A/N Sorry if Sherlock seems a bit OOC. he explains himself.

Sherlock comes into Molly's room.

She looks up abruptly from the romantic comedy she's reading.

"You're back!" she says, a little too excited.

Sherlock motions toward her book, "You don't seem to have been concerned."

"I thought you'd left for good." Molly says, "This was to cheer me up."

Sherlock locks the door behind him.

"I have a question for you, Molly."

Her eyes flick down to his hand, resting on the doorknob, then back up to his expression, staring at her expectantly.

"Yes?"

Sherlock walks closer to stand directly beside her bed, where she is sitting cross-legged holding her book in her hands.

"Do you love me?" he asks.

He had seen signs, all of which pointed to that fickle emotion called love. But one could never be too sure. It could be any degree of affection: a crush, lust, pity, care, loyalty, trust, friendship. It never harmed anyone to ask to make absolutely sure. And Sherlock doesn't want to make another mistake in front of his pathologist.

"W-well.." Molly begins, clearly flustered, "Erm...n-not...exactly. I mean, I care about you...a-a lot. You're my friend. Well, I consider you my friend. And I guess you could say I had a crush on you, but not anymore. Well, obviously. Use of past tense...had. Erm, I may have been...jealous when you recognized that woman, erm...Irene, was it? from, well...not her face. But that doesn't mean I love you. I mean, as more than a friend. And that's why I was sort of, you know, jealous. Not because I wanted you to like me, but because I wanted you to like someone worth your while. Not that Irene wasn't worth your while, I just wanted to make su-"

Sherlock's lips end her soliloquy by pressing against her own.

Molly's eyes widen.

What the hell is going on?

Sherlock breaks away as suddenly as he had begun, "Molly," he says quietly, pressing kisses across her jaw and down her neck, "My reputation...has been compromised...in many forms. One of which...was Moriarty's nickname for me...The Virgin." his lips leave her neck and he looks up at her as she gasps slightly, "Calm down. I'm doing this for the both of us." he says, his eyes dilating as he takes hold of her wrist, "I know you want to and I need to be on the same ground as Moriarty."

Molly's protest catches in her throat. He's right, her basic instincts and her long-suffering love for Sherlock do essentially equate to "wanting" him.

But she doesn't want him. Not like this. Not in these circumstances. Not in any circumstances that would occur in the conscious realm of life.

And he doesn't need to be on the same ground as Moriarty. Moriarty's dead. Besides, how does this make them on different ground to begin with? Because Moriarty's experienced something Sherlock hasn't?

Then he's kissing her again, deeper this time, and Molly's thoughts depart.

Sherlock grasps Molly's upper arms, opening his mouth slightly, encouraging Molly to kiss him back.

The diffident woman's eyes flutter closed.

Her book falls with a thud to the floor.

The consulting detective's arms slide down to her waist as he kneels on her bed and leans forward. Molly whimpers as her back hits the comforter. She feels something hard against her thigh. Her eyes fly open as she realizes it's his cock. She squirms in an attempt to get out from under him; he squirms to get closer, his tongue sliding across her lower lip. His hand reaches under her shirt to cup her breast.

"Molly..." Sherlock moans.

He begins grinding himself against her thigh and tightens his grip on her breast, all the sexual urges that had been held at bay since his teens permitted to surface.

He removes his hand from her breast and ghosts his slender fingers down her abdomen. He hooks them through her belt loops and pulls himself closer to her. Molly's hips involuntarily jolt and she whimpers. She knows Sherlock is much bigger than her, but when he is laying on top of her, pressing her into the comforter (against her wishes, no less), she is quite terrified that he will crush her. Sherlock groans and nips her ear, now passionately grinding on her bleed-through wet cunt. Molly lifts her leg up slowly. It seems like she is going to straddle him.

A perfect disguise for her kick which sends him to the edge of her bed.

Sherlock coughs and sits up charily, his trousers bulging in his need to release.

Molly's eyes are wide with fright and arousal.

Sherlock glares at her, expecting her to apologize so he can continue with his ambition. Then he realizes that glaring at a woman doesn't typically turn her on. So his expression softens. He leans forward with anticipation.

But she locks eyes with him and her eyebrows furrow in determination. "Do not!...Don't you dare to try and...d-do...that...to me! In my own home, even!"

"Molly - " he says hoarsely.

"No! I am not some...tramp you can just...How could you?"

"I'm sorry."

"You're not. You don't understand. This isn't just...something you do."

Sherlock tilts his head to the side.

"What isn't just something you do?"

"Have...sex." Molly says, looking towards her dresser mirror.

Sherlock clears his throat, "Really?" he asks with a true look of bewilderment on his face.

"Yes." Molly replies looking back at him, "Really."

"But, John and...everyone. They all..."

"Just because they all do it so...casually, doesn't mean it's right!" Molly exclaims, "I mean, sex isn't just a thing to be...carelessly...used and thrown away! It's giving your whole...self, your whole being, to another person. And I-I'm not judging them, John and...everyone. I'm just saying that sex is something I...cherish."

"You're something that I cherish."

"What? Hold on, why?"

"Because you count." he answers.

"Don't start that with me."

"It's true." he says, shifting forward, "And...you want this, don't you? I know the signs of arousal."

Molly cringes because she can't move back. The headboard of her bed is the limit, it seems.

"I-I'm sorry, Sherlock." she stutters, "I decided a long time ago to save it for my spouse."

Sherlock blinks and tilts his head, "You're getting married?"

"Someday, hopefully." Molly answers with a slight blush.

"But, Molly, be reasonable. What if the person you love threatens to leave you?"

"I'll let him."

"What if he doesn't want to get married?"

"He can find someone else."

"What if he doesn't love you back?"

Sherlock and Molly lock eyes and she takes a small, shuddering breath.

"Then it shouldn't be a problem."

Sherlock frowns at her, willing her to be "rational" in a Molly sense. To be lenient, if only for him.

But this is something she will not back down on. She is not going to be used like someone's skeleton key anymore.

Molly swallows hard under Sherlock's icy gaze.

"I've made my decision." her eyes narrow and she continues, quiet but fierce, "And if you can't respect that, I won't have anything to do with you."

Sherlock looks Molly up and down for a moment, perplexed that she would say all of this. Hadn't she had sex before? No, he observes, she actually hasn't. But she went out with Moriarty for...

Three dates.

Wasn't that one of John's rules? The three-date rule? And she had ended it. What if it had ended this way?

But surely she's had sex some other time, with some other boyfriend. No, he observes, she hasn't.

But everyone has sex!

Except for him.

And except for Molly.

Suddenly, she's brushing past him to the living room. He gazes after her with one of those looks, puzzled, but just starting to see sense.

Sherlock tentatively gets up from the bed and goes into the bathroom.

He releases himself as cleanly as he can, feeling immensely relieved and, at the same time, bloody appalled.

A/N...I can't believe I just wrote that. I'm going to take a nice, long shower now.