A/N1: thank you for the continued positive feedback about this story. I have decided to go with the rating change, but I think that t keep it inline with the progression of the story, our beloved Sherlolly won't just be falling straight into bed together. I am trying to capture the slow exploration between them. Slowly, slowly, if you know what I mean. I hope the scene in this chapter is ok, I've never written anything as full on as this one before, so it may be terrible... Just let me know.
0o0
For the first time in their relationship's short history, Sherlock slept beside Molly. He never had troubles sleeping at his parent's home, curled up in his teenage bed, cocooned in his adolescent blankets. The old home was a haven for him, it had not been a lie when he had told Molly it was the safest place he of the only places where Sherlock's restless mind felt at rest.
Slumber had come quickly, but he had woken up a few times in the night, mainly because of his companion. Molly had also slept soundly, hardly stirring or moving. But the fact that she was there at all was influencing his rest. Her presence was comfortable and pleasantly distracting.
Molly was the first girl he had ever had in his room. A teenaged Sherlock used to dream of the time that he would bring a nice girl to his room and they would share share his bed (before he had deleted the whole idea as stupid, of course) and now here he was, not just with a woman in his room, but with the most beautiful, loving and caring woman he had ever met. It was sending his hormones crazy. Like he had reverted back to teen behaviour, he was straining to stop himself from walking her up with kisses and caresses.
He finally got back to sleep, waking the next time at about dawn with an arm slung across her hips, her back against his chest and her legs entangled with his. Every inch of her back was pressed against his front. He had awoken to definite torture. They had discussed the evening before that Sherlock needed to leave to get back to the case as soon as possible, but now, locked in this ecstasy, his mind started questioning why he couldn't head back to London later. Anything to prolong this moment.
He propped himself up a tiny bit to look down at her. In the soft dawn light, she looked like a goddess. His goddess. She was smiling softly in her sleep. He wondered what a pathologist dreamt of? What a good dream was in her mind? He liked her like this, relaxed and happy, and he knew he would stop at nothing to ensure she was this happy always.
Sherlock returned his head to the pillow, snuggling his face to the back of her neck, needing to be closer still. Molly giggled in her sleep. A breathy sound that stirred something in Sherlock's stomach. Molly released another breathy laugh, obviously his early morning facial scruff was tickling her neck. He did it again and was rewarded with the same reaction.
" 'Erlock" Molly half breathed, half giggled as she sleepily squirmed away from his tickles. Sherlock removed his head and pulled her back against his chest instantly, the idea of her leaving his space in the bed making him uneasy. "Good morning."
"Morning." Sherlock replied, and no longer worried that his attention might wake her, he pressed a soft kiss to her neck. Molly grinned, tilting so he could access her skin.
"What's gotten into you?" Molly whispered heavily, sleep and growing arousal making it hard to speak with clarity.
"For the first time in my life," Sherlock began, his baritone vibrating against the column of her neck as he alternated words and nibbles. "I have a gorgeous girl in my bed."
"Your room didn't see much action as a teen then?" Molly asked, confident that she knew the answer.
"Oh it saw action." Sherlock admitted after a deliciously long lick to her collarbone. "But none of it with a second participant."
Molly pulled away and looked up as Sherlock, whose eyes were becoming dilated with desire. "Are you suggesting...?"
He pulled her willingly onto her back and shifted so he half covered her. "As a young man with an experimental mind, of course I..." He suddenly shied away from the word 'masturbated', capturing her lips with his again.
"It's hard to believe you at that age with those desires." Molly grinned teasingly when her lips were released again.
"Let's just say 14 year old me is very proud right now." Sherlock grinned in return, then with a kiss and a stroke of his hand down her side, Molly was rendered incapable of continuing conversation.
As they kissed, his hands grew bolder, fingers pushing under the hem of her comfortable flannel pyjamas to dance over her hips, across her belly and up her side. He was tentative, explorative and above all else respectful. Exactly what she had grown to expect from romantic dealings with Sherlock Holmes. It was nice to be treated this way, like she was precious, but she wanted desperately to let him know that she wouldn't break under more forceful caresses.
He still was awkwardly positioned, half on her, half on the mattress, so Molly shifted herself under him gently, wedging and pulling so more of his weight was on top of her. He relaxed into their new positioning, never leaving her mouth, where now tongues had joined the battle. In this new position, her hand also grew bold, pushing under his worn grey shirt to stroke his back softly.
Molly slid her legs outward slowly, allowing Sherlock to fall naturally into the space between her thighs. He paused, lips stationery on hers until she nudged him back into action with a gentle nip at his mouth. She knew what she was doing, it was time for Sherlock to trust her. Hands hooked under his shirt and removed it quickly. Sherlock grinned lazily.
Molly could feel Sherlock, hard and heated, pressed against her through the silk and flannel of their bottoms. When Sherlock went back to assaulting her neck, she gave a fractional upward thrust. Sherlock paused, a tiny whimper escaping him. Loving his reaction, she did it again, harder, making his eyes close in lust.
She didn't do it again, swapping instead to running her fingers all over his exposed flesh. Hard lower back, protruding spine, strong shoulders, solid biceps. Under all those tailored suits, Sherlock Holmes was a fine specimen of a man. Her hands continued their exploration, across his collar bones, down into the soft chest hair. It was then that she was cut short, one of Sherlock's big hands trapping her dainty ones. Molly blinked, perplexed.
"My scar." he muttered shyly, and Molly realised that if she had continued her mapping of his chest, her fingers would have eventually brushed against the scar from when he was shot. "It's...sensitive."
Molly could hear the subtext, and while she had never known him to be vain about things like scars and injuries, she could tell he was about this one. No, she realised, not vain. Self conscious. After one last kiss to his lips, Molly wriggled down and pressed a ghost-soft kiss to the thin, surgically precise line of scar tissue. The noise that escaped him was between a sigh and a moan. Molly kissed her way back up, over the rest of his chest, neck and then back to his mouth. Sherlock gripped her hip, eyes screwed shut.
"I am sorry" she whispered, realising a line may have just been crossed.
Sherlock's eyes snapped open. "Even with all my faults..."
Molly laughed, the sound flirtatious in its delivery. "Of all your faults Sherlock, a scar is the least likely to get in our way." Sherlock laughed too as Molly took his hand from her hip, slipping it around her back and under her pyjamas, leading his fingertips to her own patch of scar tissue. "I'll love your imperfections if you love mine."
Sherlock caught her by surprise as he went back to worshipping her mouth. "You have no imperfections, Molly Hooper."
Her joking retort that maybe her unwavering dedication to him could be counted as an imperfection died in her brain as Sherlock kissed all possible thoughts from her mind. His hand that had been on her lower back slid down her leg, hooking her knee up to cradle him, giving her hips a tilted angle which made her moan.
A thousand thoughts exploded in her mind, only to be replaced by blissful silence. Sherlock's lips, his hands, his body dominating her space, slowly, carefully, deliberately. He fingers played with the buttons of her pyjamas, stopping only to brush the taut, smooth skin underneath.
Molly Hooper had been dreaming of this since the day she'd officially met Sherlock. She had played out every possible scenario of the first time she was to be intimate with him, but this reality was so much better. Her over active imagination never would have filled in the tiny little details like the heat of his body on hers or the scruff of his unshaven skin.
Her other knee was now bent, holding Sherlock between them. She relaxed their grip, only when he struggled softly, kissing a path down her neck and down the exposed skin that her now unbuttoned shirt provided. As he worked his way up and down her chest leisurely, he nudged the fabric away, revealing her naked chest to him for the first time.
Molly was proud that she did not shy away from the detective's intense gaze. He was memorising her, lust filled eyes scanning the rise and fall of her breast, angle of her ribs, gentle dip of her stomach and return rise if her hips. He shocked her slightly when he eventually lowered his head to her stomach again, nuzzling his face into her abdominal muscles. Molly laced her fingers into his hair, allowing him to stay there as long as he wanted.
As long as wanted turned out to be minutes. A long stretch of minutes where they both calmed, thrumming nerves returning back to normal state. Molly at one point actually thought he had fallen asleep against her belly, at least until he spoke.
"I am not a virgin." Sherlock began. His voice strong in the silence of the room.
"I never assumed you were." Molly replied, hand carding through his curls. It was then that Sherlock realised that more if his self-conscious thoughts were bubbling to the surface.
He had started, so it was time to continue. "I am not a virgin, but I am not as experienced as recent tabloids have lead the United Kingdom to believe."Molly's hand stilled as she remembered the headlines that Janine, Sherlock's fake ex-fiancé had sold to whomever had the means to print. "I need you to tell me...what you want, what you need, what you crave. I need you to teach me how to please you Molly. Because all I ever want to do is please you."
Molly reached down, pulling Sherlock back up to lay at her side so that she could kiss his lips again. His words had the ability to overwhelm her in so many different ways, kissing him masked the fact that his humble admission had bought tears to her eyes.
Sherlock carefully learnt her chest as Molly kissed him. Running a now confident hand up and down her warm skin, down the valley between her breasts. Then around them. Then finally over them, brushing her peaked nipple sensually. Molly shivered.
Outside the room, sunlight continued to fill the sky, signs that the morning was creeping away from them. A logistical voice in both their minds reminded them that Sherlock would need to leave soon. To return to London, to get his mind out of bed and back to the case. Both participants squashed the thought for the selfish pleasure they were getting from their current situation.
Still softly tracing the lines of her breast, Sherlock's lips returned to her neck and lower, navigating the path his hand had drawn. Collarbone, chest plate, between her breasts, around them, and then finally, placing a tentative kiss to the peak, making Molly moan this time.
He was being guided by her reactions. Her gasps, shivers and moans as Sherlock kissed and then licked first one breast and then the other. One hand landed in his hair, the other gripping the sheets of his bed. If this was the pleasure she was receiving from his gentle exploration of her bare chest, what would it be like if he ever delved lower? Her cheeks stained at the idea.
His hands began to foreshadow that event, exploring lower as his mouth paid unwavering attention to her chest.. His fingertips tracing lines, hooking and releasing her pyjama bottoms teasingly when they were suddenly interrupted. Their foggy brains registered a vibrating phone somewhere in the room. Both foggy brains ignored the sound, returning their attention to each other.
Sherlock's fingers tucked under the elastic of her pyjama pants and began their downward journey when the insistent phone rang again, vibrating against the bedside table where Sherlock had deposited it the evening before. Molly tensed, the change in her body making Sherlock pause. Molly sighed, frustrated, because as much as she wanted to continue to ignore the phone, her traitorous mouth spoke the truth they both knew. "Answer it Sherlock."
He pressed his head to her stomach again, shaking his head like a temperamental toddler as he regained his breath.
"What if its John?" Molly asked, then her brain rushing ahead and jumping to conclusions, she sat up, making Sherlock shift from his resting spot. "Oh god, what if Moriarty went after Mary?"
Sherlock jumped from the bed and reached for his phone, her words lighting a fire in his belly which made him ignore everything, including his own level of arousal at the beautiful, half naked woman in his bed. He dialled the number that had tried twice to call him.
"Hello? Oh, Lestrade" he sighed a little, focusing so he wouldn't just throw the phone away and go back to Molly. "What? Exercising? No! Shut up, I do not sound out of breath!"
Molly smothered a giggle with the back of her hand. Sherlock shot a smile over his shoulder at her, then found himself momentarily distracted by the image that met him. Doctor Molly Hooper, disheveled, reclining seductively, still shirtless, against his pillows. He shook his head. "Ok, what? Say that again."
Sherlock stood and moved to his desk, putting space between them to help him establish some semblance focus. "I am about an hour away. Took Molly to my parents house." He pulled the phone away from his ear to check something, more than likely the time, and then returned the phone. "Yeah, I can make it."
Molly had never heard Sherlock sound so unenthusiastic about a case before. He had to leave. She reached for her discarded pyjama top as he finished his phone call, covering her nakedness, suddenly shy.
"Lestrade has a lead." Sherlock began, coming back to the bed and taking her hand in his. "Moriarty has been sighted in public. He is calling in anyone who may have seen something to take statements. I need to go."
Molly nodded. Sherlock continued. "It's still early. Why don't you go back to sleep?"
Never good with goodbyes, Molly nodded. Sherlock helped her snuggle down comfortably into his bed, burning the image of her kiss reddened lips and tussled hair into his mind palace.
"Will you call me when you can?" Molly asked, knowing she may not like the answer.
"When I can." he replied, kissing her forehead. "And I'll visit when I can. I don't intend on being away from you for very long."
Molly smiled, tears welling and being hardly kept at bay. Sherlock bend down to kiss her lips. "I wish we had more time this morning." She whispered.
"I'll make London safe for us" he promised. "Then we'll have all the time in the world"
0o0
Molly awoke a few hours later, surprised she had gotten back to sleep at all. The stress of the last few days and the denied pleasure if the morning had obviously taken a toll on her. The small clock on the bedside table read 10am, and Molly bolted upright.
She had overslept. During her stay with Mr and Mrs Holmes she had intended on being on her best behaviour, remembering everything her father used to say about first impressions and now, by having a lie in, she probably came across looking quite lazy.
Collecting her stuff, Molly quickly made her way down to the bathroom on the floor below Sherlock's room. After the quickest shower, Molly deposited her things back into the room and left in search of Sherlock's parents.
It wasn't difficult, as Molly literally bumped into Siger Holmes on the landing outside the bathroom and his mysterious office. "Oh I'm sorry, Mr Holmes."
"Quite alright, Doctor Hooper." The kind older man replied, his mouth twisting into a smile that was amazingly similar to Sherlock's. It was that smile, and a combination of many familiar mannerisms that made her feel immediately at ease with Sherlock's parents.
"Please" Molly smiled. "Call me Molly."
"Then I insist you call me Siger." Siger Holmes grinned, another smile that made her heart ache for Sherlock. Even though he had only been gone a few hours. "Did you sleep well?"
"Too well." Molly admitted, embarrassed. "I don't usually sleep this late."
"Oh don't let that weigh on your mind dear." Siger smiled. "William let us know what you have gone though in the last few days... Sorry, Sherlock." He corrected himself. "I think I am the only person who still calls him William, you know."
Molly was yet to hear the story as to why Sherlock favoured his middle name. She wouldn't have to wait long, however, as Siger launched into the story immediately. "He always saw William as such a 'common' name," he began. "Wanted an unusual name like Siger or Mycroft. I tried many times to explain to him that a uncommon name can sometimes be a curse. Explained to him the family heritage if the name William..." Siger seemed sad and thoughtful suddenly, possibly at the knowledge that his son had rejected the name he had given him.
Then without warning, he opened the door to his office and coaxed her in with a tilt of his head. Molly entered a space that was reminiscent of Baker Street during a case. Pin boards covered all the walls, clippings and pictures all over them. Stacks of papers, folders and books covered all available spaces. Siger moved to one large board and Molly knew she was to follow.
"Every second born son in the Holmes family line is named William." Siger said, tracing his finger on the massive Holmes family tree that was scrawled in neat handwriting on overlapping strips of paper. "Every first born son has their mother's maiden last name as their first." He tapped the family tree where Violet Mycroft-Jones had married Siger Holmes.
"That's an awesome tradition" Molly smiled, going back over the tree to see the varieties of names. The tradition dated back as far as the eye could see.
"Yes, unless you're this poor bloke." Siger grinned, pointing at the name 'Woodcock Holmes'. Molly and Siger giggled.
"What about girls in the family?" Molly asked, scanning the variety of names.
"No official rules." Siger said. "Emily seems to be a common name. At least of the last few generations. Also flower names. Rose. Lily. Violet, but I guess she doesn't count, as she married into the family."
"How many generations do you have recorded?" Molly asked. Siger's project was fascinating.
"21 generations" Siger said proudly. "Things are starting to get a little fuzzy now, as records are not as easy to access - even if your son has access to countless records."
"Why?" Molly asked. She hoped that it didn't sound insulting, and she could tell by the look on Siger's face that no offence was taken.
"I want my boys to know where they come from" Siger smiled. "Mycroft may be more powerful than the Queen and William is arguably the smartest man in the world." Siger pointed to a name which Molly thought was at random. "This William was a janitor. Kirby Holmes died on the Titanic, where he was a coal shoveler. There are reports of this William..." He searched back another few branches of the tree "was reportedly a resurrection man, I am sure in your line of work you know what that is. Emmiline Holmes, the boys' great, great, great, great, great grandmother died of diseases that she acquired through quite questionable lifestyle choices. Every terrible and unthinkable job in history is present in this tree. Generations of hard work to allow those boys the lives they have. It's a powerful message."
Molly stared at the massive wall, then around at all the collected documents. "I wish I had this for my family" she admitted softly. "Dad was a lecturer and Mum was a nurse, but other than that...I have no idea. No real family.
Siger squeezed her hand. "It's not that hard to get started. I would be happy to help you if you need a little project while you're staying with us... But until then, you can have our history."
Molly looked confused, a look that seemed to be gracing her features a lot recently. Siger smiled knowingly at the young woman. "Your name will be on this tree sooner or later Molly."
A/N2: A Resurrection Man made his living by digging up freshly buried corpses and selling them to medical training institutes so that student doctors could study anatomy. Pretty cool stuff, if I do say so myself.
