Since Sherlock's return and that one kiss she had initiated, Molly had been consumed alternately by guilt for kissing him, being an engaged woman, and by longing to see him again.

She had pretended nothing was wrong when Tom asked her why she was so quiet, but when Tom kissed her, his face would be replaced by an image of Sherlock in her mind. But he didn't kiss the way Sherlock did. His lips didn't cause hers to tingle. Slowly, but surely, Molly was withdrawing, although she pretended nothing was amiss, and her fiancé was happily oblivious to her inner thoughts.

When Sherlock's text finally came in, she lost no time in going to see him. She wanted, no - needed to see him. All thoughts of Tom disappeared from her head.

She was embarrassed when she arrived and Sherlock started to move towards her, saying her name in that sexy voice of his, discombobulating her to the extent that she blurted out the have dinner thing without meaning to, then trying to back track when she realised he had only been asking for her help. Therefore, it had completely confused her when his words belied his actions and he kissed her again. He was an enigma, cool and efficient one moment, hot and passionate the next. Where the kiss might have led if the doorbell hadn't rung, she didn't know.

She was shy at first, acting as assistant, afraid she would mess up, but Sherlock had explained to her his deductions with each client, and she had been impressed by the swift deductions and simple solutions. In between clients, he would tell her the next case and its circumstances. Once the clients were gone, she decided she should go. She had enjoyed being with him, but she could feel a palpable sexual tension between them. Well, maybe he didn't, but she was very aware of him. Sherlock's request to accompany him to return some hat had convinced her that he too was enjoying her company. Then, when she stood, she realised she wasn't the only one after all who was feeling the electricity between them.

As Sherlock kissed her, and continued to kiss her, urging her mouth open so he could deepen the kiss, she was shocked by how easily she was falling yet again. He was like a drug to her, one she couldn't stay away from, and yet, being with him felt as easy and natural as breathing.

His long fingers moved to her blouse, undoing just enough buttons so he could pull it over her head, and she lifted her arms for him, allowing him to do so, before she in turn fumbled at his jacket button and the shirt buttons beneath. Her fingers trembled with the force of her emotions. She couldn't think straight, and Sherlock gently pushed her hands away so he could finish unbuttoning his shirt and throw it haphazardly on the floor. Then he reached for her bra, trying to unclasp it unsuccessfully until she, this time, removed his hands and did it herself, tossing it onto his shirt.

Sherlock crushed her to him, his hands rubbing circles on her back, even as Molly tangled her fingers through his wonderful hair, luxuriating in the feel of him against her, their heated bodies touching. When he bent down and picked her up in his arms, effortlessly carrying her to his bedroom, a tiny voice told her this was so wrong, but she pushed it aside. How could something that felt so right be wrong? She just knew she loved this man, had always loved him.

He laid her ever so gently on the bed, then continued to kiss her until her body was pulsing with need. One hand remained under her head, as the other moved gently down her throat, his thumb feeling her frantically beating pulse, before settling on her breast and circling it delicately. She gasped as his thumb grazed the sensitive peak, and her gasp seemed to serve as fuel for his own fire.

He removed his mouth from hers to grate, "I want you so much, Molly."

She used the opportunity to try and get her thoughts in order. She wanted him too, but this was oh so wrong. "We..we should not be doing this," she managed to say, unsuccessfully trying to remember why they should not be doing it.

"Why?" he asked, nipping at her earlobe as the thumb of his hand which was encircling her neck moved to feel once again the traitorously leaping pulse at the base of her throat. "We're both consenting adults. Unless you are not consenting? Your body says otherwise, your pulse is racing as fast as mine is."

She struggled again to remember why it was wrong and came up with an answer, even as he feathered kisses along her jawline and his other hand moved to squeeze her other breast gently. "Sherlock! I...I might get pregnant..."

He stopped then and she felt both relieved and disappointed. She watched as he turned away from her and opened his bedside drawer, then fumbled in it. He drew out a square, foil packet and tossed it at her. "Any more objections?"

She couldn't prevent the shocked gasp that escaped her lips. Apparently there were other women she wasn't aware of that he had been with since her, and her eyes blurred with tears. "Was this your plan all along, Sherlock, to just seduce me? How many other women have you been with?"

His eyes widened as he looked at her, and he ran a hand through his hair, suddenly flustered. "Nobody, Molly, I swear. When would I have had time for that sort of thing?" His lips twitched as he added, "Mycroft gave them to me as a joke the other day. He seemed to think I needed a good shag before I got back to work." He rolled his eyes.

"So you...I am just a shag to you?" Tears spilled down her cheeks. She didn't want to think of him as only wanting her for sexual gratification.

He put a hand on either side of her face. "God, no, Molly. I would never think of you like that. You know I'm a man of science, not ruled by sex. I tossed those things into my drawer. I wasn't planning to use them or even thinking of needing them." She could see the sincerity in his eyes as he continued. "But you do things to me, Molly, things I don't understand. There's this - thing inside me when I'm with you. It's like a hunger, or maybe you're a drug to me, I don't know." He searched her face uncertainly, as his brows drew together. "I thought you wanted this too, but if you don't, you had better just leave now." He was breathing hard, and he released his hold on her face to turn away from her, obviously trying to get himself under control.

And she couldn't push him away, she just couldn't. Whether it was just desire or love, he wanted her, needed her, and she was too weak when it came to Sherlock Holmes. She always would be. So she rose onto her knees and wrapped her arms around him from behind. "Don't shag me, Sherlock. Make love to me."

He was still for a moment, then he twisted to embrace her once again, kissing her urgently this time, his hands moving with more assurance as he grasped her breast firmly, then moved to strip her of the remainder of her clothes, before removing his own. His hands reached to release her hair from its ponytail, setting the elastic band on the bedside table, then spreading her hair so it flowed around her shoulders.

"You should wear your hair down more often, Molly," he murmured, threading his fingers through the silken strands. "Like the way you had it that Christmas," he added, and she was surprised that he had paid attention.

He moved away from her then, and she sat there, naked and shivering slightly, waiting for him to come back to her.

He made the necessary preparations, obviously unpracticed as he ripped the foil packet with hands that trembled. She knew then he had spoken the truth, was unsure of himself. She was no help either. She'd only been with him three times, after all, and they hadn't used any protection.

The task eventually accomplished, he continued to kiss her, touching her, readying her, until at last, he was with her, and it was as wonderful as it had been two years earlier. Her body remembered him, enveloped him in her waiting warmth, and she could have cried with the pure joy of it, being with him, the only man who ever made her feel this way.

It was only afterwards, when she lay encircled in his arms that she suddenly recalled why this was so wrong, even more than the shame of compromising her own values yet again. She was engaged to someone else. The guilt hit her full force and she scrambled off the bed, with the intent of getting dressed and leaving, but his voice stopped her in her tracks.

"You aren't going to love me and leave me, are you?" Sherlock asked in a deep voice that she always found irresistible. She had no choice then. She didn't want him to think she was just in it for the shag either, so she forced herself to smile at him and say, "Of course not. Don't you have a hat to return?"

He grinned roguishly and retrieved the elastic band for her hair, handing it to her.

Sherlock was getting dressed when the text came in from Lestrade, asking for his help with a strange case. "I guess we have a detour to make," he remarked, lifting his eyes from his phone to look at Molly. "Are you up for it?"

It was all business again. She knew it would be foolish to expect declarations of undying love, he wasn't like that. And besides, she wasn't free anyway. She was the worst sort of woman. Engaged to someone and refusing to sleep with him, but falling so willingly into her former lover's arms and bed. Should she break up with Tom? If she did, was there a chance for an actual relationship with Sherlock?

These thoughts whirled around her head, even as she said to him, adopting a casual tone that belied her inner turmoil, "A detour? Uh, no problem."

Lestrade's case turned out to be an elaborate hoax someone had perpetrated, and a complete waste of time, as Sherlock remarked, once they were on their way to see the hat guy, Shilcott.

Throughout the conversation with Shilcott and his big train carriage - no, car - enigma, Sherlock kept making little asides to Molly, giving her seductive looks that made her feel as if maybe there was a chance for them if she would just end her engagement. Those looks just made her knees tremble, he was so damned hot.

After the conversation on the stairs, she was ready to confess all, especially when he told her in a deep voice that she was the one who mattered the most. The look in his eyes revealed he wanted her, but his glance shifted and she froze. He had noticed the ring she had forgotten she was still wearing - Tom's ring.

Sherlock took it extremely well, although she heard the raw edge of hurt in his voice - "But you can't do this again, can you?" and the "Congratulations, by the way," after which she hesitatingly explained about Tom. There was no recrimination in his tone though, as he told her she deserved to be happy, then said those parting words, "After all, not all the men you fall for can turn out to be sociopaths." Instead, he kissed her cheek to show there were no hard feelings, he understood. He even smiled, and then he left her. She knew then she had burned her bridges with him. He would not allow himself to be with her again, would never have even considered it, had he known the truth earlier.

And her heart broke as he walked away from her again, this time because of her. It was her own fault.

It was only a couple days later when the news broke about Sherlock preventing the explosion at the Palace of Westminster, the same train car case on which she had accompanied him. John, who had apparently reconciled his friendship with Sherlock, called to invite her over to Baker Street for a celebratory drink, saying that Sherlock had mentioned she was engaged, and inviting her fiancé to come as well.

She accepted the invitation and went to Baker Street, where she introduced Tom, forcing a bright note into her voice when Greg Lestrade asked if it was serious. Oh yeah, she had moved on, she told him, lying through her teeth. She noticed the way Sherlock gave her fiancé a once-over, dismissive glance and blushed. He had to realise Tom was a substitute for him, but it was too late to change things. She had made her bed and she was damned well going to lie in it, because she was the lowest of the low. She'd try to make Tom happy, forget everything that had happened between Sherlock and herself.

But she still couldn't bring herself to sleep with him, and the thought of sex with Tom was an even more unappealing prospect, having experienced the wonder of it again with Sherlock.

Over the next few months, Sherlock and Molly maintained a purely professional relationship, seeing each other only when work dictated it. They weren't really talking very much. He was clearly respecting her relationship, keeping his distance.

Unexpectedly, when he was trying to enlist her help for alcohol quantity for John's stag night, he asked about Tom, and she made a flippant comment about having quite a lot of sex with her fiancé, pretending she had really moved on, that she wasn't staying with Tom just because she had to. She suspected though that he knew she was lying. Sherlock knew her too well.

John and Mary's wedding though, was the straw that broke the camel's back. The way Sherlock looked, dressed up even more than usual, with a tie and waistcoat under a tailcoat, unnerved Molly. She found her eyes drifting to him over and over, during the ceremony, the best man speech, when he played the violin. She was mesmerised by him, hungering for him so badly that she finally had to acknowledge to herself she was being completely unfair to Tom. For months Tom had been pressuring her to set a date for the wedding, and Molly had put him off, saying she was busy at work and couldn't spare the time for planning a wedding. On that evening though, it became crystal clear to her. It was either Sherlock, or it was nobody.

After the reception, after an an intoxicated Tom took her home, he told her he knew she was in love with "that damned detective you couldn't keep your eyes off of all night," and she admitted it, returning Tom's ring and apologising profusely. She felt like a total heel.

Molly set aside her dreams for a family and children of her own as she tried to move on with her life. It was not her destiny to be happy. She would always love Sherlock, but she could never tell him so. He probably hated her now anyway, was just putting up with her reluctantly at work after the way she had betrayed him. Moly had made a fool out of him, and she couldn't blame him if he secretly despised her.

But she would always, always love him.


Author's note: This was a hard chapter to write. I wanted to show how deeply Molly loved Sherlock, and how she got swept away by passion. At the same time, I wanted her to feel the guilt afterwards, the knowledge that she had done something very wrong.

The whole premise of this story is to show that Molly has always loved Sherlock, and been faithful to him, even when she was engaged to Tom. She was not sleeping with both men. Maybe that makes her actions a little less heinous, maybe not. One other thing to remember is that Molly is a flawed human being, just like the rest of us.

Anyway, the thing to remember here too - it is only a dream the real, engaged Molly is having, putting her deepest thoughts and love for Sherlock into a dream where she wonders how things might have gone between them if they had met years earlier, when she was at a different place in her life. That Molly might have acted impulsively, while the "real" Molly is more centred in what she believes and determined to wait for the wedding night to be intimate. But her dream projects her innermost desires, despite herself. We do not control our dreams.

I would be interested to know what you think about this, and whether you understand and sympathize with Molly, or whether you feel she was a horrible person.

Good or bad, your opinions matter and I'd like to hear them:)

Updated with italics and corrections 10/12/18

Revised 11/1/18 Italics removed, visual imagery and characterizations added.