A/N: Wow, thanks everyone for your wonderful reviews! Here is part 2, and part 3 will likely be up tomorrow. Enjoy the smutty goodness!

Sherlock rode back to Baker Street, his prize in his pocket and a shit-eating grin on his face. "Your move, Molly Hooper," he whispered to no one in particular. Should I have stayed? he wondered. He'd flirted (or he thought he had); he'd stolen her undergarments and had left her something in return. No, I made the right move. Now she has to come to me… if she dares.

He expected her to show up at his flat within the hour either angry or aroused. But three hours and two experiments later, no Molly! (She'd get no use out of those cotton knickers now. Her own fault, if she'd shown up when he had expected, they might have been salvageable.) Looking down at the destroyed fabric, he sighed and decided to call it a night. That's when he heard it…

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes!"

He smiled and removed his safety goggles, carefully setting aside the shredded remains of Molly's most boring pair of white cotton knickers. The slam of the front door, the pounding of feet up the stairs...later than he'd expected, but here she was at last.

He turned and carefully placed his hands behind his back, positioning himself so that he was facing the door to his flat, which had been deliberately left partially open. He was wearing his royal blue dressing-gown over his clothes; he'd unbuttoned his aubergine button-down an extra button; his trousers were bespoke and therefore required no pesky belt; and his feet were bare.

He was ready for her.

What he was not ready, for however, was the way she she physically flung his cheeky little hint of a gift at her. "You git!" she screeched as he ducked the flying, penis-shaped ice lollies. At least she'd left them in their wrappers! "What the fuck, Sherlock! Yes, I get it, I'm alone, no fiance, no one to have lots of sex with, it'll just be me and my own fingers for the rest of my life, but this...this is just cruel!"

Shit. He'd bolloxed it all up, hadn't he. Shit, shit, shit. "No, Molly, it's not-"

"Not funny? You're bloody well right it's not funny!" Still fuming, she advanced on him, hands balled into fists by her sides, not even slowing when she squished one of the paper-wrapped lollies under her foot.

He snuck a glance downward - cherry, so at least it wouldn't leave too visible a stain on the carpet - then quickly back up to meet her stormy gaze. Raising his hands in a placating gesture, he said, "No, it's not. Nor was it meant to be. I wasn't making fun of you or playing a joke, I promise!"

"Then what the hell were you doing?" she demanded, but at least she'd lowered her voice a bit. To a rather sexy growl, hmm, must find a way to get her to say his name like that...focus!

"Dropping a hint," he replied, deciding on the spot that not only was honesty the policy, but in this case it might also save a life. Namely, his.

His answer brought her up short, both literally and figuratively. He watched her brow scrunch in confusion as she ceased her advance. "A hint about what? My frigid love life?" she asked, but he could both see and hear her uncertainty. Good, good; he much prefered being the one to put people on the back foot.

He shook his head. "Nope."

Molly's face morphed from confusion to realisation to…

Ah, that's more like it, he thought as he watched arousal wash over her features for a split second before curiosity lit her eyes.

"You're hinting that…" she gestured between the two of them.

"Yep," he said with a grin that he hoped relayed his meaning.

"So all this: the knickers, the frozen penises? You were dropping hints that we should..."

"And flirting, don't forget the flirting!" he interrupted.

"Ah, yes, the lift." She looked him up and down then started walking toward him again. Once she well within his personal space she placed her hands on his chest and pushed him backward. He stumbled at first, slipping on a melting ice lolly, but soon found himself backed up against the desk. She then leaned into him and rose up on her tiptoes bringing her lips as close to his ear as possible and said, "You. Are. Bluffing, Sherlock."

Dammit! How could she think he was bluffing when he was sporting nearly a full salute already! "Molly, I assure you that I am NOT bluffing."

"Prove it!"

Like a striking cobra he turned his head and hauled her into his arms. His mouth crashed over hers and he thought he heard a muffled squeak of surprise before her tongue became far too busy wrestling with his to form words. In fact, for the next several minutes the only sounds to be heard were those of two pair of lips smacking and some very approving hums coming from two throats.

When they finally pulled apart, gasping for breath and hair and clothes more than slightly disheveled, his half-mast was at full attention and then some. If Molly were wearing something other than one of her atrocious knit jumpers, he judged he'd be able to see her nipples poking through the fabric. His fingers twitched at the mental visual, and he would have dived right in if Molly hadn't taken a sudden step back, watching him through wide - perilously close to wild - eyes. "What was that?" she demanded.

He stepped forward; she stepped back again and he stopped. "Proving it?" he half-asked.

She gave a small nod. "Right, OK, not bluffing," she said. "Sooo...um, what…"

"Sex, Molly," he said impatiently, holding himself back with inhuman effort. "Sex. With you. Us. Judging by what you've told me in the past, surely it doesn't alarm you?" He raised a sardonic eyebrow and tilted his head.

Her brow lowered and lips thinned; that was all the warning he received before she launched herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck and sending them both crashing to the floor. He came perilously close to smashing his head on the fireplace; she got one leg trapped under his chair as she tried to kick off her ballet flats, and then they were far too busy removing one another's clothing to care about anything else.

SMSMSMSMSMSM

It was insanity! It was utterly and completely insane! They should stop and talk (while putting a respectable distance between one another). They should sit down with tea and some nice chocolate biscuits and talk about what the hell was going on.

Sherlock pulled back to look in her eyes. "You're having second thoughts."

This is where I should stop things. Just a quick chat about what the hell was going on. Or… Oh, sod it! This is happening! She shook her head and reached down to grip his erection through the only bit of clothing he had left on the lower half of his body, his pretty royal blue boxers.

"Thank- oh fuck!" he mumbled and shouted at the same time.

Molly was only wearing her bra and knickers, having lost her jumper and jeans during those first few moments of rolling around on the floor. Sherlock wasn't nearly naked enough for her liking. Sitting up, she took hold of his shirt and ripped it open. Buttons flew wildly across his sitting room floor.

He stared at her, astonished. "This is an expensive shirt, Molly!"

"You've ruined two pairs of my favourite knickers," she countered with a smirk.

"And I plan on ruining one more..." He gently pushed her to the floor. "At least."

Pinning her hands above her head with one of his, he closed the distance between them, capturing her lips and blowing her mind. Good God! Where did he learn to kiss like this? Breaking away from her lips, he nipped and licked across her jaw, down her neck to her sternum then buried his face between her breasts.

"Mmm, gonna want one of your bras to work with, Miss Hooper," he mumbled into her skin. "This one will do nicely."

Molly giggled as the words vibrated her chest. "Can't you just go buy underthings to test on, Sherlock?"

Looking up with a smirk, he said, "Now where's the fun in that?" Then he shoved the cups low and latched onto a nipple, drawing her into his mouth. He kissed his way down her body once he'd seemed to get his fill of her breasts, until he reached her knickers. "What are we calling these?" he said as he traced the seam of her sex through the material.

She leaned up on her elbow so she could look him in the eye. "They're pants, Sherlock."

"I don't think I've ever seen any like this before." He lowered himself until he was no more than an inch away from the soaked fabric. "They certainly weren't in your drawer earlier," he said then planted a kiss on her cotton covered lips.

Molly whined and bucked her hips. "Th-they were in the dryer, you missed them." If he didn't stop teasing and talking about her damn intimates she was going to toss him on his back and impale herself on that lovely erection he was sporting.

Running a finger across the gusset, he said, "Barely covers anything at all, Miss Hooper. You are full of surprises."

"They're called b-boy-boyshorts." He continued teasing her through her underwear. "Get on with it, will you? Just take them off and do...something!"

"I don't think I will," he said, causing Molly to fall back and expel a deep breath. "I think I'll leave them on...for now." He pushed her knees up to her chest. "Hold on, Molly."

Hold on to what? She grabbed her legs right behind her knees just as Sherlock blew across the wet fabric covering her pussy. "Holy fuck!" she whispered. She heard a dark chuckle then felt him licking her...through her pants! Molly tried to say something- beg him to let her come- but nothing came out. Suddenly he found her clit and sucked it into his mouth. The combination of his lips and the cotton moving over her hard little nub brought her right to the edge very quickly.

"Shit yes!" she shouted as her orgasm started to build. Holding the backs of her legs so tightly she was sure to leave marks, she looked down to see Sherlock watching her intently. Then she was gone. She knew she was shouting something - his name, praise for a job well done or possibly calling out to any deity who would listen - but she couldn't think about that moment, she was too busy floating away. His hands on her thighs were the only thing keeping her anchored to the floor.

"These knickers are completely ruined. This time I blame you, Molly. Just look at what you've done…"

But Molly didn't care about her damn knickers. She sat up and pushed Sherlock flat on his back. He looked faintly alarmed at first, but his expression took on a decidedly wolfish cast as she straddled him, her knees on either side of his hips and her hands flat on his chest. "Time for a different experiment," she said as she ground her core against him.

"Wh-what kind of experiment?" he gasped, holding her by the hips.

She bent low, brushing his ear with her lips as she whispered, "Seeing how long it takes for me to make you scream my name."