Chapter Four

Sherlock Holmes lay sprawled on his stomach, every inch of his body completely and deliciously relaxed. The right side of his face had been splayed against the pillow for so long that he knew must now bear the creases from the pillowcase. His heartrate was just starting to slow to its normal rate. He could barely keep his eyes open, a combination of fatigue and the feeling of being so blissfully at ease with the world. He met Molly's gaze through heavy lids, knowing he was wearing the kind of goofy smile that he would never permit the outside world to see (although, at this moment, he didn't give a damn about anywhere beyond the four walls of his bedroom). His left arm was draped heavily and possessively around his beautiful pathologist as she lay on her side facing him, and he could just about muster enough energy to slowly trace a path with his fingers along the contours of her body. His eyes closed completely when Molly's fingers swept a few sweaty, errant curls from his forehead before coming to rest on his bicep.

Without really realising it, a noise escaped him that he didn't recognise as coming from his own body – something between a long sigh and a chuckle.

"Are you okay?" Molly giggled, tucking a long strand of her own hair back behind her ear. With her long, chestnut hair loose, Sherlock reflected, she was like a goddess who had for some reason gifted a mere mortal access to her lovely body.

"Muh-huh," Sherlock replied, momentarily wondering whether, like Samson's loss of physical strength, sex was going to render him intellectually incapacitated. Though, on balance, perhaps it was worth the sacrifice.

"So…?"

Managing to force his eyes to open a little wider, he saw that Molly's cheeks were a little more pink than the rest of her, and she was looking at him a little shyly.

"So…?" he parroted, a stupid grin spreading across his face.

"Did it…was it…good?"

From the smile twitching at her lips, Sherlock was fairly sure she knew the answer and didn't need his reassurance. He forced himself up onto his elbow, shifting his body further towards hers.

"Molly, I can barely formulate a coherent thought, let alone put that thought into words," he began, feeling as though he was slurring his words. "And this is me we're talking about. I'm usually pretty good at that kind of thing."

"You are," she agreed, smiling, humouring him, before adding. "Turns out there are other things you're not so bad at either, Sherlock."

He couldn't help it, the laughter just escaped – a low, booming rumble that made the mattress shake. He closed the distance between them, capturing Molly's lips again in a kiss that was slightly messy due to the fact that both of them had now caught the giggles. When they broke the kiss, Sherlock closed his eyes, inhaling deeply so that he could once again breath in the unique, addictive fragrance that was Molly's alone. He nuzzled into her neck, peppering it with tiny kisses, hearing her giggle into his ear as his hair and stubble tickled her skin.

"I'm glad the lady is not disappointed," he said, wrapping both arms around her and pulling her flush against his chest. His whole body seemed to crackle with electricity where her skin touched his, and Sherlock hoped the feeling would never subside.

Molly giggled at his comment.

"The lady is anything but disappointed," she replied, playing along. "In fact, the lady is starting to wonder whether the gentleman was playing down his experience…"

"Nope," Sherlock replied, welcoming the boost to his male pride and placing a tiny kiss at the corner of her mouth. "But I had a particularly lovely and skillful muse to serve as my inspiration – and teacher."

Sherlock rolled onto his back, taking Molly with him and instantly reconnecting with that wonderful sensation of her small weight on his chest. She gazed down on him, real happiness in her eyes, and he felt proud and grateful that she had given him the opportunity to be the cause of that happiness. It was more than he deserved. And John was right – once he removed the pressure from the situation and put his trust in Molly, there was nothing to be afraid of. Strip away all of the baggage, the self-doubt and the anxiety and all that was in the room was the woman he loved, who made it clear she loved him regardless of any of that.

"Why the hell did I mess about with narcotics for so long?" he pondered, looking up at her. "Sex with you is so much better. Why didn't you make me aware of that when we met all those years ago?"

Molly sniggered.

"Erm, because asking you out for coffee was hard enough. It took me days to build up to that, and it wasn't exactly successful."

"Hmm," he responded, trying hard not to dwell on his obliviousness and lack of tact back then. "Perhaps you should have offered me sex as a backup plan?"

He laughed as Molly swatted him lightly on the chest before settling her cheek against his shoulder, her head tucked just below his chin. She wrapped her small arm around his waist, her fingers lightly caressing his skin where they lay. Sherlock hadn't ever imagined it was possible to feel this close to another human being, this secure and cherished.

"You realise I'm going to need regular practice?" he said. "In the interests of honing my technique, you understand."

Molly's breath tickled his chest as she laughed softly.

"I think I can accommodate that."

"I like to be thorough," he added.

"I know. Two-hundred and forty varieties of tobacco ash," she teased.

"Two-hundred and forty-three," he replied, adopting a grave tone.

"I'm sure we can come up with some interesting hypotheses to test," Molly told him, propping herself up on his chest again, to enable their lips to meet. Sherlock revelled in the taste of her, the combination of softness and intent in her kiss so exquisite and so reassuring.

"I insist on it," he grinned. "After all, we make pretty good lab partners."

Sherlock hitched himself up into a sitting position - head still pleasantly woozy - bringing Molly with him so that she was straddling his lap. He couldn't help but chuckle at the instant shot of arousal he felt, his brain apparently eager despite his body's lethargy. Molly settled into him, placing his arms around her waist before wrapping hers around his shoulders. Her bright eyes searched his, threatening to engulf him with the warmth of their affection. Sherlock's instinct had always been to shy away in the face of such scrutiny, such intense feeling, but he was teaching himself to accept it – and to accept that he was worthy of it.

Again, John had been right – why hadn't he got himself a piece of this years ago?

From her vantage point, Molly glanced across to the side of the room.

"Sorry about your shirt," she said, frowning slightly.

John had been right about that purple shirt, too, which now lay casually abandoned on the floor, minus one of its buttons.

"It's fine," he replied, still puzzled as to what special power that particular shirt apparently held. "At least it was the only bedroom casualty of the evening, and my coccyx remains intact."

Molly burst out laughing, her hair tumbling against his chest as she buried her face in the crook of his neck.

"You're a bad friend, Sherlock Holmes," she told him when she had recovered, still trying to bite down a smile.

"I know," he replied, pressing his lips together. "Especially as his advice turned out to be rather better than I expected."

"His advice?"

"About…things."

Molly narrowed her eyes at him.

"Things?"

Sherlock watched her expression change as she finally cottoned on.

"Sherlock, did you ask John Watson for sex advice?"

He tried to decide what the right answer was before coming to the realization that Molly – as always – would see through him completely.

"You make it sound a lot more prurient than it was," he told her, watching her raise a sceptical eyebrow at him. "It's not like he gave me a step-by-step guide. John merely enquired as to how things were progressing between us and…I might have…expressed a little apprehension, so he elected to offer me the wisdom of his experience."

Molly removed her arms from around his shoulders long enough to bury her face in her hands, uttering a small groan.

"I can't believe you talked about our sex life with John," she said. "How am I supposed to look him in the eye when I pick up Rosie tomorrow afternoon?"

"I'll admit It got a bit confusing at one stage," Sherlock continued. "- the part about falling out of bed, for one thing – but his general advice was actually fairly sound."

"I'm afraid to ask…"

Sherlock took the small hands that covered her face in both of his larger ones, and gently kissed the knuckles of each, one by one.

"He told me I should talk to you," he said, his voice barely rising above a whisper. "That you would make everything alright. And that basically I should be myself, because apparently that's okay with you."

Sherlock thought he saw tears forming in Molly's eyes and immediately started to panic that he'd said something 'a bit not good', but instead she started to smile, a beautiful, open smile that reminded him of the moment - in her flat, not long after Sherrinford - when she had finally accepted that his declaration of love was real.

"Well, if that was his advice, I'm very glad you took it to heart," she smiled, nudging his nose with hers and joining their lips in a slow, tender kiss.

Sherlock felt drunk. Nicely drunk. It was a bit like John's stag do, at the point where they were back at the flat playing that stupid game with post-it notes, a rich tumbler of scotch in his hand – pleasantly buzzed, with a soothing warmth pulsing through his veins. Before he vomited in that flat, obviously. Would Molly find the comparison flattering? He thought he'd better keep quiet in case he judged it wrong.

"I'm glad, too," Sherlock replied. "Particularly given that John has proffered unsolicited advice on numerous occasions over the years, and this was the first time I didn't immediately delete it."

Molly smiled, moving her fingers up the back of his neck until they lightly scratched at his scalp. He closed his eyes. No wonder that bloody cat was always demanding to be pampered.

"Are you staying?" he asked, opening one eye.

"Um, if that's okay?"

He nodded, knowing that this experience – this profound and wonderful and fun experience - wouldn't be complete without waking up with Molly the next day.

"You mind if I have a shower?" she asked, pausing for a moment before adding, "You can come if you like?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her, wondering once again what he had done in his life to deserve the attentions and affections of such a woman.

"Give me five minutes," he told her, with a wolfish grin. "My Mind Palace requires some serious updating."

Once Molly left the room, Sherlock lay back on his pillow and set about creating two new areas in his Mind Palace: a whole new suite of rooms to catalogue this first, incredible night with the woman he loved – and a new side-room that he decided to label 'John Watson: useful advice'.

XXXXX

I hadn't intended to show anything from Sherlock's POV, but couldn't resist! One more chapter on the way to finish things off…