Title: The Molly Files
Author: LizAMWriter
Summary: Molly writes letters to Sherlock, and keeps them on her laptop. She doesn't anticipate him or anyone else ever reading them. However, John Watson happens upon them one day when he borrows her laptop. Established Sherlock/John, first time Sherlock/Molly/John.
Literary Tags: Slow burn, HEA, NSFW, M/M/F.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction using characters from the world of Sherlock BBC, which is owned by Steven Moffat and based on characters created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I do not own Sherlock BBC, Sherlock Holmes, Dr. John Watson, or Dr. Molly Hooper. This story is a work of fiction and not intended to be part of the "official canon" of the series. The plot, such as it is, is mine. I am not making any money off of writing fanfiction, this story included. No copyright infringement is intended.
Rating: M for one naughty word and adult situations.
Notes: I made it four chapters without Sherlock and John giving us a glimpse of their…ahem, more intimate time together. Is that really bad self-control or really good self-control? ;)
Letter Four
It feels like ages since we've been in the lab together. You would think me horribly human for worrying about you, but since you've been back from the dead, I find myself worrying if I don't see you regularly. Of course, you have ran so many experiments over the course of my stint at Bart's that it wouldn't surprise me if you said you already had the answers to science's most problematic equations.
Sherlock, I miss you. I miss you quiet, boisterous, fired up, deeply thoughtful, sarcastic, and every other mood in between. The lab isn't the same without you coming and going all day long. And, of course, autopsies don't hold the same fascination when I can't watch you wielding your riding crop.
I suppose that was deeply inappropriate. Ta! Who will care? Toby certainly doesn't. Anyway, I guess I'm off to bed. Maybe the Sandman will give me a dream of you tonight as a reward for my good work in the lab today.
"Huh, that's interesting." John Watson's mouth turned up on its own. He remembered this stretch of time very well. Sherlock was called away for a case – a 9.5 he had exuberantly proclaimed – and was gone for two weeks. John had missed him; it wasn't too long after The Night It All Started and he wanted to be close to the consulting detective. John was somewhat ashamed that it never occurred to him to check on Molly. She clearly could have used the company.
The doctor debated about reading any further. He was trespassing into territory that he wasn't supposed to know about. Now, when he looked at Molly, he saw all the vulnerability she worked so hard to keep hidden. John wondered – not for the first time – if Sherlock saw it, too. The difference between the two men was John's instinct was to shield and Sherlock's inclination was to exploit Molly's feelings.
John snorted, closing the laptop and moving over to the petri dish he was supposed to be observing for Sherlock's latest case. Watson thought he and Sherlock were well-suited to one another: while they were working cases and when they could just be a couple at 221B Baker Street. Over the last few weeks, John was beginning to think they were complimentary enough to be well-suited to Molly Hooper. Those thoughts troubled him.
An interminable time later, Sherlock bull-dozed his way into the lab. John glanced up, a smile already on his face.
"What are you so happy about, Dr. Watson?" Sherlock's mouth quirked up and his eyes held a knowing gaze.
"I'm in love."
This response pulled Sherlock up short. He hastily removed his scarf and trench coat, then crossed to John's side of the lab. He used his height to cage John in against the counter.
"Oh? Pray tell, who is it that's managed to capture your interest?" The consulting detective leaned in and brushed his lips against Watson's cheek. The skin was bristly with the beginnings of a five-o-clock shadow.
John hadn't expected Sherlock to be so forward. He gave a nervous laugh and put his hands against Sherlock's chest. He lightly pushed, but Sherlock's mouth found his and then he was pulling the taller man closer to him.
"Open for me, John," Holmes murmured against John's lips. John obeyed, and lower parts of his anatomy started to respond to Sherlock as well.
We cannot do this here, John thought. If Molly walks in…
John realized he had gone rigid because Sherlock's hands stopped ghosting along his torso, and he broke their kiss to say, "No one's about, John."
The doctor groaned and plunged head-first into the sensations Sherlock was creating in him. John nibbled the detective's lower lip and moved to suckle the skin of his white-marble throat. Sherlock's cologne filled his nose and he breathed in deeply. Gawd, he really did love this man.
"Sherlock."
"John."
"Where's Molly?"
Sherlock pulled back to look at his lover. "Why?"
John closed his eyes in frustration. "Please, just tell me she isn't here."
Sherlock's eyes narrowed in a calculating look, but he shook his head. "She's not here."
Watson nodded and then wrapped his hand around the base of Holmes' neck, pulling him down to his hungry lips. This is what he loved about loving Sherlock Holmes: every aspect of it was so intense. He groaned when the detective's cool hands made their way beneath his sweater.
"Sherlock, we have to stop this."
Holmes' grin was mischievous. "Unacceptable. I. Want. To. Play. With. You," he punctuated every word with a kiss along John's neck.
John's hands tangled in Sherlock's dark curls. The detective sought out the tough peaks of his boyfriend's nipples. Watson's hands went to Sherlock's belt buckle. Looking up, he gave him an arch look.
Watson's favorite activity was making Sherlock lose control, and the quickest way to do that was to suck him off. John took a knee, deftly removed the belt, then made quick work of the zipper of Sherlock's trousers.
Sherlock ran his hands through John's hair as his organ was released from his trousers and boxers.
"Sherlock," John fisted his lover's length. He was rock hard, too, but ignored it in favor of giving Holmes pleasure. He was partly worried about being discovered like this, and only Sherlock would have him taking such risks and enjoying every minute of it. Watson ran his tongue along the underside of the hard organ. The detective's groan was all the encouragement he needed to take him in his mouth.
Watson licked, sucked, and stroked Sherlock until the detective gave himself over to pleasure. Holmes felt the orgasm start in the pit of his stomach, and he tightened his hold on John's hair in warning. His good doctor was never one to back down, and he concentrated and doubled his efforts.
"Ah, fuck, John," Sherlock tried not to draw attention to them by shouting, but the urgent voice came a split second before he did. John's warm and velvety mouth rode it out with him, until Sherlock's hips stopped thrusting and his grip on John's hair loosened.
John released Sherlock and leaned his head against his thigh. He was panting, trying to gain control over his own arousal. The tile floor was hard on his knees and John moved a bit and redistributed the weight on his knees. He reached down to his own arousal and palmed himself through his jeans.
"John, stand up."
Watson looked up, still holding himself, watching Sherlock right his clothing. He looked down at him first with tenderness, then with slight impatience.
"John, stand up now."
Watson reached up to the counter, getting ready to heft himself up when he heard the voice right behind him.
"Sherlock, what was so damn important that it couldn't wait…oh, hi John. Oh, oh. I'm…um, sorry, I have to go. E-excuse me." Molly's quick steps scurried her out of the room.
John stood quickly, ignoring the joints popping, and turned to Sherlock with anger in his gaze. He shook off Holmes' hand on his shoulder.
"What the hell was that about?"
Sherlock grimaced, but did not reply. He didn't have an answer, but watched with detached curiosity as John bent over the table and ran his hands roughly through his hair in frustration.