Chapter 4

Molly sat on the edge of the bed, still trying to process what she overheard. It was ridiculous. Sherlock Holmes didn't fall in love with anyone, least of all her. This was just a mental game followed by a physical release. Maybe he intended for their friends-with-benefits arrangement to continue, but who was she kidding? Were they even friends? He certainly didn't love her. She'd accepted long ago that he would never love her. Anything she thought she saw in his eyes, in him, was either a clever trick or a fallacy created by her mind to soothe the ache in her heart.

Clearly, Sherlock lied to John, perhaps to prevent John from feeling any obligation to defend her, but more likely, that Sherlock found it easier to have a flat mate who didn't argue with him. That had to be it. Convenience. If John thought Sherlock loved her, then he wouldn't have to face John's questions, his disapproval, or worse, his disappointment. Molly stared at the floor, rehearsing in her mind what she would say to John when the time came, all the ways she would perpetuate Sherlock's lie to keep his secret. That was how she was most useful to him, wasn't it? Keeping his secrets?

The feel of the bed sinking down next to her forced her out of her thoughts unexpectedly. Sherlock hesitated, the palm of his hand hovering just over the center of her back, uncertain if he should touch her. He knew she had heard most, if not all, of their conversation, and he could feel the doubt creeping into every crevice of her mind.

She surprised him by leaning into him and resting her head on his shoulder, taking his hand in hers. "It's okay, Sherlock. I won't tell John the truth. You're right, of course. It's better if he thinks…"

"I didn't lie to him, if that's what your insinuating."

"You don't need to lie to me too. Not anymore. I've waited so long for you to look at me that way, to want me, that I will take you any way I can get you. I can handle this being just a physical thing between us." Even as she said it, they both knew this was the real lie.

"What if it means more to me than just sex? What then, Molly?" He turned her hand over, so he was the one doing the holding. Her small hand fit so perfectly inside of his larger one, he thought to himself.

"Sherlock, please don't. Please. I won't stop sleeping with you just because you will never love me. I'll stay with you anyway."

Sherlock placed his hands gently on her cheeks and pulled her towards him, barely brushing his lips across hers, hoping this touch would speak for him. He rested his forehead against hers, then held both of her hands loosely to his chest and closed his eyes, taking in a slow, deep breath as he did so. "I am in love with you, Molly. If you no longer feel the same for me, then it would be kinder to us both to end our relationship now. I know you believe I'm not capable of love, and perhaps you are correct as I have no frame of reference with which to properly evaluate my feelings, but I'm asking you for the opportunity to try. I missed you constantly while I was gone," he said, placing a kiss to the palms of both of her hands. "I want to make this right for you, for us. Please, Molly," he pleaded quietly.

Molly sniffled, then took two deep breaths to calm her nerves. "Really?"

Sherlock pulled back and looked into her eyes. "Really."

Finally, she nodded and smiled that sweet, innocent, shy smile that Sherlock loved so much. "I love you, too."

"I know." He slid his arms around her and pulled her down with him to the bed, kissing her hard enough to take her breath away. Grinding his pelvis against her, he settled himself between her legs and forced her wrists down firmly on either side of her head. She immediately relaxed, relishing the feeling that she was the only one who could bring out such animalistic desire in him, desire she desperately wanted him to indulge to the fullest.

"You are mine, do you understand?" His voice was dark and intense, possessive to the extreme. "You will always be mine. Say it."

"I'm yours, I'll always be yours," Molly breathed into his mouth, pushing her hips up to meet his, desperate for more contact. She couldn't help herself; she tested his grip on her wrists, but it was like pushing against solid steel. She loved being at his mercy. She gave in to him knowing that he would take care of her. He would always take care of her.

"No one else is allowed to touch you ever again. Do you understand? You will not even masturbate without my permission. I want you always wet and ready for me," he thrust against her hard enough to make her groan, "and only me." She wrapped her legs around him and pulled him closer. God, he knew just the right way to move to bring her so close the edge, and she could tell from his breathing that he was close as well, in spite of the fact he was still wearing his pants and they'd barely started. Her shirt, well, his shirt, was over her hips, which left her bare against that rough fabric and it rubbed deliciously against her already-tender folds. That small amount of discomfort seemed to only heighten her pleasure.

"Make me come, Sherlock, please."

"I do love hearing you beg for me, Molly. You have no idea what it does to me." He drug his teeth down the side of her neck, then bit down on the dark bruise he'd left there previously, thrusting his hips against her harder each time, then rotating them against her clit.

Her head thrashed back and forth, desperate to simultaneously escape from his teeth and surrender herself to his bite. With one final, deep thrust, hard enough to push her up into the headboard, they both came. He swallowed her screams of pleasure as he covered her mouth, but he didn't stop rocking against her until they were both completely spent. Only then did he release her wrists, bringing each to his mouth in turn, kissing along the pale expanse where he was certain she would bruise.

Molly encouraged him onto his back as she curled up next to him, her head over his heart and a smile on her face.

Sherlock broke the silence first. "I should have gone more slowly, been more careful."

She looked up into his face and smiled. "You didn't hurt me, well, not in any way I didn't enjoy. And I did enjoy it, a lot. So stop feeling guilty."

He pulled her up and kissed her softly, the relief on his face palpable. "Thank you," he said, hugging her gently, reverently. The held each other in pleasant silence for a few minutes before Molly's stomach growled, causing both of them to laugh. "If you'll order the food, I'll get cleaned up." He gestured to the front of his pants, slightly embarrassed, which Molly found quite endearing. Maybe he really was a human male.

She got up and headed for the kitchen, having found the stack of delivery menus when she looked for the coffee earlier. Settling on the Chinese menu with several circled entrees that were accompanied by high-maintenance notes for substitutions written in Sherlock's neat script, she called and placed an order, hoping that Sherlock would actually eat.

Still wearing his shirt, Molly carefully cleared and set two spots at the cluttered table without disturbing any of Sherlock's experiments, then headed over towards the stairs to find her wallet. Finding her pants was the more difficult task. She heard Sherlock moving around his bedroom but the door was closed. She knocked softly. "Sherlock? I need the rest of my clothes. Can I come in?"

"No," was her only response.

"I cannot answer the door dressed in just your shirt!"

The door opened just enough for Sherlock, still bare-chested, to rake his eyes up and down her body. "I don't see why not. You look ravishing. In fact, after we eat, I think I will ravish you," he said thoughtfully, closing the door again. She knew that look. He was a man with a mission and he would not be deterred. She lingered in the kitchen for nearly ten minutes before going back to the door.

"What are you doing in there?"

"Preparing." He sounded too pleased with himself, Molly thought.

"Preparing what?" Molly sighed and rested her forehead on the door when he didn't answer. She softened her voice but became more serious. "Sherlock? Can I talk to you out here? Please?"

He stepped out of his bedroom and closed the door behind him, careful to make sure he blocked her view of the interior. Molly couldn't help but think he looked like a child who was just told playtime was over. "You don't want to continue." He reached out to her, but stopped himself before he made contact.

Molly closed the distance and slipped her arms around his waist, resting her head against the smooth expanse of his chest. She was relieved when he held her close and kissed the top of her head. "I'm still trying to convince myself that this is really happening and that I'm not going to wake up tomorrow and find out it was all a dream."

He hugged her more tightly. "I want you to wake up tomorrow in my bed completely nude, so I can have you one, no, twice more before you go to work. That is, assuming I let you sleep tonight," he whispered in her ear in that silky, low voice that made her weak.

Molly couldn't help but smile as she turned her head to look up at him, swatting him very gently on the shoulder. "God, Sherlock, you're like a teenager."

"If you're referring to my newly-freed libido, I'm finding it difficult to put that genie back in the bottle, so to speak, especially when you wiggle against me so invitingly," he grabbed her hips and pulled them against his, making her close her eyes and breathe out slowly. Sherlock's low laugh told her he knew exactly how much his touch affected her, and he loved every little gasp and shiver. "But you wanted to tell me something?" Their bodies were now touching from head to toe. Sherlock put his thigh between her legs and used the hand that had migrated to her ass to pull her against it forcefully. As long as he lived, he would never tire of seeing her, feeling her, in that moment when she surrendered herself to him completely.

Molly kept her eyes closed and leaned into him, waiting, wanting. This time, he used both hands on her hips and pushed upwards with this thigh, but she whimpered slightly and bit her lower lip. While he wanted nothing more than to pick her up, throw her down on the bed and take her hard until she screamed his name, something wasn't right. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that she wouldn't protest if he did exactly as he desired, but she was completely his responsibility every time she submitted to him. He slowly pulled back, tilting her chin up with his fingers, knowing where she was mentally. "Molly," he commanded, but not unkindly. "Open your eyes and look at me."

She steadied herself by gripping his biceps and after only a moment's hesitation, she complied.

"Tell me what is bothering you."

"Um…"

"Now," he ordered.

"I'm sore," she looked embarrassed, which made Sherlock smile inwardly. After all they had done, all of the secrets they had confessed to each other, she was shy about such a simple matter?

"I see," he said, not relinquishing his verbal control of her. "Spread your legs for me." Molly looked at him, incredulous, and he saw the barest flicker of rebellion cross her thoughts. It pleased him. She would be a delightful challenge to be conquered over many years, he thought to himself. "Do it now, or use your safe word. Do you remember your safe word, Molly?"

She nodded yes, then slowly widened her stance, but she no longer looked up at him. He again lifted her chin, and kissed her lightly on the lips, then her cheeks, then her forehead. His fingers trailed down her flanks, then her thighs, until they came to rest between her legs. He watched her critically as he licked one finger, then gently touched her opening, exploring until he found the tender areas there and over her clit, satisfied that she had suffered only some mild irritation from his repeated attention. It was nothing that he couldn't work her past if he chose to.

"Nothing serious. In a day or two you will be fine, but in the future, never be afraid to be honest with me. We still have a great deal to learn about each other's bodies." Her eyes brightened as she looked up. "Oh, I see," he said, letting the silk of his deep voice roll over her as his hand cupped her sex. "You will get your chance very soon, Molly. I plan to teach you exactly how I want to be touched…licked…sucked. You're looking forward to those lessons, aren't you?"

"Umm…yes." She knew she was blushing furiously.

Sherlock licked the taste of her from his finger as she watched, fascinated. As he finished, Molly saw his pupils dilate. "Though I confess that I like the idea that whenever you move tomorrow, you will be reminded of how it felt to have my cock inside of you, or my tongue on your clit. From now on, whenever you look around the lab you will remember how I made you come." He could literally feel his words settle into her mind and body as her pulse elevated and her breathing sped up. Tomorrow was going to be delightful. He kissed her deeply, tasting her mouth and savoring her quiet moans as he nipped at her lower lip.

A knock on the door interrupted any further plans Sherlock had at that moment. He quickly shoved some money into the delivery boy's hand without ever taking his eyes off of her, then slammed the door behind him and headed for the kitchen, crooking his finger at her with a devious look about him. "Are you coming?"

"God, I hope so."

Sherlock ate well and encouraged Molly to do the same, trying to pretend he was all business about their meal. "We have a long night ahead of us, Molly. Focus on the protein and hydrate."

Molly did her best, but eventually curiosity got the best of her. "So how did you… um… become so proficient?"

"Am I merely proficient?" he teased.

"You know quite well what you do to me, and just how well you do it." The blush of her cheeks and her shy smile sent his blood straight to his groin.

"The abridged version is that Mycroft cut me off financially when he discovered my addiction to heroin and cocaine, which presented an obstacle to completing my studies at university. I combined my talent for reading people and their situations with my financial need in a way that allowed for maximum profit and a low probability of entanglements with the legal system."

Molly nearly spewed water all over the table. "You were a… gigolo?"

"It's my choice of profession that concerns you and not the fact that I was an addict?"

She'd hit a nerve, one that he had deliberately exposed to her. "Sherlock, I knew about the drug use. You were careful to mostly inject in concealed areas, like your feet and under your arms. I saw them when I examined you… after you fell, but you have a few marks on your arms that I saw years ago. You sometimes roll your sleeves up in the lab. Your nasal septum is also narrow from the cocaine." He wasn't impressed that she had noticed; she did have a habit of staring. What impressed him was the fact that the drug use neither bothered her nor seemed important enough to mention to him. It must have shown on his face, because she added, "but I know you aren't using now, so it's irrelevant."

"I'm not presently a professional dominant either, but yet that does seem to bother you."

"I was just surprised, that's all. I have no right to judge you."

"In case it matters, over the span of two years, I had a total of only three clients, all of whom were quite sad to see me leave the profession when I decided to stop using. There was no one else before and no one since, until now."

She set down her fork and took his hand. "Did you love any of them?"

"No," he answered immediately.

Molly's heart broke for him. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked. It's none of my business." She tried to pull her hand away but he held it firmly.

"I'd like it to be," said Sherlock. Molly was speechless at what he was offering her. It was one thing for him to profess his love after several rounds of spectacular sex following a fifteen year dry spell. It was quite another for him to open up about it his past. She had never heard him discuss anything that happened to him prior to the debut of his Consulting Detective career, and she had long ago learned any attempts to inquire went unfulfilled.

She came around the table and leaned forward to embrace him. "Thank you," she said quietly. He just nodded and pulled her down onto his lap and kissed her neck once before resting his head in the crook of her neck as he held her. She knew he was feeling vulnerable, having revealed something so personal to her, and it pained her to see him that way. She offered him a way out. "So what were you preparing earlier? In the bedroom?"

His eyes brightened immediately. "Your punishment, of course."

"My what?" He held her tightly around the waist as she squirmed slightly at the thought.

"You heard me. I gave you an order to return to my bed, wearing only this shirt," which he proceeded to unbutton slowly, "and to wait for me, on your back, with your legs spread." Her breath caught in her throat, and Sherlock's smile told her that there was no escape for her. Not that she truly wanted any. "I cannot let you get away with such blatant disobedience."

"But what… what are you going to do… to me?"

He kissed the side of her neck to soothe her, feeling the pulse beat wildly under his lips. "I'm going to spank you, of course."