This is a rather silly little fic that I started backed in July but could never bring myself to finish because I couldn't decide where I was going with it.

Well ... seems like I finally figured it out, haha!

This is taking place some time after Season 4.

Enjoy this silly bit of fluff and smuttiness.

(Gifting/Dedicating this to Sweets (MaybeItsJustMyType) because I had originally intended it for her. I miss you ...)

Yellow Chair

"Hell hath no fury like a woman denied her morning coffee," Molly groused as she rubbed at her tired eyes.

Sherlock looked heavenward as he shut the car door and settled into the seat beside her. "Stop being so dramatic," he said. "Here."

Molly dropped her hands away and looked at what he was offering her. It was a takeaway cup. "Oh," she said softly, wrapping her hand around the offered cup. "Thank you," she murmured before taking a generous sip. "Oh God, you went to my favourite shop! How did you even manage-" she stopped her sentence and side-eyed him as he started the Aston Martin. "I take it Wiggins had something to do with this." Sherlock offered no answers as he started to drive. "This better not be drugged," she muttered before taking another sip.

"It isn't," Sherlock bit out. "He wouldn't dare."

"Well I'm certainly grateful for that." She took another sip then leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes, listening to the quiet purr of the Aston as Sherlock made his way through the streets of London.

They were on their way to Basildon for a case. John was unable to join Sherlock due to the fact that Rosie was cutting a tooth, and this was making her incredibly fussy. Molly wasn't entirely disappointed by the fact that it hadn't fallen to her to take care of Rosie, while the boys rushed off. Nor was she disappointed by the fact that Sherlock had picked her up outside of her flat, in Mrs. Hudson's Aston Martin.

Both of them had been rather quiet during the drive, each of them lost in their own thoughts, that is until Molly saw a vehicle of a certain colour.

"Yellow car," she said.

Sherlock threw a brief glance at her. "What?"

"Oh, nothing. Just 'yellow car'."

Sherlock looked at her again. "Why did you say 'yellow car'?"

She shrugged. "There was a yellow car."

"But why did you say 'yellow car'?" he asked.

She looked at him and stated pointedly, "You've got to say 'yellow car' when there's a yellow car."

Sherlock was very nearly scoffing. "Why?"

"That's how you play Yellow Car," she explained.

"I'm not playing Yellow Car," he spat out.

"You're always playing Yellow Car," she declared.

Sherlock sighed.

"And you know what the best bit is about this game?" she asked.

"No," he grumbled. "Do enlighten me."

She smiled. "It never ends."

"Good Lord," he muttered beneath his breath, making her giggle. He breathed out heavily through his nose. After several minutes of silence had passed he said, "You have quite an affinity for that colour."

"Hmmm?" she questioned.

"Yellow. You like the colour," he explained. "You were dressed in it from head to toe at the Watson's wedding, it's the wall colour in your bedroom, and there are multiple yellow accents throughout your flat."

She gave a little shrug. "Yes, I do like the colour. It's a happy colour and makes me happy when I see it. If I didn't live in the city I'd probably have a yellow Mini Cooper, or a red one, cherry red."

Sherlock struggled to hold back a smile. "You like cherries too."

"Yep!" she agreed, popping the 'p' loudly.

Despite himself Sherlock let out a rather loud snort.

"So … are you going to tell me what this case is about?" she asked.

"No. I'll explain when we get there," he answered.

She shrugged. "All right then."

A short while later Sherlock pulled off of the main road and entered onto a drive lined with brick walls and tall trees, which ended at a rather regal looking building.

"Ohhh, does the case involve the hotel?" she asked.

Sherlock made a noncommittal noise as he pulled up in front of the building. "Stay in the car, I'll only be a moment."

She watched him as he got out, wondering what he could possibly be up to. He returned a few minutes later, a key in his hand.

"Sherlock, what's going?" she asked as soon as he got back into the car.

He gave her small smile. "You'll see."

She huffed out a breath as he rounded the building. A minute or so later he pulled up in front of a small cottage, settled remotely within the grounds. He turned off the car and got out. Molly sat for a moment, pondering. Sherlock came around and opened her door. She undid her seatbelt and got out.

"What is this?" she asked.

"Where we are staying," he replied.

He opened the boot and took out their luggage. "Come along!" he said to her, leading her to the cottage.

She followed him as he opened the door and stepped inside. It was a quaint little cottage, elegantly decorated but not over the top. He had gone into what must be the bedroom, so she did the same. He had set their luggage down by the wardrobe and was now stood in front of the bed reviewing their accommodations.

"Sherlock," she said to him, "there isn't a case, is there?"

He turned about about to face her, and swallowed before shaking his head. "No."

She smiled. "I had a feeling there wasn't. Usually you brief me about it, and you didn't do that at all." She stepped closer to him. "But why Basildon of all places?" she asked. When he didn't give her an answer her smile grew wider. "You threw a dart at a map, didn't you?"

"Possibly," he muttered, not looking at her.

Her grin widened further. She placed her palms against his chest and gave him a gentle push. He stepped back, his legs bumping into the edge of the bed, causing him to drop down onto the mattress. He always seemed to lose a bit of his feline dexterity whenever they were alone. She climbed onto his lap, her thighs settling on either side of his hips. His arms automatically wound around her waist as she crossed her arms behind his neck.

"You cheeky git," she said to him.

"I thought if I picked somewhere … fancy … you'd catch onto my plan. You are rather intelligent. You see, and you observe," he explained.

She giggled. "This isn't fancy?" she asked, gesturing to their surroundings.

"Wellllll …"

She kissed him before he could fully articulate an answer, rolling her hips slightly, already beginning to feel his cock harden beneath her. Sherlock deepened the kiss as he slid his hands down her sides, before taking handfuls of her blouse and tugging it upwards, pulling it out from her trousers. He slipped his hands beneath the fabric and stroked the skin of her back. Molly let out a delighted hum, bringing her hands forward to unbutton her blouse. Once this was done Sherlock helped her to remove it, tossing it to the side before he dragged his fingertips up her spinal column, not stopping until he reached the clasp of her bra. He undid it with one quick flick of his wrist, and that too joined her blouse in some unknown corner of the room. Bringing his hands forward he cupped her breasts, massaging them gently. Molly's lips parted, a breathy moan slipping from between them. Their eyes met just as he took her nipples between his fingers and gave them a hard pinch. She gasped, quickly followed by another moan as he did it again.

His teasing set off a mad flurry of desperation to remove their clothes. As soon as they were both naked Sherlock pushed the blanket away and settled himself against the headboard. His cock was hard, practically throbbing, and the tip was shiny with pre-cum. He wanted to touch himself, but held back, not wanting any other hand on him but hers. She stood at the end of the bed, drinking him in. A flush had settled across her chest, making her shell pink nipples stand out prominently. She climbed onto the bed and slowly crawled towards him, her breasts swaying slightly from her movements. He swallowed thickly, his cock twitching in anticipation. Molly smiled widely, nothing getting passed her.

She stopped once she became eye-level with his cock. She eyed it hungrily and before Sherlock could say anything she took the swollen head between her lips and gave it a hard suck, just barely flicking the very tip with her tongue.

"Fuck!" he groaned, gripping the sheets. He could feel her smile as she continued to swirl her tongue around the head, not taking him in any deeper. The tease.

She released him with a soft pop and sat up, settling her legs on either side of his hips. He placed his hands on her bum, giving her a tender squeeze. She smiled at him, bringing her hands up to his hair, running her fingers through it.

"Hi," she said softly.

"Hello," he replied.

He kissed her gently, tenderly. She kissed him back, placing one hand on his shoulder and with the other cupping the side of his face, brushing her fingers across his cheekbone. As their kiss began to become more passionate she smoothed her hand down his chest, over his ribs and his stomach, not stopping until she reached between them and took ahold of his cock.

Sherlock broke apart their kiss, meeting her gaze as he pressed his forehead to hers. She placed his cock at her entrance, but only lowered herself down enough to take in the head. She was wet, and so warm around him. He needed to be fully inside of her. As if she could read his mind she took in the rest of him, not stopping until her hips were pressed snugly against his.

"OH!" she gasped, gripping tightly onto his shoulder.

He smoothed his hands up to her lower back. "You alright?" he questioned.

She nodded, and gave him a brief kiss, rolling her hips ever so slightly, adjusting to him being inside of her. This wasn't the first time they had sex, nor was it the second or third. Molly had in fact lost count, but she was certain Sherlock hadn't. It was the position really, she enjoyed it because of the control it gave her, but she also felt a bit tighter like this.

She kissed him again, then began to move, and within a few moments she had found a rhythm that worked. Sherlock settled back against the pillows and let her ride him, rather enjoying the view of her bouncing breasts. He could only last for so long though. He latched onto her taut nipple, suckling it before swirling his tongue around it. She began to moan and he switched to her other breast, bringing his hands back down to her bum. He rocked his hips up to meet hers and she cried out.

"Oh fuck Sherlock! Fuck! Fuck!" she whimpered.

He could feel her legs trembling slightly as he continued to meet her thrust for thrust, only stopping when she dropped down onto him and grew still. He raised his head from nibbling on her breast and looked at her questioningly.

"Take me from behind," she said to him.

His eyes widened slightly. She climbed off of him, his cock slipping out of her, it shiny with her juices. She moved on all fours, closer to the edge of the bed, and positioned herself. She was spread open for him, wet and beckoning.

"Fuck!" he growled.

She glanced at him over her shoulder and smiled impishly, wiggling her bum in invitation. He swore again and slid over to her. He moved onto his knees, grasped his cock and placed the head at her entrance and gave, a quick solid thrust, filling her completely.

"Oh that's it!" she cried. "Yes, yes, yes!" she moaned in time with his thrusts.

He held tightly onto her hips as he filled her again and again, making sure to give her his entire length with each thrust. Judging by her noises she was fully enjoying herself. He hissed out a curse when he felt her fingers brush against his balls, knowing that she was rubbing her clit.

"Molly!" he groaned.

"Yes?"

"Fuck! Molly, I want to see your face when you come!"

The only answer she gave was a whimper. He pulled out and she rolled onto her back, spreading her legs. He placed himself between her hips, sliding into her slowly. She moaned softly, and raised her arms above her head, reaching out to grab onto the edge of the mattress. He thrust into her, angling himself so that his pelvis hit her clit each time that he entered her. He feasted on her breasts as he settled back into a solid rhythm of deep, hard thrusts.

"Oh Sherlock!" she moaned. "You're making me come! Oh fuck, I'm going to come!"

He thrust into her as deep and as hard as he could, watching as she threw her head back and screamed out his name. Her walls squeezed around his cock, and he managed only three more thrusts before he joined her over the edge. He groaned out her name, pressing his hips to hers, his forehead settling against her shoulder.

She crossed her arms over his back, nuzzling his neck. He breathed out heavily against her before rolling to his side and taking her with him. She giggled, their mouths managing to meet. They kissed for a time, all the while struggling for breath. They eventually parted, forehead to forehead, and allowed their racing hearts to return to their normal rhythm.

"I love you," he spoke the words softly.

She smiled, brushing her fingertips over his lips certain she would never tire of hearing him say those three words. "I love you," she replied, just as softly.

They stayed in Basildon for three days, never once surfacing from their little cottage, and neither one of them looking at their mobiles; their focus was only on each other. Sherlock told her that that was the intention, that after all they had been through over the past several months, let alone the years they had known each other, he thought that they deserved some time together, alone.

And when the three days came to an end, they were both somewhat shagged out.

"Bloody hell, I don't know if I'm going to be able to walk normal ever again!" Molly exclaimed.

Sherlock preened, rather proud of the fact that it was because of him that she was saying this. She rolled her eyes and gave his arm a push.

"I'm having a soak in my tub as soon as I get back to my flat," she announced.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "May I join you?" he asked, knowing all too well that her tub was perfectly proportioned for the both of them.

She eyed him for a moment. "Only if you can promise me that it won't lead to sex."

He huffed out a breath and tried to arrange his features into what he thought was an innocent expression. "I can't," he declared.

She snorted a laugh. "And you have the gall to call me a sex fiend!"

He smiled cheekily as he opened the car door for her. Once she had got in, he shut the door and walked around to his side.

"Do you have any texts?" she asked once he sat down. "I haven't a one, I'm rather shocked!"

He started the car before answering. "No. I had Mycroft block all our messages and calls."

Molly looked at him. "He can actually do that?"

Sherlock glanced over at her. "My brother is the British Government. He can do anything."

She nodded in agreement, then placed her hand on top of his just as he was about to put the car into gear.

"Thank you Sherlock … for all of … this …" She gestured with her other hand towards the cottage. "You didn't have to do this, but thank you."

He looked at her. "I wanted … I needed to do something."

"I know."

"And John practically threatened me if I didn't," he added.

Molly giggled.

"I don't think I'll ever be able to make up for all of the pain I caused you."

"Sherlock …" She leaned closer to him. "We've been over this already. You don't have to. The past is the past, just focus on making the future a better one. And I don't mean taking me on a three-day sex holiday either, as thoroughly enjoyable as it was, I don't need grand gestures. I just need you."

He nodded and she gave him a brief kiss. They fell into a comfortable silence as they drove away from the hotel and pulled out onto the main road. It wasn't until about twenty minutes into their drive back that Sherlock said something that made Molly laugh heartily:

"Yellow Car"

They played the game for the rest of the drive, and by the time they reached her flat they had entered into light-hearted bickering about who saw the most yellow cars.

A week later Molly received a text from Sherlock, telling her that 221B was fully restored to its former glory, all but for one new addition. When she asked him what he meant he told her that she would just have to come and see for herself.

She went to Baker Street as soon as her shift was over. All was quiet in the building. No Mrs. Hudson to greet her at the door, and no sounds coming from 221B. She quietly climbed the stairs and entered the flat.

"Sher-" she started to call out, looking around her. His name froze on her lips as she spotted the 'new addition'. It was a yellow chair. An antique one by the looks of it, a beautiful antique. She moved over to it, reaching out to brush her hand over the fabric.

"Do you like it?"

Molly jumped and spun about, looking up at Sherlock who had somehow managed to sneak up on her.

"Yes! I love it! It's beautiful, where did you get it?" she asked, turning to look at it again.

"A charity shop on Camden High Street," he replied. "Went in there on a case and spotted it, went back once the case was solved. I knew you'd like it. And you need a chair."

She looked at him again. "I do?" she asked.

"Yes. I have mine, John has his, now you have yours."

Molly stood on her tiptoes as she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. "Thank you."

He kissed her back.

Once they pulled apart she asked, "Is Mrs. Hudson not at home?"

"No She's out all night, Bridge game."

"Are you currently working on a case?" she enquired.

"No."

"Would you like me to show you how much I love my new chair?" she said with an impish twinkle in her eyes.

His eyebrows rose. "On your new chair?"

She scrunched up her nose. "Mmm … I don't think it can withstand our shagging on it. At least not the way I want you to shag me right now."

"Ahh … duly noted, bed it is." He took her hand and she let out a raucous laugh as he led her down the hall.

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Yeah ... that's my take on the sudden appearance of the yellow chair in Sherlock's flat ... hehehe ... anyone catch my little nod to Cabin Pressure?! :D

Also, the place they stayed is loosely based on Orsett Hall - The Warren and The Den lodges.