Disclaimer: This fanfiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. A small NSFW epilogue to The Holly King. (Note the rating change). In Ireland, Little Christmas is known as Nollaig na mBan or Women's Christmas. Just sayin'... Enjoy!


LITTLE CHRISTMAS


She said yes.

Sherlock's still slightly shocked, but She. Said. Yes.

At the thought he smiles to himself. Turns on his side to look at her. In the pale light of Christmas Day Molly is sleeping softly beside him.

Warm.

Present.

Perfect.

A swell of affection washes through him and he slides his palms- his calloused fingers would wake her- across the sweet, soft expanse of her back. Her hip. He buries his nose in the softness of her hair, the tresses curling almost possessively up to tickle his cheeks. She murmurs in her sleep, smiling, and despite himself, he beams.

"Oh," he whispers, " oh, but you are a lucky bastard, Sherlock Holmes."

As if in answer, Molly shifts in the bed. Curls more tightly against him.

One little arm hooks around his waist, as if trying to keep him near her.

Sherlock inhales in pleasure, continues stroking her bare hip. The small of her back where her sleep-shirt rides up. The warmth of her, the softness, is quite unlike anything he's ever felt before: In the sexual adventures of his youth, the jagged edge of reality had had to be softened by inebriation. The danger of hurt had been completely absent, because he had never been emotionally close to any of his sexual partners and had therefore been safe. Safe.

Even back then, deep down he'd always wanted to feel safe.

But in this moment, with Molly, he is completely sober and utterly close. Neither of his preferred protections are available to him; he is utterly vulnerable. At the thought he frowns, the old, habitual fear rising in him and instantly he leans down again. Buries his nose once more in her hair, the skin of her throat, his hands splaying across her perfect, soft body, trying to bury the feeling-

"You OK?" she mumbles sleepily, eyes opening.

The unintentionally sultry look she shoots him makes his cock twitch in his smalls.

How many times has he pictured her looking at him like that in the last year?

"Yes," he says roughly, remembering only too well their conversation from last night. Sex isn't what he wants, he reminds himself, not yet. He promised her that. What he wants for now is closeness. Time. Enough affection and reassurance to take the blade's edge from his let him become suitably ensconced in this brave new world of their being together before can he muck it up or run for the hills, or worse yet, hurt 's the only thing he can conjure that might work as well for that as callousness or the drugs, so that's what he requested.

And yet...

"You are beautiful," he says softly, reverently, and to his delight she blushes, eyes shining. Lip bitten. He feels her hand reach out, touch his cheek. His lips. Her breath fans his face; he can feel the heat of her breasts and legs, tantalisingly close beneath their blankets, still discernible through the layers of clothing and bed-sheets...

Such thoughts, he muses wryly, do not help one feel any calmer, even as he tries to bring himself under control.

"You're beautiful too," she says. "I mean, you're, um..." And she laughs in embarrassment. Buries her face in his chest. It's instinct for Sherlock: he wraps his arms around her. Buries his face in her hair as he smiles at her reaction and she tickles him in retaliation, the pair of them jostling in the bed-

It's such a strange new feeling, he thinks, being able to laugh in bed with someone you love.

"Sorry," she murmurs eventually and he doesn't know what she's sorry about but he doesn't care: He cuddles her closer to him anyway. She lets out a pleased sigh, shifts, moving them so that he's on his back and she's leaning on his chest. She grins down at him, hair tussled and cheeks still red, and then she kisses him so slowly and achingly that by the time they pull apart he finds he can't breathe.

He finds he doesn't want to.

"Christ..." he mutters, head dropping back against his pillow.

"Are you OK?" she asks again and he nods. Pulls her back down to him.

When his arms wrap around her this time, she feels small and vital against his chest.

She responds in kind, holding him closer, her tongue slipping gently along his lips and then into his mouth when he opens for her, her legs tangling with his until her knee comes to press intently against the bulge of his erection. Nudging it. Massaging it.

"Fuck," he hisses and this time her eyes are soft. Aroused. Hungry.

"Good?" she asks and he nods. Kisses her deeply.

He has to reach down to stop her and her mischeivous little knee before he comes in his smalls like a schoolboy.

So he grabs her, holds her knee still, though he can't help the urge to pull it higher on his waist- That is better.

With a grin she shifts so that now she's entirely on top of him, her thighs on either side of his hips. Her mound pressing wetly against his belly. The shock of it is warm and firm and welcome, so welcome that he tightens his grip on her leg and she moans. Nods and bites her lip. All that does is make him even harder; His hands, quite without his meaning them to, splay across her bottom, the flesh of her arse filling his palms to perfection-

He squeezes and this time its her turn to moan. "Mm hmm," she says, eyes fluttering closed, head dropping in pleasure. She rolls her hips against him. "So good," she mumbles. "So good when you do that, love..."

And she starts peppering sweet, butterfly kisses across his throat and chest as he kneads and massages her. The little noises she makes cause him to become ever harder- Ever more aroused. Hands come up to tangle in his hair and as she tugs slightly he lets out a gasp. Bucks his hips up against her involuntarily, his hands digging painfully into the flesh of her backside.

They have to stop this now, he thinks. They have to stop immediately-

He loosens his grip on her; She pulls away- "Do you want to stop?" and he nods although he's not entirely sure he wants to. "It's so good," he moans and she smiles in pride at hearing him say it.

It makes him oddly proud, that he could have pleased her so.

"I just-"

"You need time," she says, though if she's repeating his words or reminding herself of them he's not sure. "I promised you time," she adds, and this time he can hear the uncertainty in her voice. There's a question in it. He's not used to someone asking if he's alright, just as he's not used to wanting someone to ask that.

And yet, with Molly, he finds he wants both. So he kisses her soundly before depositing her back on her side next to him.

"I'm alright," he tells her. "I just... I just..."

He laces their fingers together and she kisses each one of his knuckles lovingly.

It makes his skin sing.

"I just don't want us to get carried away," he says. "I need to-" She kisses her again and again her little hands come up. Tangle in his hair. Her tongue sliding gently against his in lazy, teasing pleasure.

He takes her hands, locks their fingers together again before pressing them down into the mattress beside her. Shifting so that his weight is pinned against her breasts.

"Naughty little thing, aren't you?" he says and she nods. He looks down at her, a momentary worry flitting through him. She seems so intent... "Is it odd?" he asks. "Is it... I mean, are you disappointed that I'm not up for it yet?"

Instantly her expression gentles. Softens. She shakes her head.

When she kisses him this time, it's chastely sweet.

"There's nothing wrong with it, or you," she tells him, and he can hear it in her voice that she believes that. She's not just pretending. "And I'll wait as long as you want. I just... I suppose I get carried away too," she tells him. "After all, I've wanted you forever."

He smiles. Lays his forehead on hers.

He can't look at her when he says this next, he has to close his eyes.

"You can have me forever," he tells her. "Just... slowly. Piece by piece. Day by day." A smile tugs his lip. "And not using your womanly wiles on my manly particulars, alright?"

He feels her nod. Kiss him.

"I like the sound of that," she tells him softly. "I like that a lot." Her nose strokes gently along his and she sighs. "Sorry if I pushed too hard, there."

"There's nothing to be sorry about: I want you to be happy." He looks down at her. "But sex won't be on the table for a while, so... I mean..." He loathes speaking like this but he must, for her sake. "Will you be alright, without it?"

"Will I cope without it?" He nods, and his expression must convey how seriously he takes her acquiescence because Molly cocks her head. Looks up at him. She's started running her little foot along his calf and it's rather... soothing.

The look in her eyes though, makes Sherlock a little apprehensive.

"When you say you want to wait, what do you want to wait for?" she asks.

He blinks down at her. "Sex," he says, as if that's the most obvious thing in the world, and for him, it is.

The sensation of being buried inside the love of his life is more than he can handle right now- And, possibly, in the foreseeable future.

"But what sort of sex?" she asks, nudging him. "Kissing? Being naked? Using your hands or mouth on me? Having me use my hands or mouth on you? Intercourse-?"

Sherlock closes his eyes, imagines all of those things. There are some which are rather more... overwhelming to imagine than others and he tells her so.

When he opens his eyes to look at her, he sees understanding there.

"So it's the overwhelming stuff we need to work our way up to?" She asks softly. He nods. To his surprise and delight she pulls him to her breast as she's speaking. Lets him lay his head there."And are there small things we can start with, that might help with that?" She kisses his hairline. His lips. "Are there things we can start off with?" A small smile tugs at her lip. "Just so I can keep me hand in, so to speak?"

He blinks up at her, surprised. A thought- or rather, a fantasy- pops into his head. One of his oldest, his first. It makes him slightly embarrassed to even mention it, but if he can't tell it to Molly then who can he tell?

"I've always wondered," he says softly, and then stops. She looks at him encouragingly, and he forces himself to try again. "I've always wondered... what you looked like naked." Her eyes widen in surprise. "I mean, you've gotten to see me, but I've not gotten to see you-

"Could we... Could we do something about that?"

And he looks away. Waits. She shifts beneath him, her pupils dilating. Apparently she likes that notion- A lot. "Have you ever pictured me?" she asks him, even as she takes his hands and brings them to her shirt. Motions for him to pull it off.

He does so, tossing it into a corner, and suddenly she's bare in front of him.

Her breasts, small and pert and brown-nippled, are every bit as beautiful as he imagined they'd be.

"I used to," he murmurs, his own breathing becoming heavy as he takes in the sight before him- Christ, his Molly's beautiful-

"Did you used to think about me when you touched yourself?" she asks and he nods again, breathless. Aroused. She's taken his hands down to her sleep-shorts, urged him to pull them off too, and he does.

Now her soft, sweet little mound is bared in front of him.

He can smell- He can smell that she's aroused, wet, and it makes him hard, realising it's for him.

Slowly, calmly, she lays herself back, kicking away the bedclothes. The early morning light bathes her skin in gold, her hair in copper. "Is this... Do you like what you see?" she asks and he nods. Leans in and breathes in the scent of her. Her hands come up to cup his head, to stroke his nape, and he moves so that now he's kneeling between his feet. Looking down at her.

He presses a little kiss to her arch. Then one to the back of her knee. "You're so lovely, Molly..." he murmurs.

He sees her smile, sees some of the tension go out of her at his words. It makes him feel oddly... connected to her, to be reminded that she has insecurities and worries of her own. That she's not the only one who's learning this new thing between them.

"Really?" she asks. "You think I'm beautiful?" He nods. Starts touching her, his fingers sliding up her calves, along her feet. Her skin trembles wherever he strokes her. "Is this alright?" he asks, suddenly remembering that he hadn't explained what he wanted. "Is this- Can I touch you?"

"Do you want to touch me?"

The question is faint, her cheeks reddened.

Again he feels that wave of connection as he realises that she's just as reticent about some things as he is.

"Yes," he says, very certainly, and he tries to pour every ounce of feeling he has for her into his voice. Tries to reassure her. If this thing between them is to work then he will have to be honest, he knows that.

Besides, he doesn't like the thought that she imagines him unwilling in this.

"I want to touch you all over," he says quietly. "You legs, your feet-"

"My breasts?" There's a hopeful something in her voice and he nods. Moves up onto his knees so that he can lean over her.

"What do you want?" he asks, and if his voice isn't quite steady, well, hers isn't either. "Do you like it-?"

"Like this." She holds her hands out to him. Takes him by his wrists. Brings his hands to her soft, sweet little tits and shows him how she likes to be touched. It feels so bloody good. Sherlock frowns, concentrating: It's the undersides, not the nipples which give her the most pleasure, it seems. She doesn't like to be pinched or tweaked but rather kneaded. Lifted and palmed. He doesn't suck her nipples but he kisses them. Nuzzles them. She's so beautifully responsive, her moans growing louder, chest flushed. Spine arching. She digs one of her heels into the bed, pushing herself up into him and suddenly, without any warning, she gasps. Shudders.

With a shock Sherlock realises she's come, just from his touching her.

She flops back on the mattress, sweaty and flushed and lovely. it doesn't last though: When she looks at him, she's embarrassed. She can't meet his eyes.

"Sorry," she says. "That hasn't- I haven't done that in ages." Another blush. "I know you said you didn't want-"

"I liked it." And he can't lie, he did. He even feels a sense of... excitement as he realises just what this might mean. Because now that they've gotten their first orgasm out of the way, he feels calmer. Happier. More centred, less overwhelmed.

He can just touch her, or kiss her, or do lots of others things with her. He doesn't need to worry about sex. They don't need to worry about sex.

Could his Molly get any more perfect?

"That was amazing," he says, when she doesn't speak and he leans down. Kisses her mouth. Then each of her warm, salt-sweet breasts. Then her knees. Her throat. Each one of her pinkie toes. She laughs at this, her embarrassment disappearing, and as she does he pulls her to him. Laughs with her.

Once again he wonders how he ever went so long without having someone to laugh with in bed.

"So you thinks you can work with this?" she asks eventually, gesturing to her bare body.

Even though her eyes are merry, Sherlock can still see the vulnerability in her eyes, and once again he thinks how lucky he is, that he is not alone in all his worry.

"I think I can definitely work with this- If you can work with mine?"

And he gestures, smiling, to his own nude body.

Slowly, holding his gaze, Molly kneels. Kisses him.

She strokes her hands under his sleep-shirt, over his chest. His torso. Her fingertips dance down to follow the trail of dark hair at his cock, stroking, but though her hand comes near, it's his thigh she strokes. His hip. She kisses him again.

"Tell me what you want," she whispers. "Show me." Another, long kiss to his mouth. "Just like I promise that I'll show you."

Wordless, breathless, Sherlock kisses her. Rolls her beneath him.

The rest of the morning is spent in experimentation. Discovery. They spend so long in his room that his parents down't even ask him to leave, they just leave a breakfast tray at the door.

By the time they are ready to face the world, they've licked and sucked and kissed and caressed, and Sherlock is amazed to realise that they're only at the beginning of things.

"I love you," he whispers as he helps her dress.

"I love you too," she tells him, and then they walk downstairs to his family, hand in hand.