APOLOGIES FOR THE LATE UPDATE
my schedule has been a little nuts lately, but I bring you an offering in repentance!
YOUR COMMENTS MEAN THE WORLD TO ME.
warnings: smutty. Molliarty bathroom shenanigans.
Molly Hooper wanted to die. She had betrayed the man she loved, in the worst possible way. She slept with his arch nemesis.
Could he look at her again without thinking about it? Well, if she even walked away from this ordeal alive. If she ever saw him again, or even heard his voice...
The thing about it that frightened Molly the most was the fact that... she had enjoyed it. Moriarty had re-awoken the sexual appetite in her, the ferociously passionate vixen that lurked ever just beneath her shy, submissive exterior. Their animalistic coupling was exactly what she needed, what she desired for longer than she could remember.
But this is not what she wanted. As much as she had enjoyed being at the mercy of the Consulting Criminal, whose brilliance was only matched by Sherlock Holmes, Molly couldn't help feeling that she had betrayed Sherlock in some way. It was completely irrational, but she couldn't shake the nausea that settled at the pit of her stomach, or the image of Sherlock's face from her mind.
She wondered absently if anyone was actually looking for her. Surely they would have noticed her missing by now.
Sherlock was brilliant. She trusted him. If she just managed to stay alive, and cling to her sanity in the meantime, there was hope. If anybody could save her, it would be Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.
Molly briefly recalled the conversation she had with Sherlock that night as she was finishing up her work and leaving the morgue.
"You do count. You've always counted, and I've always trusted you."
His words had left her virtually speechless. But then it happened. Then she spoke, her voice uneven, but resolute. "What do you need?" She asked. Completely and utterly prepared to do anything, be anyone, just for him. She remembered the consuming need to make everything all right, and she did, in a manner of speaking, anyway. She was there. She was his secret weapon, and together they outsmarted James Moriarty and saved three lives. She had been brave, steadfast and strong. Now what had she become? Moriarty's toy? This was unacceptable.
Molly Hooper may be in love with Sherlock Holmes, but she certainly didn't belong to him. Nor did she belong to Jim Moriarty. She couldn't let him break her down. She was stronger than that. If I'm going to die, the thought savagely, I'm taking him with me. If it were the last thing she did, she would kill Moriarty. Or at least they could say that she tried, that she fought her hardest to keep him from hurting anyone else.
Molly curled up beneath the covers of the bed, gritting her teeth at the pain in her wrist. The swelling she was experiencing prior to Moriarty's personal attack had since doubled after his rough treatment. Physical resistance was nothing she could manage given her current state, she reflected. She was absolutely battered. Every inch of her was aflame with each movement. If she wanted to get out of this situation alive and possibly take Moriarty down in the process, she needed to recover. She needed him to start believing that she was his.
He already underestimated her. He thought of her the same way Sherlock did. Poor Molly, socially awkward, bumbling and clumsy Molly, who tripped over her words, was locked in the throes of unrequited love with an ill-tempered sociopath, and returned home from her freakish occupation every night to her cat and her mediocre American television.
None of these facts made Molly a weak person. They simply made her appear weak. Grinning to herself, she realized her situation might not be so hopeless after all. If Moriarty believed her to be broken, he may let his guard down. She just needed to wait for his first mistake.
Several hours passed before the villain returned to her room. She heard the clicking of his shoes approaching, and as the lock clicked and the door slowly opened, Molly bundled herself in the sheets of the bed, back to the wall.
Moriarty grinned and locked the door behind him. He was carrying a tray with food.
"Hungry, pet?" He asked affectionately, sitting at the edge of the bed and placing the tray in front of her. The scene resembled a new owner attempting to gain the trust of an abused dog. Molly's lip curled in disgust at the thought.
Instead of responding, she glanced down at the platter before her, then back into his face. His eyes were bright with anticipation, and for a moment he seemed excited. Molly decided instantly not to put anything he handed her into her mouth. For all she knew the food could be laced with something, after all he had only recently drugged her.
The meal was small but appealing, obviously not prepared by Moriarty himself. Or so she assumed. It consisted of a few small potatoes, salmon and vegetables. The small plate steamed with heat and smelled delicious. Molly nearly began salivating.
"Well then, dig in!" Moriarty pushed the plate a little closer to her swaddled frame. He sounded cheerful, but there was something else in his tone. It was threatening.
Molly decided to eat some, simply to appease him, although also thoroughly considered spitting in his face, which given the circumstances would have been a bad call on her part.
Slowly Molly retrieved the fork from the tray and impaled a piece of salmon and some vegetables. Hesitantly she brought the steaming forkful to her mouth, and after a calming breath, devoured it.
It was delicious. Molly nearly gasped in appreciation. Noticing the pleasure in her expression, Moriarty lifted an eyebrow in amusement.
"I worked as a chef in Venice, for a time." He mused, catching her off-guard. "Learned a few things, mainly how to feed myself properly."
Molly caught herself staring at his mouth. And his jaw line. An erotic image of him naked in the kitchen aside from a "KISS THE COOK" apron stilled her train of thought completely. She merely nodded, chewing slowly.
"Doubtless you are in need of the loo and a hot shower." Moriarty addressed suddenly, eyeing her tangled mass of hair and her gaunt, bruised face. "You look positively haunted, Miss Hooper."
In an instant, Molly found herself yet again within his tight embrace, pulled into his chest. She was appalled several moments later when she realized she was sniffing his chest, and relishing it. His musk was spicy and intense, not unlike Sherlock's scent. Molly nearly cursed out loud. She needed to stop making connections between Sherlock and Moriarty, it could be dangerous to think that way. Still, she thought absently as he carried her through darkened hallways and up a flight of stairs, he smelled incredible.
When they arrived at their planned destination, a large, empirical looking bathroom, he deftly lowered her to her feet.
"Strip." Came the blunt instruction. Molly spun to face him, wide – eyed. There was no indication to be found that he would be leaving her alone. He simply stood in front of the door, watching her expectantly with those black eyes. "I'd suggest you be quick." Was his further incentive, pulling a switchblade from his back pocket.
Blushing furiously, Molly stripped, pulling her flimsy tank top and boy short panties off and tossing them aside. She turned her back to him, and with as much confidence she could exude in her situation strode over the claw-footed tub and hopped in. Truth be told, Molly had craved a shower. Although Moriarty's presence was unsettling, she still relished the stream of hot water that collided with her face when she finished adjusting the temperature and turned on the showerhead.
Molly stood beneath the steady stream of steaming water, allowing it to thunder along her shoulders and at the back of her neck. God, the heat felt good on her muscles. Snatching up a floral scented body wash from the ledge of the shower, Molly inspected the label momentarily before lathering herself up in the sweet smelling bubbles, and working a dollop of shampoo into her thick brunette locks. All the cleansing products in the shower were meant for women, she suddenly realized, and she nearly gasped with delight mid- rinse when she noticed a sleek looking women's razor.
Ten minutes later Molly emerged from behind the shower curtain, greeted by a beaming Moriarty.
"Good girl." He breathed smugly, eyes roving up and down her moisture slicked body. He clicked his tongue in disapproval a moment later. "Oh, tut tut, my dove. You missed a spot." His eyes landed directly on her groin. "It's a personal preference thing, I'm afraid," He grinned mischievously, approaching her slowly. Molly kept her mouth shut tight and instinctively stepped back a few inches as he advanced. Gently, Moriarty pushed her shoulders down on the edge of the tub, forcing her to sit on the porcelain lip. The coldness of the tub on her bare ass made her flinch in discomfort, glaring up into Moriarty's eyes, all the while attempting to hide the venomous loathing she harbored for him. The entire ordeal so far had been humiliating, but what was happening right now was something different.
Moriarty spread her legs easily, exposing her the same way he had just hours prior. Molly didn't shave herself bare. Never had. She trimmed and up kept her pubic situation regularly, but the bald eagle was never a look she found appealing. It made her feel like a child.
Retrieving the bottle of shaving cream Molly had just used for her legs and underarms, Moriarty knelt between her knees, all the while grinning at her smugly.
"Try not to wiggle too much," He whispered before slathering the shaving cream in his hands, wasting no time in pressing the thick white foam directly onto her brunette mound.
Molly closed her eyes, trying to imagine she was somewhere else, with someone else. She chewed her lip when she realized she knew exactly who she wished was doing this to her. Sherlock Holmes, of course.
Moriarty paused a moment when he noticed her serene expression, obviously mistaking it for something it clearly wasn't. It couldn't be arousal, could it?
He gently gripped her bottom, dragging it foreword a bit before spreading her legs even wider. Molly grasped the lip of the bathtub to maintain her balance, eyes opening wide and gazing down at him settled right before her shaving cream smothered groin. He continued to lather the cream into her mound, noting her increasing arousal before reaching for the razor, rinsing it and slowly dragging it down along her bikini line.
Molly struggled to remain focused. She was terrified of exposing evidence of her mounting excitement at his touch, at her vulnerable position before him, completely at his mercy. Screwing her eyes closed, she imagined it was the top of Sherlock's black, curly haired head between her legs, his stormy grey eyes gazing at her centre amusedly while he gently shaved her.
She could feel a sudden tight clenching in her stomach, followed by a rush of heat. Her eyes flew open. Molly was becoming extremely aroused.
Moriarty shaved along the delicate outer lips, tugging at her folds occasionally to provide a smoother glide. Sitting back abruptly, his eyes found hers half lidded with evident arousal. Her grip on the tub had gone slack, and the heat that radiated around her core clearly signified her submissive state. Her eyes closed again and she gasped, as he carefully dabbed and wiped away the remaining traces of shaving cream and hair with a warm damp cloth.
"Excited again, are we." He purred, licking his full lips, eyes darkening with hunger. His wolfish expression only furthered Molly's humiliating desire for him. She was losing complete control of her thoughts. Slowly Moriarty straightened up high enough to whisper in her ear. "You are insatiable, Molly Hooper."
Game over.
Without thinking, Molly had savagely captured Moriarty's lips with her own. He chuckled into her hot, desperately probing mouth and raised a hand to her right breast, pinching her nipple and tugging it gently.
Molly had never felt this overcome by lust before. Neither had she ever been this aggressive, with any of her past partners. The Molly she knew was tender, nervous and selfless in bed. The Molly that existed now was hungrily devouring the criminal mastermind's face; naked body pulled close, legs wrapped around his back for support as one of her hands crept down her stomach to investigate her newly shaved pussy. Her skin felt impossibly soft. Her fingers trailed along her swollen entrance, already slick with arousal.
What was going on? This wasn't like her at all. At least, that's what she had thought initially, but every movement she made now just seemed so natural... so instinctive. She'd never felt that before with any other lover.
Jim's desperate kisses left her mouth and began to trail along her jaw line, before steadily moving down her neck, between her breasts, down to her hot centre. Grinning up at her widely, Moriarty gently pulled her hand away from herself before spreading her pussy lips wide. Triumph settled in his expression as he observed her glistening folds.
Maybe this is what Molly was. What she really was. Hopelessly attracted to masterminds, men whose intelligence and prowess far exceeded her own. Men who were virtually void of empathy. Men who scarcely returned her affections. Men who made her feel like she didn't exist.
One thing was suddenly and startlingly certain, however. She definitely existed now. One of these men was about to fuck her senseless. He wanted her so badly she could feel his desire, his need in every touch they shared. Her head snapped back and her back arched suddenly, as his warm, flat tongue made its way through her slit, lapping up her wetness vigorously. Molly's hand found its way to his head, gently running her fingers through his clean, neatly slicked hair, ruffling it slightly. That was when she realized she liked it when he looked ruffled. It suited his personality better.
What was she thinking? Instigating sex with the Consulting Criminal. She was revolted with herself, but at that moment all she could feel was warmth of his mouth, and her desperate, burning need. Her guard was down, and Sherlock crept back into her mind. Her hips bucked unexpectedly shocking herself with an instant wave of gratification. Then it was Sherlock's head between her thighs, and the image pushed her gasping over the edge.
Her orgasm rumbled through her body like a tidal wave. Arms shaking, on the verge of collapse, Molly was dragged back to reality by Moriarty's hum of surprise.
"Interesting..." He muttered, before gazing up into her dazed eyes, pride plastering his expression. "I love seeing you so riled up. Your enthusiasm is refreshing."
"Why are you doing all of this?" Molly managed, chest still heaving as the aftershocks of her orgasm began to still. Her legs felt like rubber, but her visions of Sherlock left her feeling cold and empty. "Why haven't you killed me yet?"
Moriarty's eyes darkened, but Molly stood her ground. Standing up abruptly and straightening his tie, he hovered over her, eyes raking over her exhausted and limp form. "Come now, Molly, don't be boring." He muttered, extending a hand to help her up. Defiantly she refused, gathering herself up and glaring into his eyes. He chuckled softly.
"I'm serious. You cooked me breakfast this morning, and allowed me to bathe. I feel more like a house guest than a hostage." Her eyes snapped about the room, examining her expensive and elegant surroundings. "Where am I?" she dared, struggling to keep her voice steady. "This is not what I was expecting."
"Of course not." Moriarty grinned. "Where do you think you are, pet?" There was an odd glint in his eye, like he was waiting for her to put the pieces together. She paused to think.
The room she occupied in the basement was not horrible at all. Despite it's lack of furnishing aside from her bed, it looked recently finished. And while she was carried up to the bathroom she noticed hanging frames along the walls, marble floors, and curious looking artifacts in glass cases were scattered sporadically along the hallways. Realization suddenly dawned on her, and she was genuinely shocked at the results of her analysis.
"Is this... your flat?" She inquired, eyes widening. Moriarty's confirmation came in a low, satisfied hum. He clapped his hands together gleefully.
"It's our flat now, pet. And if you behave yourself well enough I have a room prepared for you upstairs. Gorgeous view, expansive wardrobe and a nice cozy four poster bed to rest your pretty little head on."
Molly struggled to keep her horror hidden. He seemed to be under the impression that she would be staying with him. Forever. Her desire for escape doubled. She needed to see Sherlock's face again, even if it was just one more time. She refused to let herself believe that this was her life now. She needed to get out.
"No need to fret, Molls. Do as I say and no harm will come to you, scout's honour." He placed a hand to his chest.
"Why me, though?" She demanded, fighting back tears. Moriarty noted her expression and frowned, almost comically.
"I've decided to experiment with the concept of female companionship." He stated simply. "You seemed the most obvious candidate, mainly because in having you, I took something from Sherlock." Hearing his name made her flinch slightly. Moriarty grinned. "Also a pathologist on board means you'll serve numerous purposes, besides the obvious." He licked his lips seductively. Molly turned away. "When I said you belonged to me, I wasn't playing. This is your home now."
Her eyes then shut tight, tears streaming down her cheeks. She folder her arms across her chest, biting her lip to keep herself from sobbing. Moments later she felt something brush across her cheeks beneath her eyes and they flew open, startled to find it was his hands cupping her face gently, wiping the tears from her eyes with his thumbs. The action was gentle, and the look in Moriarty's eyes told her he didn't enjoy seeing her cry. He brought his head down slowly and kissed her tenderly on the lips, which instantly resurrected the image of Sherlock in her mind. Instinctively she placed her hands on his firm chest and pushed away from him, hard.
Taking a step back, Molly didn't think to look behind her, and the back of her bare legs slammed into the edge of the tub, causing her to lose her balance. The last thing she saw was the shock on Moriarty's face as she collapsed backwards into the basin. The back of her head collided with the ceramic lip on the opposite side of the tub with a sickening thud. Her eyes roved upwards as her petite frame crumpled.
"Sherlock..." She breathed, and was gone.
Moriarty was in the bathtub beside her an instant later. He hissed as he pulled her head gently up, revealing a substantial amount of blood. The wound on the back of her head had re-opened, and was bleeding profusely. Cursing loudly Moriarty scooped her into his arms, careful not to move her head too much. Her blood began pooling in the bottom of the tub as he carried her soaking, nude frame from the bathroom, heels clicking on the marble floor as he swept into his living room, where sat a couple of his goons. Roaring for them to call a doctor, ignoring the shocked expression on their faces, he settled down onto one of his luxurious black leather couches, cradling Molly's limp form in his lap and lowering his head to her chest, listening intently. She was still breathing. He felt her pulse next, which was weak, but still there.
Two of his men scrambled from the room, leaving the third standing there, looking stupid.
"A TOWEL. NOW." He roared, and the third was gone in an instant. Glancing down at Molly's pale face, his jaw cracked from tension. "Stupid girl." He groaned down at her. "Never a dull moment though, I suppose." He continued, brushing her hair out of her eyes, he noticed his hands were dark with her blood. For some reason he then recalled his encounter with Sherlock at the pool.
"I don't like getting my hands dirty." That much hadn't changed. His lip curled in disgust. Glaring down at her again, he whispered in her ear, "You can't die yet, Molly Hooper. I'm not finished with you." Although the idea of Sherlock Holmes pursuing him fueled by revenge piqued his interest, the thought occurred to him that he didn't want Molly to die. He genuinely wanted her. He hadn't been bored a moment since her arrival, and he absolutely adored ravishing her on a regular basis.
That's when the idea struck him.
