MaybeItsJustMyType prompted me to write something a bit naughty on the heels of Straight or Curly - (When Molly asked if she could "watch Sherlock" and the poor man misunderstood for a millisecond) well... Sweets asked and I couldn't say no... Here we go.

**this is Wank!Lock folks... it gets a bit dirty**

MizJoely beta'd this and kept me laughing, as per usual. Any mistakes, however, are mine.

I own nothing.

It had been two and a half months since the broadcast. Two and a half months since Sherlock marched into Barts, dragged Molly into a storage closet, kissed her breathless and explained to her that no one, no one! would ever harm her, he wouldn't allow it. So two and a half months later Molly found herself in her bathroom attempting to find some relief from the near insurmountable stress that had built.

The weeks that followed had blurred one to another. Sherlock would blow into the lab with samples demanding her help – nothing had changed there. He was still his bossy, curt self. Other things had changed however. The smirks from John Watson as he followed in the detective's wake, for instance. Clearly John knew that something was going on between she and Sherlock, and he was enjoying it far too much.

Another new thing: Sherlock's occasional heated glances that made her pulse quicken. She'd catch him looking at her in moments when he was waiting for test results or when she thought he was in his mind palace. He'd seem distracted, but would quickly refocus and return to his task.

There was also an unusual thoughtfulness that was completely unlike him. When he had a good lead, Sherlock would send her a text (to the untraceable phone he'd given her) to tell her how long he estimated that he'd be gone. He'd even update her, occasionally, as to his progress. Nothing too personal, never giving away too much; simply informational.

The best and yet most confusing part was when he'd show up at her flat to 'check' on her - even though she had her own security detail - and they'd end up making out up against her door, her kitchen counter, her grandmother's curio cabinet (sorry Nana). One time they'd even miraculously made it to the sofa. She'd found herself flat on her back, Sherlock's erection pressed into her hip as he fondled her still-clothed breast and his tongue lapped at her pulse. Suddenly he'd jumped up, raked his hands through his hair and put on his coat as he ran for the door. He'd reemerged as quickly as he vanished and said, "I'm so sorry, Molly." Then he was gone again.

There hadn't been any lofty romantic sentiments, though this was Sherlock, so, really she wasn't expecting any. But she was frustrated, confused and of course frightened.

The frustration was for obvious reasons. She tried telling herself it was only natural to feel a bit discontented. She had tried to satisfy the building ache on her own, but it only made the situation worse. It wasn't as if she hadn't pleasured herself to the thought of Sherlock Holmes before, but now... now it was different. She knew what his lips tasted like. She'd heard his moans when her nails dug into his back. She knew what it felt like when he tugged on her hair and bit into the flesh just below her ear. And God help her, she needed more.

She was confused about what was happening between them. Was he just worried for her well-being and expressing it through earth-shattering kisses and well-placed hands? Or was this the beginning of... something?

She was frightened because Sherlock was chasing 'Moriarty', or whoever this was, like he was after the devil himself. She was scared for him, for herself, for the Watsons. She was scared for everyone.

She had questions, of course. Was he afraid to go too far because of what was happening, or because of something else? He wasn't talking and she wasn't asking. He had too much on his mind to deal with Molly's libido and emotions at the moment, and she had no intention of being a distraction, not now anyway. So she filed it all away to deal with once this nightmare was finally over and they could sit down and talk like actual adults.

Molly laughed as she filled her tub with hot water and lavender salts. Talk to Sherlock about sex and relationships. How on earth would she start that conversation? She brought in her iPod and dock, selected The Best of Bob Dylan and sighed in anticipation of the bliss that awaited her. She got undressed then tested the water. Perfect. She turned off the taps and got into the tub, instantly feeling the water and the salts working to relieve her aching muscles. Soon enough she felt herself relaxing. There was no Moriarty, no broadcast, no security detail and no handsy, indecisive detective. Nothing except Molly, the water and, at the moment, Make You Feel My Love.

Twenty minutes after getting in she topped the water off, adding more scalding hot liquid, as it had started to cool and she had no intention of getting out any time soon. She turned the taps off once again, laid back on her bath pillow and closed her eyes. Suddenly she heard her bathroom door open. Her eyes snapped opened to see Sherlock standing in her doorway dressed in his customary suit and Belstaff, a curious look on his perfect face. He was staring down at her... at her body. Well, of course he was, she was naked in the bath tub, for God's sake.

"Molly." His deep voice echoed in the strange acoustics of her overly large bathroom as he stepped in and shut the door.

She made no attempt to cover herself, she was far too shocked.

"You didn't answer your phone," he said, but not to her face. No, he was still staring at her body.

Molly licked her lips. "It's charging... n-not in here."

"This room is incredibly hot, Molly," he said then suddenly tossed the Belstaff off of his shoulders.

"Well, I don't generally bathe in a cold room."

He didn't reply, just dropped his suit jacket on top of his coat.

"Sherlock?"

"It's..." He took a breath. "I can't converse with you if I'm dead from heat stroke, now can I?"

"Why are we having a conversation whilst I'm having my bath?" she asked, starting to get a bit upset. What kind of conversation were they supposed to have in her bathr... Molly's train of thought drifted at the moment her eyes did; when she saw Sherlock's trousers tented in the front. Oh... ohhhh. "Sherlock?" she asked once again, still staring at his obvious erection.

He gestured dismissively. "It's fine. Really. What state do you think I'm in when I leave after one of our... interludes?" He made a face as if to say 'think, Molly.'

"I didn't … I mean... Well, obviously..." She couldn't finish even one of those sentences, as she was suddenly even more aware of her nakedness, not to mention, the dryness of her mouth. Then things got all kinds of... naughty. "What do you do? About it, I mean."

Sherlock planted his hands on his hips and cocked his head to the side. "What do you think I do, Molly?"

"Don't use that tone with me, Sherlock!" She'd gotten much better at standing up to him since his return and even better since he'd snogged her senseless and promised her his protection. "You know what I mean. Do you just... u-use your mind palace or... something... else?"

Sherlock suddenly got a very strange look in his eyes. She couldn't figure it out at first, until she realised that she was slowly rubbing her stomach with one hand and the notch between her breasts with the other. She stilled her hands (or tried to.)

He licked his lips. "What do you do, Molly?"

She just stared at him, trying desperately not to meet his challenge. But it was useless; the weeks of stolen kisses, unspoken words, and all that damn tension. Her hand crept lower, seemingly of its own accord. But she still refused to answer.

"Molly, what do you do to relieve yourself? When you're thinking about me, for instance? How do you touch yourself?"

Then suddenly she was.

It wasn't fair. The hot room, the scented air, his voice. Arousal flooded her as she slipped a finger between her folds. "H-how long do we have?" she whispered, a note of desperation in her voice.

Sherlock was unbuttoning his shirt as he kicked off his shoes. Then his hands were on the button of his trousers. "No long enough. Not nearly long enough, for what I plan on doing the first time I make love to you, Molly Hooper."

She whimpered and dipped her finger into her opening, closing her eyes and picturing just that: Sherlock's body pressing down on hers, biting her neck, his hands in her hair- pulling, holding her close while he moved inside of her. Would he be rough... tender? Fuck! Right now she didn't really care, she just wanted some relief. When she opened her eyes again he was completely naked and slowly walking toward her. She stopped touching herself and moved her hand to reach for the side of the tub. She was about to get out and climb the man.

He shook his head. "No, stay right where you are. And don't stop," he said. "Don't. Fucking. Stop." His voice was a demanding whisper as he stood next to the tub, took his cock in hand and slowly started to work himself.

Molly's breath caught. God, he's so beautiful. He gathered precum from the tip and used it lubricate his shaft. Her mouth was watering. She wanted nothing more than to take him in her mouth; to taste him. She just knew he could read her thoughts... then he did.

"Not yet. Soon, but not yet. Continue, Molly," he said as his hand moved up and down his beautiful prick.

She settled herself back into the tub, never taking her eyes from his cock and his hand. It was shockingly erotic. She had such a gorgeous view, watching him stand next to her and stroke himself. She watched as he drew the skin over the head of his prick and away again, then a throaty moan caught her attention. She looked up his lean body until she found those laser focused eyes bearing down on her. Her warm body erupted in chills.

"Shouldn't you be doing something?" Sherlock's voice was even deeper than normal and so authoritative, Molly felt as if she had no choice but to obey.

She slid her hand back between her legs, slowly, as she kept her eyes on his. He licked his lips and his breathing quickened when she reached up with her free hand to pluck at her hardened nipple.

"Fuck, Molly!" he exclaimed.

"Sherlock," she sighed, searching for what she needed to find her end. Her eyes moved back to his hand as it moved up and down his length. The water from the bath was washing away her natural lubrication and frustrating her beyond measure. She needed more, but not much. As if reading her mind once again, Sherlock began to speak...

"I can't wait to fuck you. I'll... God... I'll taste you first; make you come in my mouth." He quickened his pace as he used his other hand to cup his bollocks. "Don't stop Molly. That's it. You're so... ahh, fuck!"

Molly moved her left hand down to bury two fingers into center as she continued to work her clit. "Wh-what else?"

"Will you suck my cock?"

"Oh, fuck, Sherlock! I want to suck your cock right now!"

"Will you ride me, Molly?"

"Shit yes," she mumbled, feeling her orgasm building.

"Will you ride my face?"

"Oh God yes! Fuck yes! Sh-Sherlock!" Molly's eyes were closed as her body convulsed in utter pleasure. She was riding out her orgasm on her own fingers when she heard Sherlock call out her name. She heard the shower curtain rod jingle and she looked up to see him holding onto it with one hand, his stomach and chest painted in cum. He gracelessly sat down on the edge of the tub.

Molly instantly pushed herself onto her knees and began licking ejaculate off of his skin. A part of her was afraid that it was against some kind of rule and that she was about to be chastised. That is until she finished and heard Sherlock say, "You forgot my hand."

She looked up to see him holding up his right hand, a huge satisfied smile on his face. Molly held onto his wrist as she sucked each finger in her mouth, then she licked his palm clean.

"Oh God," he said with a sigh. "We needed that." Molly sank back down into the tub and rested her head on his thigh. He pulled her pony tail holder out, then threaded his finger through her hair. "You feel better?"

Molly hummed and nodded.

"I know this is hard, trust me... I know. But we're close. And when it's over..."

Molly's head shot up. "When it's over, what? What is this? And... why now?"

Sherlock sighed then pushed a piece of hair off of her damp face. "I suppose I haven't been clear, have I?"

"No, you haven't. Sometimes I think you believe that we all can read your mind. We can't by the way. 'I'll protect you' and a few lovely kisses don't exactly explain anything, Sherlock."

"Just lovely?" he said with a sideways smile.

Molly frowned.

He must have gotten the hint, because he stared at her for several moments. She could practically hear doors opening and closing in his mind palace. Finally he spoke, "When I was about to..." He paused and took a deep breath. "When the plane was taking off, I realised that the only real regret I had in my life, was not pushing you up against the wall in the hallway that day, and telling you that I still needed you. No, instead I was noble for the first time in my fucking life." Though the words were sharp, he smiled softly and stroked her face. "You're my future, Molly Hooper, if you'll have me. Though after everyth..."

"Shut up." She raised back up and grabbed his face. "That'll do. I understand now. Just find them, whoever this is. Then come back to me so we can... be..."

"Together?"

Molly smiled and nodded. "We'll talk about it then." She kissed him sweetly, then not so sweetly. Just as things were starting to get intense, she remembered something and pulled back. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

Sherlock stood and used a flannel to clean up a bit. "Nothing really. I just wanted to check in and you weren't answering my texts. John and I are off to Brussels. He's waiting in the car."

Molly had stepped out of the tub, grabbed a towel and started drying off. "What?" She wrapped it around herself. "You left John in the car while we... we..."

He walked over to her and took her in his arms. "He'll live. Though he's been texting me this whole time, not that I care." Bending down, he captured her mouth with his. He snaked his tongue into her mouth and nipped at her lips. He broke the kiss suddenly, leaving Molly a bit dizzy and said, "I might not have survived, though, if we hadn't taken the edge off. Not to mention, you've been so tense even Anderson could figure out that you needed a good orgasm." He winked as he started gathering his clothes.

Molly sat down on the edge of the tub and watched him. He finished tying his shoes and turned back to her. "Two days, tops." He walked over and cupped her chin in his large hand. "And when this is all over, you have some promises to keep, young lady." He kissed her softly, picked up his coat and left.

Giggles... Okay, I hope you all liked it. Thanks for reading. Leave me a review... I'd love to hear from anyone on this one. ;) (And Sweets, whatcha think?)