Based on this silly idea I wrote on tumblr;
Imagine Sherlock thinking because of Irene that suggestively asking someone to have dinner is universally known as asking to have sex and he asks Molly to come over to Baker Street to 'have dinner' and she shows up and he's completely starkers and Molly is like what the fuck Sherlock
"What the – Jesus – Sherlock, why are you – "
Sherlock looked rather offended by her reaction. "I think that would be obvious."
"Obvious?" she shrieked, her eyes trying so very hard not to peek out over the hand that was covering them. "You asked me here for dinner."
"Yes, dinner," he said, emphasising the word in a strange fashion, as if there were some kind of hidden connotation to it.
Molly braced herself, her fingers sliding open minutely, just to check. Yep, still naked. Gloriously so. "I'm not getting why you have to be naked for us to have dinner."
"I suppose I wouldn't have to be," Sherlock mused. He seemed to drift in to his thoughts, eyes glazed over, before he cleared his throat. "It would make the process more difficult."
Molly's mind whizzed with confusion. Of all the bizarre things Sherlock had done, none had left her utterly speechless. But him dropping his blue silk robe the second she'd entered 221B to reveal he wasn't wearing a stitch of clothing had been... quite shocking. "I –" Her mouth had went dry, she could barely form a coherent sentence because Sherlock sodding Holmes was butt naked in front of her. It reminded her of what she had been like when she'd first met him. The stuttering, the intimidation, the same nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach. "I'm confused."
"Molly–" Sherlock started, and Molly kept her eyes riveted on his feet as they edged closer and closer towards her, in desperate attempt not to look further north.
Molly extended out a hand to stop him in his tracks. "Will you please put something on?" She cried, and it sounded more like a plea than Molly had intended. Her eyes glanced across his living room, trying to find some sort of distraction. "Here," she said, plucking a pillow from his couch, tossing it in his direction.
She still could not see Sherlock's face, but Molly could read his emotions in the disgruntled tone of his voice. "Really?" He asked, as though she was the one being unreasonable.
"I can hardly have a proper conversation with you when you're starkers, Sherlock," she said, her voice growing shriller and shriller by the second. A tiny, hysterical laugh escaped her, the noise a combination of nerves and sheer bafflement. She subdued her laughs just long enough to mutter, "It's a bit distracting."
"Distracting?" Sherlock repeated, his voice a low, seductive rumble that would ensnare even the most resistant prey. And clearly, Molly was far from unwilling.
But she was not a fool. She knew this was just Sherlock teasing her. He didn't really want her. Her eyes snapped shut in the desperate hope that it would somehow erase the allure of his voice. "Sherlock," she said, a slight growl in her tone evoking how serious she was. It was no longer a plea, it was an order. It left no room for negotiation.
Molly heard the distinct rustle of fabric against skin. "You can open your eyes now," Sherlock stated briskly.
As peculiar as this whole situation was, she knew she could trust him to do as she had asked. He would never purposefully make her uncomfortable. He would never force her to do anything she wasn't willing to. Her hand dropped away from her face, her eyes casting a sly look over to the centre of living room where Sherlock stood.
The image she was blessed was undeniably farcical.
Her eyes drifted down, taking in his dark curls, his frowning mouth, his pale, lean stomach, to finally settle on the pillow that lay firmly across his crotch. What Molly had failed to notice when she'd first thrown it to him, was that it was the gag gift she'd given him for his birthday, a bright, audacious pink colour, decorated by a cute, jolly looking bee.
The hysterical laugh started again and her belly ached as she vainly attempted to mask her giggles. A flush of red crept across her cheeks, water collecting at the corners of her eyes as she hiccupped out the laughs she was trying to suppress.
"I'm glad you find this amusing," Sherlock said disdainfully. His head tipped a fraction, and Molly's laughs stopped, knowing the gesture spoke of embarrassment.
"Sorry," she offered sincerely, but the lingering amusement in her voice was obvious.
Steely blue eyes stared at her, as he shifted uncomfortably, his leg muscles twitching as he did, and Molly found her eyes wandering south. "There has clearly been a misunderstanding on your part, Molly," he said, his tone chiding.
Molly was completely incredulous. This man had no shame. "My part?!" she exclaimed. "You asked me for dinner and I show up and you're naked! Please explain my misunderstanding."
"I asked you here for dinner," he said, and he seemed to press the pillow closer to his skin, as if it was a shield. "I thought it was obvious what that would entail."
"Yes, us eating, with our clothes on," Molly fired back, unperturbed. He was not going to make her feel like the idiot in this situation.
The consulting detective's lips dropped into a scowl. "Oh."
"What?"
Sherlock's cheeks reddened at an alarming speed. "Dinner isn't a common innuendo for intercourse, is it?"
"What?" Molly repeated dumbly. "No. No. Wait, you thought–"
"Yes."
"And you asked me-"
"Yes."
"Okay," Molly said, only to allow herself a few precious seconds to think. After a deep breath, she looked back at him, tall and gorgeous and there for the taking. If she chose to have him, of course. "Ask me again."
Big, blue, puppy dog eyes fix on her and a grin slowly spread across his face. "Will you have dinner with me, Molly?"
Molly smiled back shyly, feeling a bit vulnerable, despite the fact she was covered by three layers of clothing and Sherlock only had a scrap of fabric covering his private parts. This would be some story to tell everyone. But that was later. Now, she had an answer to give. "Yes, I'd love to," she replied, her hands clasped in front of her.
Sherlock stalked forward, before halting. "Maybe we could go for a real dinner first?" He offered, his smile now gentle.
The suggestion indicates to Molly this is to be more than one time thing, that it isn't just one of Sherlock's passing whims. With Sherlock, it was part and parcel of being his friend to have the ability to weed out hints of emotion in the simplest of gestures. This was him telling her this was about more than just sex.
"Yes. That sounds nice."
"And then later..."
"We could have dinner?" she finished, her tone and raised brow teasing him.
Sherlock took Molly's gibes with humility. "You're not going to let me forget this, are you?"
"Nope," she admitted, her dimples out in force. She peered up and down, getting one last delightful look at him. "You're going to need to put some clothes on," she said regretfully.
"Yes, I suppose I will," Sherlock sighed. He shuffled forward towards her, grinning cheekily, one hand firmly keeping the pillow in place, the other reaching out to cup her jaw. Leaning down slowly, giving her plenty time to pull away, he pressed his lips briefly to hers, a soft, chaste kiss that only enticed her further. He withdrew, scampering off, allowing Molly to watch his peachy arse jiggle as he disappeared down the hall and into his bedroom.
Molly considered, for a moment, following after him, taking that lovely arse to bed and spending the entire night there. But she managed to gather some modicum of restraint, because as hungry as she was for him, she decided the build up would be worth it.
After all, he'd made her wait long enough for him. Now, it was time for some payback.