This fic is for my dear friend sherlockian87..
"Molly?" Jesika Hooper's soft voice floated, disembodied into her room.
"Yes, Mama?" Molly called back, knowing full well that Healer Watson was here and she must make the right impression, they desperately needed the money an apprenticeship could offer.
Steadfastly ignoring the part of her mind that was pulling out the pieces of memories pertaining to why they were in such a hopeless situation; like a child excited about a jigsaw, her wayward monkey-brain was trying to piece it all together.
"Are you ready to receive? Healer Watson is here love," her mother's voice was artificially bright, friendly but brittle. Meeting the man wishing to take over your dead husband's legacy was bound to be fraught, hoping to convince him to take an unmarried female in her prime as his apprentice was not a task for the faint hearted.
Shaking her head in an attempt to dislodge the intrusive thoughts, she called back, "One moment Mama!"
She smoothed down her dress and checked that her apron was still free of smudges and marks and sitting evenly. Pinching her cheeks, she took one last look in the glass. Making a face at herself, she sighed, "Well Miss Molly, either Healer Watson likes what he sees and deems you capable, or he doesn't, no sense in fretting." One last nod and she twirled out through the door ready to tackle her future.
Keeping her eyes down she walked at a demure pace into the sitting room, hearing rather than seeing Healer Watson scrambling to his feet, only when he cleared his throat did she dare a glance.
He was short - taller than herself but that didn't take much - blonde and stocky, with an upright bearing. It seemed the rumours he had been to war may not have been entirely without merit, though he did have a kind look about him.
Relieved, she relaxed, she had been a little afraid of him since hearing the whispers about his having been a soldier.
"Molly?" Her mother's dulcet tones intruded, interrupting her mental tangent.
"Oh! S-Sorry! Ah, Healer Watson?" She held her hand out to him in the style of a man, not palm down and- ready to be kissed.
Healer John Watson looked at her hand, eyes flicking up to take in her face briefly. Seeing no malice there, just a straightforward desire to be acknowledged and treated as an equal. Well that he would happily do, he gave her hand a hearty shake. "Call me John please, no need to stand on ceremony."
Molly smiled in return before retorting haughtily, "And you may call me Ms. Hooper."
Starting in surprise, he recovered himself quickly and nodded his acquiescence.
Delighted with her trick, she laughed, gasping for breath as she urged him, "Molly! Call me Molly! I'm sorry, I heard a woman say that to father once when he was treating her, I've wanted to say it ever since! Ms," she repeated with a pompous shake of her head, giggling to herself.
As awareness of her inappropriate behaviour sank in, she blushed at her childish display before darting a glance at her mother to see if she'd angered her.
~o0oo0oo0o~
Throwing her a vaguely displeased look, Jessika slipped through the door to kitchen, to prepare the tea. She should have been annoyed by Molly's display of foolishness but she simply couldn't begrudge her a moment of mirth; goodness knew there had been very little fun over the last year, and the Healer did seem to be rather charmed by her. After having spent more than a few sleepless nights worrying that he would find her too young, too flighty, it would be a relief to just have the meeting over with, even if the result was not what they'd hoped for.
A troublesome thought popped up, Was there a possibility that he may believe that taking over the healing rooms brought with it a pretty, young, blushing bride? Her thoughts careened wildly as she worriedly tried to formulate a polite way to ask his intentions.
In the end she stuck to the tried and true, "Will your wife be joining you soon Healer Watson? And your children? Or are your children grown?" Her smile was wide and sincere and she hoped that would at least somewhat ameliorate the harsh sting of her words.
Aware of what she was trying to convey, John smiled in return. Poor Molly, penniless and fatherless, certainly she was pretty, and still in the first bloom of youth; but with little else to recommend her - most men would not care for her intelligence - she'd be lucky to make a match at all, let alone a good one.
Meeting her eyes gently, his voice was soft, "As yet I have neither wife nor children, perhaps the future holds both who knows, one can only hope."
Smiling in relief, she pondered, This is a good man, maybe Molly could grow to love him in time? No, she's a hopeless romantic, just like her father was, if she doesn't have stars in her eyes now, she never will. Besides, she's convinced she must marry none other than the man she's been dreaming about all year, some sort of mage judging by her description of him and at least ten years older.
~o0oo0oo0o~
Waking from a particularly fitful sleep one afternoon, she'd sketched a picture of him, depicting him as tall and forbidding; slanted, dangerous, shape shifting eyes, and a sweep of raven's wing hair crowning a high forehead. She'd been particularly upset about not being able to get the colour of his eyes right, she'd fretted over the fact that they had kept changing, colours shifting like clouds in a stormy sky.
He had been dressed top to toe in all black, though she'd excitedly told her that he certainly wasn't always dressed thusly, he seemed to have clothes in every possible hue. Her eyes shone as she detailed his cape, black as the night sky barely lit by a new moon, with blood red accents, it had shimmered and rippled with magic, her demeanour reverent when she explained it had appeared to be alive itself.
She'd sworn that it wasn't just a dream, she had been there. Only waking when he'd looked up from his task and their eyes had caught, she'd described his reaction as total shock, tempered by the barest flicker of interest, swiftly replaced by irritation, he'd waved an elegant, bejewelled hand at her and mumbled a long string of consonants.
Stomach whooshing as everything around her had swirled and shivered and flew apart, she'd closed her eyes against the sensory overload feeling dazed and moments later she'd woken in her own bed.
Though Molly had faithfully promised to stop trying to dream about him after that, Jesika was well aware that she had just become more careful about hiding it, from the mage as well as herself.
Every time Jesika thought on it she became more fearful, No good will come of this, why was it happening? And why to my family? Have we had not had enough bad luck already?
Just as she had finally made up her mind and had drawn a shaky breath intending to ask The Healer his advice on the subject, she was interrupted by Molly sweeping back into to the room, baring a tray laden with lemonade, tea, scones and freshly churned butter.
Who knows how differently everything may have played out if she had not been distracted?
~o0oo0oo0o~
The first week went by without event, John and Molly found each other pleasant company. They were well matched, both taking pride in clean work surfaces, exercising saintly patience with the more vocal patients and both easy going so there was no conflict - no spark either, to her mother's disappointment.
It was a pleasant surprise for John to find that Molly was far closer to being a healer herself than a helper; her only lack that of practical experience, she'd obviously read her father's healing codex whenever she'd had a chance, inhaled them might be a more apt description.
Early in the second week, after lunch a Migraine set in. Molly was mortified, To get sick, to appear unreliable. Shamefaced she explained that she would be unable to work for several days.
Taking it in stride, John entreated her not to worry, kindly assuring her that he had been far from busy, it's still rather quiet - people don't quite trust him yet.
Molly smiled wanly at his joke.
All the positivity she had been feeling waned once the headaches returned, she had been settling in well with John at work, and she'd dreamed about him twice this week.
Both times she managed to elude his notice, the first time he'd been surrounded by tubes of coloured liquids, powders, all gleaming and sparkling with life. He'd been mumbling to himself as he prepared some sort of potion - or so she'd thought, only to realise that he'd been mumbling at a pretty little tortoise shell cat he'd referred to as Toby.
After realising that the cat had answered him, she'd very nearly given her presence away. Her double take and gasp combo should have alerted him - fortunately at that exact moment Toby had coughed, a hacking fur ball, gasping for air.
The tabby had then winked at her and she'd stood rooted to the spot staring at him for the rest of the dream. Purring loudly, the feline had obviously enjoyed her attention.
After admonishing him several times, Sherlock had grumpily asked him what the hell he was so ecstatic about.
Choosing to ignore him, Toby had simply continued kneading the cushion he was curled up on and closing his eyes in a friendly fashion to Molly.
The second dream had been quite a sight to behold. He had been bathing just moments prior to her appearance.
Standing in the shadows, she had been utterly transfixed, she'd never seen a naked man before under the age of fifty, all the men that needed help with their undercarriages had all been older, much older.
He was a work of art, flawless. Porcelain skin, narrow shoulders that appeared pleasingly broad on his lean frame, further accentuated by a slim waist, creating a beautiful form and shape that made her heart stutter. Dark hair forming a trail that began under his belly button, like a beacon pointing her gaze in the right direction, legs lithe and shapely, when he turned away his arse was high and round.
Again and again her gaze found its way back to where that arrow commanded she focus her attention, her cheeks glowed with shame but she didn't turn away. Never had she imagined that she would be the type of girl to want a man so ferociously, to want to hold and be held, but oh she did. Fingers flexed and curling, desperate to wrap themselves around him, her sex pulsing deliciously between her legs.
So this was what people whispered about, got themselves in trouble for, she had thought the other girls ridiculous, to throw their futures away, just for a sloppy tongue pushed into your mouth.
Her one and only kiss had been at a harvest dance and it had been wet, her only thoughts had centred on germ transfer. Her father having warned her when they were tending to open wounds that germs lurked in bodily fluids.
Although she thought it extremely unlikely that this extraordinary sorcerer would do any task badly, it would be worth it, even should it be clammy, just to touch.
Excitement dimmed when she considered that the one time he'd noticed her presence he'd sent her away. The thought that he'd simply sent her out of the dream, there had been no lecture, no sermon on why it was rude to spy, provided a small measure of comfort. Though on the other hand, maybe that wasn't such a succour, he'd flicked her away with about as much care as one would take with a house fly.
That had still been the high point of the week, from there it had only gone downhill. Another migraine had wrought her incapable of working. Three days off, back at work for two days, then off again for a further four days.
Feeling thoroughly wrung out after such an episode, she returned to work absolutely full of apologies and begged John to please give her another chance.
Waving her off, his concern plainly visible, "Molly? How long have these headaches been this bad?"
"They started when my father," Molly sucked in a breath, "When he got sick,"
"I'm sorry to ask such a delicate question Molly, how did he die?"
"He started getting headaches when the leaves began falling," she began haltingly, "By the time the sheep had begun lambing a black lump formed on his stomach, rather like the shape of an M," she explained.
Obviously coming to a decision, John nodded to himself. "I'm going to take you to see a sorcerer."
Staring at John, she neither moved nor made a sound, after a moment she regained her senses and frowned, before repeating, "A sorcerer? You know a sorcerer? Light?" Swallowing, she twisted her fingers, "Or dark?"
"Light Molly, you need not fear him, or me, there's no trick afoot, I think you've been cursed."
John watched in horror as Molly fainted dead away. Diving forward, he managed to break her fall, getting under her in an awkward fashion with mere seconds to spare. Adjusting her body carefully, he carried her to the couch, he couldn't help but notice that she weighed as little as a child.
Regaining her senses, she found John hovering over her body waving smelling salts under her nose and calling her back to consciousness. There was a blanket draped thoughtfully over her to retain her modesty in the event of her dress flipping up.
Once Molly had some time to shake off her fainting spell, they set off on foot to the heart of the forest, to where the sorcerer lived. John explained on the way that the sorcerer was a good man, his magic light, but he can appear quite abrupt and on more than one occasion he has been mistaken for a dark mage.
A short walk later they arrived at an empty clearing in the forest. Molly was thoroughly confused, looking around and frowning at John. With another man she may have been concerned that he had brought her here with ulterior motives in mind, an isolated spot where she couldn't be heard screaming, but she had been around him long enough to know that he had no desire to hold a violent sort of power over anyone.
Chuckling at her confusion, John whistled three long and two short notes, he was met with an answering call to which he responded with four short and four long notes. A stone domicile appeared.
Molly stumbled back and landed unceremoniously on her arse.
A shadow fell over her, the Sorcerer.
Unable to make out his features, he was simply a dark spot with the sun radiating out around him, though his cape was resplendent.
An internal voice started chattering away, reminding her where she'd seen a cape recently, she shushed it, All sorcerers have capes and there was certainly more than just one in a town this size.
Eyes narrowing when they landed on Molly sprawled gracelessly on his grass, it quickly became clear to him that she was here. She had found him, or been sent, the latter far more likely; she hardly looked the type to figure a way to track him down, neither by spell nor by simply asking questions and noticing.
Watching Sherlock staring at Molly in obvious recognition and shock, and fear? John's eyes swivel from Sherlock to Molly and back again as he tried to figure out what he'd missed.
Finally Sherlock recovered his equilibrium and held his hand out to her.
Molly grasped it and he pulled her to her feet, allowing her to see him clearly for the first time.
When he dropped her hand like it was an ember, she reeled back staring at him with cheeks brushed with pink.
"I-It's you!" Her face was filled with wonder and embarrassment in equal parts.
Eyes dark and mouth tight, his voice was icy when he responded, "Who sent you here?"
"Sherlock! What the hell is the matter with you? I brought her here. Her name is Molly Hooper and she is working with me, I took over her father's healing rooms and I think her father was cursed, he had a tumour in the shape of an M on his stomach."
Obviously shocked, Sherlock was whiter than snow, "What are your symptoms?" He asked, his voice rough.
Watching him, fear settles low in her belly, "M-My s-s-symptoms? What?"
He is brusque as he ushers them inside, "Come, we cannot stay out here all afternoon, we'll have to come up with a plan." Leading them into the house, his strides stretched far too long for either of his diminutive companions to keep pace with.
Rolling his eyes as he followed him in, John offered Molly his arm muttering "Dick," under his breath as he did so.
Molly was silent, her thoughts stuck on the most recent dreams about him. Would Toby be here? Would he be talking? Was that real or just a dream induced madness? And the tub, would it be brass and in the corner of the room on the far side next to a fireplace?
Even as Molly and John made their way inside the dwelling it was already shimmering and fading around them, winking back out of sight.
Ever the gentleman, John signalled Molly to go first.
As Molly's eyes adjusted to the dim lighting she became aware of three things at once. The first being that Toby was real as can be, and in fact was singing a dirty limerick while he soaked up a patch of sunshine. The second being the location of the notorious brass tub, namely that it was exactly where it was in her dream, causing her mouth to go dry.
Sherlock doesn't miss her reaction to the tub, he smirked at her and her knees liquefied at the sight of it.
Does he know? His wink suggested he had an idea. Before putting the thought aside to examine later, she realised that the fact that he knew her and assumed she'd seen him naked further confirmed that the connection flowed both ways. It would not occur to her until that night when she was alone in bed, unable to sleep after yet another dream, that he had likely guessed about her having seen him naked based on what he himself had seen.
The third, dismaying realisation was that there was a woman there. A woman closer to his age, blonde, gorgeous, open smile, busty and clearly aware of that fact by the amount of cleavage on display.
Molly's heart sank, so her fantasies were just that, fantasies, obviously his tastes tended towards the more exotic. Molly simply couldn't compete, her mouth turned down and she sighed in resignation.
The woman walked forward on well-oiled hips and extended her hand to Molly, her smile warm and welcoming.
Well of course it would be, I'm no threat, I'm barely finished being a child, Molly thought bitterly.
When she was near enough to make contact with Molly she grabbed her hand and pulled her in, placing a soft kiss on her cheek. Voice low and sultry in her ear as she assured Molly, "He's all yours darling." She straightened and cooed, "Mary, though not contrary," she dropped a wink and waited with barely disguised amusement while Molly struggled to formulate her reply.
"Oh! Molly! Sorry, I don't come with a rhyme," she twittered nervously, overwhelmed.
Mary grinned, "I'm sure there are plenty of other things to recommend you sweetheart." Flicking her gaze purposefully toward Sherlock who was watching the whole thing with a measured gaze, before winking at Molly and spinning toward John.
Who was clearly pleased with Mary, rather pleased if his smile was anything to go by, he kissed her hand when offered without taking his eyes off of her for a beat.
"What brings you to this neck of the woods? Unless of course it's private?" He inclined his head towards Sherlock. Hoping that she was not here as a paramour for Sherlock, he couldn't really imagine that she would be, but she could easily be a foil for some plan or other.
Sitting down next to John, rather closer than was necessary, she chuckled and flicked her eyes briefly back and forth between the other pair.
John frowned, Was she implying that - He shook his head. They've only just met, she must be picking up on attraction from Molly to Sherlock, that's all. Though hardly uncommon it always, always passed when he said something carelessly cruel and the admirer inevitably decided that his beauty was not worth the razor wire tongue housed in that pretty mouth.
Watching as his internal dialogue washed across his features with amusement, she confided, "I'm here looking for work, I'm looking to take on an apprenticeship, healing, or sorcery, your friend here seems to have no…use for me, how about you?"
"Oh! Well I would love to- " clearing his throat, before seeming to find the right word, he continued, "Help, but I have agreed to apprentice Molly, she has trained with her healer father."
"Molly will be coming to me instead now John," Sherlock's imperious tone brooked no argument.
Smirking, Mary winked at John and held her nails in front of her, inspecting them carefully, smiling the whole time, pleased things were going her way.
Smiling back at her in a conspiratorial fashion, he sighed, God, she's sexy. Wondering idly if she'd been this flirty with Sherlock before remembering himself and his duty to protest about Molly being pushed around.
He looked over at Molly expecting her to look weary or afraid, she looked…calm? No, not calm, anticipatory. Thoroughly confused, his gaze flicked to Sherlock, who was watching Molly with a territorial look on his face, looking every bit the predator sorcerers are known to be.
Shaking his head, he looked upward as if to ask the heavens what exactly was this parallel universe he'd fallen into, "Ah, why? She needs her job Sherlock! Surely you can remove the curse today?"
Scoffing, "Yes, of course I can, it's a simple curse, child's play to remove it, Toby could probably manage it." Looking at John as though he were simple, he expanded, "It's a simple spell, no difficulty to cast it again, or to cast another. So I will need to keep an eye on Molly, she'll need to come here, to be under my protection. I will nullify spells as necessary and figure out what Moriarty's game is and put a stop to him."
"She needs her job Sherlock, they'll lose their cottage." John was furious, Sherlock's laissez-faire attitude to such things was fine for him, he was like a cat, always falling on his feet.
Born into immense wealth, a sorcerer of almost unparalleled talent. He'd had a rocky start in his youth and his family feared that he would be the first of the Holmes clan to practice Dark Sorcery. It had long been a source of joy (naysayers called it sinful pride) that for as far back as theirs had been a sorcerer clan, not one of their number had turned dark.
Sherlock was lauded as one of the great minds of his time, in constant demand. Matters of great secrecy that the finest minds at the palace's disposal found to be beyond their scope, mere trifles for him to dispatch. Sought after by the Head Royal Advisor, who was of course, his eldest brother.
His Lord, Sir Mycroft, of the Holmes Clan, The official Royal Sorcerer to the King. He had retained that honour through the ceremonially swearing in and subsequent beheading of the last fifty seven Crowned Kings. Mycroft himself having been directly involved, if not outright responsible, in at least half of the deadly games of musical chairs that had played out over the last ten centuries by those seeking ownership of the crown, the power, glory and of course, the riches that came with it.
Waving his hand dismissively, "I will pay her John, she can apprentice for me," he smiled, looking pleased with himself for solving everything so expediently.
Sighing, John asked, "And what if Jesika Hooper is not so well pleased with this arrangement?"
Looking no less smug, he continued, "I'll pay her double." Giving a sharp nod as though this sealed it, he continued, "The real question here, which you of course missed John, is why, why curse Molly and Healer Hooper? What could anyone have possibly gained from such a plot? Well it's fairly simple, it was done to hurt me."
In that moment, for the first time John questioned Sherlock's sanity. He'd always been different, not only because he was a sorcerer, but John had always understood his eccentricities for the most part and when he hadn't, he had at least believed his heart was in the right place.
Cocking his head, he took John in, "No John, I haven't gone mad, I'm still functioning at full capacity. For example, we are not in a parallel universe and Mary did not react to me the way she has to you, there was no flirting or interest, from either party," With his fingers steepled under his chin, he'd clearly decided the conversation was over.
Glaring, John's face clearly telegraphed that he had best make this good. Mary nodded happily and Molly was just lost in his eyes.
Looking put upon, he elucidated, "Right, well I know you're going to make a big deal of this, but don't. Molly is my soulmate."
A hush fell over the room, even Toby stopped, his tongue stuck half way out as he peered at his master in confusion.
"She has come of age thereby activating our…connection, so my mortal enemy Moriarty is trying to hurt her. It has long been my destiny to tussle with him, I would know when the time is right because I would start dreaming about her."
John, Mary and Molly were all staring at him. Molly, though clearly somewhat less surprised than the other two still looked agog.
Thoughts whirled through her head, Soulmate? But only the magical have soulmates? And if we are soulmates, when will we marry?
"You mean to tell me Molly is your soulmate and you've been dreaming about her but you haven't attempted to find her and she's been at the mercy of your mortal enemy?" John closed his eyes and huffed out a breath.
Sherlock had the grace to look ashamed, "Well I am planning to rectify that." Looking down he continued, "It did not occur to me that she would be in harm's way, I wasn't aware that he would also be aware of her." Eyes flicking to Molly, he dreaded the hate that must surely mar her features, starting in shock when instead of the much feared hate, he saw only love. When you have been alive for a thousand years very little will shock you. Humanity does not learn new tricks, it's the same greed, lust, thievery and murderous rage, the same dance to a myriad of tunes. But it appeared that Molly sang a different song, a pure melody, and an unbidden voice in his mind whispered that her song needed a violin to accompany it.
Tearing his eyes away from Molly, he addressed the room in general in a haughty tone, "Molly will come and apprentice for me, giving me time to be able to figure out which of her acquaintance is Moriarty." In a softened tone, he turned to Molly and continued, "I didn't know he would try to get to me through you, I am sorry."
Flabbergasted, John looked on, his mouth hanging open. Mary looked like the cat that got the cream.
Staring at Sherlock, Molly finally shook her head and whispered, "I don't understand."
Guilt was writ large on his face, as well as his intention of doing nothing to alleviate it. He did feel badly for her, obviously she was too young to understand that being soulmates doesn't mean they will be together, his eyes implored her to please not hate him - he was just not built for love.
"Sherlock? What the hell is a mortal enemy and why do you have one?" Barking out a short laugh, John shook his head, if anyone in the world would be likely to have a mortal enemy he could think of no better candidate - with the exception of Mycroft Holmes - than Sherlock himself.
With a sigh, Sherlock took in their faces. John radiating righteous anger, Mary, whose interest was born purely of curiosity. And Molly, trying so hard to appear brave and unaffected. His heart stirred at her bravery. Though she was but tiny and mortal, she possessed the courage of a great mage-warrior. Pushing the thought away as not useful, he brought his focus back to the unpleasant chore waiting.
"When I was growing up I knew that we were different, it was no secret, we are mage and, as such our lives have certain…responsibilities that are peculiar to us. We are tasked with overseeing the earth and its inhabitants; we are the caretakers, if you will. Even amongst our kind there are those with more...specific tasks assigned to them." He paused for a moment, clearly grasping for words to down play the importance.
Molly was the first to question, "So Moriarty? He is special? He has a specific task to undertake?"
Grimacing, "Ah, well, nooo." He tilted his head forward, unwittingly making it clear to all that they were not being given the straight truth.
"Sherlock," John warned, "This is serious," his words were clipped, his face a challenge, should he dare to try and refute it.
Sulkily, he threw his hands up and answered. "Moriarty is a dark mage, he has no specific task, he vows to simply create chaos, but he has sworn to defeat me. His wish is to lead the world into a time when man is cut off from nature, and indeed other humans, and the planet will die. If he can defeat me, human kind will lose interest in looking after the planet and it will begin."
Molly's eyes flicked to Toby to see what the tabby thought of these developments, evidently he'd either heard them before or they didn't bother him.
Easily noticing where her gaze had gone, he informed her, "Nothing would change in Toby's lifetime."
"How do you know all of this anyway?" Mary wanted to know, Molly and John nodded along eagerly, clearly pleased with the astuteness of the question.
"The White Witch Hudson came to my parents when I was born with the prophecy. My parents were given to understand that my soulmate would be a mortal girl and when she was finally born and had come of age, it would begin. She would not be mage, but she is special none-the-less, she is the catalyst. The dreams would begin and she would find me. I didn't know that he would know about you, but it makes sense, she has a counterpart, a dark witch known simply as The Woman, she of course, makes herself useful to Moriarty in these things."
"I am mortal, how can I be your soulmate? Only the mage have soulmates? I won't live for eons." She asked nervously.
Sherlock blushed and John's mouth dropped, "She will if you.."
Grinning, Mary and nudged John, whispering, "I do so love to be right!"
Confused, Molly's eyes sought Mary for clarification.
When Mary winked salaciously at her, Molly's mouth dropped open. Did she mean..? She cannot mean..? With him..? Me..? I'm not beautiful enough for him.
Mary and John turned to each other and began working out the details of Mary coming to replace Molly, which certainly seemed the appropriate course of action with Molly set to learn how to be a Sorcerer's assistant.
Attempting to distract himself from his embarrassment, Sherlock picked up a book.
Molly was flummoxed, everything was happening regardless of her feelings. She would of course, agree, she'd do anything to be around him, but he seemed to regard her as a nuisance, to be protected as a matter of duty, of honour, but not one of love.
Looking around the room, trying to glean some understanding of what was going on, her eyes landed on Sherlock again.
His eyes were boring into her, causing her to flush, sending sparks of desire crashing down to her groin. Face registering something akin to shock, whatever he had seen or felt caused the book that he had in his hand to suddenly become useful to place in his lap.
Molly's eyes drifted to the placement of the book, her mouth went dry. Closing her eyes for a moment, a vivid image scrolled across the inside of her eyelids.
The sorcerer lifted her and placed her against the door, holding her up while simultaneously pushing a thigh between her legs, helping to ease the ache building there. Ripping her dress open, he pulled the crisscrossed laces hard enough to rip them, before burying his head in her chest. Caught in her tumble of hair that framed them in waves, when his mouth pulled a nipple in and sucked just so, she gasped and shivered.
When her eyes flew open, she shook her head trying to and dislodge the thoughts. Casting a wary eye around the room she was relieved to see John deep in conversation with Mary who-is-never-contrary. Sighing, she relaxed, until her eyes alighted once again upon the sorcerer.
Cocking his head to one side, his expression was that of someone trying to ascertain whether or not a situation may be dangerous but struggling due to no prior experience with this particular menace to draw from.
Molly stared back at him, chest heaving. Feeling as though she was under a spell, she pushed forward, placing her hands on the arms of the chair she was in, got to her feet in one seamless, graceful motion and walked to him. Slowly, purposefully making her way, the rest of the room had dissolved around them, only they two were left.
Matching her breath for breath, Sherlock's tongue darted out to soothe his cupid's bow lips. Unconsciously his legs widened, invitingly, without ever taking his eyes off of hers. Removing the well placed book he placed his hands back on the arms of the armchair but they were not still; they twitched and moved, they desired to push and pull, they desired to grab and squeeze.
Stopping in front of him, Molly lifted her skirts, then climbed into his lap, straddling him. His prominent erection ground into her core as she leaned in and, taking his face in her hands, cupped it possessively and began kissing him fiercely.
In unison they moaned as he roughly palmed her breasts through her thin muslin dress.
Molly cried out when he began thrusting up into her, taking a hold of her hips he used his grip to circle her hips giving them both the friction they desired.
"Oh, oh, oh, I don't understand -ahhhh." Molly flushed, mouth open, body rigid as she came undone.
He joined her, his movements becoming jerky.
Pulling back, she looked into his eyes, he kissed her passionately again before the world took on a shimmery elastic shape and everything faded to black.
~o0oo0oo0o~
Panting and shaking, she woke in her own bed. Desperately confused, she tried to recount her steps. How did I get home? Did I…whatever that was? In front John and Mary? She covered her face with her hands, the heat pouring off her skin matching her shame in its intensity.