"Molly Hooper?"
"Yes? Who's asking?"
Bang!
Molly nearly levitated from the bed as she sat up. Her hands flew to her head. For the past few days, she'd had the same dream every night. The 'what if' dream. What if she'd answered the mysterious gunman? In each dream, she was shot, she could feel the bullet boring into her brain and she knew she was dying. Every time it was the same, except at the end when she laid on the pavement and watched the assailant fade away. Each time the person was different. Once it had been Moriarty, another time her ex-fiancé Tom and this latest round, Janine.
Perhaps that was progress, Janine was far less frightening than Moriarty. Even if she was infinitely more irritating.
"Nightmare?" A deep voice rumbled out of the dark.
Molly looked in Sherlock's direction. He was shrouded, a shadowed shape occupying a chair in the corner of the room.
"It's fine," Molly replied. "Why aren't you in bed?"
"Someone keeps thrashing around about the same time every night. I thought I would save myself the trouble of being roused by flailing limbs."
"Um, sorry."
"Don't be," he waved his hand. "It wouldn't be an issue if you didn't have a tendency to gravitate to my side and displace me."
She felt her face heat. "Why didn't you tell me?"
He hesitated a moment before answering gruffly. "You are in much greater need of sleep than myself."
Molly chewed her lip. She reached over and turned on the bedside lamp. It didn't have a very bright bulb and just barely cast enough light to make his eyes glitter against his pale skin.
Dark brows drew together. "Do not concern yourself with me. You should rest."
She cleared her throat. She felt stuck in limbo these past few days. Every morning she was escorted to her job by a pair of burly, Brummie brothers who had to be from another planet because she couldn't understand half of what they said. Then she methodically went through her work day trying not to picture herself as one of the corpses on her table as the agents, Leem and Fil (their mother had a spelling problem), argued over football. The brothers were a welcome diversion at times, both of them were Godawfully good-looking and their discourse was hilarious but she couldn't shake the constant feeling of dread. At lunch, she would visit Paula who continued to fight for her life but hadn't made much progress otherwise. At the end of her day, Molly rode in a large black sedan, which reminded her of something out of a funeral procession, back to Baker Street where she spent the evening alone until Sherlock showed up. It hardly made sense to play girlfriend and boyfriend anymore when, besides a brief account she relayed to him about what she recalled about the shooting, they hadn't really spoken. Then there were the nightmares to look forward to during her attempts at slumber.
She took a deep breath. Something had to give.
"I keep having the same bad dream," her voice quavered. "Though, instead of Paula, it's me. Over and over, it's me but I don't have the same fortune as she did and I die. I need something else to think about, Sherlock. I need a distraction."
He stilled in the corner. "What kind of distraction?"
Molly flipped back the covers. She had skipped the second outfit and gone straight to her new satin tank and boy-short ensemble minus any underwear. She gingerly hopped out of bed and stretched. Goose bumps sprung up as her top lifted and cool air fanned over her tummy. She felt her nipples tighten as well which tingled as the slippery fabric brushed over them. It was the chill, she told herself, not the absolutely stormy look on Sherlock's face as he took in the sight of her with next to nothing on.
She sauntered by him. "Well, you think about it. I'm going to use the loo. Be right back."
Once out in the hall, she clutched her churning stomach and sprinted to the bathroom. She had never, never been so bold with a man in her life. She looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. Skin flushed and very pink. Hair a tad messy. Eyes wide with apprehension. She danced back and forth on her toes. What was she doing? She had just thrown down a massive, garish, jewel encrusted gauntlet. There was no way he mistook her challenge.
She splashed a bit of water against her skin, brushed her hair and gargled a bit of mouthwash. She even sniffed her armpits and checked the smoothness of her legs which she had shaved earlier. There was nothing that should turn him off. Well, unless it was something she had no control over, like the size of her breasts.
She bit her lip as she appraised their modest appearance. They actually looked quite nice, she thought. They were small enough that they didn't droop and her nipples were perky and inviting outlined beneath the flimsy top. Her confidence faltered though. What if he rebuffed her advance? What if she returned to the bedroom and he had left? She would die and it would be much more painful burning up from humiliation than getting shot in the head.
Molly cracked the door open and peered down the hall. She steeled her nerves with a long intake of air and padded back to Sherlock's room.
He was gone.
Molly laid a hand over her chest as her heart twisted painfully in her chest. She was about to hiccup when his voice, low and deep reverberated behind her.
"You are surprisingly hasty in the bathroom."
Molly turned to face him in his pajamas and dressing gown. He had an unreadable expression of stone in the weak light. She reached up and started fiddling with her hair. She had pretty much spent all the boldness she had with her suggestion that he distract her. She had no idea what to do next.
She laughed timidly. "I –ah- I thought you had left."
His lids dropped lazily as his eyes skimmed down her form. "Apologies, I had to retrieve something."
"O-oh. What?"
He crooked a brow. His pupils expanded and contracted in an instant. His lips parted just before he replied.
"Protection."
Molly curled her toes. Her stomach tightened. Goosebumps washed over her like a tide. Never had such a practical, pragmatic word sounded so drench-your-knickers sexy. A swarm of Monarch butterflies took flight in her gut.
"So, the question becomes," Sherlock murmured as he moved towards her, "what is the best way to take your mind off things?"
She stared up at him. Her eyes were so wide, they felt parched. She clenched and dampness gather between her legs in anticipation.
"I don't know. It's a bit blank at the moment, actually."
He smiled in a way that was devastating to her equilibrium. "Hmm, you make this too easy for me, Molly Hooper. I think we need to raise your expectations."
She couldn't help it. He terrified her in such a thrilling way. She paced back against the bed as he stepped closer. He smirked, shuffled out of his dressing gown and draped it across the side table. Then, his long, graceful fingers worked their way down the buttons of his night shirt, exposing his lean torso as he went. Molly's fingers twitched. He was too slow. When he got to the last button, she gathered her courage and stepped up to him. She sucked in a breath, raised her head and pushed the garment off his shoulders.
Damn, he really was a work of art. His skin was pale and smooth, and he looked like something painstakingly formed by God himself (if there were such a being), yet he was all hard angles and taut sinew under flesh. He was so utterly and coarsely male. Tentatively, she touched his heated skin and let out a little sigh as she swept her fingers over his chest with its light dusting of hair, and down over his ribs to his waist. His breath hitched. She looked up into black pupils surrounded by just a thin strip of green. His nostrils flared.
Then his hands were on her as well, clutching her to his frame where her breasts pushed up against him. He smoothed them up the sides of her thighs, over her bum to just the top of her posterior where they held her possessively. He dropped his head until their lips were but a whisper apart.
"I'm supposed to be distracting you, remember?" He grumbled.
"Yes, and you are doing a fan-fucking-tastic job . . . more, please," she said breathily.
Sherlock nudged her with his once with his lips, then again and then came down forcefully and hot. Fingers dug into her flesh and he kissed her as if he couldn't get enough. She opened her mouth immediately and licked along his lips. He made a growling sound and responded in kind.
She wanted more, so much more as their skin stuck together and their mouths wrestled. Her hands lowered to his bottoms and snuck underneath his waistband where she savored the feel of his perfectly rounded arse. His hand moved from her waist to her shirt where he hooked it with his thumbs, skimmed it up over head and tossed it aside.
She felt a pulse between her legs as the air first stimulated her nipples and then his chest hairs tickled their peaks. He dipped his chin and looked down at her mostly naked form. The flesh she had felt stir between them was now straining, rock hard and pressing against her insistently through his clothing. Her tummy quivered as she contemplated the length of him from her hip to belly button.
"Molly, I have said some blasphemous untruths about the size of your breasts," he whispered hoarsely. "Can you forgive me?"
She nodded as the reality of what they were doing seeped into her brain. Sherlock Holmes was hot for her, they were all but naked and about to engage in very naughty behavior. She felt something skitter along her spine. This was it, there was no going back from here. It was either the beginning or the end for them.
A moment of fear gripped her chest and she almost couldn't breathe. "I can forgive you for that, Sherlock. I can almost forgive you for anything, you know?"
His hands temporarily lightened on her skin. His eyes shadowed for a moment.
"Yes, I do. Molly . . ."
She kissed him quickly. "No, don't respond. I would rather not engage in hate sex with you right now."
He laughed. "Fair enough."
He ran his tongue over his teeth. His eyes constricted. He held her gaze as his fingers tugged at her shorts. He then slunk down and kissed her belly and her hip as he removed them. She sunk her hands into his decadently soft hair as he lingered below. He cupped her bottom as he brushed his lips down over her thigh. A shudder went through the length of her as once again, she flushed between her legs.
Her head fell back. "Mmph, Sherlock, I'm dying here."
"Patience, Molly. I'm trying not to rush things. You are not making this easy."
He stood and picked her up before laying her out along the bed. He stretched out beside her and kissed her shoulder as his hand travelled the length of her body and parted her thighs. Her breath caught as he rubbed his palm over her sex.
"God, that feels so good," she moaned
His breaths were hot against her neck as he buried his face there. She parted legs with a sigh and gripped his shoulder as he slid his finger into her wet warmth. Again, she vibrated from head to toe. He groaned. His cock twitched against her leg.
"I had plans which you are thoroughly disrupting," he rasped. "Every time I touch you, I feel like I am going to burst."
She huffed between ragged breaths. "Oh, screw your plans! Ack, take your bottoms off now!"
His teeth dragged gently over her collarbone as he acquiesced with a sound that rattled his chest. He flipped away from her for a second. Then returned, sans pants, and dragged her under his heavy frame. She gulped as his large erection seared her belly. He closed his eyes and ground himself against her. She felt every ridge and ripple of him along her sensitive flesh.
He panted. "Molly, I have a condom but . . . Christ, my head keeps shouting at me that I'm insane but I don't want to put it on. I want to feel everything about you."
Oh, her insides went all squidgy. She was such a wicked girl. She had been thinking exactly the same thing, that is, what it would be like to feel his flesh sliding against hers. She gulped.
"Um, well, I am on the pill, I-I guess," she whispered.
"Terrible! Terrible idea," her conscience screamed as she wriggled beneath him, "but . . . yaaas!"
His eyes flared and he shook his head. "We can't both be insensible. Just say the word . . ."
"Um, yeah, if either of us had any better judgment we would not be in this position in the first place."
He raised himself up on an elbow and gazed down with such a tender expression, her heart melted. His hands framed her face for a few seconds. A curl fell over his brow. Yes, she was insatiably horny at that moment, but she also realized right then that she loved him. Like, not the hopeless infantile infatuation she'd suffered through the past few years, but the kind of love that could crush a person with its weight. She ached to tell him.
"Sherlock . . ."
His head descended and his mouth pressed against hers quickly. She felt his hips lift for a moment and then, something large and very hard nudge between her legs. Her head fell back with a gasp as his head penetrated and pushed into her body.
"Unh, oh, dear God."
She almost couldn't bear it as he inched inwards. She felt filled, stretched to the point just before pain, and knew she was ruined for anyone else for the rest of her life. To be invaded this way by him was to be claimed. She tilted her hips and opened her legs wider. The more she had of him, the more she wanted.
"Molly!" He grumbled.
She cried out as he plunged to her depths with a curse. She almost felt split open as his hips slammed into hers. He paused for a moment and kissed her gently.
"Are you alright?"
She nodded as her body adjusted to his size. She took a shaky breath. Sherlock had her pinned to the bed and she'd been impaled by his impossibly hard cock. She gripped him with her inner walls as the first knot of tension formed in her belly. She could almost come right then. He brushed his lips against her jaw and began to move, slowly dragging out of her at first, only to ease back inside. Her hands trailed down his muscular back to his bum. The pressure built as she felt him flex beneath her hands. Over and over he moved within her, ratcheting up the taut strain on her nerves. It was oh-so, mouth-wateringly good.
"Umm," she sighed.
With each glide, the ache between her thighs increased until she was bent against and clinging to him, wholly focused on that delectable friction and greedy to find her release. His thrusts came quicker, harder then and the bed shook underneath them. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he breathed heavily into her collar. He shifted his hips, changed his angle and in a few quick strokes, her legs were shaking. She held her breath as the whirling vortex that was her impending orgasm started flying apart. One more plunge and a pulse ripped through her sex. She jerked against him as involuntary spasms radiated out from her clit and made her clench and unclench along his length.
"God, Molly . . ."
He penetrated her a couple more times then pulled out of her. She felt his cock twitch and something warm and liquid spill out across her belly. His lips found hers briefly as his body convulsed with his release. Then he collapsed to the side of her, panting heavily.
"S-sorry," he rasped. "Give me a second and I'll get you a towel."
Molly nodded. Normally, being covered with seed would be a bit icky but she felt owned by him. He'd thoroughly plundered her body, his scent clung to her and evidence of his pleasure slicked her tummy. When he returned with a damp hand towel and cleaned her, her face burned.
"Stop," he murmured as he tossed the towel in the laundry basket in the corner.
Molly chewed her lip. "Hmm?"
He slid into bed and pulled her against him. She felt him kiss the top of her head.
"Stop overthinking it," he said.
"I-I'm not."
"Mm, hmm."
But he was right. She had got exactly what she wanted, the mother of all distractions, but instead of soothing away her fears, she was more terrified than she'd ever been in her life.
