Molly's hand, slippery with sweat, slipped further and further out of Sherlock's.
Turning back and giving her an assessing look, he observed, "Well, you're no John Watson."
The look of betrayal on Molly's face would have almost been funny if they weren't running for their lives in rain slicked, new moon dark streets.
Sighing, he gave a semi eye roll, "I didn't mean it like that." Scooping her up effortlessly before continuing; "John wouldn't have let me carry him, no matter how much easier it would have made things."
Giggling softly, in spite of her fear, she tucked her head against his chest, the comforting staccato of his heart beat doing much to soothe.
His long legs ate up the pavement, easily, scarcely slowed by her weight. Sweeping into side streets and devising such an erratic path, surely no one could find them, though their pursuers had the advantage of vehicles and a greater number.
"Take my phone out of my pocket Molly, text Mycroft, ask - tell him to get us a suite at the Savoy."
Though her eyes widened, she offered no argument, simply followed his instruction. They had been undercover in a poker game. A very exclusive poker game with a particular requirement to join - a bank or jewellery heist.
They had been discovered in the unluckiest possible way. All of the other players had been from Europe, a piratical looking bunch. One of the men had gone so far as to carry with him a parrot, a Conure. The little green cheeked beauty had perched happily upon his shoulder.
All was well, Sherlock was losing just enough to retain his hearty welcome and Molly was his lady luck. The two had been exchanging heated glances throughout the evening and the line between the façade and reality was blurring.
After accidentally winning a hand, he'd been expected to 'reward' his lady luck. He did so, with rather more enthusiasm than Molly thought was strictly necessary for their cover.
Sliding his hands over her waist, he'd slipped them under her arse and hauled her into his lap. When she squealed and blushed the other men cheered. He'd grinned, looking rather proud of himself and continued pressing kisses across her collar bone.
Molly had sighed and thrown her head back, so he'd bitten her neck, forcing her to pay attention. When she had protested, he'd covered her mouth with his own. The kiss had been thorough, his hands upon her waist had tightened and he'd ground her down onto his lap.
Feeling his obvious arousal had shocked Molly but before she could so much as raise a brow, all hell broke loose.
Someone roared out 'Sherlock Holmes,' he had stood immediately, pulling Molly behind him in one smooth motion.
Brandishing a gun, he'd made his way backwards out of the room, grimacing when she drew his attention to the old newspaper that had been brought in for the parrot.
Sherlock's face stared back at them, blazoned across the front page, deerstalker and all, with the – in this case – incriminating banner, 'Genius Detective strikes again.'
"Blast John and his blog, if we make it out of here alive," darting a glance at Molly, he amended, "When we make it out of here, I'm going to burn that ridiculous hat and John be damned."
He'd wedged the double doors closed with a steel pipe, grabbed her hand and started running.
"Molly, the pipe won't hold them, we must be quick. We have the evidence, I managed to pick the correct pocket, I obtained the master list. After tonight they will scatter to the wind, but the next half an hour will decide the terms of our next visit to the morgue, whether we will be warm blooded and moving around or rather still and decidedly cool."
Stumbling in her heels, her cocktail dress flapping around her legs, her coiffure rapidly unravelling, her hand had begun to slip.
So now, here they were, on their way to the Savoy of all places. Molly could feel her heart pounding in her chest, the adrenalin of the night having reached a fever pitch. The whole venture had been fraught with danger and, unsurprisingly, had culminated in the two of them quite literally running for their lives.
When they arrived at the Savoy looking like a gangster and his moll, she expected them to be treated as such. But no, Mycroft Holmes had secured their accommodation and they were in fact treated like honoured guests. Ushered in with smiles and offers of all the help they could possibly need.
They were duly settled into the penthouse suite, Sherlock all but pushing the bell boy out the door. Finally alone, he had leaned against it and stared at Molly with an unfamiliar expression - actually no, it was familiar - he wore the look that he had affected at the poker game, a predatory hunger.
Swallowing hard, Molly had moved backwards, walking slowly. When her legs hit a low table, she stumbled and cried out in surprise.
Sherlock was there immediately, panther like in his movements. Helping her to her feet, aligning her body with his own, he offered, "Tell me no and I'll stop." Tilting her chin up with his finger in a manner that should have been at worst, arrogant and off putting and at best, hilarious and ill conceived, it was of course, sexy as hell.
Without backing away, his lips turned up in one corner, "But I'd rather you tell me yes."
She parted her lips but no words would come, even now she still trembled from the night's confusing events. From an undercover poker game which she'd agreed to simply because she hadn't been out in months and was bored... To a flirting Sherlock, complete with erection and roaming hands and lips...To a run for their lives and now...what?
"Molly, I don't wish to pressure you but I'm going to have to remove myself from your presence in the absence of an answer, I fear I've rather lost my head." He explained earnestly, glancing apologetically at the prominent bulge wedged between them.
As though her brain had finally come back online - or was that her hormones? She wondered wryly - she registered that she had said nothing; internally she had been screaming yes, all the yeses, but outwardly, not a peep.
In a husky voice, already aroused by a combination of his proximity and the adrenalin from their chase, "Yes, please, I - yes."
"Oh, thank god," grabbing her by her upper arms, he pressed his lips to her own, while simultaneously crossing the room toward the bed, Molly's feet dangling uselessly in front of his shins.
When the backs of her legs made contact with something soft, she was suddenly falling. The feeling was such a surprise that she closed her eyes and laughed out loud. A dip in the bed next to her signified his arrival and she opened her eyes, turning toward him.
He sprang immediately, his lips soft against her own, kneading her arse in a way that made her desperate for him. Climbing on top of him, the slit in her dress momentarily slowed her progress until he simply gripped it with those long fingers and ripped.
Grabbing her arse, he ground her against himself in a steady rhythm, undulating her so that they both got stimulation where most needed.
Needing to see, Molly's fingers flicked his trouser button open and lowered the zip. His cock sprang free and Molly was unable to contain her, "Oh," at the sight.
Thick and proud, purple and shiny, helmeted and ready for battle. The gorgeous plum set off beautifully by a flare of dark coarse hair contrasting pleasingly against his pearlescent skin.
His eyes were dark as he offered, "For the character. Jacques wasn't the type to wear underwear."
"Well, Natalia does not mind at all." Biting her lip, she tugged at his trousers, "Come on, off."
Sherlock lifted his arse and pushed the offending trousers down, peeling off his shoes and socks with a minimum of fuss before finally completing his task. Turning back to Molly he pulled her down on top of him, arranging her so she straddled him again.
Wantonly, Molly used his shaft to stimulate her clit and rocked her hips, loving the view, his cock sliding forward and back, playing peek-a-boo in a crude parody of what she hoped they would soon enough engage in.
Using his time wisely, Sherlock devoured her with his mouth. Kisses trailed around her neck, interspersed with nips and bites and murmurs of her name, his honey dipped voice stretching her name into something obscene.
Pulling her dress over her head and flinging it away, she looked him in the eye and started pinching and rolling her nipples. No matter his remarks about the size, he'd always looked when she'd gone bra-less in her diaphanous, raw silk shorty pjs.
He groaned and dragged her down, kissing her and rolling her beneath him. Yanking and tugging at her clothes madly, in an ecstasy of abandon.
"Molly, I've wanted to taste you since the day I met you. You smelled like -" he was silent for a moment as he slipped her pants down, his expression awed. He stilled completely, struck, unmoving. Swallowing hard he licked his lips and whispered in a strangled tone, "Strawberries."
Never in her entire life had Molly ever been this wet, a fountain of desire for him had been unleashed. When his tongue brushed against her clitoral hood tentatively, she whimpered, sinking her hands into his perfect mess of curls and bucking her hips.
Sucking her pearl into his mouth, he swirled his tongue around and around. When he slipped a finger inside, she immediately started jerking and wailing, his lips curving against her even as he continued his ministrations.
Molly came floating down from her bliss, shocked at having orgasmed so quickly. If the pre-show could achieve that, what was the main event going to feel like?
Pushing him away, she smiled at him lazily, "Thank you Sherlock Holmes."
Looking up at her from between her legs, he swiped the back of his hand over his mouth, grinning, feral and knowing. "The pleasure was all mine," he growled.
Smiling, she murmured, "I think we both know that's not true." Leaving her legs splayed, she held her arms out, "Come here, I think you need to fuck me now."
"Hmm," tilting his head, he took Molly in, before shaking his head, "Nope, not like that."
Molly's brows knitted in confusion, Wasn't he the one who started this whole thing? Now the adrenalin has worn away a little, it's over? She knew she wouldn't get more than the one night but she thought she'd at least get a full -
The thread of her thought snapped like loose stitching in a haberdashery at the sound of Sherlock, his breath warm and wet in her ear, "I have a notion regarding a better position. Do you mind?"
"No," the word breathed in pure relief, the ache between her legs was only increasing. Far from sating her, the orgasm had made her desperate to feel that magnificent prick sliding into her.
Sherlock arranged Molly on her side in front of him, giving her instructions in a low tone, right in her ear each time. "I need to tell you Molly, I'm going to fuck you silly and while I do, I'm going to fondle your breasts and pinch and stroke your clitoris and…talk."
"Oh god, oh god," panting, she allowed Sherlock to lift her leg to open her enough to push in.
His cock breached her easily, the sound of their bodies slapping as she pushed back against him, a backdrop to her begging inarticulately for more, her breasts heaving as she moaned.
Always as good as his word, his hands were huge, seeming at times to span her entire body. One of the many things he chanted in her ear was how tiny she was, how perfectly her frame was bracketed by his own. The nearer to orgasm, the dirtier he became.
He drove Molly wild, had her screaming out his name with complete abandon again and again. She throbbed afterwards from the sheer intensity.
When he'd eased himself out, he turned her and kissed her deeply, tucking her against himself.
Feeling dreamy and confused, Molly allowed her eyes to drift shut, waking only once when she felt Sherlock slipping out of bed. She'd felt sad that it was over but she understood. He didn't do this kind of thing and though that was a shame - he was bloody good at it - she would respect his wishes and take the night of passion for what it was. An adrenalin filled escapade that had led to mind-blowing, wonderful sex.
When she woke later, she stumbled toward the bathroom, realising she could hear someone out there. Oh god! The maid service and I'm naked with a ripped dress. Shit!
"I'm not dressed, could you come back later?" She called tentatively.
The door swung open to reveal Sherlock, "While I did go and retrieve you a change of clothes and a toothbrush, and secure Tobias' meals, I would really rather keep you in the state you're in. Mycroft booked the room for a week, be a shame to waste it."
Molly swallowed hard, emotion threatening to overwhelm, tears formed even as she grinned conspiratorially at him.
With soft eyes, he continued, "We have to be out of the hotel within the week but I have a comfy bed at Baker St and it's far too big for me, maybe you'd like to help out?" Stepping closer to her with each word, his face hopeful. "Ideally it's suited to two adults and a cat."
A genuine smile lit Molly from within, her dimple already saying yes, "Well, I do hate waste."
Thank you for reading, it means so much to me to have an outlet and a voice. Without a reader my work is for nil, so thank you for coming on this journey with me. If you ship Sherlolly I already love you a little before we've even exchanged two words..
Do you Tumble? Come and say hi, I'm sweet-sweet-escape