A/N- Just a one shot I've had hanging around for a while that I'm finally posting. Pure fluff, nothing more :)
Sherlock pulled her close, unexpectedly gentle. This was different Sherlock, a man that no one else saw. This was her Sherlock. This was the man she loved more than anything, despite his insufferableness. She knew he fought with John and drove most people to distraction, but to her…he was her darling boy. She wrapped her arms around his thin frame and felt the muscles in his back flex. She wanted to run her hands over his smooth skin, to feel those muscles herself. She pushed the thought away. Some things even Sherlock would balk at.
His hands ran down her back and circled her waist, their strong grip making her skin burn. She stepped closer and moved her hands up his chest, feeling the breath leave his chest in a husky sigh. She lifted one hand to his cheek, feeling the sharp cheekbones soften at his slight smile. Her fingers traced his features till she drew her finger gently over his cupid bow lips. They parted slightly at her touch and warm air rushed over her finger. His teeth nipped at her skin before she pulled her finger away. His beautiful eyes looked deep into hers; she could never decide their color. She was fairly certain that his eyes contained the universe inside, if she only looked deep enough.
Not pleased with her teasing Sherlock's strong fingers dug into her skin and he pulled her tight to his chest. Her breath hitched and she reached her hands up, fingers combing through his raven soft hair. His eyes partially closed at the feeling and she found that all she could focus on were those lips…those perfect kissable lips. He leaned down to her and she met him gently, betraying none of her longing. Their lips barely brushed, but the contact making her shiver. She pressed her lips to his again and the kiss was less chaste. His breathing was heavier, making her eyes spark. She finally gave in and pushed her lips to his urgently. He met her in a hot deep kiss, skin burning. Her fingers instinctively twined through his hair and he held her almost too tight, but he could have crushed her for all she cared. He tasted smoky and sexy and completely Sherlock. His tongue gently touched her lips and she opened her mouth, deepening the kiss. He pulled her with him onto the couch she poured her body over his, turning liquid in his hands.
She loved this Sherlock, the one that would surprise anyone who knew him. Even John did not see this side of him. He was hers and hers alone. They were completely at ease with each other, neither needing more than the other gave. Sherlock never released his deduction skills on her, valuing her feelings and her privacy. In turn she treated him with gentleness and care, not that she would not have anyway.
"Molly!" A deep voice snapped. The woman in question jumped, eyes flying open in surprise. She had been dozing off at work. The object of her fantasy strode in, coat flapping, and she took a single moment to sigh in wonderment at his beauty.
Unfortunately, the image was ruined as Sherlock demanded help obtaining some corpses. "I need to stab them after they've been cut open and then study the damage done. Need the freshest corpse you have. You may need to clean the floor when I'm done."
"Right away, Sherlock." Molly sighed and felt her delicious delusion slipping away with every second. She rolled out the morgue's most recent acquisition. Sherlock cut the skin with clinical precision. He then withdrew a large knife and started slashing at the corpse. Being fresh it started oozing and spraying blood. Molly, who had a good head for blood and death—she did work in a morgue—started to feel sick and fled the immediate area for the office above. Was there any way she could save her fantasy?
She looked out the window at Sherlock. A maniacal smile sat on those perfect lips and blood was splattered over the lab coat that had replaced his Belstaff. Bits that Molly did not want to think about were flying out of the corpse and one stuck to his face. That was the last straw. Swallowing bile Molly turned away.
No more daydreams. Ever. Now she had to concentrate on removing the image of a blood stained Sherlock from her mind. Bemoaning the fact that she had ever liked the man to begin with, Molly fled for the bathroom. Sherlock, of course, remained oblivious to it all.