Sherlock catches Molly in a private moment.

Sherlock unlocked the door to Molly's flat and closed it swiftly. He borrowed her camera for a case earlier today - and it had been a solid seven of all things! - which was now solved. Today had been quite interesting and Sherlock felt a bit more fatigued than usual from the legwork.

All he wanted to do was drop off the camera, head back to Baker Street and collapse in his bed. But he also wanted to ask Molly if she'd like to have coffee with him tomorrow. Their professional relationship had developed quite well and as for their friendship, Sherlock had decided that he wanted to take a step forward and date Molly.

It was clear to him that she still had feelings for him from the way her eyes sparkled whenever he came into Bart's and on the occasions that he asked her to accompany him on a case, he realised that they worked incredibly well together. Not to mention that he really enjoyed her company. So it made perfect sense that they'd start seeing each other in a more intimate setting.

"Molly?" Sherlock called softly and looked around. She wasn't in the kitchen or the living room, so she was probably in her room getting dressed for bed. The detective made his way down the hall to Molly's door and found it open by just a crack.

"Sherlock."

What?

The way Molly said his name like that, husky, breathless and full of desire (?) made Sherlock's eyes widen. Curiousity got the best of him and he gently pushed open the door.

All at once, her naked body lying on the mattress filled his vision and a musky scent permeated his nostrils. Molly had her hand between her legs, working furiously to bring herself to completion. Her hips bucked up against her hand repeatedly and the beautiful brown hair he rarely saw out of a ponytail was now splayed around her like a chestnut halo.

Rosy pink nipples pointed in the air to greet him and were no doubt, hardened due to sexual arousal. Sherlock's fingers itched to touch her and make her moan even more than she already was. The sultry move of her hips as she thrust against her own hand made his mouth go dry and he licked his lips as he watched her, entranced.

"Fuck, Sherlock! Yes, right there!" Molly's cleft of dark hair was glistening and no doubt, wet because of her ministrations.

Sherlock wanted nothing more than to go to her and bury his tongue inside her core, lapping up every inch of her weeping femininity. It wasn't enough to just look at her. He needed to touch her, to bury himself in her wet heat. Images of Molly whimpering beneath him, her breasts bouncing as he filled her with his cock, with a look of unadulterated pleasure in her eyes made him moan.

She had never been more tempting to him than she was now, but this was wrong, so very, very wrong. Sherlock caught Molly in an extremely private moment and by watching her, he was violating their trust and from the hard on in his pants, he'd proved that he was just as bad as any other base, red blooded male.

For the longest time, he prided himself on being so much better. Yet, here he was, staring at Molly as she masturbated, with his name on her lips. Sherlock couldn't turn his eyes away as she moaned and writhed back and forth. Her legs trembled and the thrusts of her hand became more erratic as time passed.

He could tell that she was close to orgasming and his pants grew tighter as her cries grew louder.

"Oh, God, yes! Please, Sherlock!"

Molly shouted more words that were unintelligible and curse laden before letting out a long sigh in pleasure. Slowly, she moved her hand from her dripping womanhood, and a lazy smile spread on her lips. Clearly, she was fully spent. The petite pathologist wiped her hand on a cloth that she'd left on the opposite pillow.

What Sherlock would have given to be the one who put that satisfied smile on her face. How many times, he wondered, did she masturbate with his name on her lips and her fingers in her core because she didn't have the man she obviously wanted in her bed? She deserved so much better than self pleasure.

Sherlock felt like a fool for missing out on sharing the sensual explorations of the flesh with Molly Hooper. If he hadn't been so condescending and hurtful to her in the past, they might have been right there together.

There was nothing for the detective to do, but leave. So he backed away, but in his hast, he stumbled and bumped into the wall, a misstep which alerted Molly to his presence. She turned to look at the door and her eyes widened once she realised who was behind it.

"Sherlock?"

The shock in her voice made him feel a terrible rush of shame and Sherlock ran as fast as he could. Molly called his name, but by the time she donned her dressing gown and made her way outside, he'd already hailed a cab and was on his way to Baker Street.