exceptions were made in special cases.

"Sherlock, is that you? You're… phoning?" Sounds of a busy pub nearly drowned out the sweet voice.

"I need you at Baker Street, at once." As he spoke, he drew out his keys and opened the door. He entered and paused to sniff the air outside Mrs. Hudson's flat. Hmm. Based on the aromas of her 'herbal soothers,' heavy supper cooking and the very low volume of her television, she would be well asleep by then.

"I'm just out with some friends…" The noise of the pub ate the next few words. "…Barts?"

"No, not Barts," Sherlock said, jogging up the stairs. "Baker Street. I don't have time to explain. I need you." He ended the call, satisfied she'd respond promptly.

Twenty minutes later, another taxi rolled up in front of the house. Sherlock had had just enough time to shower and get dressed again. A quick look in the mirror told him his guest would find him more than acceptable. His curls were still damp when he hurried down the stairs to open the door for Molly Hooper.

"Hi!" she said with a little wave. She looked very unlike the pathologist he regularly saw in the morgue swimming in oversized scrubs. Molly wore a sundress, white and patterned with cherries, adorned with a matching belt around her tiny waist. Shiny red heels brought her up an extra two inches but he still towered over her.

Sherlock smiled faintly down at her, and he saw her shiver. Knowing her and her penchant for overdoing some things, the deduction was simple.

"It's too cold to be wearing a sleeveless dress; you were wearing the cardigan that also matches it. But your friends talked you into taking it off when you got to the club. A wise decision; your obsession with fruit on your clothing borders on pathological."

Molly's mouth dropped open, and her cheeks flooded with indignant color. "I like my clothes, Sherlock."

The wicked smile he'd been hiding began to show. She was quicker to stand her ground than she was before his false death, though as polite as always. "I like them too. Certain aspects of them, anyway." He stepped aside, and gestured for Molly to come inside, shutting the door behind her.

"For instance, the dress is extremely convenient."

Heading for the stairs, Molly turned to look at him with a question in her eyes.

"What do-"

She was cut off by Sherlock taking her in his arms and pressing her hard against the wall. Molly's handbag fell to the floor at her feet. Her words were forgotten when his mouth took hers and kissed the breath from her. Molly moaned and wrapped her arms around his neck to draw him tighter to her. He locked around her body, while the other dipped under her dress to stroke her inner thigh.

"Sherlock," Molly whispered urgently. She sagged against the wall, breathing hard. Sherlock's hand roamed between her thighs. "Your landlady is-"

"Asleep. And John's gone to Mary's for the night." His cool eyes captured hers. He hiked the skirt of her dress up around her waist while his right hand slid further up her leg, tracing the lacy trim of her knickers. Without waiting, he slipped a finger beneath the border and into her gathering wetness.

Molly wiggled against his long finger, shocked by the suddenness of it. Her cheeks burned now. Her eyes darted up the stairs. "Can we…? Someone might see…hear…"

Sherlock shrugged. He slid another finger into her knickers, rotating two against her clit. "They might." His cock was heavy in his trousers, pressed against her, but his face was still steely cold.

Molly grabbed hold of the back of his head, digging her nails into his curls, scraping at his scalp. He winced, and then shuddered. He leaned in against Molly and ground his cock harder against her thigh.

"Do that again."

She tugged with a hungry glint in her eyes. Payback for the torment of his hand still teasing her cunt. Sherlock kissed her, tasting her and taking his time licking his way down Molly's throat. She sighed and hugged him closer. He nipped over her neck and sunk his teeth in, sucking and leaving a pink mark.

Molly removed her hands from his hair and pressed down on his shoulders. He lifted his head from her throat and raised one eyebrow at her.

"Please?" she said softly.

"But we're not even in the flat," he said mockingly. His hand in her knickers was soaked now with her juices. She arched against his palm, uncaring who could walk in.

Molly's eyes were heavy-lidded with want. "You're a bastard, Sherlock."

He dropped to his knees, drew her pants down to her ankles, and set about proving her right with his mouth. Molly braced herself against the foyer wall, biting her hand and whimpering with every slash of Sherlock's brilliant tongue over her clit. She rocked against his face while he spread her thighs and cradled her bottom, sucking her clit and making her shake. Her cherry-dotted sundress draped over his head, and it was all Molly could do not to collapse on the floor. His fingers slid into her, fucking her open while he teased her clit with his tongue. Within a few minutes, she came groaning, leaving a deep row of teethmarks in her own arm.

Sherlock pulled her dress over his head and looked up at her smugly. Molly's breath came in gasps. Her delicate composure was completely in tatters.

Distantly, she heard people walking by the house and she wondered if anyone had heard her orgasm.

"Doubtful," Sherlock said, reading her glances. He smiled. "No reason we can't keep trying though."

They made it upstairs, but not into the bedroom. They did manage to get Molly's sundress off before she was bent over Sherlock's favorite chair, with her white bra and red high heels still on. Sherlock was still clothed, his black trousers and shirt contrasting her paleness. With him so aroused already, Molly had thought he would bury himself inside her the moment he stripped her down (Sherlock Holmes was the most impatient man alive) but instead he dropped to his knees again. Molly leaned over his chair and felt his smooth hands caress her bum, occasionally slipping between her thighs to keep her in ready wetness.

Molly turned and looked back at him. A stray curl fell on his forehead, as Sherlock stroked her ass and studied her.

Without averting his gaze, Sherlock said, "Turn back, you've altered your stance."

She rolled her eyes, but resumed the same position. She wiggled her bum a little in defiance, and smiled when she felt a kiss on her left cheek in response. She felt his hot breath on her and her muscles tensed in anticipation of another round of his mouth on her pussy. But instead she felt the first tentative flick of his tongue further back.

Molly froze, uncertain. She wasn't opposed to what he was doing, it was just…new.

"Relax," Sherlock reassured her. He lightly rubbed her clit with a fingertip, and Molly sighed, sinking into his touch. His tongue returned to her ass, flicking harder now at the tight bud. The unfamiliar sensation was strange but not unpleasant. It was soft and wet and obscene and hot and Molly felt the urge to move somehow. So she did, rocking back against his mouth while the moans spilling from her mouth grew louder and louder. He kissed and licked around her ass, and worked her cunt with his fingers until everything below her waist was a soaking mess.

"Sherlock?" Her voice sounded hoarse and alien to herself.

"Yes, Molly?" he rumbled.

"Fuck me now."

"Such manners, Miss Hooper." But in a flash, he was on his feet and rummaging through his pockets for a condom.

She heard the tearing of foil, smelled latex in the air, and then felt Sherlock's strong hand pressing into the small of her back. Molly shifted over the chair, brushing her long hair away from her face. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips raw from biting. She never even heard Sherlock's zipper go down but it must've because she felt his sheathed cock nudging into her. Her thighs ached from the strain of bending and stretching while wearing heels, but she spread them even further apart when his hands settled on her hips, sinking his dick deep into her.

She moved with him instinctively, with so little direction. It had always been that between them in the lab and the morgue. It should be no surprise that it was the same when she was in his arms.

Sherlock squeezed her waist, and found his rhythm pounding into her. He hadn't planned on rimming her when he'd invited Molly over but when she'd draped herself over his favorite chair, her round ass was an invitation he couldn't resist. She'd responded to the newness of it beautifully, not turning away in shame, but embracing the pleasure. He snapped his hips harder against her ass now thinking of it.

Molly cried out, accompanying the wet slapping sounds of their bodies meeting. His breaths came raggedly but he controlled his own groans, wanting to hear her noises. She was in turns breathy and rough, sweet and vulgar. She swore and begged, and her heels scraped across the floor.

He wondered if he'd ever be able to sit in his chair again without thinking of her bent over it like this, her small breasts and waves of hair bouncing as he fucked her.

Sherlock reached forward and sank a fist into her hair, slowing the pace. Molly responded innately, adjusting her speed with the gentle tug of her hair. They moved together with the new rhythm, and shortly, he felt the tell-tale clenching of her walls around his cock.

The quaking of her pussy brought him to the brink.

"Just…a little more," she pleaded, bracing herself on the chair, arms straining. "Please, wait. Wait."

He grabbed her hips, hauled her back onto his dick tightly, and drove her to the finishing point. Molly fell forward on her arms, crying her orgasm out against the fabric of the chair while Sherlock finally let go.

He shuddered with the force of his climax, his face contorted with the brain-numbing pleasure of it. His heart raced and with a surge, he came. He smoothed his hand over her back, breathing though the aftershocks and relishing the feeling of her heat wrapped around him.

After a moment, he reluctantly withdrew from her.

Molly smiled happily back at Sherlock.

"That was nice."

"Nice?" Sherlock stripped the condom off while staring at her. "Nice?!"

"Lovely! Fantastic, I meant." Molly laughed and turned over. She stood and her legs went wobbly. "Oof." She kicked off her high heels and hurried over to the sofa. Sitting down, she massaged her feet.

Sherlock headed for the loo where she heard the toilet flush, presumably to dispose of the condom. She heard the sounds of him brushing his teeth and washing up a bit a moment later.

When he returned to the room, he had taken off the remainder of his clothing finally. He joined Molly on the sofa, and pulled her onto his lap.

"Overdue with that, don't you think?" she remarked, stroking his chest. Sherlock's hair was damp again, this time was sweat. His curls were wild, and his eyes were bright and greener than usual. Molly smiled up at him.

"And here I thought you liked it when I wore all black for you. The vicar look. You certainly liked it last time. With the collar and all." He waggled his eyebrows.

Molly blushed and swatted his arm. "I don't want to talk about that. Are you sure John is going to be gone all night?"

"Yes. The men we were following tonight weren't the suspects we needed. Started a proper argument with him when it was clear the case work wasn't going anywhere." He stroked her back as he explained. "John thought I could've gotten shot. Complete overreaction. He was a little…irked when we headed home. I made rather certain of it." Sherlock kissed her forehead. "We'll have at least until the morning."

"Well that's not very nice." She frowned.

"Oh did you not want time alone with me? You were the one who wanted to keep this a secret for now."

"No, I know, but a lot has changed since you returned. John's going to worry. He's your best friend. He grieved horribly. Some of us had to watch that, you know."

A stubborn line formed between Sherlock's eyes. "Alright."

"Tell him."

"What?"

"Tell him about us. No more sneaking around." Molly turned to face her boyfriend.

"You're certain? You understand that while this means we could have sex whenever we wanted, we'd also be subject to a good deal of speculation in the press and the scrutiny of your friends. Once we tell John, other people will find out soon enough."

"Yes. And you wouldn't have to lie to your friend anymore and…we should probably talk more about that stuff tomorrow. You've worn me out." She kissed Sherlock. "This is the right thing to do."

He cupped her face tenderly. "I agree."

"Then that's settled. Let's gather up my things though. Um, while I'm glad John will be finding out, I do think we should locate my knickers before he comes home tomorrow."