It seems most of you liked the start of the smut in the previous chapter and were disappointed it was interrupted. Well' I can't promise any in this chapter but it won't be that long off.

Chapter 4

When Molly finally made it out of the front of the squat she squinted in the morning sun not having realised how gloomy it was in the house without any electricity for lights. She was confronted with the gloriously sexy sight of Sherlock wearing blue jeans and sitting astride a large, sporty looking motorbike revving the engine. He was deep in discussion about something with a guy she hadn't seen before. The latter was kneeling on the floor and looked like he'd just been adjusting something on the bike, his fingers were covered in oil and he had a small roll bag of tools at his side.

'There, that should sort it. Do you have far to go?'

She heard Sherlock responding and sounding a lot less posh than normal. 'Yeah, we're heading up North, maybe Manchester, might have a better chance of picking up work up there.'

The guy muttered a quick 'good luck' as he picked up his tools. He gave Molly a quick but dismissive look as he walked past her and into the house.

Molly was starting to feel an excited kind of nervousness. She had never been on the back of a motorbike before and it looked both scary and exhilarating especially the idea of being so physically close to Sherlock.

He had left the engine idling but had swung himself back off to stand at the side.

'So, we're heading up North then?'

Sherlock frowned and looked round before answering. 'Don't be ridiculous, why would I tell someone where we're really heading?'

'Oh.' She bit her lip and looked back at the bike letting one hand drift over the seat, feeling the heat where Sherlock had just been sat.

She hadn't noticed he was watching her until he spoke. 'You haven't been on a bike before have you?'

She smiled ruefully. 'You guessed correctly.'

'It's never a guess Molly. Come on, let's check your helmet and jacket fit properly.'

First he passed her an old battered brown leather jacket. 'Put it on over your hoodie, it'll get surprisingly cold on the bike when we get going.'

She did and managed to do it up OK before putting on the thick, black biker gloves as well. He huffed as he looked down at her feet. 'It seems neither of us are wearing the right shoes for biking but we'll have to make do for now. Boots would have been harder to come by.'

'How did you get this stuff?'

'Well, after you collapsed last night I had to risk calling on some of my homeless network for help. You were surprisingly heavy to carry.'

She punched him on the arm but knew from his expression that he was just joking with her. 'Yeah, I'm sorry about that. It was just...I hadn't really realised until I saw my flat just how real this was.'

'Anyway, I found someone I knew and they directed me here. I then sent one of them with a message to Bill Wiggins asking him to get me some form of transport. A bike is easier and cheaper to purchase with the added advantage that the helmets mask our appearance as well.'

'Have you actually ridden a bike before?'

At that he just arched an eyebrow before bending down to pick up a matt black helmet from the floor and help Molly put it on. It was surprisingly snug and she waited whilst Sherlock buckled it up and then checked it. He nodded. 'It'll do.'

She watched as he put his own stuff on and internally thanked whoever had obtained it all for the black biker's jacket that Sherlock was now wearing. It was something she had never imagined him wearing but she knew it would have star place in her fantasies from this day forth along with those tight blue jeans which showcased his backside perfectly.

He swung a long, slim leg over the bike and then leant back to flip down a peg either side then he gestured for Molly to get on.

There was no other way but for her to hold onto his shoulder as she put a foot on one of the pegs and climbed on, her knees slotting either side of Sherlock's legs.

He turned his head. 'Don't be shy Molly, hold on and hold on tight. Lean with the bike and try not to head butt me when I brake.'

She nodded in response and then snaked her hands around his waist. Her heart was beating ten to the dozen and she didn't know whether it was the close proximity to Sherlock or the bike or both.

He set off and after negotiating a couple of back streets he eased them into the morning traffic on one of the many A roads around London. As they picked up speed Molly found herself tucking in closer to Sherlock and grinning from ear to ear. This was so much more thrilling that she had ever realised it would be. It felt so free, feeling the wind battering her clothes and the road whipping by underneath their feet. She felt a bit like Rose standing at the bow of Titanic and she almost wanted to fling her arms out in the same gesture.

Her daydreaming came to a bit of a crashing end when Sherlock braked sharply for some lights and Molly barrelled into him, her helmet crashing against the back of his.

She swore quietly and then shouted an apology before making sure to keep a better eye on the road ahead from then on. She soon got the gist of holding on as he accelerated and then bracing herself as he braked; leaning into the corners with him.

Gradually they made their way across London, the bike making progress so much faster, giving them the ability to jump queues and weave through traffic. Then they hit the M23 southbound towards Gatwick.

As they got into the long slog of the motorway Molly found herself with plenty of time to think and as she did her thoughts went back to that morning and the way she had found her body moving against Sherlock's. Even just the thought of it made her swallow heavily, feeling lust and an aching need between her legs. It didn't help that she was sat this close to Sherlock, her hands not so much holding on now that they were cruising but resting at the top of his thighs. Each time he changed gear with his foot she could feel the muscles working under her touch.

She desperately wanted to move her hands, to slide them along his legs and feel more of him but she knew how wrong it would be. She had no doubt that what they had engaged in would have been a mistake in Sherlock's mind. He had probably been as asleep and drowsy as she had been and bodies can betray you when your mind is disengaged.

She couldn't have been more wrong.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

Sherlock had busied himself that morning with practicalities. Checking the bike, deciding where to go, checking weather and traffic reports using a borrowed phone, listing the items they needed to purchase soon and how much it would cost and how much money he would have left. They needed to call into a western union once they were out of town and when their appearance had been sufficiently altered; he had a system set up with Mycroft and he knew there would be funds available.

The trouble was that once they were underway with their journey there was little to focus his mind on except where Molly's hands were on his waist or his legs. He couldn't even shift that easily to accommodate the partial erection that he seemed to have been suffering with ever since they'd woken up in such a compromising situation. And the one question he kept asking himself was what would have happened if they hadn't been interrupted, if they hadn't been sharing a room with other people.

He knew how he felt about Molly; he had known it ever since that eviscerating day at Sherrinford. He loved her, he had probably always loved her but now he knew it, he felt it deep down through to his very bones but he couldn't do anything about it...ever. If he did it would be the single most selfish thing he would ever do. She deserved so much more than him and more than that she deserved safety and security.

He had meant to end their friendship completely, to say or do something so cruel that she would never forgive him, that she would move away and meet someone else and forget all about him. But each time that a moment presented itself he couldn't do it, he just couldn't say the words that would remove her from his life and so he'd put it off promising himself that he'd do it the next time he saw her or the time after that and look where it had got him...look where it had got her. She was facing the very danger that he had predicted she would face if she remained part of his life. He had done this to her, by being weak and selfish.

His mind kept replaying the scene that morning over and over on a loop, tormenting him. Waking and finding Molly not just in his arms but tangled up with him, her legs moving against his, her breasts pressed against his chest albeit chastely covered by their shirts. When she had arched her body against his he had responded in kind, his mind not yet fully in control, his body acting on instinct being led by his ever hardening cock instead of his brain.

He had wanted her more than he had ever wanted anyone in his life. All he had desired was to feel her wrapped around him, to be inside her; wet and warm and slick. To feel her sliding on and off him before rolling them both over so he could fuck her, hearing her calling his name as she came, feeling himself pumping his seed into her.

He groaned into his helmet and shook his head trying to rid himself of these images. He needed to concentrate otherwise he'd miss something but dammit her hands were infuriatingly close and yet miles away from where he wanted them to be. Every so often she would press a little more firmly on his thighs or her fingers would trace circles on his jeans and each time his cock would pulse and he'd be flung back into lurid fantasies. It felt as though he was fourteen all over again. One night with her had caused this, how was he going to cope with more?

A wicked voice in his head, which sounded uncannily like Irene, told him he shouldn't bother. That maybe he should put them both out of their misery and just have sex with her already. Maybe if they slept together it would get her out of his system, he wouldn't be so hung up on her, or maybe he'd fall even further and giving her up would be that much harder if not impossible.

The motorway gave way to the A23 and Sherlock continued their journey down to Brighton. He planned to stop at a small independent camping shop that he'd found online in a small village just outside Brighton and Worthing. If they were to do more biking and possibly camping they both needed boots and equipment.

He just needed to focus on the case, focus on the practicalities; he had to keep Molly safe no matter what.

OK so there was maybe a little bit of smut. Let me know what you think of Sherlock's perspective. Does it sound plausible for him? I hope so.