A/N: So here's a list of some Sherlolly drabbles I have up on my Tumblr account (thefabulousmrholmes). Just 2 so far, but they'll vary in terms of ratings. Hope you like them! xx
Disclaimer: I own nothing in the world of Sherlock. That all belongs to Sir ACD, Moffat, Gatiss and the creative crew of the show. Although...I do wish I owned them...a little bit. Maybe just the Belstaff? Or the skull? No? ...fine.
Mike Stamford was slightly concerned as he continually rapped on the door.
Hearing no response, he resumed his short pacing outside Molly Hooper's office. Where is she? Charlie's getting antsy and he'll bust my arse if I don't complete the report in time. Jesus, another strike and I'm going to be facing the business end of a hissy fit during the next performance review. Boy, is that going to go down well with the Mrs.
Getting impatient now, he cried out, "Dr Hooper? Molly, are you in there? It's Mike, I've got something important to discuss with you, if you're free."
No reply. Feeling utterly frustrated and on the verge of punching a hole through a very expensive vintage Minton ceramic dish, he turned to leave.
"Yes!" squeaked a very faint voice from the other end of the door.
Eyebrows furrowed, he whipped around quickly, relief rapidly spreading through to his peripheries. "Molly, thank god! Listen, could I come in for a moment? Dr Charles fucking-holier-than-thou Napier wants that report on Angela Petrovich's ovarian biopsy he did last week immediately and won't stop riding my arse about it. I understand you were looking into her case?"
"Oh…right. Yes, yes! I, um, was." She replied, slightly louder and overenthusiastically.
That's odd, Mike pondered. But then again, it was Molly. Maybe she was just having one of those good days. Can't say the same for myself, he mentally grumbled.
"B-but I'd already sent the – fuck – results over to the gynae d-deparment." A grating voice emanated. It sounded as though she was gritting and gnashing at her teeth very painfully.
"Exactly my point, Molly, but that fool Napier seems to think it got lost in translation and is determined to place the blame on the pathologists as he normally does, the git. I've had it up to- umm. Molly, are you quite alright? I'm finding it slightly strange communicating this way and you sound troubled.", he rambled. Molly was usually very polite and welcoming, what was happening behind that door?
Silence ensued for a while. And…was that panting he heard?
"I'm fine Mike, don't. Come. In!" she chimed. "Sorry I…I'm changing. In. Here. The lo–ohh–cker room was being cleaned."
This was getting more and more bizarre by the minute. Her voice was modulating from short, staccato-like beats to long stretched-out sighs.
"Don't worry about the report, I'll send – ow, Christ Sher – I mean I'll update Dr Napier once I finish tr-aaa-nscribing th-the notes!" again with the exaggeratedly cheerful tone.
Suddenly, a crash, following a muffled 'Oompf' and thud against the wall, accompanied by a very suggestive moan occurred simultaneously in a span of mere seconds. He was fairly certain the…questionable noise had not originated from Molly.
Is there an intruder in there with her? Bloody hell.
"Molly! What's going on in there? I'm not going to have to break this door down, am I?" he chuckled nervously, despite himself.
"No! Oh god. No, Mike, it's just haha, me being a klutz knocked over a few things off ahh um…ah my, my TABLE!" she nearly screamed.
Stifled sniggering and gasping breaths, mingled with a few choice curse words interspersed in her inane ramblings continued to pour out from the tiny gap under the timber door.
Feeling totally flabbergasted and very confused over the turn of affairs, Mike slowly backed away from the corridor, a peculiar sense of embarrassment creeping up. It's not what I – nooo. No. Molly? No.
"Alright then, take care Molly, I'll see you Friday."
He didn't wait for an answer.
"Fuck, oh god, Sherlock, please!" she managed to gasp out as she desperately clung to him, wanting, needing him to find her release.
Her eyelids were fluttering and her head repeatedly thumped against the hard surface of the wall as his relentless thrusts persisted. She was going to pass out pretty soon from all the overstimulation.
His fingers dug into her pelvis as he hoisted her further upwards against the wall and rammed into her rougher than ever. His mouth found her nipple as he tentatively licked around areola, finally letting the wildness take over and sucking uninhibitedly on the taut nub. He let go and softly blew over the wetness of his saliva. He emulated his ministrations onto the other breast, knowing very well the effect this cycle of warmth and coolness on her sensitive nipples, would have on her. He smirked against her breast and almost growled at the pride he felt on eliciting this reaction on his beautiful Molly.
She lolled her neck further back and wantonly released a cross between a moan and a cry, relieved she didn't have to hold back any longer. She knew he was close as he sunk his teeth into the nook of her acromioclavicular joint (it's a wonder she could even remember the anatomy in the state she was in) and let out a low, deep groan with some indistinguishable string of words that sounded vaguely like her name.
Soon, she followed his high with a whimper that would have escalated into a yell, had it not been for the swift misdirection of his mouth, pulling her into a fierce kiss.
They took some time to compose themselves, tenderly nipping at each other's laughably swollen lips, as they sank to the floor exhausted from the intense romp.
Molly lay her head contently on his chest as he drew random Celtic symbols on her back, humming with pleasure. They lay there, in comfortable silence for a good seven minutes before Molly's eyes sprang open and she leaped off of Sherlock's lap.
Stung, at the loss of her heat he pouted as she scrambled for her clothes. She began furiously pulling up her trousers as she ranted off into a tirade.
"Sherlock, you prat! I cannot believe I let you do that to me while Mike was outside the bloomin' door! What if he heard us?! Good lord he probably thinks I'm some nutter and a pervert… 'satisfying' myself shamelessly in the confines of my office! Oh, what a nightmare. How am I going to face him in the morning tomorrow? Is it too late to call in sick? Hmmm…well Meena's on-call, I could, potentially ask her to cov-"
He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, placing a languid kiss on her neck and chortled joyfully at the flush that had spread to the top of her ears, no doubt from sheer embarrassment. "Will you for once shut up, Molly? It's not the end of the world even if he did hear anything, which I very much doubt he did. You were marvellous, initially, at hiding your desire."
Glaring, she twirled around to face him, holding herself at arm's length from his shoulders. "Yes I was, and clearly you were thoroughly enjoying yourself, while I was lying there in a complete bumbling mess! Oh you are without an iota of uncertainty the most obnoxious, appalling, downright audacious man I've ever met, William Sherlock Scott Holmes!"
He flinched, both at the tone of her voice and the reciting of his full name which he passionately hated. Realising he needed some urgent damage control, he crushed her into a tight embrace and whispered lasciviously in her still inflamed ear, "Don't tell me there wasn't a part of you that loved that, Hooper."
Her nostrils flared, fighting to stay in control, despite her tortured inner stupid little self wanting to surrender herself over to that very same obnoxious, appalling and audacious man until her voice turned hoarse from ultimate satiety. A small smile threatened to emerge, the corners of the lips slanting upwards.
She looked back at his face, smile widening at the mischievous glint in his eyes. "You're incorrigible, you know that don't you? And look what you've done to my blouse. It's one of my favourites too and thanks to your impatience, it's totally ruined."
He laughed at her crestfallen expression.
"I'll get Mrs Hudson to mend that for you. Meanwhile, you're very welcome to wear my shirt."
She raised her eyebrows at the notion. "And what will you wear?"
"My ever trusty Belstaff of course. Besides, the shirt looks better on you." He quipped, tucking a renegade strand behind her ear.
Shrugging on the oversized shirt, she tidied up her desk a little, shaking her head at the disarray and inwardly cursing herself for allowing this unexpected tryst to clutter her neatly arranged patient files. It was going to take days to sort it all out. Oh the things she'd sacrifice for 1200 seconds of passion.
Eventually buttoning up his coat, with his upturned collar of course, he slipped his scarf around his neck, swooped over to Molly and gently kissed the tip of her nose.
"I'll see you at Scotland Yard tomorrow then. Why the hell Geoff wants us to be there for something worthy only of a six, at best, I don't understand. Well. I do. But John had this look when I told him I wasn't going. It actually reminded me of you when you're feeling particularly malevolent towards me. Strange, no? Anyway, it's going to be highly boring, extremely dull and the only saving grace is that you'll be there for a change. Say…it might be a bit forward, but what do you think of the idea of um - christening Lestrade's office?"
He expertly avoided the boot Molly threw in his direction and gave her a quick wink before trotting off with her ripped blouse to Mrs Hudson.