A/N: Thank you to holybatch, mistykins06 and texadian for the betas!
Please don't say I love you,
those words touch me much too deeply
and they make my core tremble
Don't think you realize the effect you have over me
She came to him this time, still in her party dress, but without the ridiculous yellow bow. Her hair was down, straight and hanging past her shoulders. She shuffled over the threshold of 221B in house slippers, having already abandoned her heels, then slipped them off by the door.
He took a drag of his cigarette, "Where's Meat-Dagger?"
"Tom," Molly emphasized, "is at his flat. Probably sound asleep."
Sherlock snorted, "Judging by the shape of his nose, I'm sure he's an abysmal snorer. How you can stand -"
"I'm not here to talk about Tom," she said, frustrated, as she crossed the room. Perching on the left edge of his chair, she picked the fag from his fingers, then leaned further across his body to grind it out on the mantle. He appreciated the view of her breasts, swimming in front of his vision, straining against the yellow fabric. Sherlock could just make out the lace outline of her bra. He looked past her chest to the diamond setting winking back at him from her ring finger.
And please don't touch me like that
makes every other embrace seem pale and shallow
And please don't come so close
it just makes me want to make you near me always
"You left early," she started, looking into his eyes, clearly checking for pupil dilation.
"I'm not high," he said, pushing her off as he stood up, indignant. "I wore my costume, I performed as expected - I even solved a murder. Then I came home when it was clear I had fulfilled my obligations as best man. Nobody wants a sociopath at their wedding. They make for bad guests."
Molly cocked her head to the side, then reached out to caress his cheek. He briefly closed his eyes, but successfully fought leaning into her hand before removing its presence.
"Is that what you think," she asked, tenderly grasping the hand that was unable to let go of hers, "that you're not wanted anymore? John loves you. We all love you. And Sherlock - you're not a sociopath. Nobody thinks you are, not even you. Not anymore."
He reluctantly pushed her hands, her comfort, away. "What am I supposed to believe, Molly? I come home and John has Mary and now they're going to be a family, and," he stopped himself before openly admitting the rest, turning towards the window in what he was sure was a transparent effort to hide his emotions. "Not that I blame yo- anyone, I abandoned those I cared about and now they're gone. Everyone's moved on."
"I haven't."
He whirled around to face her, ready to argue his point, "What, of course you ha-" the thought ending in his throat as he watched her remove her engagement ring and place it on the desk.
"I haven't moved on," she restated, hands moving to the back of her dress, unzipping the yellow fabric, letting it fall around her feet. She sauntered toward him, all stockings and suspenders and lace, her hair framing her cheeks. He did a mental check; no, not another fantasy. A very real, barely clothed Molly Hooper was standing in front of him, saying she still wanted him as much as he wanted her.
"Sherlock, stop thinking," she muttered, kissing the underside of his chin before lowering to her knees, reaching up to unzip his trousers.
Don't try to understand me
your hands already know too much anyway
It just makes me want to make you near me always
Molly's hands surrounded him, gently pulling as her tongue tentatively reached out, licking the underside of his penis, circling the tip, then retreating as her mouth started its slow descent.
Damn, how he'd missed the touch of her lips around his cock.
She started slow, adjusting herself to accommodate him, before sucking in earnest. Her hand slipped under his dress shirt, already untucked, grabbing his hip to steady her movements.
Sherlock's hands tangled in Molly's long tresses, her mouth hot around him, tongue darting, swirling his prick in time to the bob of her head. A low groan escaped his lips as he felt the first signs of his orgasm at the base of his spine.
He lightly tugged her hair. "Molly I, uh - oh yes - I'm going to - to cum," Sherlock warned with the last shred of his control, but she just moved her hands to his ass, grabbing harder as she increased her efforts.
Soon, Sherlock was gasping as he spilled into her mouth, her throat working as she continued to consume him until he was boneless. He found purchase against the desk as she pulled away, licking her lips like the cat that got the cream.
He wanted her so badly in that moment, he rushed forward, pulling her up, then lifting further to sit her on the edge of his desk.
Please don't kiss me so sweet
it makes me crave a thousand kisses to follow
Sherlock kissed her then, his hands splayed across her waist. It was the antithesis to their desperate passion; slow, deliberate. Her fingers caressed the shell of his ear as he deepened it, and in that moment he thought time and the universe stood still. Eventually, he pulled away, Molly laying back on the desk, as he removed her knickers.
Once the lacy barrier was removed, he focused his attention on Molly's left breast, flicking the nipple before devouring the areola as he relished the weight of her in his large palm. After paying similar homage to the other breast, he moved further down, tracing the path of a singular bead of sweat on the slope of her pale stomach, into her belly button. Her muscles quivered, a slight giggle leaving her lips. He smiled, placed one large smacking kiss affectionately on her navel, then parted her stocking-clad thighs as he positioned himself to taste her.
Molly's laughter quickly dissolved into moans as he began, placing open-mouthed kisses along the insides of her thighs; grabbing, perhaps a bit too harshly, the flesh there. The noises she made, however, indicated that she didn't mind much. Centering himself on her neatly trimmed cunt, he flattened his tongue to lick along her outer labia, taking his time, wanting her wet and begging for it. Judging by the glistening moisture he tasted, it wouldn't take long.
He rubbed two fingers slowly up and down her slit, collecting her juices before placing them in his mouth to savor her musk. An aroused gasp from above alerted him to his audience - Molly was now on her elbows, watching him, panting. She shifted her weight, and one arm reached out to urge him on, impatient already. He gladly obliged her.
Sherlock inserted one, then both fingers, twisting them as he began to slowly thrust, leaning forward to circle her clitoral hood with his tongue. He felt, rather than heard, her fall back against the desk, her breathing coming out in shorter bursts. Just as her hips began to cant upward, orgasm imminent, he pulled back, stroking her folds again. He chuckled lowly at her indignant huff, then restarted her torture. Twisting, thrusting, stroking her with his fingers and his tongue. Already hard again and ready, he let her cum this time, her fingernails scraping against the wood as she cried out his name.
His name, no one else's. The thought made him thicken even more with possession. Mine.
He trailed back up her trembling body, now shiny with perspiration, settling one arm behind her back and across her shoulders, the other beneath her bum. She kissed him hard, teeth clashing as he settled her a little better on the edge.
No words were exchanged, just a look and barely perceptible nod, before he entered her. Molly's eyes were hooded with pleasure as he stroked into her. When he was finally fully enclosed by her warmth, Sherlock paused, resting his forehead against hers. She tangled her fingers in his curls, then tenderly kissed each cheekbone.
And when you look in my eyes
please know my heart is in your hands
It's nothing that I understand, but when in your arms
you have complete power over me
Moving inside her was better than any high he'd ever experienced. Her walls clenched around him, pulling him into a place Sherlock was positive was made just for him, welcoming him home after so long away. Molly. Oh, God, Molly.
He pulled his lips from hers, the evidence from their sloppy kiss on her chin, her cheeks. He buried his face into her neck, sucking at her pulse point, wanting to leave a mark, wanting the world to know he was there, that he existed, that someone cared. If he chose the petite pathologist as his canvas, she didn't seem to object. Sherlock felt Molly's breathing speed up against his ear as she raced to her second orgasm, her hands tightening in his hair, holding him in place.
Your hands are in my hair, but my heart is in your teeth
And it makes me want to make you near me always
With an answering groan, he moved faster, his hands pulling her against him, until he felt her spasm, her fingernails digging into his back. Feeling his own impending completion, he started to pull out, only to have Molly stop him, stop his movements.
"Cum in me," she said, her clear brown eyes looking straight into his.
"But we're not using any-" he panted.
"Cum in me," Molly pleaded this time, grinding her hips against his, urging him on.
Already too far gone, Sherlock couldn't resist any longer. He kissed her and started thrusting again. As the pleasure quickly started to build anew, he could no longer concentrate on kissing her, so he just hovered his mouth over hers, sharing breath. He finally came, falling forward and biting her lip, their arms entwined around one another, hearts beating in time.
Once his heart slowed enough to think clearly, he asked the first question that came to his mind, "Why?"
Molly touched his cheek. Instead of answering, however, she looked at the floor. "Mrs. Hudson won't be pleased about this."
Trusting her and content to put the discussion away for now, he eyed his papers. Once on the desk, they were now strewn across the flat, "No, I don't imagine so," he laughed, "but I don't care," he turned his attention to her swollen lip, "I'm sorry I hurt you."
Molly's tongue darted out, testing the injury, "Doesn't feel like you broke the skin. I'll live to fight another day," she proclaimed with a grin.
Sherlock stood up fully, bringing her upright with him, then picked her up under her bum again.
"Oh! Sherlock, what-" she flailed with a giggle, locking her arms around his neck for stability.
"Dr. Hooper, if you think this night is over, you are sorely mistaken," he quipped as he kicked his bedroom door shut behind them.
Sherlock woke up in his bed, the space next to him empty, but still warm. The late morning light shining through his windows showed the indentation patterns of her slight body still in his sheets. His memory recalled the spread of her hair against his pillow.
He smiled when he heard shuffling outside his door, leading into the sitting room. Molly probably just wanted a cuppa, as was her habit in the mornings, and didn't want to wake him.
Sherlock strode into the front room starkers, modesty never having been a hindrance to him, and saw Molly once more in the yellow dress from the night before, bent low over the papers in the floor. She stood up, looked at the small object she'd retrieved from the pile, then placed it back on her finger.
"Molly?"
She looked up, startled as he choked out her name, "Sherlock! I didn't want to wake you."
"I can imagine why," he bit out, emotion fully in check now, "most slags don't after a one-night stand."
She stepped back as if slapped, but recovered. "You would know about leaving at the break of dawn, wouldn't you?"
"I left because I had to protect all of you. I thought you underst-"
"Oh shove it, Sherlock. Not one word from you! Not one word those two years. I didn't know if you were coming back, I didn't even know if you were alive" she swallowed back tears, "so I met Tom and then you came back and then life was complicated but-"
"It's not complicated to me. I see women like you all the time. They want the best of both worlds," he moved closer, fire in his veins leading him forward, "they want the respectability, but then they want to slum it with the druggie; the dangerous ex-boyfriend they still fantasize about when their husbands can't get them off-"
She slapped him.
"Fuck you," she spat, then turned to rush down the stairs, slamming the door behind her.
One heartbeat turned into a hundred. Then he realized his mistake, but by the time he'd thrown on a pair of loose pants and run out the door onto Baker Street, the black taxi was pulling away.
Your hands are in my hair, but my heart is in your teeth
And it makes me want to make you near me always
A/N: I know I know! Don't shoot! They don't get their happy ending here, but I promise the series has one. It's a bumpy ride, but so is life. All I ask is that you remember this is from Sherlock's point of view, and he's not always the most reliable narrator. Sometimes emotions cloud his better judgement - Sentiment.
Oh, they are both idiots. I love these kids so much.
The song is 'Near You Always' by Jewel. I know some of it's out of order, but it worked better that way.