Sorry for such a short, terrible story. The idea came to me at 11.00 at night. I'm stuck on the Victorian AU fic. It's taking me months! Yet again, I own nothing.
Molly Hooper had dedicated many an hour to thinking about Sherlock Holmes' lips. The cupid's bow. The softness. She always figured that he'd either be a really bad kisser or (more likely) an incredibly good one. It turns out she was right on both counts.
After years of waiting and fantasizing, it had taken her almost dying at the hands of Moriarty for Sherlock to realise what his life would be like if he lost her. And it had taken almost a year after that for that ridiculous man to act on his feelings. And when he did, it was in the morgue!
Idiot.
It started out (on his side) sloppy and enthusiastic. But he was a quick learner. Very quick.
He began to match her pace. Dial down the saliva. He figured out what to do with his hands; leaving them rested on the small of her back. Their teeth only clashed once. Molly could tell he was inexperienced but with her tutoring he ended up just a little rough around the edges. An excellent first attempt.
After several minutes, each increasing in pleasure, Molly finally broke away.
"Took you long enough!" She grinned up at him.
"Well" A rare smile shone through his face "It was worth the wait"
It took a few more lessons at the Molly Hooper School of Kissing for him to finally out-kiss all of Molly's previous boyfriends combined.
Molly found herself wondering when he would graduate to the School of Sex.