Oh! Oh! John is in for quite a shock isn't he?

Because of some of the things he says Molly is filled with self-doubt.

But Sherlock reveals to her exactly what it is about her that he loves so much.

In a rather … smutty way … *cough*

Anatomy lesson anyone? :D

TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of drug use.


Chapter Seven - Are You Coming Back to Bed?


"Sherlock? Are you coming back to bed?"

John spun about just as Molly spoke these words. She let out a shriek, grabbing at the shirt she was wearing to cover herself up. Through John's movements Molly was able to see that Sherlock was sat in his chair, wearing one of his dressing gowns. His face was expressionless.

John's mouth was hanging open. He looked to Sherlock, then to her, then back to Sherlock. "Bloody Hell. You two? You two are-?"

"Excellent deduction, John. For once you are observing, not merely seeing."

Molly's face was bright red, she wanted nothing more than to scurry back to the bedroom but she found herself incapable of moving.

John continued to look back and forth from one to the other. "How long? How long have you two been … shagging?" He struggled to get out the word.

"Six days and fourteen hours," Sherlock deadpanned.

John's eyes grew wide. "Really? Christ, I thought it was years."

Molly somehow managed to find her voice. "Years?" she squeaked out.

John glanced at her. "Uhm … yeah. He was always sneaking out, disappearing. And the way you two would look at each other, in the lab, when the other wasn't looking ... Jesus I thought you two had been shagging all along! That's why I thought you were so pissed at him when I brought him to be drug tested!"

"Oh."

The room grew silent, thick with tension.

"Hang on," she said. "You thought I was shagging him even while I was engaged to Tom?" She looked at John with a furious expression.

All too aware of Molly's fury John held up his hands defensively. "No! Not then! I thought you had moved on like you said, clearly not." He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.

They all grew silent again. Suddenly Sherlock jumped to his feet, moving around John to stand beside Molly.

"Yes, as you can see John we are happily together, now if you don't mind, which I am sure you will, I am taking her back to bed."

A horrified expression came upon John's face while Sherlock took Molly about the waist and moved her down the hall with him. John bolted for the door, rushed through it and hurried down the stairs, not exactly wanting to hear any of the noises they were surely going to be making.

"Jesus! Wait until I tell Mary!" he muttered to himself, practically running out of the building.

Sherlock succeeded in bringing Molly to the bedroom, tipping her back down onto the mattress. Her face was still covered in a blush. She was rather mortified that John had found out about them the way that he did. She was also mortified by what he had said. Did anyone else think that about them? While her mind was awhirl, Sherlock was removing his dressing gown, revealing that he had had no other clothes on underneath it. He then set to work on the buttons of the shirt she had put on, but she brought her hands up to his, clasping her fingers around him, stilling his movements.

"What is it?" he asked her.

"Did you - did you really used to stare at me, when I wasn't looking?" she asked.

He released the button from his fingertips, twisting his wrists so that her hands became encased in his own. "Yes." He brought one of her hands up to his mouth and kissed the palm. "I never once thought that John would notice. I underestimated him."

"Do you think anyone else thought … what he thought?" she said quietly.

Sherlock was kissing his way down her hand, onto her wrist and moving along her arm but stopped when he came to the crease at her elbow. "Perhaps. What of it?"

"No-nothing, I suppose."

He dropped her hand, it falling to the mattress, and moved upwards so that his face was directly above hers. "There is something. Tell me."

She tore her eyes away from his gaze, biting down on her bottom lip. "John may have thought that, because he was always around us, whenever we were together, well at least the majority of the time. Greg-Lestrade may have had some possible thoughts too, but not so much as John. I highly doubt that anyone else remotely ever gave it a consideration, except for when it was revealed that my flat was used as one of your bolt holes."

"What exactly are you trying to say, Molly?"

She let out a slow breath. "I'm not at all the type of woman that anyone would expect you to be with. I'm not ridiculously gorgeous like Irene Adler, nor do I look anything remotely like Janine. I don't ooze sexuality, I'm utterly ordinary. A bit mousy. Boring."

As soon as the words left her mouth she could feel rage rolling off of him in waves. She didn't dare look at him.

"Molly. How could you? How could you possibly think any of that?" He cupped her face in his hand, leaning closer to her. "Look at me. Please."

She slowly brought her eyes up to meet his.

"I was never sexually attracted to Irene," he stated firmly. "It was her mind that attracted me. Nothing more. Did John ever tell you that when we first met her she was entirely naked?"

Molly shook her head.

"That's how I identified her body in the morgue," he continued. "Not because I slept with her. And Janine, why the hell did you bring her up? I wasn't with her because I was attracted to her! You of all people know what I was doing with her! I spent some of the night's at your flat because of her! You don't need to 'ooze', as you put it, sexuality. I rather like that you don't. And you are not ordinary, nor are you mousy, and you are in no way boring. Not at all. You completely and utterly fascinate me. There is so much about you, about your body, that I still have to discover. To learn. I'll never grow bored of you." He leaned his forehead against hers.

"Do you really mean all of that?" she questioned.

"Would I say it, if I didn't?"

She gave him a weary look.

"Ahh right, point taken. But yes, I do, I mean it, every word of it. I love you. I love your body. I love the way your body feels around me. I love the way you make me feel. Sentiment and caring are a great disadvantage; they are both hugely distracting, but they are a good kind of distraction."

She grabbed a hold of him and kissed him deeply. He nimbly unbuttoned the last three buttons and slid his hand beneath the fabric of the shirt, slipping his hand upwards to cup her breast, squeezing it gently.

"Can I show you what it is about your body that I love so much?" he asked.

She gave a wordless nod. He pulled her upwards from the mattress so that he could remove the shirt. He tossed it unceremoniously to the floor then placed his hand on her shoulder and nudged her down onto her back, stretching himself over her.

For a few moments no words were spoken. He cradled her face in his hands, placing kisses on her forehead, tracing her hairline with his lips, the curve of her nose, the dip above her mouth, the shell of her ear. He stopped when he came to her mouth, his lips hovering over hers.

"I love your mouth," he said softly. 'Your lips aren't too small. They are the perfect size, for they mold directly against mine."

As if to demonstrate, he kissed her deeply. He broke apart the kiss and moved his mouth down her neck, not stopping until he reached the base of it, slipping out his tongue to drag it across her clavicle before nipping at it slightly with his teeth. He moved further downwards kissing along her sternum, reaching her breasts. He took one dusty pink nipple in his mouth, suckling it, before moving to the other. They were both now stiff peaks. She let out a soft whimper.

"I love your breasts," he said. "There is no lack to them whatsoever. They are adequately sized for you, and they also fit perfectly into my hands."

He cupped them both, the hard points of her nipples resting against his palms. He released them, replacing his hands with his mouth. He traced the areola of each breast with his tongue, before moving to open-mouth kiss the milky white undersides, nuzzling her nipples with the tip of his nose. He continued downwards, leaving a trail of wet kisses across her stomach, nipping at a beauty mark with his teeth, circling her navel with his tongue.

"I love your cellulite." He slid his tongue over a strand of it on her hip. "All women have it. Most men too. It's a sign of living and growing. It is nothing to be ashamed of."

He moved his hands over her hips. "I love your curves as well. You shouldn't hide them so much with your baggy clothing. Although, perhaps you should continue to do so. No need to have any other man know what you have hiding underneath."

She let out a giggle, which quickly turned into a moan, when he nuzzled the curls between the apex of her legs with his nose.

"Your Mons Pubis is quite exceptional," he murmured, "but I must say I rather like your clitoris a bit more."

He lifted both of her legs letting them come to rest on his shoulders before he slipped his tongue ever so slightly between her folds, just barely touching her clit. Her legs shuddered slightly. He spread her apart with his thumbs.

"Labia minora." He dragged his tongue over it. "Labia majora."

She was moaning uncontrollably now, her fingers buried in his hair, her nails digging slightly into his scalp as he lapped at her.

"Your vagina is quite pleasing as well." He spread her further apart with his fingers and dipped his tongue into her. "And your taste, I love how you taste. And you're always so tight and wet for me." He slipped his tongue out of her and brought it back up to her clit. "The noises you make when I touch you here, I love them too." He enveloped the nub with his mouth and gave a hard suck.

She let out a feral cry, throwing her head back. He circled her clit with his tongue, before giving it a slight flick. Her legs were trembling around him now, her orgasm washing over her. He lapped hungrily at her juices, and once he was finished, instead of moving back upwards he slipped further down, pressing a kiss to the curve of her arse cheeks.

"Gluteus Maximus," he murmured, slipping his hands underneath to give her bum a tight squeeze. "So soft, so round, so supple." He nipped lightly at her skin with his teeth before placing a kiss on one inner thigh, then the other. He lifted up one of her legs, sitting up slightly so that he could press his mouth to the spot behind her knee.

"Sherlock…" she moaned.

He stopped what he was doing and peered down at her. "Hmmm?" He raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"Are you – are you quite finished?" she whispered, raising her head to look at him.

He narrowed his eyes. "Nope." He popped the 'p' causing her to roll her eyes and drop her head back down to the pillow; she was panting slightly. "Why?" he asked.

She took a few deep breaths. "I need you, I want you inside of me."

"Hmmm…" He turned his head, dragging his nose along the inside of her leg which he was still holding up. His cock twitched. She was spread open for him, beckoning him, begging to be filled.

"Please!" she whimpered, hating it when he did this to her, and yet also loving it.

He smiled against her skin. "I can always finish later." He gave the back of her knee another kiss before moving himself forward, still holding onto her leg, "Should I take you just like this?" He bucked his hips slightly, so that the head of his cock teased her at her wet opening.

"Mmmm!" was the only reply she gave him.

Taking that as a yes he planted his knees more firmly, holding her leg against his chest, her ankle up by his head. He took his cock in his hand and positioned himself directly at her opening, sliding himself into her at an excruciatingly slow pace.

Her mouth formed a silent 'o' as he filled her. He cupped his other hand under her bum, lifting her up slightly off the bed. She wrapped her other leg around his waist, her ankle sitting directly atop his arse cheek. He rolled his hips, a low groan escaping his throat. He quickly settled into a steady rhythm of methodic thrusts, and watched in fascination as her breasts bounced with his movements.

Neither one of them were going to last long. He hadn't realized how hard he had become while lavishing her body with his mouth and tongue. He could sense the all-too familiar build up, and he could feel her beginning to tighten around him. With one final surge of his hips they came together, both crying out.

He gently eased her leg back down to the bed before stretching himself out beside her and collapsing on the pillow. After a moment of catching his breath, he cradled the back of her head with his hand and kissed her.

"Never doubt my love for you," he murmured against her lips. "Never doubt."

She shook her head slightly, stroking his cheek with her fingers. "I won't."

They kissed quietly for a time, before settling down against the pillows. Sherlock dozed sporadically, but Molly stayed awake. She watched the sunlight dance and move across the walls, while listening to his steady breathing. When he shifted slightly, his breathing pattern changed.

"Sherlock?" she spoke softly.

"Mmm …" He turned his head and nuzzled her hair with his nose.

"Why do you like sex?"

He let out a soft huff. "What?"

She picked up her head, pushing herself up so that she was leaning on her arm, his eyes met hers.

"Sex, why do you like it? Knowing you, how you think, the way you view things, everything is so clinical, scientific. I always kind of thought that you would think of sex as being only useful to create life, not to be used for pleasure. 'The body is only transport.'" She tried her best to imitate him, as she said this, her hand on his chest, moving up and over his pectoral muscles. "I never expected you to enjoy it, as you so clearly do."

He grabbed her hand and kissed her fingers. "I used to think of it like that. I never got much pleasure from it. That was back in my uni days, I sort of looked at it as an experiment. Got me chucked out of several beds, that did."

Molly held back a laugh.

"But with you it's entirely different," he continued. "It is still an experiment, but one that I never want to stop working on. I enjoy discovering the noises you make, the way our bodies move together. I enjoy it immensely, every second of it." He dropped his gaze from hers. "Do you know why I turned to drugs? Did Mycroft ever tell you?"

"No," she said softly. "He's never spoken of it with me. Even after your relapse, he never said a word."

Sherlock laced their fingers together before continuing. "My mind is constantly going, it never stops. It is always calculating, taking in new information, storing it, analyzing it. For the most part I love it, I love that my brain has the ability to do this, that I can see things others don't. But it is also extremely exhausting. The voices in my head never grow quiet. That's why I push myself on cases, why I don't eat or sleep, so that once I am finished, I can collapse; delve into a deep sleep where there is no more noise.

"When I first discovered drugs it was cannabis but that only dulled my mind slightly, made the voices background noise. It wasn't enough. I tried cocaine next, and that was horrible. It only made everything more intense. And then I discovered heroin. That was complete and utter bliss. Everything died away. All that was left was silence. It was wonderful. But it was also extremely dangerous. It nearly killed me. If it hadn't been for Mycroft, it would have. That's why he keeps such a close eye on me." Sherlock stopped talking, taking a few steadying breaths before raising his eyes to look at her. "When I'm with you, holding you, touching you, kissing you, there is no more noise. You silence all of the voices in my head. When our bodies are connected, I only feel and hear you."

Molly pressed her lips to his, kissing him deeply. He clung to her, holding her tightly up against him, returning the kiss with passion.

They spent the rest of the day in bed, alternating between dozing and ravishing each others bodies. Mrs. Hudson popped into the flat with tea during one of these ravishing sessions, and Molly had to clamp her hand over Sherlock's mouth when he was about to yell at Mrs. Hudson to go away. Molly started to giggle when he glared at her. She bit down on her bottom lip to muffle a moan when he began to continue to thrust into her, not exactly giving a damn if Mrs. Hudson heard them. He was quite certain she already had. As soon as Molly was certain that Mrs. Hudson had returned downstairs she cried out, dropping her hand away from Sherlock's mouth to clutch at the bed sheet.

By the time they did surface from the bedroom it was late evening. After they had eaten the leftover food from Angelo's, Molly went to take a shower with distinct instructions for Sherlock not to join her. She left him pouting in his chair.

After she surfaced from the steaming bathroom, toweling her hair dry, she began to search for her clothes which had been strewn about the flat. She quickly found her shirt and jumper, then her skirt and bra, but nowhere in sight were her pants.

"Sherlock, where are my knickers? Have you seen them?" she asked.

He was sat on the sofa, once more wrapped up in a dressing gown, tapping away at his laptop. He gave a shrug in reply.

"Where the hell could they be?" she wondered.

He turned his head away from his laptop and looked at her. "Why not just go knicker-less?"


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Hmmm ... what could he be up to? *wiggles eyebrows*

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