This really was supposed to be a sweet little sickfic, but it sort of grew into this sexy and rather long porn with very little plot. Big thanks to MizJoley for betaing it and being all around amazing!
I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~
Something was wrong. Clearly Molly was home, but she wasn't answering her door. He had actually knocked rather than picking the lock this time. Sherlock learned that lesson the day after the broadcast when he stopped by to check on her, unannounced, and had earned himself a cricket bat to the shoulder.
Today was different, however, because he had been knocking for forty-seven seconds with no answer. He knew she was home; Mike said she'd phoned in sick to work (which she never did) and besides, Sherlock could smell the faint scent of an aromatherapy candle coming from her flat. Molly would never leave a candle burning unattended.
Something must be wrong. What if she'd choked on a piece of Kung Pow Chicken? What if she was trapped under her refrigerator and couldn't reach her phone and Toby was just wandering around crying out hopelessly as he watched his mistress… Decision made (and ready for a bat to the shoulder), Sherlock picked the lock. Within seconds he was walking through the entryway and into her sitting room.
"Molly?" he called out as he walked into the darkened room. The curtains were drawn and all the lights turned off, the only source of illumination coming from the (just as he'd deduced) large, three wick lavender scented candle on her coffee table. "Molly?"
A groan came from the general vicinity of the her 'L' shaped sectional. Looking down, he saw a small tartan-covered lump move on the sofa.
"Sherlock?" the lump said in a rough voice.
He sat down at the bend of the sectional near what he thought was Molly's head (he couldn't be sure, since she was still covered head to toe). "Migraine?" he asked.
"Mmhmm," she answered.
"Have you taken anything?"
"Course. Didn't help."
Damn. He really wanted to try to talk her into going with him to Barts. Lestrade had finally given him a few cold case files, since the criminals were being difficult and business was slow, and he had a few theories he wanted to test out.
"How long?" he asked.
She pulled the small blanket off of her face. "I woke up with it." Handing him a battered looking flannel she asked, "Can you get this wet for me again?" in a pitiful voice.
He hesitated, but she looked so helpless lying there in pain that he got up and went to the kitchen to wet the cloth. When he returned he found her on her back, Toby perched on her stomach staring at his mistress as if trying to figure out why she was home and not paying him any attention.
Sherlock put the flannel on the coffee table and reached for the cat. "Come on, Tobias, Molly needs her rest." The cat only mildly protested, then with a swish of his tail made his way down the hall. "Here." He tried to hand Molly the wet cloth. She reached out feebly for it and Sherlock sighed. "Never mind, I'll do it."
"Thank you," she whispered.
He nodded as he placed it on her forehead.
"What did you need?" She was looking at him for the first time.
"What?" he asked as he adjusted the flannel.
"You're here, so you must need something."
He considered explaining about the tests he wanted to run, then decided against it. Sometimes a lie was better than the truth. "Mike said you were ill. I came to check on you." John would be proud; Mycroft would be disgusted.
Molly cut him a dubious look as if she didn't quite believe him and said, "Well, thank you. I'm fine though, just need to ride this out."
"Do you mind if I stay?" He wasn't sure why he asked other than the fact that he now had nothing to do with the rest of his day.
"If you want." She turned, facing the back of the sofa and pulling the throw with her.
Sherlock turned his attention to his mobile, checking his website then email. Nothing. So he started searching through at-home migraine remedies, finding most of them completely useless. Several minutes had passed, maybe a half hour, when he looked up and noticed that Molly had bunched the throw in front of her, exposing her back. Since she was only wearing a singlet and shorts he considered that she might be cold. Without sparing another thought, Sherlock reached for the throw, wrenching it from her tight little fists, to cover her up.
Unfortunately his actions woke her. "Whaz wrong?" She rolled onto her back.
"Nothing, Molly. I was attempting to cover you up." He tried to tuck the small blanket around her chest.
"Oh God, it's worse," she moaned, a grimace forming on her face. Both of her hands came up to grip either side of her head.
Pulling her hands down, Sherlock leant over her and said, "Will you allow me to try something, Molly?"
"Does it involve a large mallet?" she asked as she fished the flannel out of the sofa cushion where it had fallen.
He ignored her joke. "Put the flannel over your eyes and give me your arm," he instructed.
She didn't even hesitate, apparently in too much pain to question him. Sherlock took hold of her arm with his left hand and started gently stroking the inside of her elbow with his right.
A soft sigh escaped from her before asking, "What are you doing?"
"Giving you something else to think about." He let his fingertips trail further up to the juncture of her underarm. "Focus on my hand, not the pain."
The website had suggested a gentle back or neck massage, but he didn't want to move her that much. It seemed to be working, though; she moved her other hand away from her head and rested it on her stomach. Her breathing became heavier and he hoped that she was drifting off to sleep, then she spoke. "God, Sherlock, that feels amazing. Your hands…"
He paused, causing her to turn to face him, though the cloth still covered her eyes. He hadn't realised that he was rubbing the palm of her hand as well. With a shake of his head, he restarted lightly touching Molly's arm, not releasing her hand. As a matter of fact he increased the pressure on her palm, remembering what he had read about pressure points. He then took the webbing between her thumb and index finger and applied gentle pressure. Molly moaned. He pressed down harder as he continued to tickle her arm and she sighed contentedly.
As he sat there with Molly's arm on his lap, it occurred to him that it was the most time he'd spent voluntarily touching someone since university. Back then it was all a means to an end, and usually clouded with drugs and alcohol. Molly's skin, he noted, was extremely soft, clearly well cared for. He wasn't surprised. Long ago he'd noticed that she took care of her hair, her nails, and of course, her skin. He'd often seen her applying lotion or oils to her hands, for instance, as they worked together in the lab. She always smelled fresh and clean, even after a day of hovering over decomposing bodies.
He looked over at her and found that the throw had slipped down and she was rubbing her stomach. That's when he considered that he'd neglected her right arm. Placing her left arm on her belly, he moved to kneel on the floor next to her.
"What..?" Molly started.
"Shhh. Relax," he said as he turned her right arm over and began lightly rubbing it in the same manner as he had her left. Again, he massaged the pressure point on her hand and again she moaned in appreciation.
His new position meant that he was half leaning over her body and couldn't help but notice how warm she was. He was not unaffected. His breathing had sped up slightly as had his heart rate. Ignoring the tightening in his abdomen, and his trousers, Sherlock released her hand and moved his touches higher to her shoulder and across her collarbone, letting his fingertips dance across the delicate skin.
Molly gasped slightly and arched her back when he touched the base of her throat. She wasn't in pain, quite the contrary. It may have been quite a while since his last sexual situation, but her response was unmistakable.
"Do you want me to stop?" he asked, not quite sure what he hoped her answer would be.
The room was eerily silent for several moments, and it dawned on him that she might be uncomfortable. Just because she once, years before, had a crush on him didn't mean that he had the liberty to touch her freely now. He was being quite presumptuous. Finally Molly said, "No, I don't."
Breathing an internal sigh of relief, thus answering his question as to what he was hoping for, he brought both hands up to either side of her neck. That was when he realised that from his new position he could easily massage her shoulders, neck and head without having to move her. Applying light pressure to the base of her head, he moved his thumbs in small circles. He worked his way down her neck, across both shoulders then back up. Once he reached her hair line he used his fingertips to to gently rub her scalp.
His face was hovering over hers and he wished he could see her more clearly. As it was, with the cloth covering her eyes, he could only see her nose and mouth. Her nostrils would flare every once in awhile and occasionally she would pinch her bottom lip between her perfect little teeth. It was impossible not to notice how tiny she was compared to him… and a part of him loved that.
His torso was pressed up against her side, though not resting on it, and he could feel each breath she took. She was relaxed, that was certain, but occasionally her breath would hitch or she would moan, causing a spike of arousal to course through Sherlock. Every time he tried to ignore it, but every time it got harder. And so did he.
He was completely torn. Part of him was screaming at him to stop, to get his hands off of this woman, his friend, and leave as quickly as possible. This was exactly the sort of situation he pointedly avoided, especially with Molly Hooper. Why especially Molly? Probably because it would have been so easy. She was first and foremost a woman, and despite the many rumors to the contrary, he did prefer the fairer sex. She was like him in many ways and unlike him in all the ways that truly mattered: her enormous heart, her guileless nature, her unwavering faith in the people she cared about. Not to mention physically she was simply his type: petite, dark hair, dark eyes, soft skin… so incredibly soft…
That was why he needed to stop. Only he wasn't stopping. He found that he had no intention of stopping unless she asked him to.
He moved his hands underneath the straps of her singlet to rub at her shoulders. No bra, he thought, causing his cock to throb against his unreasonably tight trousers. Though he'd deduced as much when he first noticed that she was no longer covered up, it seemed much more important now. Moving slowly down her deltoids he allowed his thumbs to brush just under the edge of her shirt, then waited for her reaction. When he received none, he spoke. "How's your head?"
"My… my head?" Her voice was slightly gruff.
"Does it still hurt?"
"Ahh, it's better, I suppose."
"Good. I'm glad." Moment of truth. "Would you like me to stop Molly?"
There was a long pause, so long it was very nearly uncomfortable, before she finally said, "No."
The throbbing of his erection suddenly turned into an ache, and he had to take a deep breath before continuing. The line was about to be crossed, no turning back now. He brought his hands down her arms until he reached her wrists. Raising her arms, he placed them over her head. "Leave them there for me?" he asked, his face only a few inches away from hers.
"Kay," she whispered.
His fingertips brushed across her skin as they traveled back down her body until they reached the hem of her shirt. Slowly, so that she could protest if his actions were unwelcome, he raised the garment inch by inch. Her small waist came into view, as well as her hips because her loose shorts had ridden low. Leaving her shirt pushed up under her breasts, Sherlock moved one hand under her and he splayed his fingers across her back. He then trailed his middle finger down the centre of her stomach, watching closely for her reaction.
Molly's back arched into his touch as she gasped out his name. It was a heady experience, being the cause of that gasp, hearing his name from those lips. He wanted more, so much more.
He dipped his finger just under the waistband of her shorts, scraping a nail across her skin. God, he was so close to her that he could smell her arousal. His lips were actually tingling with the need to be pressed against her flesh. Would it be welcomed? He had to find out. Lowering his head, allowing his hair to tickle her stomach before his mouth made contact as a means of warning, he listened closely for her reaction. A mumbled curse came from above him as she squirmed, her feet kicking the blanket to the end of the sofa.
When his lips touched Molly's warm flesh for the first time his mind exploded at the sensory input. But he didn't let it slow him down; she was enjoying herself as much as he was, and he wasn't about to stop and analyse the pH in her skin. He traced her navel with his tongue, keeping ahold of her with his left hand and allowing his right to wander further down to grip her thigh. He moved his hand inward, under the leg of her shorts, until his thumb was tracing the outer edge of her knickers. She groaned as he nipped at the skin just above her waistband.
He had yet to actually remove any of her clothing, but it was unavoidable if things were going to progress. Still, he wanted to keep his movements slow and deliberate to give her every opportunity to put a stop to… whatever was happening. It would have to be her at this point: he was simply too far gone.
Slipping his thumb over the gusset of her pants, Sherlock bit back a moan when he felt the moisture that had collected there during his methodical touching. Molly bucked upward and her hands came down to grip at the sofa cushion when he applied more pressure to her crease, parting her slightly under the fabric. He almost asked her to put her hands back over her head, but decided he rather enjoyed watching those small, capable hands claw at the cushion. She was so responsive and he love it. Applying even more pressure with his thumb and a kiss to her belly, he considered how to move forward. He could make her come like this, he was sure of it, but God how he wanted to taste her. His mouth was actually watering at the very idea.
Not thinking about it any longer, he tugged at her shorts and she immediately lifted her hips to accommodate him. The candlelight was hardly bright enough for him to really get a look at her, but he could see the soft lines of her body, her slender calves, her shapely thighs, the swell of her hips. And, in true Molly fashion, there were her knickers. They were black with tiny neon yellow skulls scattered across them.
Wanting to prolong their interactions as long as possible, he didn't remove her pants immediately. He dipped his head and breathed deep, getting a lung-full of the essence of Molly Hooper. He had to drop his head to the cushion as he muttered a curse, trying to collect himself. It had been years since he had been face first in a beautiful woman, and this was her… There was something completely different about this situation.
Molly's hips started to wiggle and he feared she was growing impatient, so he moved her left leg to the floor, and positioned himself between her thighs. His tongue darted out as he tasted her for the first time. Even through the fabric of her knickers, she tasted magnificent. Her breathy 'fuck' told him just how much she wanted him to continue.
He pulled away and slowly brought her pants down her legs, tossing them to the end of the sofa, before taking his place once again. And there she was. He took in the sight: neatly groomed, light brown, almost reddish looking curls (though it was hard to tell in the candlelight) lay nestled between pale thighs. With a glance up her body, Sherlock noticed that Molly hadn't uncovered her eyes. She still lay there, arms at her side, vision obscured. He wondered if that was somehow making this easier; the fact that she couldn't see him or what he was doing to her. No matter, it was happening.
He parted her, noting how her lips shone with moisture in the flickering light. She was so wet he could see it! He dipped his tongue into her opening, collecting as much of her juices as he could before moving up, mapping out her folds with his tongue. Her whimpers and sighs were driving him crazy. When he reached her clit, he flicked it, earning him a sharp gasp. Molly's hands were suddenly in his hair, threading through his curls. Sliding his index finger into her core, he sucked her clit lightly. She bucked and cried out, her nails digging into his scalp, sending electric shocks down his spine. Adding another finger, he increased his efforts, suddenly needing to hear her- feel her- come apart for him.
As he tongued the small hardened bundle of nerves at the apex of her sex, he took a deep breath before sucking it into his mouth once again. Her internal muscles fluttered and spasmed, locking his fingers as she called out his name, her hands holding his head in place as pleasure seemed to engulf her.
Suddenly his chest began to ache, full to bursting with male pride while his cock felt like it might burst through his trousers. Reaching down, he adjusted his erection. He'd never wanted to be inside of another human being so badly in his life. Molly was still shivering and gasping as he rested his head on her bare stomach, trying to calm himself.
He could have her, couldn't he? Why not? Here she was, post orgasmic, nearly naked and beautifully flushed, glowing from what he'd done to her. Why couldn't he let go and take her?
Suddenly a voice in his head answered, sounding suspiciously like Mycroft. "Because caring is not an advantage. All hearts are broken, and that includes yours." Not to be outdone, John Watson chimed in, "Because you're a dickhead who's treated this woman like shit and you don't deserve her!" Then the insane cackle of James Moriarty echoed through his mind. "Because you're just like me, Sherlock," it said. "We're the same, remember? Why would she want someone like us?"
"Right… of course," he mumbled into her skin. They were all right, of course they were, especially Moriarty. She didn't want him, not now… after all this time- after everything he'd done. Despite her physical reaction to him, he was still Sherlock, her broken friend. Drug addict. Sociopath. Freak. He'd given her something, but should leave before taking anything he didn't deserve. Their relationship could recover from this. They had been through worse. With a sigh he got up, sat on the sofa and began preparing an explanation for his behaviour. Molly's voice distracted him as he was constructing a carefully worded apology.
"Come here," she said as she reached for him and pushed his jacket off his shoulders. Then she was straddling his lap, her tiny hands attacking the buttons of his shirt. "Need you!" Her mouth was suddenly on his neck, sucking and nibbling at his skin.
His hands wrapped around her waist, holding her steady, afraid that she might realise what she was doing and stop. Were they wrong? Was he wrong? "Molly," he moaned when her hand cupped his cock through his trousers.
"Mmmm," she hummed into his neck as her hands moved to his sleeves, tugging his shirt down his arms. Pulling back and biting her lip, she giggled when she realised she'd forgotten to unbutton the cuffs. Once they were dealt with, she turned and laid back, pulling him down on top of her. When his clothed erection met her centre she huffed in frustration. "Get those off, yeah?"
Sherlock leaned up and started undoing the clasp on his trousers when he felt Molly's hands tugging down his zip. He looked down and saw her smiling at him.
"Teamwork," she said with a wink, then pushed them down his hips.
As soon as his cock was free from the confines of his trousers, Molly's hand was on him and he made no attempt to stifle the moan this time. She stroked him while he tried to kick the trousers off. He was thwarted by the fact that he was still wearing his shoes. Again Molly giggled, but didn't stop working his cock as he toed off his shoes and finally managed to finish undressing.
She let go of him and wrapped her arms around his neck as he nestled himself between her warm thighs. Keeping most of his weight off of her, resting on his arms and knees, Sherlock looked down at Molly, this woman, this wonderful woman, who had not only saved him and cared for him, but was now giving him access to her lovely body. The realisation was overwhelming.
With a sweet and surprisingly seductive smile Molly said, "Thank you, Sherlock. I know you don't find me… well, I'm not…" She huffed in frustration. "Just know that I will always cherish this night. Always." Then she bit her lip and focused her stare on his neck, clearly not able to look him in the eyes.
Oh Molly… He couldn't reply to her sudden bout of insecurity. Something about the word 'cherish' turned the ache in his chest into a sharp pain and made him want to confess things. But this wasn't the time for truth telling. He'd show her just how he found her...
Taking himself in hand, he pressed the tip of his erection against her wet folds, teasing her and coating himself with her moisture. She shuddered and dug her nails into his shoulders, her eyes shut tight.
"Look at me." He wanted her to see him when he entered her. She opened her eyes, her lovely eyes, and he felt a sudden and overwhelming need to tell her...
"You're so beautiful." He kissed her cheek, a thing he'd done many times before, but this kiss was completely different. Keeping his lips pressed lightly against her cheek, he said, "And I cherish you, Molly Hooper."
She gasped as he slowly inched forward, his cock sinking into her wet heat. His mouth sought out the flesh of her jaw, her neck, her shoulder. They sighed in unison as he bottomed out. He couldn't' help the smile that formed on his face as he took a moment to steady himself and enjoy being completely connected with another person for the first time in so many years. Then Molly rolled her hips and he decided it was time to really start enjoying himself.
He kissed and licked her skin as he thrust into her over and over. Sherlock was stunned by the feeling of her. Tight, wet, hot...perfect. Suddenly he wasn't at all sure if their love making could last long enough for her to come again, and that was imperative. He needed to give this wonderful woman everything he had, something he'd always denied her.
He pulled her left leg up to his hip, adjusting his angle as his other hand found her breast. Molly met him thrust for thrust, her hands moving to his head, nails digging into his scalp. Sherlock moaned into her neck, the added sensation of her nails was about to end him. He was so close.
"Molly," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "I need you to come for me."
He felt her nod her head as her hands moved down his back to cup his arse. "Harder," she pleaded.
More than happy to comply, he redoubled his effort and began driving into her with all of his strength. He moved his mouth down her throat, her chest, over her fleshy breast until he found an erect nipple. As he sucked it into his mouth, he heard Molly call his name, felt her inner muscles tighten even further around his cock. He knew that she was close, which was a very good thing.
Releasing her nipple, he gritted his teeth and looked down at her face, hoping to get to record her orgasm in his mind. Her eyes were shut tightly, her head thrown back, her hair fanning out around her. She looked like a fantasy come true as her climax overtook her.
Her back arched and her nails dug into his arse. She opened her mouth, presumably to curse or call out to him once again, but Sherlock couldn't resist it. He captured her cool lips with his own, his tongue delving into her the warm depths of her mouth. Molly squeaked, clearly not expecting the kiss, then moaned against him as her tongue lapped at his.
Sherlock came with white light erupting behind his eyelids as Molly's climax continued to grip at him, milking him beautifully. His body shuddered and spasmed as he emptied himself into her.
After what seemed like the longest, most intense orgasm of his life, he found himself collapsed against her chest, his head buried in her neck and altogether contented. He knew he had to move though, he was much too heavy for her small frame.
As he started to rise, Molly wrapped her arms around his back. "Just a moment longer...please?" she asked, her lips tickling across his sweat soaked skin.
He kissed her shoulder once, then leaned back, not moving off of her completely but just enough to look in her eyes. "How's your head? The increase in blood pressure couldn't have helped. I shouldn't have…"
She giggled. "Of course, my head. It's... it's not hurting at all now. Thank you. That seemed to do the trick." Her smile was sweet and almost shy.
"That's good," he said as he desperately searched the right words to say at this moment. The importance wasn't lost on him. "How often do you get these headaches?" he asked after several seconds of searching.
"Occasionally. Every few months or so."
Hmm, that wouldn't do… "Suppose we work on a way of… preventing them. A sort of maintenance programme."
The candlelight danced in Molly's bright eyes as she got his meaning. "So are you willing to help me out with all my aches?" Then she smirked, all shyness disappearing from her expression.
"Oh yes, as long as you agree to do the same," he said just before kissing that smirk off of her face.
Hey! Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think...love a review! ~Lil~