In the Name of Science
Sherlock trudged up the stairs towards the entry way to Molly's flat, his mind reeling with sounds bites from his conversation with John. Why was his partner so surprised by his admissions?
I should have asked him how often he wanks.
That made Sherlock laugh. He already knew the answer to that question. Not just from living with John at Baker Street, but just from looking at him.
Stronger grip on right arm. Relaxed demeanor in the morning. Laptop with empty browser history. Penchant for attractive women.
Frequency peaks at once a day, averaging about five times a week.
Sherlock stopped in front of the door to Molly's flat, further contemplating his discussion with the doctor.
How could someone need to wank that frequently?
He shook his head before beginning the thirty quick seconds it took him to pick Molly's lock. Sure, he had a key, but breaking in was always more fun. Especially when he was working on a dull case.
This is not a dull case. You just can't figure it out.
Sherlock shook the thoughts out of his head and stormed inside, surprised to find the flat without its owner. He shrugged out of his jacket and wandered into the kitchen, immediately digging into the back cupboard to pull out a half empty box of chocolate biscuits. He normally didn't eat while working on a case, but the frustration from being way out of his element was driving him to sugar.
He trudged back into the sitting room, collapsing rather inelegantly onto Molly's sofa. He mindlessly began to shove the biscuits in his mouth, not even getting a chance to savor the rich chocolate and sweet center.
Murder during sexual intercourse is not dull. 20 hours and counting. You're losing your touch Sherlock.
Sherlock sighed and threw his body against the cushions, like a petulant child unhappy with a Christmas gift. With another biscuit shoved between his scowling lips, he redirected his attention to Molly's cat, who a moment ago had rather stealthily entered the room.
The detective didn't mind animals. In fact, he normally preferred their company to that of humans. They didn't make as much noise, nor ask as many stupid questions.
Toby sniffled Sherlock's arm that hung off the side of the soda. He licked the empty fingers before leaping onto the hard, male body, nuzzling himself into the soft material of Sherlock's rather expensive shirt.
Sherlock sighed.
Never mind. Animals are just as irritating as humans.
Regardless of his aversion to close relations with others, Sherlock allowed the cat to nuzzle himself into his chest, for once just appreciating the warm hum of another body. He stroked the soft fur of the cat as his eyes bounced over every centimeter of Molly's sitting room.
His eyes eventually landed on the table that sat in front of the couch, noticing the takeaway coffee container with a lipstick mark around the top…
Neutral color suggests work day. Dark imprint suggests purchased in the morning and sipped soon after getting ready.
A fashion magazine that was on subscription….
Guilted into subscription by online advertisement. Barely browsed through. Perhaps why Molly still has the style of a prepubescent girl.
An electricity bill that was due in a week….
Opened with intention to pay. Put aside to grab cheques in other room. Forgotten until reminder from utility company.
And a novel, worn around the edges.
Folded edge of page. Center of coffee table. Currently being read.
Ripped pages. Stain from liquid spill. Purchased second-hand.
Creased spine. One of her favorites.
Sherlock grabbed the novel and looked over the cover, his eyes scanning over the half-naked, muscular man holding a police badge, and the well-dressed, brunette woman he held against his chest.
Crime and Naughty Punishment. What an insult to classic literature.
Sherlock quickly scanned the summary, immediately noting the book's American origin, and the illicit synopsis about a rogue detective solving crimes with his sexy assistant.
He turned to a random page, his eyes immediately scanning the text.
Shane held Michelle's delicate wrists above her head, his sparkling blue eyes scanning every inch of her quivering body.
"I told you to wait outside Michelle. I don't like when people don't listen to me."
The handsome detective pressed his toned body against that of his assistant, his hard chest flush against her soft bosom. Michelle let out a soft sigh.
"What do you have to say for yourself?" He whispered as he deliciously ground his hips into her own.
Michelle let out a soft gasp, her brown locks curling around her face like a crown.
"Shane… You're not the boss of me."
"Really?" He ground his hips into her again. "Last time I checked, Princess, you liked being bossed around."
Michelle opened her mouth to issue another hasty retort, but Shane took the opportunity to capture her delicious, pink lips in a harsh kiss.
Sherlock rolled his eyes and skipped a few pages, wondering if the book had a crime that needed to be solved. He resumed reading.
Shane grabbed a handful of her hair, continuing his oral assault down the smooth skin of her neck. He bit into the delicate skin and shoved a hand into her panties, his fingers connecting with soft, hot, wet flesh.
"Oh yes… Shane… I need to be punished. I've been bad," Michelle gasped out, her hands reaching out to pull on his dark, curly locks.
Her sexy detective grunted in response and kissed her roughly before moving his assault down to her chest. "Don't worry. My cock is going to teach you a lesson, Princess."
Michelle reached out and palmed his engorged length, imaging all the ways that his big, thick cock was going to teach her to be a good girl. Her insides ached for his man meat, dying to feel the delicious stretch—
Sherlock was jerked away from his reading by the sound of a grocery bag being unceremoniously dropped onto the kitchen table.
Molly took in the scene before her. Sherlock on her sofa was not a new occurrence. It happened rather frequently. Toby snuggled on his chest as he read one of her trashy romance novels was however, very new.
"Sherlock?" She squeaked out, her eyes zeroed in on the novel in his hands, "What are you doing?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes and sat up, causing Toby to jump off his chest and run into another room. His eyes drifted over the nearly naked couple on the front of the novel before looking back at his pathologist, who had turned a rather deep shade of red.
Interesting. She's embarrassed.
"Hello Molly. I was just reading some of your…riveting literature."
The brunette hurried over and grabbed the book, quickly shoving it onto her bookshelf. She turned back to face Sherlock and wrapped her arms around her petite frame.
Protective stance. She did not want me reading that book.
"Right. Well. Yeah." Molly cleared her throat and raced into the kitchen, quickly shoving some of her cold goods into the bottom shelf of the fridge. Sherlock watched, intrigued, until he noticed a new box of the chocolate biscuits. Having finished her previous one, he grabbed the container and dove in.
Quickly swallowing the first bite of the sweet, he continued to watch Molly as she shoved the milk into the fridge.
"The novel was disappointing. It was about a detective and I couldn't find anything about a murder."
Molly sighed and shut the fridge. She leaned against the appliance, finally willing herself to look back at the consulting detective.
"It's not that type of book Sherlock. It's… Well, it's a romance novel. Not a mystery thriller. He just happens to be a detective."
Sherlock ate another biscuit. "Do you like to be punished Molly?"
The pathologist let out a squeak, her cheeks turning a deeper shade of red.
Interesting.
Molly swallowed and walked into her sitting room, forcing herself to keep Sherlock's gaze. "Why are you here?"
"Can I not drop by and visit an old friend?"
Even embarrassed and slightly turned on by the thought of being punished by Sherlock, Molly couldn't help but roll her eyes. "Please, Sherlock, you never do anything without some sort of ulterior motive."
Sherlock opened his mouth to challenge her statement, but shut it after releasing it was best not to test her at the moment. He needed her brain.
That's new.
"Very well. I need your help."
"Let me guess. New case?"
"Smart you are, Molly Hooper."
"Alright then. On with it. I don't have all day. I have plans for tonight."
Wine and ice cream purchased at the shop. New take-away menu from the Indian restaurant down the street sticking out of coat pocket. Evening to be spent at home.
Sherlock just nodded. "Yes, very well. A middle-aged couple was discovered dead in their bed yesterday evening. Typically, such a scene is indicative of a murder-suicide—"
"But this isn't a murder-suicide," Molly interrupted, suddenly intrigued.
"No, it's not. It's a solid eight. They were naked and…appear to have been in the middle of sexual intercourse."
Molly raised an eyebrow. "They were shagging when they were killed?"
Sherlock sighed. "That's how it appears. We did some digging and discovered that they were involved in a practice called 'swinging', which is—"
Molly interrupted again, this time with a soft laugh. "I know what swinging is Sherlock. No need to explain."
The consulting detective crossed his arms, again like a petulant child. Molly rolled her eyes and motioned for him to continue.
"As I was saying, they were swingers. Now the couple who was murdered were not married to each other. They were swinging on the evening of their deaths. So obviously we have their respective spouses as potential suspects, but their entire community has thirty members. We know the two murdered parties had at least slept with eight or so partners a piece since joining."
Molly opened her mouth, clearly shocked by the numbers. "Wow. That's… a lot to start with."
Sherlock couldn't help but groan. "Clearly. We don't even have a cause of death yet. And the worst part is they didn't even send the bodies to St. Bart's because of that stupid shooting at Hyde Park!"
The pathologist shook her head. "Sherlock, six people died. Sorry I have other autopsies to perform."
The consulting detective rolled his eyes. "Right. Anyways. We know the characteristics of one of the murder weapons. I have spent hours trying to figure out what it could be. Nothing comes to mind."
"Describe it to me."
"It's some sort of blunt object with a rounded edge, about 20 centimeters long, with a pulsation or tremor," Sherlock groaned and continued, "I initially thought it was a drill of some kind since one of the members of their community is a carpenter. However, a drill would have left a laceration and this did not."
Molly stared at Sherlock's bewildered expression, her own thoughts running on overdrive. Her cheeks once again turned pink as she mentally battled herself, deciding if the weapon could really be what she thought it was.
Sherlock looked over to her from the now half empty box of biscuits on his lap.
She has an idea.
"Well?"
Molly gulped. "Oh… I don't know. Have…" She groaned and leaned her head against the well. "Have you considered a sex toy?"
Sherlock just blinked. "Excuse me?"
Molly swallowed and stood up straighter, forcing herself to look at Sherlock as she spoke. "A sex toy. Some of them pulse. They well… They vibrate."
The consulting detective blinked. "Sex toys? People play with toys when they have sex? Like… toy trucks?"
Molly squeaked and began to play with the hem of her baby blue cardigan. "No, Sherlock, sex toys. You must know what I'm talking about."
"No, I've never heard of a sex toy. What purpose do those serve? I've never read about them in a medical journal. Clearly they don't increase the likelihood of egg fertilization."
Molly attempted to fan her cheeks before desperately straightening her already perfectly wrinkle-free cardigan. "No, Sherlock," she whispered, "People use sex toys for pleasure. If I… If I had to guess…. I'd reckon the weapon was a vibrator."
"A vibrator? Describe it to me."
Molly shifted from one foot to the other, trying to figure out how a man in his mid-thirties had never heard of a vibrator. Then again, Sherlock was unlike most men. He was unlike anyone.
"Well," she started with a gulp, "They're as you described. They tend to have rounded tips to uh… well to… mimic the shape of a penis. And some can be on the shorter end, but most are around what you described. About 20 or so centimeters. They vary in color, some to resemble skin tones, others more exotic like…"
Molly swallowed and shifted. "Like blue, maybe. But most importantly, they vibrate. At varying levels. Some have a soft purr. Some could probably move on their own from the intensity of their vibration."
Intimate description. She has one. Blue, phallic shaped with varying levels of vibrating intensity.
"Show me."
Molly squeaked. "Show you? I… I don't have one to show!"
Sherlock rolled his eyes and began moving towards her bedroom. Molly squeaked and ran after him. Unfortunately, her short stature was no match to keep up with Sherlock's long-legged strides.
He entered her room and focused his attention on her bed.
Right side of duvet shows signs of cat fur. Suggests Toby's nighttime position. She sleeps on the left.
His eyes shifted to the left side of her bed and the night stand beside it. The old piece of furniture had three drawers.
Top drawer will keep practical items. Reading glasses. Tissues.
His eyes moved down to the second one.
Exact level of her body when she lays flat on the bed. Perfect reach for her arm when preoccupied.
Sherlock sauntered over and opened the drawer, delighted to find a blue, phallic shaped vibrator. He tossed Molly, who stood in the doorway with bright red cheeks biting her lip, a look over his shoulder before lifting out the toy.
He turned and looked at her before pressing the large button on the base. The toy began a soft vibration in his hands. He watched Molly gulp as he pressed the button again, and again, and again, feeling the intensity of the vibration increase with each further press.
Vibration. Hence the name.
Sherlock looked at the pathologist curiously.
"So, these are used for…?"
Molly just sighed, visibly defeated. "Wanking, Sherlock," she whispered, "People, mainly women, use them to masturbate. They're… lovely."
Sherlock turned the device off and redirected his attention to Molly. "You masturbate?"
Molly somehow turned an even darker shade of red. She shifted and leaned against the wall.
"Yes, Sherlock, I masturbate. Everyone does. Did you really think only men wank?"
Sherlock blinked. "Yes. Female sexual pleasure serves no biological function."
Molly let out a humorless laugh. "Right. I forgot it was already fun for us to hold a baby for nine months and then have our vaginas ripped to shreds."
Sherlock nodded. "Exactly. What further incentive did you need?"
The pathologist just shook her head, trying to be surprised by Sherlock's ever charming statements.
"Masturbation is wonderful. It's relaxing and lets you slip into a world unlike real life. Your fantasies come alive all while your body goes on this roller coaster ride of feelings," Molly swallowed, feeling her insides grow hot as Sherlock watched her with his intense blue gaze.
"Your senses are on high alert. You feel everything so intimately and then… when you finally reach true bliss, your body shuts down in this beautiful, state of pure content," She laughed, blushing again, "Of course it's still not as wonderful as shagging a good partner."
Sherlock looked away from the rambling brunette, suddenly aware of how warm the room was. He pulled at his collar before wandering out of the room. Molly broke from her trance and followed him, her cheeks still tinted pink.
"None of this makes any sense. I thought you would enlighten me but it turns out I'm just even more confused!" Sherlock let out an annoyed growl and grabbed the detective novel from her bookshelf. He held the book in one hand, and her blue vibrator in the other.
"What purpose do these serve? Why do you own an instrument to mimic sex? Why do you read a book filled with lewd descriptions?"
Sherlock groaned and tossed the two items onto her sofa. He began to pace the sitting room.
Molly stared at the consulting detective, her eyes wide and mouth open.
"I… I don't understand."
Sherlock let a growl from deep in his throat escape. "That figures. No one ever understands! It must be so difficult for the rest of the world, you know, having such empty brains!"
Molly whimpered and moved towards the curly haired man. "I'm having trouble understanding you Sherlock. I would love to help."
He groaned again. "Fine. Answer me this. Why do people have sex if they don't want to procreate?"
Although the question took Molly by surprise, it only took her a few moments to come up with a response.
"Because it feels good," the brunette offered.
At the statement, Sherlock groaned and began pacing faster.
"You and John both! Because it feels good? What type of pathetic answer is that? It's like scratching an itch! It's not some form of life changing pleasure."
Molly whimpered and mumbled a retort under her breath.
Sherlock took notice and returned his penetrating gaze to her. "Come again?"
Molly sighed. "I said just because you haven't experienced it doesn't make it so."
He narrowed his gaze. "You're contradicting me."
Molly stood up straighter and crossed her arms. "One thing I admire about you Sherlock is that you speak with such conviction. You're always so sure of yourself."
"Because I'm always right," the detective offered.
"No, Sherlock, you aren't," Molly shot back before collecting her book and vibrator off the couch. "You see these two things? They make me feel bloody good. But not in the way that wine, or take-away pizza, or Hugh Grant, or a raise makes me feel."
Molly looked at the items in her hands and gulped. "They… get my heart pounding and make me shake and quiver and… when all is said and done, I can't think straight. My mind is empty. Blissfully empty."
Sherlock just blinked, staring at the brunette.
"You clearly don't understand because well…" Molly hesitantly shifted her gaze back to Sherlock, "You've never had a good orgasm."
Sherlock cleared his throat and forced himself to remain rigid. "I hardly see what a good orgasm has to do with anything."
"Exactly what someone who has never had one would say," Molly mumbled.
Sherlock groaned and stood up, sick of her rambling. "I've wanked Molly. I've had an orgasm. They relieve an ache. That is all. I shut my eyes. I think of nothing. A few minutes later the job is done."
Molly couldn't help but blush at the thought of Sherlock touching himself, but she forced herself to focus on his words. "Wanking does not mean you wanked well! Having an orgasm doesn't mean it's a good one! Don't you… ever fantasize? Think about…" she gulped and continued, "A beautiful woman? Past experiences?"
Sherlock shifted uncomfortably. Molly watched and waited for a response. Silence filled the room for a few moments before he responded, albeit ignoring her question.
"You're planning on masturbating tonight," He spoke aloud, instead of asking, "Clearly your evening plans were ordering take-away, watching the telly and using your… vibrator."
Molly swallowed and stuck her chin up defiantly. "Yes, actually, that was the plan."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "But it no longer is?"
The pathologist shrugged. "According to you, it serves no function. Fucking myself with my vibrator and falling asleep a sweaty, satiated mess would be for nothing."
The detective's eyebrows quirked, surprised by her language.
Why is her entire flat so bloody hot?
"I could hit the pub with Meena. Try to find a fit guy. Have a good shag. Indigo is a lovely companion, but he's no bloke."
"Indigo?"
"My vibrator."
Sherlock glanced at the toy. "Splendid. Wonderful. Exciting. I still have a case to solve."
"Oh. I solved it already."
That got Sherlock's attention. "Excuse me?"
Molly offered a polite smile. "I haven't solved the murder. But I solved why you can't solve it."
Sherlock narrowed his gaze at the brunette. "Please, Molly, enlighten me."
"You're sexually repressed and your body hates you. So much so that your brain is starting to turn on you."
Sherlock took a step back, taken aback by her words. "Me? Sexually repressed? There's no such thing."
Molly looked at Sherlock like he had grown another head. "You're a smart bloke. Why are you acting like such an idiot?"
He just glared at her.
"Let's think about this logically. Remember when you disregarded the feelings of everyone you cared about and starting using again?"
Sherlock shifted again.
"What happened when you stopped using?"
"I really don't see how this relates, Molly."
"Sherlock. Answer me."
He groaned. "My body craved the drugs. It craved its next hit."
"Exactly! And right now, your body craves sex! It craves the release. Until you realize that, you're going to be a pent-up prat."
Sherlock cleared his throat and stared at Molly. Her hands shook in frustration. Her cheeks remained red. Her hair was beginning to loosen from her braid.
Could she be right?
The detective swallowed and nodded slowly. "Fine. I enjoy a practical application. I'll test your theory."
Molly sighed in relief, but blushed once the implications of his words sunk in. "Great," she managed to stutter out, "Go home and knock yourself out."
Sherlock looked at her curiously. He shook his head. "Oh, I won't be returning to Baker Street. Given your evening plans, I figured it'd be best for me to test the theory with someone with experience."
Her eyes widened and a squeak escaped her lips. "Are you suggesting that—"
"We wank together? Yes. I'd like to see what you do to reach orgasm. Now, I understand that our anatomies are different, but our brains hypothetically work the same."
"Sherlock! People don't normally just… do that in front of their friends!"
"Perhaps, but I'm conducting an experiment. You know, for science."
Molly just blinked. "For science?"
"Yes."
Molly swallowed and nodded weakly. "Great. Well. What if I don't want to do participate?"
He tilted his head, gazing at the brunette curiously. "Well, surely you're curious too."
Molly groaned and bit her lip. She was curious alright, but not about his experiment. She might as well take the opportunity to see his cock. She hadn't seen one in months anyways.
She's in.
Sherlock gave her a signature two second grin before returning to his normal emotionless face. "Great. Excellent. So. Where do we begin?"
