At the instigation of Broomclosetkink, who is a very, very, very VERY bad influence on me, I present the following smutty ficlet for your reading pleasure.

Summary: "Really, Sherlock, your dirty talk could use some work!" Molly shows him how to do it right. Rated M for smutty goodness and for the fact that Molly has a filthy, filthy mouth. Truly she does. (And Sherlock couldn't be happier...)

Sherlock was kissing her, and it was wonderful; they'd only been together for a month (after all the drama around Moriarty's hijacking of the British airwaves and what had followed had finally died down) and every time he kissed her it was like the first time. Sent a thrill down her body, from her lips right to her core, even when the kiss was just a gentle peck on the lips to say hello or goodbye.

Of course he'd already deduced that about her, the git, and of course he took ruthless advantage of that knowledge to talk her into things both inside and outside the bedroom. Finally, exasperated after he'd kissed her in the path lab and then murmured into her ear that he could really use a fresh liver for an experiment, Molly swatted him on the arm and said, "Really, Sherlock, your dirty talk could use some work!"

The look on his face was priceless; half outraged disdain and half focused concentration, the expression he wore when he'd discovered something intriguing to research. Without another word, he pressed a distracted kiss to Molly's lips, then turned and left the lab. Shrugging and returning to her interrupted research, Molly couldn't help but wonder, with a fluttering sense of anticipation, what she was in store for when they were in bed later that night.

Four hours later, when her shift had ended and she'd made her way back to Baker Street, Molly was disappointed to discover that she was apparently the first one home. Oh well, she thought as she shrugged out of her coat and hung it on the hook, guess I'll just have to wait a bit longer. Then she fed Toby (it had been funny, watching her disdainful cat and her even more disdainful boyfriend eyeing one another when they'd first realized they were now going to be flatmates), read for a bit (an awful romance novel that made her giggle, which was why she kept it on hand), then headed off to take a shower.

She was in bed by the time he got home. She'd fallen asleep but left the light on, as she always did when Sherlock came home late, and half woke as he crawled into bed next to her. "Mrmph," she said when he pressed a kiss to her neck, then slid his hand over her hip. She wriggled onto her side and he spooned his lanky form against hers, tucking his knees behind hers and sliding his other arm beneath the pillow to give him full access to her chest, the way they both liked it.

"Molly."

"Hmm?" She kept her eyes tightly shut even though she was wide awake now, trying not to give away what a tingle his voice put through her body – the bloody git didn't even need to kiss her to get her juices flowing, all he had to do was lower his voice an octave and she melted like butter in the hot sun. Or in a saucepan, about to be poured all over a lovely lobster salad...she really should have eaten something when she got home, but she'd honestly been too keyed up wondering what Sherlock had planned...and then too absorbed in her overblown novel to notice anything else.

"Molly, I do believe you respond sexually just to the sound of my voice."

She bit back a giggle and tilted her head, pretending to consider his words. "Mmm, it's possible," she finally conceded, sucking in a breath as she felt his fingers stroking her nipples through the thin cotton of her oversized t-shirt. One of Sherlock's t-shirts, as a matter of fact, appropriated one night when her own nighties were all in the wash, and now the only thing she wore over her knickers if he was going to be home. "And I do want you to know that I took your earlier comment to heart," he breathed against her ear as his other hand dipped below the elastic of her knickers, one finger sliding between her damp folds and unerringly finding her clit.

She squirmed and moaned and finally gasped out, "Wh-what comment?" having completely forgotten –

well, just about everything except how fucking good his hands and lips felt as they caressed her body.

With one smooth move, he rolled their bodies so that she was lying beneath him, flat on her back, with his body now resting between her parted thighs. Ooh, and he was naked, how had she not noticed that? "Sherlock don't you want to – ?" She gestured at her t-shirt – his t-shirt – and he helped her pull it over her head with a great deal of enthusiasm. Removing her knickers was a bit more problematic as he didn't seem inclined to move from between her legs – and the fact that he kept teasing her with his fingers did nothing for her ability to concentrate on the task at hand. However, after some wriggling and writhing that brought a rumble of appreciation from his throat, she managed to finally rid herself of the pesky article of clothing and pull him down for a very satisfying snog.

He was hard, she could feel his lovely, long erection pressing against her thigh and was reaching down to palm it when he stopped her hand, hauling her arms up over her head and leering down at her. "No, Molly, tonight is all about you," he admonished her.

She grinned up at him happily. "Oh, good, then I really want you to fuck me!"

"Oh, I will," he assured her with a gleam in his eyes that she hope indicated a nice, long bout of sex about to happen. Some nights she wanted foreplay and gentleness and some nights she just wanted him to shag her against the nearest flat surface – horizontal or vertical, extra points for shower sex – but tonight was somewhere in the lovely, hazy middle ground; she was dying to know what he had planned, but at the same time, she really, really wanted his cock inside her. Like, NOW.

With that in mind, she squirmed a bit beneath his body, arching her hips upward to grind against his erection. "God, you feel so good," she moaned.

"Molly, do hold still," he growled at her, sounding frustrated. "I'm about to shove my throbbing manhood into your...Molly! Why are you laughing? What on Earth is so funny?"

"I'm sorry!" she managed to gasp out, trying to stifle her laughter at the look of outrage on his face. His lips tilted into a frown and then a pout as she lost the battle with her sense of humor, which he'd thoroughly tickled. "It's just that...that wasn't anything like what I was expecting you to say, sorry!" And she bit her lip in an attempt to still the giggles, with a tiny bit of success this time.

"Judging by your reaction to my words, I presume that you'll once again burst into giggles if I refer to your vagina as a 'love muffin'?" he ventured, and yes, Molly did, indeed, once again burst into giggles.

"S-sorry!" she stuttered after the giggles had subsided a bit. "It's just...where on Earth did you pick up those, um, interesting terms?"

"You said I needed to work on my dirty talk, so I did some research," he said, still sounding more than a bit put out. And pouting, oh yes, he was most definitely pouting. She just wanted to tug his lower lip into her mouth and suck on it for a few hours. "Your reading material seemed to be a treasure trove of..."

"My reading material?" Molly asked, laughter forgotten as she tried to puzzle out what he meant. Most of the things she read around him were pathology journals and chemistry texts. Her eyes widened as she realized what he was talking about, and her laughter started anew. "Oh my God, Sherlock, please don't tell me you used 'Love's Languid Allure' as a reference guide for dirty talk!"

He raised an eyebrow and looked down at her. Molly was suddenly very aware of the fact that he a) hadn't released her wrists, and b) in spite of her fit of the giggles and their distracting conversation, Sherlock still had a very impressive erection that she still very very VERY much wanted inside her. "It seemed the logical choice," he finally said, shifting a bit and rubbing against her in what seemed to be an unintentional manner.

Molly groaned a bit at the friction, then glared as she saw a very self-satisfied smirk cross her consulting detective boyfriend's lips. "Well, your dirty talk still could use some work," she snapped.

When he opened his mouth, no doubt to offer up some snarky comment, she shut him up with a long, slow kiss that involved a great deal of tongue and light nips of her teeth on his lower lip and rumbling noises from him interspersed with light moans from her.

"Listen and learn, Sherlock Holmes," she said when the kiss ended, making her voice as low and seductive as she could manage. When his eyes widened she felt her own surge of self-satisfaction; two could play the sexy voice game. "I want you to fuck me, right now. I want your cock inside me, so that I can feel you filling me, sliding into my cunt as you press your thumb against my clit. I want to come screaming your name so loud we wake Mrs. Hudson up, even if she's taken a double dose of her 'herbal soothers'. And I want you to keep fucking me until I come a second time. Then I want you to slide out of me before you come, and I want to go down on you and suck you off while you're covered with my juices, so I can taste us together when you finally come in my mouth. Oh, and by the way?" She gave him her sweetest smile. "I know I've never done it for you before, but yeah, I swallow."

Sherlock had gone absolutely rigid as she spoke, his fingers digging into her wrists and the pupils of his eyes so far blown that there was barely any color to be seen between them and the sclera. Molly stared up at him, her smug smile faltering a bit as he remained silent and unmoving; surely her words hadn't shocked him so badly he'd retreated into his mind palace...

"Molly, you have the foulest, filthiest imagination I have ever encountered, and the mouth to go with it," he suddenly growled, then his mouth crashed into hers, tongue thrusting desperately against hers, his hands moving from her arms to her hair. He tugged it sharply, forcing Molly's head up as he pulled his mouth away from hers and lowered it to her throat. She gasped as his lips and teeth worked at the tender flesh just below her ear with a furious energy she'd never felt from him before.

"God, Sherlock, if I'd known you liked dirty talk I'd have done this the first time you fucked me," Molly groaned as she pressed his head closer to her neck, reveling in the ferocity of his movements. He'd nudged her legs further apart and was rubbing his cock against her while she moaned and writhed and told him how fucking good it felt. She'd always been a bit reserved in her reactions before, biting back anything louder than a groan, but not this time. She spared a second to hope that Mrs. Hudson really had taken one of her 'herbal soothers' and was well asleep by now, then dismissed the older woman from her mind and concentrated on muttering the filthiest things she could think up in order to encourage Sherlock to keep doing exactly what he was doing to her.

There was an air of frantic desperation to his movements as he threw her left leg up over his shoulder and slid into her at the same time. Molly cried out at the sensation of his cock filling her, just as she'd told him she wanted. She dug her hands into his shoulders and began moving her hips, meeting his pounding rhythm and wrapping her free leg around his waist as he reached down and pressed his thumb against her clit – again, exactly as she'd told him she wanted him to. She felt the climax building with every thrust of his hips, every brush of his thumb against her slick, swollen flesh, and gave voice to her pleasure with a shrill cry of "Sherlock!" as she came.

Sherlock's body had stilled; he was peppering her face and neck with tiny kisses, his frantic energy held in place as he waited for her to ride out her orgasm. When the shudders finally eased, her heart's frantic beating slowing to something closer to normal, she smiled up at him. "Well, well, what do you know," she murmured, idly tracing a path up his cheek with one finger. "Sherlock Holmes actually listening to someone for a change. Will wonders never cease." With that, she gave his hair a light tug, squealing with delight as he dove down for another heated kiss.

When that kiss ended he began moving again, slowly at first but then quickening his pace into a series of frantic thrusts that soon had her gasping and moaning as she dug her fingers into his shoulders. He moaned out her name as she wrapped her legs around his waist, then made a strangled noise and suddenly pulled himself out of her, flipping them so that she was sprawled across his heaving chest as they both gasped for air.

She'd been so lost in the moment that she had no idea at first why he'd stopped, but when he growled out, "Well, Molly? Isn't there something you said you wanted to do to me?" she remembered. Oh boy did she remember.

Without a word she slithered down his body and took his cock in hand. It was wet with a combination of precum and her own juices, and she licked her lips and gave him a heavy-lidded stare before moving between his legs and swallowing his shaft as deep as she could manage. He groaned and gasped out her name as she licked his shaft, then gave a sharp cry as she moaned, deep in her throat. If she could have formed a smile at that moment, she would have, but concentrated instead on doing exactly what she'd told him she wanted to do.

Which, it would seem, was exactly what he wanted her to do, since he came about ten seconds after she began sucking him off.

When he'd spent himself in her mouth – after she'd swallowed down every drop, as promised – she knelt up and gazed down at his gasping, sweating, shaking form and grinned a very, very triumphant grin at him before lying back down and resting her head on his shoulder. Sherlock's arms came around her, holding her tightly as he kissed the top of her head, apparently still unable to speak, and Molly continued to smile contentedly as he did so.

Next time, she suspected, her very quick-learner of a boyfriend would have some interesting things to say to her.

And oh, GOD did she look forward to hearing them!