"I'm surprised it took you this long to get to the bedroom, after cases you're always so…" Molly giggled and smiled nervously as she followed Sherlock into his room, and sat on the edge of his bed.

He raised an eyebrow at her. He stood over her, peering down at her with cold eyes and his beautiful mouth turned in a slight frown.

"You're going to explain about love. But first, get off the bed."

She stood bolt upright, embarrassed. She pushed her shoulders back and linked her hands behind her back. She's forgotten herself in all the craziness, and oh just a few minutes before, she'd really laid into him…

"Yes," Sherlock nodded, seeing comprehension dawn on her face. "You were an appallingly bad submissive just now, however good your intentions. I appreciate the honesty; you must not hold anything back from me. But lecturing me, especially in front of others, is unacceptable."

Molly turned scarlet. "I'm so sorry! I really am. I mean I meant what I said, but I wasn't thinking. I should have waited. It's been a long day. My head is still swimming."

"I understand that. And you're uncertain about the future of our connection- even though you do want to move in with me. That much is obvious. Take off your clothes."

The sudden shifts confused her, but Sherlock's nature being mercurial was nothing new. Molly's body instinctively followed his lead and trusted that his intentions were good.

She shed her clothes and folded them neatly on the bedside table, keeping on only her padlock necklace. The nudity made her vulnerability complete, but oddly she felt more comfortable as well.

She looked up at him, shining eyes and gentle smile waiting for him to decide what came next.

The planes of his face were smooth and strong in the afternoon light. His hair was still a mess from his frustrated ruffling of it. His dark clothes were a stark contrast to the paleness of his fingers as they reached out to cradle her cheek.

She shivered from their coolness, and felt the change all over her body that happened whenever he took control. The stillness crept into Molly's form, slowing the rush of panicked thinking that had taken over when Sherlock first announced that he wanted her to move in, leading to her outburst in front of Mycroft and Dora.

Sherlock's steady eyes were missing the spark of mischief she usually found in them when they were beginning to play. He stroked her cheek, and then slid his hand down her neck to her shoulder. He turned her around, led her over in front of the long mirror, and the pressure of his hand guided her down to her knees.

She sat back on her heels; shoulders back, palms on her thighs, looking into the reflection up at Sherlock. The usual anticipation was building in her belly, but the emotional questions pushed back into her brain.

Sherlock saw the turmoil in Molly's expressive brown eyes, and the way she fought to keep her face calm and unlined in the mirror.

He'd caused this with his assumption that she would obey him in regards to moving in as she happily submitted to him in all other matters. Sloppy sloppy domming, he thought. Her submission was expected, yes, but this was the real world and common sense needed to be factored in. He'd lost himself in the easiness of their bloody romance and the need to have her around all the time, and Molly Hooper, of all people, responded more logically than he had. Of course she would expect an emotional declaration. That's what people do. It had all been so simple at the start. He never really believed she'd stay this long, that she'd still want him once the novelty of kinky play wore off. Once she saw what he was like all the time.

Why didn't she give up like the other women did?

The silence stretched out as he considered how to proceed. He usually planned more than this when he dominated Molly in a sexual sense. He reached down and slid his fingers through her loose hair, as his eyes skimmed over her, noting the flushes on her face and chest, the tightness of her nipples, and her unconscious biting of her lower lip.

Pretty pink mouth, he thought. If you cover her eyes, you can still read her thoughts in her lips. She's wild then, if I allow her to be.

Decisively, he pulled his hand from her hair and walked over to his closet. Reaching up to the shelf, he grabbed a long thin scarf and returned to Molly. One of his flatmate's poorer chosen Christmas gifts, the indigo scarf usually stayed tucked away as the thin fabric did nothing to keep out the chill of London winters. At least he had found a use for it now, tying the blue scarf around her head, blindfolding Molly.

A soft "oh" slipped from the woman on her knees.

He smirked. She loved being blindfolded and nude for him. He observed her knees separate by an additional two centimeters.

With her eyes covered, her shoulders relaxed slightly and the tension in her forehead vanished.

He took in the two of them in the reflection, him towering over her pale lovely body, his black-clad legs obscured by her kneeling form. He felt calm and ready. Whatever she wanted from him, he could handle. He had to. He didn't know if he could go back to being how he was before, when he'd given up on needing to have a woman arching and bending for him.

"Explain to me now. The collection of things. Clearly, leave nothing out. I want everything."

~.~.~.~.~.~

Molly Hooper felt as though she were on the brink of falling. Her legs and back were perfectly balanced, she was in no danger of toppling, but the enormity of trying to explain love gave her a sense of vertigo. How do you explain the unexplainable? This infuriating man.

She had no choice but to do, to be, her absolute best.

"Oh- um." She began hestitantly. "It's…wanting to spend time together. A lot. You usually can assume you're going to do certain things together. Though maybe that's more of a 'relationship' than love... But you can trust that they'll be there when you need them, that they want to be there. You want to stay together, though it doesn't have to be forever. You have a, a chemistry of sorts. You just feel better with them in your life, at your side. You like them. Though sometimes you don't…But the parts that seem like the not-great parts, when you love them those often seem like the best parts." Her voice grew more confident as she founded her emotional footing. Her body was still and comfortable and she held her kneeling pose easily.

"They can bring strong emotions out of you that most other people can't. And you try not to hurt them. You try really hard. Hurting someone you love, it hurts as much- no it's actually worse than being hurt yourself. There's a terrible sort of helpless feeling, when you can't stop their hurt. I don't know, it's different for everyone…"

She chewed on her lip as she thought. He observed her cheeks, her mouth, her nose that wrinkled occasionally as she struggled to find the right word. Her face was a story.

"Life is better when they're in it. Fuller, more rewarding. Happier. Less predictable. More exciting. More frustrating and challenging too, but in ways you'd miss if they were gone." She shrugged and smiled. He knew there would be slight crinkles around her eyes at that moment if he could see beneath the blindfold.

"You're a pain in the arse sometimes, but life is better when you're in it, Sherlock."

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

She stopped talking and silence fell. She waited for his response patiently, feeling centered with her blindfold on. The darkness and control always helped control and eliminate her nervousness, not to mention her inhibitions.

Two minutes passed and he still did not speak. Molly heard his breathing, steady and regular, behind her as he remained standing over her.

At first, she thought perhaps she'd said something that bothered him, but it was unlike him to hold back for long when annoyed. Then Molly began to wonder if he were falling asleep standing up. (Something that had happened after he finished an exhausting case the month before.) She resisted the urge to pull off her blindfold, and reminded herself to relax her fingers on her thighs. She breathed and she waited.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

After five minutes of quiet stillness, the tension returned to Molly's shoulders as her shins grew less comfortable, pressed against the floor. She was still a little sore from dancing and running around in high heels the night before.

Then she felt his cool hand clasp her upper arm.

"Stand. Turn."

Molly stood, still blindfolded, with his hand guiding her up firmly.

She was pulled into his arms, her torso against the smooth fabric of shirt, the buttons pressing into her soft flesh. The heat of his body emanating through his clothes made her shudder and she leaned into him, needing more warmth. His hands slid over her back, stroking from the edge of her necklace chain on the back of her neck, down to the base of her spine. She sensed the movement, as his head tilted and bent, bringing his mouth to her ear.

"Is that all?" he asked, his deep voice light with amusement.

"What?" she said, the anxiety in her belly rising again.

He pulled the scarf off her head and tossed it onto the floor. Molly squinted for a few seconds and peeped one eye again, feeling embarrassed now about her meandering spiel about love. Everything was so much easier when she was blindfolded and facing away from him, but now she had to face Sherlock and look him in the eyes.

Is that all? So he was unimpressed with love. She had expected that.

It was stupid of her to let it hurt so much.

"Is that all? Honestly, the way John goes on about Mary and based on the ridiculous novels on your bookshelf, I thought your definition would be much loftier. Lots of metaphors. More costumes. That sort of thing. What you're talking about is just…" He shrugged. "Common sense. Normal us. I do all those things with you, don't I? I think. Hm. What's the difference?" He cast his eyes to the side, brow furrowed, and twisted his mouth in the way she found both comical and oddly sexy.

Molly watched him think for a few seconds before actually processing the words he'd said.

He does those things every day. It's common sense. It's normal us.

She'd been waiting for him to fall in love with her, but she was the one who had missed the glaringly obvious.

His actions speak loud and clear, she remembered saying of Mycroft's love for Dora.

Deducing people's feelings is more difficult than reading their actions, Sherlock had said and indeed, she had failed to deduce his feelings from rather obvious behaviors.

"You love me," she squeaked out, her eyes suddenly huge and shocked.

"I was just thinking it seemed that way. Your definition is…acceptable to me," he said, his eyes wider than usual. "I don't know why you're surprised though. Feelings are easy for you. Stranger for me." He did look a little confused by the realization that he suffered from such a commonplace affliction.

"Easier is relative, I suppose, because you are not an easy man to love, Sherlock Holmes," Molly said, tears springing her to her eyes as she fought back laughter. She squeezed her arms around his waist rested her head on his chest for a minute before looking back up at him, a beaming smile on her face. "You impossible man. You torment me so much."

"Well, yes," he responded, the devilish spark returning to his blue-green eyes. "I wasn't quite finished with that, actually, if you don't mind."

"I never mind," she responded cheerily.

"Thank bloody hell for that," he murmured as he buried his hands into her hair, tugging on the strands as his mouth crushed hers.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Sherlock didn't bother with the bed, merely pushing Molly back down to her knees in front of the mirror. He wanted to be able to see her face from different angles, to know if she looked any different when she came, her knowing that he loved her. Emotions had an effect on all motives, actions, responses. Really, there were all sorts of experiments to be done now.

Molly felt safer than ever had in any man's arms. On her knees, she reached up for Sherlock's zipper, wanting to take him into her mouth, but he brushed aside her hands and made quick work of his clothing on his own, the stack of clothes winding up somewhere across the room.

He turned her around, facing the mirror, and he could see them both naked and entirely visible now. He grew harder as her hungry eyes locked onto his cock in the reflection. Her lids lowered and she sucked on her lip waiting for him to allow her to touch him. He smiled slyly and got down onto his own knees, close to Molly.

"Crop's in the other room…I can't be bothered. Should make you go crawl for it, but right now I just want to feel you." He moved Molly onto her hands and knees, rubbing her bottom until she purred and rocked her hips. She looked up into the mirror, and watched him take her all in, his eyes narrowing as he catalogued her body's shifting reactions.

A serious of quick, light slaps all over her bum produced a rosy glowing sensation on her skin. Her flesh tingled and she had to make herself stay still as he increased the pressure of the warm-up spanking. A subtle tilt of her hips was the most movement she was allowed; that was their standard rule and her silent way of asking for more pressure.

He worked over her bottom, occasionally sneaking in a light slap on her sex when she grew too comfortable with the warm slaps. She almost giggled when she saw him lick his lips once. She knew he wanted to taste her, but he wanted her to beg first. Of course.

Sherlock took her to the edge until the endorphins were shooting through Molly and she was unable to hold back.

First she asked politely. Then she begged. Then she demanded, in desperation, and he gave her nipples a good pinching for being a pushy sub. She moaned and arched until she fell to pleading again. And when she thought she might weep from wanting him so much, only then did he take hold of her hips and slide inside her with a hard thrust.

Molly looked straight ahead and watched them in the mirror, her breasts bouncing and her hair flying as he rode her. She caught Sherlock's gleaming eyes in the reflection for a few seconds. He took her ability to concentrate still as a sort of challenge and responded with several fast punishing thrusts that forced her to drop her head and push back to keep herself off the floor entirely.

Her knees raw from the pumping movement, Molly rocked herself back onto his cock, squeezing herself around him and giving in entirely to him. Right now her body was his and she needed him to use it all.

She felt him speed up, the slapping sound of his flesh against hers growing louder. He abruptly stopped and pushed Molly onto her back, slipping his cock back into her before her body could miss it.

His gaze captured hers again as he reached a hand down to press against her nub in time to his thrusting. His other arm strained to keep him above her. Molly lifted her hips to accept him and dug her nails into his shoulders, needing to press into him somehow without dragging him down.

Sherlock pushed into her harder and faster, his hand working her bundle of nerves. When he felt her abdomen and thighs tense, and heard a stream of ohs slip from her mouth, he knew it was time for the final push.

Molly came writhing and squealing.

Mine, he thought fiercely, as he watched the flow of pained and ecstatic expressions across her face and felt immense satisfaction.

Another minute of thrusting into her and he was undone completely. He fell on top of her, sore head to toe and breathing ragged.

"Oh my god," Molly murmured dreamily as she patted his back.

"What?" he had the presence of mind to ask. He was dying of thirst but didn't want to pull out of her. Not yet. Not ever, actually.

"Nothing. Just you." She laughed, her body gleefully flooded with hormones making her lightheaded.

He rolled off her, thunking down on the floor beside her. "This isn't so bad."

"What isn't? Sex?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Loving you."

"Oh. That." She snuggled up against him. "Yes, I quite like that part. I like all the parts." Molly laughed again.

"Me too." And Sherlock joined her in laughter.