For TheNewJefferson, as a birthday prompt fill. She requested Domestic Sherlolly, and while it started there, it didn't stay. And it's all her fault.
This one is rated T+, because well it ends in a rather intimate place.
Lazy days were rare, but treasured at Baker Street. Molly had moved in a few month after the second showdown with Moriarty made Sherlock rather forcibly reveal his heart both to her and to the whole world in one go. Now that the hullabaloo died they had settled into a familiar domestic pattern together and when a rare day with no cases met with a weekday off for Molly the two would happily find themselves curled up together on the couch with the cat beside, on top or in between them as they read from separate books.
This particular lazy day found them sequestered on opposite ends of the sofa, legs tangled together as they sat engrossed within their respective tomes. Sherlock had a copy of an old chemistry text book from the past century while Molly was giving a fiction series that her friend had just raved and demanded she read a go. Apparently it was a hit because Molly had become engrossed within its pages.
"Good book then?" He asked.
Molly didn't answer. She just kept in reading, her eyes busy scanning the pages behind her thick glasses, while the fingers of one hand played over her lips as a smile played across them.
"Molly?"
Still no response. Instead she flipped yet another page and kept right on reading. Irritated by her blatant snub, Sherlock groused to himself. What was going on!? Where were the days when Molly paid him and he alone her undivided attention? It was enough to set him into a flipped another page, while Sherlock continued to silently suffer, his interest in his own book past.
Days later, and Molly had spent each free moment at work or home with her nose buried deep into her novel. Sighing every so often, and more and more often than not her eyes showing the tell tale signs of arousal. Arousal from a book? That offended his as well. It wasn't as though Molly and he had any challenges in that department. In fact, he'd be so bold as to say that they were two very evenly matched sexual partners. But, could it be that Molly's taste where changing? He then researched the books and was saddened to learn that six hundred pages were far from sufficient enough to tell the tale. In fact there were seven more books had been required to tell the story of Claire, a history tossed nurse and Jaime, her passionate second husband. Sherlock could see where Molly could empathize with the nurse, but did she have to be so caught up in the tale of the woman and the Blasted Outlander?
Or, could she really now be dreaming of a Scotsman rather than a Consultant? Well if it was a Scotsman she wanted, Sherlock would try to oblige her deepest, unspoken wishes.
When Molly got home that evening, the last thing she expected to find in the flat was Sherlock dressed in a kilt, surrounded by the glow of six dozen candles while the sounds of bagpipes and drums filled air around him. "Sherlock..." Molly questioned and he spun towards her.
"Ah, hello there 'lass. I'm so glad that ye have returned home to me finally." He spoke in a heavy perfect Scottish accent as he stormed over to her and pulled her into his arms, tight against his chest. "T'was taking ye near forever to come back to me."
"Sherlock?!" Confusion spun over her mind. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Hush now." He softly sang. Well, spoke, but to Molly's ears the lilt in his voice was as beautiful as any music she'd ever heard. "Ye need not be scairt of me my dear. Nor anyone else, so long as I, Jamie Fraiser am here." Fingers began trailing up her neck, tickling around her ears, before working to pull at the bun she'd worn to work today.
Suddenly what he was doing clicked in Molly's head. Sherlock was trying to role play. Her Sherlock. He was doing this 'act' for her. That was... It was incredibly sweet. Therefore, it only made sense that she burst into a huge fit of giggles.
"Molly?" He asked, all traces of the accent removed. "What happened? Did I get it wrong? Dammit, I practiced!" The confession only served to make her giggle louder, sending her bending over in laughter, tears brimming in her eyes. Sherlock led her to a chair, settling her down into it before she fell before he stomped over to the iPod and shut off the music.
"Oh, now don't be like that!" Molly giggled. "That really was so... Sweet of you Sherlock!" The shaking laugh returning as he flung himself down on the sofa, pouting and crossing his arms across his chest. For some reason, Molly started laughing again.
"What!?" He thundered, sending her a dark look.
"You clearly don't have much experience wearing a kilt, do you?" Her grin was blinding in its amusement.
"Of course not! I got it simply to please you. Not that that worked." He roared, but his curiosity got to him. "What gave it away?"
"The way you are sitting, darling." Molly stood and walked to him, settling herself onto his lap."I can see your lovely tight, white pants. You haven't learned that must sit with your knees together. Unless you are putting on a little show for me." Blushing, he murmured an embarrassed 'oh', before closing his legs and resuming his pouting, looking everywhere but at her.
"Sherlock, this is a wonderful surprise, you just caught me off guard. I never imagined I'd come home to you doing something like this for me. I'm sorry if I'm not living up to my part of the deal."
"I don't often do things for your benefit alone, but I wanted to try." Sherlock admitted. "You've been so consumed by the Fraiser man of late, that I wanted to remind you that I'm here to help you with any sexual needs you have, you don't have to pine after some fictional literary hero."
Molly soothed a hand through his hair, gently tilting his face till he gave in and looked at her. "Do you know what I like so about the Outlander series, Sherlock?"
"Not a clue." He huffed. "Romance novels make little sense to me. What could two fictional characters romance mean to a person? It's idiotic, really."
"I'm just going to pretend you never said that." She narrowed her eyes. " I like the series because it's about a fairly modern woman with a passable amount of medical knowledge put into extraordinary, ridiculous, yes, I know. I mean time traveling? Really? But it's under those strange circumstances, where she meets Jamie. Oh and Jamie, let me tell you about Jamie Frasier. Well for one thing he's tall. His hair, while more red it's described as almost multicolored thanks to all the colors in contained and it is all in these wild curls." Molly's hands twirled themselves into his own curls." His eyes are slanted and dark blue above his high cheekbones and strong chin."
Her fingers now trailed along Sherlock's own similar features.
"As for the rest of him, he's proportionally muscular to his leaning frame, I'll admit that's rather appealing but his body has scars. Lots of scars after all, he's an extremely intelligent man but with a proud streak that can get him and his companions into trouble, stubborn as a mule but who'd do anything for those he loves and trust, not matter the personal cost. Sound like anyone you know?"
He studied her closely. "You like him so much because he reminds you of... Me?"
Molly leaned in and kissed him, soundly and lingering close. "Mmhmm."
"So you don't prefer him to me?" He clarified clearly embarrassed to ask her.
"No you daft fool!" Molly peppered kisses over his face." I love you, and I want only you. You are perfectly exceptional and wonderful and perfect just as you are. Why would I want an imaginary man when I have you? And you are exceptional, sir.
In fact, one day I imagine that someone will write all about your adventures with you as a handsomely Fatally-flawed character and people everywhere will swoon over you and your beautiful mind and equally gorgeous bum." She giggled again. "Although, for some reason I keep imagining that they'll make John your love interest, as much as people do these days."
"I hope I am not simply remembered for my adventures with John." He huffed.
"Oh you wish to be remembered for the deerstalker? Perhaps your groundbreaking work on Tobacco ash?" Hands raising to stroke her sides sensually before moving his fingers he retaliated.
"That's enough of you, missy!" He assaulted her rib cage with his nimble fingers, causing her the thrash in his arms. "I may not be Jamie Frasier, but I'll not be putting up with and sass from the likes of you"
Oh the accent was back. Molly smiled up at him. "And just what have you in mind then!" Sherlock lifted her onto his shoulder, carrying her as easily even as she wiggled.
"Oh I'll show you. I have a lesson to teach ye, just you wait. After all, did you know Sherlock is a Scottish name?"
"No, it not!" Molly shrieked as she was tossed into the bed "And I have a lesson to teach you as well!" Her eyes shown bright and mischievously.
"And what could that be, Molly Mine?" He said climbing slowly up the bed over her.
"What you should wear under that kilt of yours." Sherlock's lips and teeth were on Molly's ears, nibbling along the outer shell. Molly allowed a low moan to escape her as her eyes dropped shut from his attentions.
After a moment he pulled back just enough to whisper to her, "and just what would that be, m'dear?"
Swiftly flipping them, Molly pinned him below her and then with her fingers reaching slowly down him, seeking the edge of the kilt she answered. "Lipstick."
Note: Clearly I own nothing, just borrowing for entertainment form Moffit,Gatiss and an extra shout out to Diana Gabaldon. Enjoy!
