Goodness! First and foremost I owe you all an apology! I am so, so sorry about the delay in posting. RL decided to dump everything on me at once, for some reason. Thank you all for following and reviewing (you too, Guests! Love your comments!) Thanks, of course, to all friends who helped me with editing and research.

A little warning for this chapter: There is some talk of drugs ahead, mostly within the confines of a case.

I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~

Chapter - 10 - Ezy Ryder (Jimi Hendrix)

After giving her a few moments to recover, Sherlock removed the blindfold, helped Molly to her feet, then led her into the bathroom for a bit of clean up. She was a mess. A lovely, lovely mess. Her hair had fallen out of her simple updo and was a tangled mass around her shoulders. She was covered in red slashes from the flogger, though they would be gone soon; he hadn't hit her very hard at any point. But his favourite part, by far, was the congealing cum on her back and arse.

He was loath to clean it.

But he would, of course. It was his job to take care of her and that included not sending her to bed with his drying tag covering her backside. Unless she was being punished; which she wasn't. She had been magnificent.

His eyes fell to the ring on her left hand. His ring. His reaction had taken him by surprise but he was undeniably put off by her reluctance to wear his ring. It wasn't even new information; he knew that she didn't often wear it but it suddenly seemed deeply important that she did. I got my point across, he thought, making himself look away from the accursed thing.

She moved in an almost catatonic state as he removed her garters and stockings. Sherlock wasn't concerned. His wife was fine, just coming down from her high. The flogger had been a huge success. She wasn't in any danger at the moment, just somewhat fragile. She was enjoying the afterglow. As was he.

Propping her up against the sink, he looked at her closely. "Can you stand there for me while I undress?"

Molly nodded.

He smirked and started removing his clothes. Once finished, he went to the shower and turned on the taps. When he faced her again, he found her watching him, staring at his body.

"Enjoying yourself, wife?"

The colour of her face had returned to normal but she instantly blushed. "Arse," she said, looking away.

He chuckled and took her hand, tugging her toward the tub. "I can admit to enjoying my current view, what's the harm in it?" he asked as he maneuvered her under the showerhead.

Molly closed her eyes as the water cascaded over her body. She'd be a little sore from their activities tomorrow. He made a mental note to get her something for the pain as he picked up her shower gel and lathered a soft flannel.

Starting with her neck, Sherlock carefully washed his wife. Molly didn't open her eyes until he got to her thighs.

"Use that," she said, pointing to a different bottle in the corner of the tub.

He set the flannel aside and rinsed his hands clean, then picked up the 'feminine wash' and squirted a small amount on the palm of his left hand.

"Why this?" he asked as he bent slightly and carefully dipped his hand between her folds.

Her eyes closed for several seconds. When she opened them again she said, "It's better… down there. I'm sensitive."

Smiling predatorily, he circled her clit, getting her nice and clean. "You are indeed."

She bit her bottom lip. "I meant that regular soap can be irritating…"

"I know what you meant." He stopped teasing her since his cock was twitching and asked, "Could you turn and rinse for me?"

She faced the spray and Sherlock picked up the flannel once again. He lathered her back, her shoulders and her arms before moving on to her bottom and legs. Once finished, he stood and asked if she'd let him wash her hair.

"Of course I would. Why wouldn't I?"

"Women can be funny about their hair, Molly."

She snorted. "You have the prettiest hair of anyone I know, Sherlock. I doubt you'll mess up mine."

He raised an eyebrow. "My hair is not 'pretty'." At the moment he knew how it would look: frizzed out and puffy from the steam of the shower.

Raising her hands for the first time since they entered the bath, Molly ran her fingers through his damp locks. "I think it's pretty. What's the harm in it?" she said, throwing his words back at him.

Once she had gotten her fill of his curls and had moved her hands to his chest, he tilted her head under the water, making sure it was completely wet. He then worked her shampoo into the roots, scraping his nails against her scalp as he stared down at her. Her eyes were once again closed; she was enjoying his ministrations. Her own nails digging into his pecs was proof enough, but her occasional contented sigh made him smile.

"Time to rinse, Molly," he said, causing her eyes to open. He tilted her head again.

She raised her hands, moving her hair around, making sure all the suds were gone as he reached for her conditioner. They each had different hair care products; his curls took a special kind of care. He had to wash it daily or else he looked like a tramp. Molly's hair, he noticed, was a bit dry and she only washed it every two or three days.

Holding up the bottle he asked, "Ready?"

She smiled and nodded, then Sherlock proceeded to apply the conditioner. Once finished he looked at his bathing partner and noticed a conspiratorial grin on her face.

"Would you like to wash me, wife?" he asked, knowing what she wanted.

"Yes," she answered, picking up his body wash and a flannel.

He grabbed her wrist. "Use your hands," he instructed. Her eyes widened as she poured the soap into her palm. He took the bottle from her, placing it on the shower rack.

Molly's technique mirrored his, to a point. She started with his shoulders and neck, then moved onto his arms before asking him to 'raise them up!' and she playfully lathered his pits, attempting to tickle him. She gave up when she realised that he wasn't ticklish.

"You're no fun!" she pouted.

"Back to business, Mrs. Holmes."

She pursed her lips and grabbed the bottle, adding more soap, then washed his chest and sides. He still didn't laugh; he just wasn't ticklish! Her hands moved around him to his back, then lower, to his bum. She squeezed.

Her little power play was cute until her hands moved to his hips, then lower and lower. She kept her eyes on his as she circled his cock. He was about half hard from watching her wet, naked body move around in the shower and from her arse grabbing. When her left hand slipped lower, however, cradling his balls, his cock started to fill in ernest.

He could see victory in her eyes. They danced with delight as she fisted his dick with her right hand.

Making some very quick plans, Sherlock took Molly's right wrist, gripping it tightly. "You are writing a check, wife, that I'm not sure you can swallow."

Molly giggled. "Are you intentionally mixing metaphors or are you just happy to see me?"

Oh, that's it! Sherlock, quickly, but carefully, pushed her back into the spray. "Let's rinse your hair and we'll see just how happy you are when I'm finished with you."

She laughed as she tried to wiggle out of his hold.

"You're going to make us both fall and then you'll really be in trouble," he scolded, playfully swatting her arse.

He rinsed them both, making sure Molly's hair was free of conditioner, then helped her out of the shower, intent on taking her to the bedroom and making her eat her words (and his dick) to teach his cheeky, little wife a lesson. God! Can I even come three times in one day? She was giggling as he thoroughly dried her breasts when they heard his mobile.

"Damn," he said, picking through his clothes to find the device. When he found it, he unlocked the screen and opened his messages. No dick eating tonight, he thought with a sigh. "It's Lestrade."

"Oh…"

"Sorry," he said, though he didn't know why he was apologising. He looked down at his mobile, putting together the small bit of information that Lestrade had sent him so that he could start his deductions.

"No big deal."

She was disappointed and so was he, frankly, but he had a case (a seven, by the looks of it) and he needed to get dressed.

"Well, I'll… "

He looked up.

Molly had wrapped herself in a towel and opened the door. "See ya, later, Sherlock," she said as she left the room, letting in a gust of cold air.

o0o0o0o0o

The case was an eight, as it turned out. He phoned John on the way to the crime scene. The doctor met him there, which was fine and expected. John was still licking his wounds, he'd come around… eventually.

"Which pathologist is on duty?" Sherlock asked Lestrade after he'd made his initial assessment. He had four theories but needed the autopsy report and tox screen.

"Mills," the DI answered, causing Sherlock to roll his eyes and groan. "I know, I know. He's an incompetent idiot and… not Molly. I've heard it all, Sherlock. I haven't forgotten the LaGrange incident."

Sherlock huffed.

"He's just filling in…" the DI trailed off, a look of annoyance clouding his face. He too, it seemed, was unhappy with Molly's suspension.

"Who's Mills?" John asked. "And what's the 'LaGrange incident'?"

"He used to work at Barts. Left a few months after you started coming around. Sherlock hates him." Lestrade explained. "Mills botched an autopsy on Millicent LaGrange - it was murder but he ruled it an accident - causing his nibs, here," He gestured to Sherlock, "to completely lose his shit in the morgue. Security had to escort him out. He refused to work with anyone but Molly after that."

Sherlock turned away, ignoring the other men and focused on the facts he had collected. Twenty-four-year-old male, stab wound to the ribs. That was not the cause of death, however. Thin strangulation marks on neck - an attempted garrotting? - and obvious head wound - blunt trauma. His right arm lay at an odd angle, and looked severly broken; his left appeared to have been badly burnt. Just his hand though, not his clothing… He was wearing a short sleeve shirt, however, so... Is the burn old? It looked fresh. Missing a single shoe? O...kay.

Sherlock suspected the head wound as the COD, but he would have to wait on Mills to confirm his deduction. Location, his mind moved on. Looking around at the alley, he took in his surroundings. Upscale apartment buildings. Recent gentrification. Unlikely spot for a murder. Most likely dumped. Which would also be confirmed by the autopsy. Molly would have known on sight.

Why would she have been with you?

She might have been. I might have brought her along at… some point.

On a case? Not likely. She's a distraction, nothing more.

"Shut up!" he growled.

"What?" John asked from about ten feet away.

"Nothing. Nevermind." He put some distance between himself and the other two men, who were both looking at him oddly. Moving closer to the body, he refocused his mind. Deductions! I was deducing. Studying the man closely, he made several more observations. Single. Bartender. University drop out. Ahh, flatshares with at least two other males. "John! We need to talk to his flatmates!"

o0o0o0o0o

"Well, that was a total waste of time," John said as he got into the cab.

Sherlock was already composing a text message to a member of his homeless network. "Not really."

"What?" his blogger questioned. "You can't tell me that they had any useful information."

"It's what they didn't say that was useful. That and the fact that they were both high," he explained as he stowed his mobile.

"They were?"

"Extremely. Which tells me two things. One: they did not know their friend was missing and two: they have expensive taste in drugs."

"Is that related to the murder?" John asked.

"Probably not." He pulled his mobile right back out of his pocket and obsessively checked it. He needed that autopsy report. No messages. "But I won't know until we get the tox screen back. Which we're still waiting for and will be for a while because Mills doesn't know the meaning of the word 'expediency'."

"So we're off to Barts to light a fire under this Mills?

"No. He'll move slower if he knows I'm working the case. Lestrade's keeping my name out of it. Trust me, I'd prefer to have the opportunity to take my frustration out on the moron, but..."

John laughed. "Want to go home and shout at Molly, then? Ya know, for old time's sake."

"I do not shout at Molly, John. I never did." Did I? he wondered. "We've been getting along quite well, if you must know."

"Really?" He looked at the passing scenery. "Where are we going, by the way?"

"I need to speak to someone about the stoners."

"And you just have someone for that, I suppose?"

"Actually, I do," Sherlock said. "His name is Mickey and he knows all the high-end drug dealers in the area."

"High end?"

With a roll of his eyes, Sherlock explained, "There's dirt drugs, John. Smack, crack, low-quality weed. And posh ones. Cocaine, hashish, MDMA, PCP, Salvia. There are mid-range ones too, but that's beside the point and also depends on the distributor. What matters is that those boys were using just outside their price range. We need to find out who sold them the PCP - if I'm correct - and if it has anything to do with their friend's death."

o0o0o0o0o

Mickey directed them to a small time dealer by the name of 'Jam' and also gave them a couple of other names if he didn't pan out. By this time it was one in the morning and John begged off. He had clinic hours the next day and needed sleep. All in all, Sherlock felt like their first case together had gone well, so far.

He could admit that he had been slightly apprehensive about what version of his best friend he would encounter when they met at the crime scene. Whatever transpired between the doctor and his wife after the restaurant must have been positive because he seemed much more like his old self. Sherlock wasn't about to inquire as to John's feelings on the subject. He'd had quite enough of that for one evening. Besides, if he wanted to find out, he could just ask Molly.

Molly…

His mind drifted to his wife as he walked the streets looking for this Jam, though he kept his eyes alert for signs of danger. The area wasn't exactly rough but it wouldn't pay to let his guard down.

Her absolute submission to him earlier had been sublime. She was perfect when she gave into her own needs and let him have her completely. Her response to the flogger had driven him mad, though he wasn't shocked. He'd damn near driven his hard cock into her soaking wet snatch when he finally freed himself. She had presented a tempting picture posed as she was, her red arse high in the air, lust actually dripping out of her.

Sherlock had never wanted anything so badly as he wanted Molly Holmes in that moment.

Not drugs, not cases, not the thrill of the chase.

For all of three seconds, it had scared the hell out of him. What did it mean? Why was he experiencing these feelings? Would she take advantage if she figured out how much he wanted her?

Then she had sighed contentedly, her head dropping to the floor as she recovered and all was right with the world. His panic fled as quickly as it had come.

This was Molly. She didn't take advantage of people. She gave. And how would she figure it out anyway? Well, okay… she did tend to see him when others didn't, but nonetheless. As for the 'feelings', they were nothing more the endorphins and hormones. Sex was powerful, he had very nearly forgotten just how powerful. It had been years since he'd experienced regular orgasms and it would simply take some getting used to.

And he could easily get used to having a ready and willing Molly waiting for him when he came home...

Looking around, Sherlock found himself near the basement pub that Mickey had described. He entered and started scanning for Jam. He hoped to find some answers and get the case solved as quickly as possible.

He had far more interesting things planned for his wife in the near future.

Oh, Sherlock, you poor delusional fool! More to come. I'll chapter 11 as soon as it's back from my beta to make up for the lag in posting. Please give me a shout out and tell me what you think. Thanks for reading. ~Lil~

Additional note: the song

Ezy Ryder makes mention of 'angel dust' another name for PCP (the drug the flatmates had used), hence the title chapter. I wanted to point this out in case any of you weren't as... familiar with drugs and Hendrix as I am ; )