Just a quick one, am currently in between chapters on another story! Pure smut, may finish it off in another short chapter later this week. Enjoy.

On Call

"Sherlock Holmes what the fuck is a hand doing in my fridge?!"

For the third time this month alone, Molly Hooper opened her fridge to get some milk for her tea, to find a random cadaver strategically placed in the fridge freezer. As a pathologist, the rotting hand was just a hand, just as seeing a packet of plasters would affect a nurse. But as Molly Hooper, in her own home, sat on top of last nights leftovers of chili, she was fuming. Knowing full will the expression on Sherlock's face as he lounged on her sofa behind her, without even thinking, she grabbed the hand, which was thankfully wrapped in a a clear bag, and threw it violently across the room at Sherlock's face. She turned just in time to see the look of horror on his face as it struck him square on. He remained calm, and looked at her dead on, his steely eyes locked on hers. Feeling her face flush a rich shade of crimson, she couldn't suppress the laughter any longer.

This was the first time she'd laughed since he moved him. Helping him fake his own death and then harbouring the said man proved to be unbelievably stressful on Molly, her migraines and weight loss proving so. The last six months had been dreadful, seeing his beautiful face every morning, no matter what mood he was in, made it more and more difficult to get over him. Something she'd given up on in reality, but still had a healthy appetite for in her fantasies.

Her laughing subsided after having clutched onto the fridge door for a few minutes. Se looked at him, who hadn't moved an inch and cleared her throat.

"Sorry. Sorry, I've had a rubbish day and I'm on call tonight." She smiled at him to entice a reaction, but he just turned away, placed the hand on the coffee table and picked up a TV magazine lazily. Noticing this and immediately regretting chucking the limb at him, she turned back to the fridge and started making herself a sandwich.

"Molly stop frowning." She heard from the sofa, she looked around quizzically;

"How did you know I was frowning you're not even looking at me..?" He put down his paper and looked at her, hand on hip, butter knife in the other hand. His eyes undressed her, peeling off each layer of clothing. His tongue caught in his sharp teeth, letting out a small hiss as he thought of her peachy skin blushing under his touch. He'd had these primal urges for a few weeks now. At first, he could see her everyday and just see her as Molly, dependable, reliable Molly, with a horrible taste in men and an unfortunate taste in fruit related jumpers. Until he saw her in the flesh. Real Molly. She obviously didn't know he was in, he was quiet anyway. He sat in the chair in the living room that was pointed towards her bedroom door, which was gaping. She'd obviously forgotten to bring in a towel in her little en suite, and ran naked, dripping from her shower to the towel strewn on her bed. Wrapping herself in it and sighing, she turned to close her bedroom door, to see sherlock sat gaping at her. She began mumbling, but instead slammed her door. He didn't see her for the remaining of the evening. That was fine by Sherlock, as he spent the evening trying to accommodate these new urges he felt when he recollected her dripping curves and her pert tits.

"Sherlock?" Molly's questioning voice brought him back to reality and suppressed his growing arousal.

"Because I know that as soon as you threw that hand at me you instantly regretted it. It was a spur of the moment decision that you made on the basis of your low mood. The crease on your forehead formed as soon as you saw my static reaction. So my deductions lead to the assumption that you were frowning when you turned away from me so you wouldn't let me see you frown. Simple really Molly." He finished.

"Oh." It was a usual response from Molly after he'd been on one of his verbal binges.

She made her sandwich and left to her bedroom, as an awkward silence filled the flat.

She sat on her bed and ate her sandwich. Why could he always see straight through her? She finished the sandwich and lay back on the bed. Feeling her eyelids go heavy, she cursed herself for taking on her colleagues on call tonight. No wine for me.

She woke up with a start. She'd been asleep for only half an hour, but the feeling she felt before grabbing her phone and looking for missed calls coursed through her. Nothing. She breathed a sigh of relief. I hate on call.

After a shower, she pulled on a pair of small boxers and her old uni tshirt, grabbed her phone and went into the sitting room. Sherlock thankfully was nowhere to be seen. Now nearly 11pm, she grabbed the remote and settled down for a night in front of the telly, waiting for her phone to buzz for her.

Her eyes were heavy again, her head lolling.

"Molly it's past midnight, why are you up?" His voice awoke her.

"I'm on call sherlock, I did tell you." She yawned and stretched, until she saw Sherlock's raised eyebrow when her tshirt rode up her stomach.

"Sorry." She blushed and pulled on the tshirt. He came and sat down next other, taking out his phone and putting it on the table.

"Why would you be sorry about stretching?" He looked at her, his arm draping around the sofa so his fingers brushed her shoulder.

"I don't know..." Her eyes got caught in his gaze, his blue eyes having some sort of gravitational pull on her eyes.

Sherlock noticed her eyes and knew exactly what she was thinking. This could being interesting. Giving into his primal urges, he remembered everything he could about Johns seducing techniques, cast them away as frivolous, and just went for it.

His fingers stroked her shoulder, lifting up the cuff on the sleeve of her tshirt.

"You feel embarrassed that I saw your stomach when you stretched and your tshirt rode up."

Molly could only gulp in her dry mouth and murmer, taking too much notice of his new intimacy regarding his fingers and her shoulder.

"Erm, yes I suppose I was..."

The corner of his mouth rised, his plan working well, he decided to be forward. He shuffled a little closer in order to caress the back of her neck, pulling out her hair bobble and massaging the back of her head.

"Sherlock what are you doing.." There was no dismissal or reluctance in her voice, and her head rolled to his massaging hands.

"You're on call, of course. Would you like me to help you stay awake?" His voice was velvet, seductive and deadly. Their eyes locked on each other again, only momentarily before she leapt at him. She threw herself into his arms, straddling his waist easily. His hands met her arse, gripping her as close as he could, his fingers working underneath her pants, caressing her smooth arse. Their lips were crashing together hungrily, mixed with biting bottom lips and their tongues dancing dirtily together, their bodies screamed at each other for more.

Her lips made their way to his neck, licking and sucking at his pulse, cherishing his quiet growls when she got him somewhere sensitive. Her hands were busy undoing his shirt buttons, whilst her ears were getting gently fucked by his voice.

"Miss Hooper I have wanted you for so long." His hands worked off her shirt, leaving her straddling him with just her knickers on. Running his fingers up her back, sending shivers down her spine and goosebumps on her stomach, he eventually took her breast in his hands, caressing them and pinching her erect nipples.

"And trust me Doctor," his hot breath on her neck making her wet for his touch;
"I am going to keep you up all night."