"The only treatment I need for what ails me right now . . . is you."

Molly's ears rang. Temptation was the proposition of having sex with Sherlock Holmes.

"Would you like to be shafted on your kitchen counter?"

On her fancy new composite stone counter tops.

She squeezed her eyes tightly to cut off the tractor beam of his ever-changing blue eyes. Then she opened her lids and blinked a few times.

"Sherlock-?"

He crooked a brow.

"Have you gone completely mental?"

He groaned and rustled his hair with his hands. Then, he gingerly reached for her wrist. He looked down at it a moment. She could feel the gentle press of each elegant digit as they encircled her joint.

"Molly," he panted, "would you mind very much if I . . . gave you a better idea of how you have affected me?"

Her pulse positively pounded underneath his fingertips. Numbly, she nodded. He guided her hand to the front of his pants. Just before her fingers made contact, their eyes met. In the next heartbeat, she could feel the stiffness of his erection through the soft fabric of his track pants. Even though she half-expected it, she still gasped at the sear of that hot, hard length through the thinnest of barriers. Sherlock's nostrils expanded and his lids fluttered. She swallowed at the way his lips parted, as if in relief. Then his hand urged hers to map his arousal which she did in a daze.

Sherlock leaned forward. His forehead touched hers. His warm breaths feathered down her face, tickling over her lips. For a moment, he remained there as if fighting for control.

"Molly," he rasped at long last, "I - oh, to hell with it."

His mouth drifted down. His lips brushed her cheek. The anticipation of kissing him again increased her heart rate until it hammered in her ears. When his nose bumped hers and his lips whispered past hers, her heart almost seized. She turned her head up to kiss him, but he was maddeningly out of reach. He took a breath and let it out again. Its humid release scalded her lips.

"Sherlock," she whispered, "please, d-don't do this."

"Don't do what?" he asked gruffly.

"Arrrg, don't make me wait any longer! Kiss me for fucks' sake."

With a grunt, Sherlock's lips slammed onto hers. His sudden invasion into her space nearly knocked her off her stool as her head bent back. His arms caught her off her seat to his chest and he teetered back. Molly planted her feet on the tile floors and went at him, returning his kiss with a near desperation. To hell with his reasons for wanting her, she thought, and consequences be damned! Her body was still overly-hot from watching porn and she was mindless with need to slake her lust. She had two options, fetch her vibrator from her room or utilize the perfectly acceptable erection she had inspired on the ridiculously fit Sherlock Holmes. It was a lonely woman's fantasy come to life.

She suppressed a throaty sigh as her fingers found his waistband. Her hands greedily slipped under the loose elastic of the over-sized pants while their lips fought for dominance.

"Fffffuck, Sherlock, you aren't wearing any underwear," she hissed against his lips, "and oh, my god your arse is fantastic!"

"Is it now?" he rumbled. "I suppose that is what happens when one's activities are limited to lounging around here or going to the local gym."

She gently scraped her nails over his taut bum. "My word, the gym's been a good use of your time, Sherlock."

His cheeks flexed. She wanted to bite his arse, literally chew a piece off.

Sherlock kissed her again, this time his lips coaxed hers open and his tongue slipped into her mouth. Her sex stung with a rush of arousal when their tongues slid together. She clutched his bum eagerly. His rear wasn't just hard, it was outrageously firm like the rest of his body. A thousand anatomy lessons surged through her head as she explored the contours of that curvature and concluded that yes, in fact, Sherlock could easily shaft her atop her counter and into oblivion.

Kissing soon turned into clawing at one another's clothing. Sherlock's sweats were handily dispatched. Molly's trousers and pants fell easily to the floor but her top proved a little more resistant. In their haste, buttons were forgotten and her shirt got stuck on her head.

"Bah!" she cursed as she struggled to pull it off, "Jesus H. Christ on the cross!"

Sherlock laughed and gently clasped her forearms. She turned her chin up and pouted even though she couldn't see him. Her hair, caught up with the shirt pulled at her scalp.

"D-Do not laugh at me! This is already awkward enough."

His hands stroked over her shirt and tugged it back. The fabric pulled at the bridge of her nose but didn't dislodge.

"I wouldn't say this is awkward," he murmured, "I kind of like this, actually."

"You are not good, Sherlock."

"Oh, I know I am not."

His free hand slid around her back and unclasped her bra while the other held the ends of her shirt. She felt her bra slack before he tugged it from her shoulders. She inhaled a shuddering breath when cool air perked her nipples. Heat flushed down her chest as the moment stretched out. She was effectively blindfolded by her shirt and could not see the look on his face. What did he think of her modest breasts, she wondered? Were they too small? Too pale? Did she have too many freckles, especially the large one on the side of her right breast? She began to tremble. What if he was disappointed in what he saw?

Before she could entertain another doubt, Sherlock's large, calloused hand flattened into the small of her back and she was jerked against his raging hard-on. At the same his tongue lapped around her left nipple and he sucked it into his mouth.

"Aaaaah!" she bent against him. "Ho-ly, fuck!"

Molly's sex clenched between her legs while he continued his erotic assault on her senses. His lips and tongue alternately lapped, tugged, and flicked her nipple until she was quivering like a plucked guitar string. The steely pads of his fingers pressed into her back and he moved on to her other breast. She could barely stand; her legs felt like gelatin shaking in a bowl. When she was almost sobbing from the pleasure, Sherlock's lips worked their way up between her breasts, his tongue dipped into her clavicle and then he scraped his teeth ever so lightly on the flesh of her neck. As he rose, his chest hair tickled her nipples and his rigid cock strained urgently against her belly.

Molly's breaths became more and more erratic. She couldn't draw a steady breath; each rattled into her body as if her windpipe was vibrating like a tuning fork. Sherlock Holmes made her feel like a virgin out of a soppy romance novel; like she was new to everything he was doing. When he licked a patch of skin and sucked hard on the side of her throat, her knees actually buckled. He held her firm to prevent her from collapsing. She clutched onto his waist with shaky hands. Every inch of him was as hard and unyielding as his erection. Inside, she swirled with conflict. She wanted everything he promised, yet her inner pragmatist kept running in circles throwing out fliers with the word 'DOOM' stamped on them.

"Steady now, Molly," Sherlock chided on her neck, his tone hummed through her, "we have only just begun."

"Oh, God, Sherlock, I-I . . . I am not going to survive this."

He kissed along her jaw. "Of course you're not . . . not if I do my job right."

She felt a pull on her shirt and Sherlock's mouth claimed hers again. This time, his kiss had much more intent, his tongue thrusts were much more raw. They kissed until they were both gasping for air.

"Molly," he broke away briefly, "do you still have that box of condoms in your night stand?"

"Wh-? How did you-? Oh, never mind! Yes."

"Excellent, before I get them, though, I think we should remove this shirt."

Molly nodded. She needed some sort of relief. She was on fire. In a matter of seconds, he worked apart a button and finally pulled the fabric away. She was struck by his appearance. His skin was pink, his lips looked plump and his hair was in wild disarray. He licked his lips when they made eye contact.

"Are you ready for the next step, Molly Hooper?"

She swallowed. Her face burned with embarrassment. The blindfold had been an effective lull into the fantasy of what was going on between them. This. This was all too real.

Her stomach gurgled. "Ready? Oh, fuck no. Oh, fuck, Sherlock, I am definitely not ready but I am so h-horny right now . . ."

Her eyes drifted down to his generous endowment squished between them. Slick, shiny fluid seeped from the slit on the end. A throbbing, blue vein curled around one side, she could almost see it pulsing with blood. When her eyes flitted up again, another scorch of heat flooded her face. Sherlock's nostrils flared before his eyes hooded.

"You look warm, Molly, I think you need to cool down a bit."

She stared up at him expectantly. He blinked slowly, slid his hands down her sides then coaxed her hips to turn. When her back was to him, he pushed her up against the square edge of her counter. His cock jutted between her cheeks. He pumped his hips a couple of times with a grunt, his rigid flesh wedged deeper in her crevice.

"Unh, fuck, how am I supposed to cool down?" she whispered.

"Like this," his hand glided up her back and pushed her towards the counter's surface. First her belly contacted the smooth, faux stone surface and then her nipples stung as they were chilled by the contact. She gripped the opposite side up the peninsula as he ran his hands down her back and over her bum. He gave her a gentle slap.

"Stay right there," he murmured into her ear, "I will return shortly."

Molly laid over her counter. Her toes curled on her floor. She gulped back a nervous lump and peered sideways at her newly renovated kitchen. A nervous laugh bubbled from her throat. She was buck naked in the middle of her flat waiting for her dream man to come fuck the living daylights out of her. There would be no cooling down. In fact, she was becoming even more aroused thinking about the vulnerable position she was in. Her inner chamber was in a lather. She didn't need to check, she knew she was incredibly wet already.

She began to quiver again when the slap of footsteps heralded the return of Sherlock. He paused behind her and she heard him huff. A moment later, a grey rubber package that had been torn open skidded onto the counter next to her face. She listened to the snap of latex and the creak of it rolled on. Again, her toes scrunched on the floor until they began to go numb. Hands sought her hips, fingers curled over her hip bones and pulled her back a bit. Her flesh squeaked in resistance over the smooth surface.

"Did that help?"

Molly stood up on her toes to present her bum as best as she could. "Not at all."

"Mmmnnnn, well, then we'll have to work it out of you, won't we?"

"Uh-huh," she whimpered.

Hands caressed her backside again, fingers tested her wetness. Molly's legs jittered as a knee nudged them apart. Cool air prickled her sex. Her mind raced again.

"It's happening," she told herself, "this is happening."

Inside, her tension wound tight. Hair stood up on her arms. Goose pimples washed over her back and rear.

"Please, Sherlock," she begged as her cleft throbbed. "I need it so badly."

A knuckle kneaded her entry, spreading her arousal around. A finger rubbed her clit.

"How badly, Molly?"

She groaned in frustration. "Oh, my god, I hate you! Do me already!"

"So impatient."

Molly thought she was prepared but realized very quickly she could never have prepared for this moment. As soon as she felt his head press into her cleft, her shaking renew with vigor. She was going to have sex with Sherlock. Sherlock! The very same Sherlock she had thought about shagging every day since the day she met him. She almost balked at that moment thinking that nothing could ever live up to the fantasies she'd had, but then he began to stretch her apart. Her breath formed a fog on the counter next to her cheek as she panted for air. The fantasies had never, never come close to this sensation, to how good his girth felt.

She closed her eyes. She knew she would remember the moment forever, the pressure and the push and the crinkles of the condom as he moved ever inward. She squeezed on him as he entered, desperate to feel every ripple of every muscle. When he was finally seated inside, his hips plumped her backside. He leaned over her and kissed her shoulder. She experienced an anxious spasm in her belly. She clutched onto the heady circumference of him.

"Oh, my god. He's inside me. Sherlock is inside me!"

She squeezed him once more just to verify his presence. Before she could reconcile his being a part of her, his fingers bit into her hips and he began to cycle his hips. At first, his thrusts were controlled. Then, his pace increased and Molly had to hold onto the counter as his strokes came harder and faster with each return. Her flesh pulled where it stuck to the counter. The edge poked into her stomach. Over and over he plunged into her womb until all she could feel was his fast, slick friction and her ears were filled with his huffs in tune with the slap of their flesh together. In her mind's eye, she envisioned what they must look like, a real life version of the videos she had watched. Above her, Sherlock groaned.

"Aaah, Molly, you feel so good," he uttered.

Molly pushed her backside up as much as possible; her toes burned and her feet ached with the effort. She felt like a dancer at the end of an extended pirouette trying to fend off a steamroller. Still, she held herself aloft as best she could. His pressure on her cunt was perfect and relentless, like he was trying to dislodge something within. She realized she was crying aloud with each thrust and becoming more vocal as she came closer and closer to her release. As her ache increased, so too did his frequency. Soon, she knew she was at the point of no return. Her orgasm became a boulder tumbling down a cliff.

"Mm, Molly, I am nearly there. Wh-What do you need?"

She pulled at the counter. "Oh, shite, j-just you. Just a bit more. Please!"

Sherlock redoubled his efforts. That was all it took, his ravaging and another erotic image of their frenzied coupling in her brain. Her runaway boulder reached the base of the cliff and shattered into a million pieces. She keened and cried as the destruction overtook her form. Spasms ricocheted through her core like the spray of the rock's remnants. Then, her womb pulsed over and over, its release sent a chemical reaction through her body that liquefied her bones. In the midst of it, Sherlock let out his own, long groan and jolted her a final time. She just barely registered the feel of his cock transforming, of it shifting gears and the sputtering of his ejaculation. Hands slapped against the counter either side of her body as his hips bucked.

"Huuuh," he hissed, "huuu-u-uuh."

Sherlock collapsed down on his elbows as his cock continued to twitch. His warm, heavy torso pressed down on her for several moments. Then, he retracted and she heard him swear softly.

It was a decidedly un-sexy curse. Molly heaved herself off the counter and turned with a wobble. His hand shot out to steady her on her feet.

"What? What is it? Tell me you don't regret this already!" she whispered.

Sherlock looked up from his groin. Sweat dripped down his temple and he shook his head.

"I do not regret having sex with you Molly."

His hand worked on something below before holding up an utterly destroyed condom. His lips pressed into a line briefly as he inspected the ragged latex.

"I regret not having more sense than to don a rubber two-sizes too small."

That's when Molly felt it, something slick. Something more than just her own arousal between her legs.

"Oh, my god," she slapped a hand over her mouth.

The condom had ruptured.