Jim had had a rough day. His meetings hadn't gone as well as he'd hoped; terrorist cells were getting a lot more difficult to blackmail these days, it wasn't good for business. On top of that, he'd spent all day being distracted, and to add insult to injury, Sebastian had just spilled whiskey all over his Valentino trousers. Jim had flipped. All the day's pent up frustrations had built up inside him and this was the final straw. He'd had Sebastian pinned to the wall by his throat within seconds, thumbs pressed against his windpipe, making him squirm and splutter out apology after apology before he was finally released, dropping to the ground like a crumpled rag doll. Jim brushed his hands off on the lapels of his jacket. He hated having to do things like that – he wasn't a big one for getting his hands dirty.
"Get up. I need you to take this suit to the dry cleaners. NOW!" He stalked into his bedroom to change.
"Someone's a little touchy today," Sebastian muttered, picking himself up off the carpet and feeling more than a little shaken. His boss had been in a strange mood recently, which meant that he'd been snapping at insignificant things. But that was the first time in a long time that Sebastian had been so violently thrown at a wall…Well, not in this context anyway. He smirked as he straightened his tie and crossed to the bedroom to collect Jim's suit.
"What did you say?" Jim stuck his head around the door. He was in the process of changing, wearing only silk boxers and his shirt and tie. His eyes were blazing with anger, but he didn't feel entirely comfortable accosting Sebastian dressed as he was. He had to maintain some level of dignity. He could already tell that his distraction and lack of his usual authority over the last few weeks were playing on Moran's mind and he needed to regain control.
"Absolutely nothing, sir. Shall I go to the one around the corner? They'll probably be closed…"
"Tell them I sent you and you won't have any trouble, trust me. Now go! And try not to damage it any more on your way. Your utter incompetence astounds me."
"Consider it done, sir." Sebastian left the flat in a hurry. He hadn't asked what had happened with the girl last night…because he didn't need to. Although Jim was unlike any other person he'd ever met, Sebastian had worked for him long enough now to be able to read his emotions like an, admittedly very complex, book.
Jim flopped backwards onto his bed. He had lost all his energy after that little outburst. Molly was still spinning around in his mind. He really needed a big job to distract him, something…challenging. He wondered what Sherlock was up to. Now that was going to be the biggest job he'd undertaken in a while, but he had to wait. Not everything was perfectly in place yet. But Molly was. Everything always has a way of coming back around to her at the moment. He exhaled heavily and covered his face with his hands, screwing up his eyes. Bloody Hooper.
He lay there for another minute or so before making a decision. He needed to get her out of his system and he needed to do it quickly. Pulling on another suit, he left the flat in a hurry. One more night wouldn't hurt. He needed to binge on what he desired so that he could ultimately purge it from him, all in one go.
Molly had just arrived home when there was a knock at her door. She'd had a very long day at the morgue. By two o'clock, her feet had been killing her from wearing heels, something she normally only did for a handful of hours at a time. By half past three, she'd forgotten she was wearing so much makeup and managed to smudge it wearily rubbing her eyes as Sherlock muttered to himself in a corner, surrounded by ever-mounting piles of paper. By quarter to six, she'd used up all her Post-it notes decorating her computer and every paperclip she could find was connected to another. Lestrade had left as his wife was demanding him home for tea – Molly assumed they were currently in the 'on' position of their on-and-off unstable relationship. It hadn't stopped him taking one last long lingering look at her as he left, starting at her aching feet and travelling lecherously up her legs before reaching her chest. And then it was just her and John. John who had been incredibly on edge all day. John who had bought her a packet of crisps from the vending machine and insisted on paying for them. John who said that he was more than happy to stay and lock everything up for her if she wanted to get home a little early, as they had no idea how much longer Sherlock would insist on staying. And John who had, after helping her on with her jacket, stammeringly asked if she'd be available to go for a drink over the next week. Dream Molly had temporarily abandoned her and Real Molly had floundered a little, blushing beetroot and ducking out of the room without giving any kind of firm answer. But now as she thought back on it, she smiled. John was sweet. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to have some harmless fun. Drinks with a friend could always lead to more…who knew?
These thoughts were completely blown from her head as she opened the door. Jim stood in the doorway, chewing gum, hands in pockets, looking completely uninterested. Molly was dumbstruck. She surreptitiously pinched herself behind her back to check that this was real. And upon realising that it was, she could barely contain herself. Whether this newfound confidence was from the clothes, the ego boost of being asked out or a result of the strange power Jim seemed to have to let something loose in her, it didn't matter. She grabbed him by the tie and pulled his mouth to hers hungrily, barely stopping to close the front door. For the briefest of seconds, he was taken aback. But this surprise soon melted into acceptance and then enjoyment. They were barely at the sofa by the time Molly had thrown his suit jacket to one side and was beginning to work on unfastening his belt. Jim had no second thought for his clothes this time, apart from how to remove them as quickly as possible. His hands were scrabbling with the buttons of her blouse and he cursed himself for being so unfocused. He could make short work of any woman's clothes usually, but Molly had the power to distract him to the point of immobility…that thing she was doing with her tongue…
They collapsed onto the sofa in a tangle of naked limbs. Molly couldn't quite believe this was happening at all. In a minute, I'm going to wake up alone and drenched in sweat, I can tell. No matter, it was a damn good dream to be having so she decided to make the most of it. There was no way anything that was instigated by drinks with John Watson could make her feel like this. She felt ridiculous for even considering it.
Several hours later, they both lay on the floor of Molly's living room, staring wordlessly up at the peeling paint of the ceiling and panting a little. They were exhausted. Jim's heading was spinning a little and Molly was pretty much speechless. Their appetites were satiated…for now. Molly watched Jim's chest rise and fall heavily and fought the urge to rest her head on it. She dared not move in case she disturbed the atmosphere and the moment was lost. Because right now, she was the happiest she'd been in a very long time. There was something about Jim and the things he did, the way he made her feel…in this instance, she felt like Dream Molly was a thing of the past. She was no longer a dream. Molly Hooper felt invincible.
Jim was unable to think straight. Any intentions he'd had of purging her from his system were long gone. He didn't know if would be able to, especially now. Just thinking about the past few hours made him feel even more tired. They had violated every surface in the room. Yet again, they were both covered in bruises and bite marks and long red scratches. His whole body ached, but in the positive way muscles feel after a satisfying workout. That had been a most satisfying workout indeed. One that he wished to repeat, as soon as he had his strength back. But until then…
Jim propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at Molly. She turned to stare unblinkingly up at him with those wide innocent eyes. He knew that that was all a façade…there was very little that was innocent about Molly Hooper. Without a word, he leant down and brushed her lips tenderly with his own. All of the previous aggression and immediate driving desire were gone. What was left after that took Molly's breath away. The kiss was so gentle but simultaneously purposeful, so unlike anything she'd ever experienced before. It was unlike anything Jim had experienced. And he was a man with a lot of experience. But this felt different. What is wrong with you? His mind was screaming desperately at him. To quiet the voice at the back of his mind, he kissed her again. His hands tangled in her hair as he pulled her face to his, kissing her ever so softly. Just for now, he didn't want to think about what it meant.
