MorbidbyDefault said: Would love to add to the prompts for this set…I wish you would write a fic where Sherlock is away on a very long case, but he misses Molly, so he decides they should try to sext...but the addict in him needs more, of course. ;)

A/N: If you don't think this story is Rated M, you don't know me very well! :D

This case just will. Not. END!

Ugh the suspect thinks he's too clever to be caught…AND RIGHT NOW I AGREE WITH HIM.

I just want to let Lestrade and the other idiots at the Met deal with this, why did I agree to come to fucking Cornwall?

I think I'll just tell them John needs to get home to his wife and baby, then of COURSE I'll have to go home too.

You'd like that wouldn't you Molly? To have me home again? Because even though I can live without sex for long periods of time I know that you can't.

Oh wait that sounded like an insult. Sorry. It wasn't meant to be.

Molly Hooper-Holmes grinned fondly at the barrage of text messages her consulting detective husband had sent her within the span of a few minutes. He and John had been in Cornwall for over a week now, tracking down the drug dealer who'd been giving London so much grief over the past six months, and she could practically hear the frustration in every word.

It's all right, she texted back. I understand. You're frustrated with the case.

I'm also sexually frustrated. Hard to wank with John in the same room. For some reason that bothers him.

Molly giggled at the thought of her husband thinking such a thing might even be remotely acceptable to his best friend. So why not just get separate rooms? It's not like you to share when on a case, especially one with an expense account, she texted in response.

They didn't have any available at the beginning of the case and we thought we'd be done by now. Hold on.

Humming to herself, Molly laid down the phone and started getting ready for bed. She was mostly through her normal routine before her mobile buzzed again to signal an incoming text. As expected, it was from Sherlock. Right. Got my own room now. What are you wearing?

That Rugby shirt you hate and a pair of knickers, she texted back, settling down on the bed with a grin. You?

Nothing. Tell me when you're naked.

That certainly raised an eyebrow. Sherlock, are you sexting me?

Obviously. Are you naked yet?

Not yet.

Hurry up. I don't want to start touching myself until I know you're naked and doing the same.

Molly had long thought herself past the blushing virgin stage, but Sherlock's text brought a bright red stain to her cheeks even as she felt a jolt of pure lust through her lady parts. A few hurried seconds later she was lying on their bed, duvet pushed aside and her clothes dropped haphazardly on the floor. Okay, naked. Now what? she texted.

Haven't you ever done this before? I thought you'd be the one to coach me through it. Aside from the obvious touching ourselves part of course.

Molly bit her lip, hesitating before responding. She had done a bit of sexting with Tom, but nothing more than some light-hearted flirting. She'd been too embarrassed to do any of the things her friend Meena had suggested at the time, but now... holding the camera up, she turned it to 'beauty shot' mode and took a picture of herself, head and breasts and just a hint of her stomach. Before hitting 'send', she typed, Naked enough for you? ;-)

It took more than a minute for him to respond, and when he did, she could practically see him in 'reboot' mode as she read it. Yes. Very inspiring. My turn I suppose.

She bit her lip in anticipation, waiting for the next quiet 'ping' of her mobile. As hoped, there was a photo attached to the text. It was essentially the same shot she'd taken of herself, Sherlock's head and long, pale torso with glimpses of his arms on either side of the frame, but he'd angled it so that just a hint of pubic hair was showing at the bottom.

Mmmm, she texted. Me likey. Then she took another snap, this one of her fingers stroking her pussy, even as her cheeks flushed with heat. She'd never expected to do anything like this with Sherlock, and it was beyond exciting that he'd been the one to initiate it. She hesitated before sending the picture, biting her lip nervously before finally committing.

She took her hand away, feeling oddly self-conscious about continuing to stroke herself while she waited for Sherlock to return her text. She tried telling herself she was being ridiculous; after all, it wasn't as if she'd never touched herself while thinking about him. But it was no good; every time her hand strayed downward, she stopped just shy of her goal. Her face was still red, but it was more from embarrassment than arousal and she wondered if she should just tell him not to bother.

As if in response to her thoughts, her mobile pinged, and she opened the new text. There was no picture attached, just a single sentence: Stop feeling self-conscious and just relax.

Git. She stuck her tongue out at the phone. How dare he know her so well?

Fine. She settled more comfortably onto her back, determined to send him a picture he'd never forget, when her mobile pinged again. She opened the picture attached to the text, and suddenly all her inhibitions vanished like the morning fog on a sunny day.

He'd sent her a picture of himself. Specifically, of his cock, plump and red and hard, with his right hand wrapped around it, his thumb just grazing the tip. In the ten months they'd been together, she'd never actually seen him touching himself like that. Wishing that was my hand? she typed, reaching between her legs with renewed eagerness after pressing 'send'.

You know it, he responded almost a full minute later. Self-gradifacation isnt realy my think.

It took Molly a second to puzzle through that mess, and she grinned as she realized he must be typing with his left hand. Try switching to voice-to-text, she sent. I'll do the same.

Just as she was about to suit words to actions, her mobile rang with Sherlock's ringtone, Elvis Costello's Watching the Detectives. "Hello?" she said. "What's wrong? Is it the case? Do you need to go?"

"Everything's fine," she heard her husband say, his voice a deep rumble she was almost tempted to call a purr. "Put your phone on speaker and lay it on the nightstand, Molly. I want to hear you. If I had a laptop with me, I'd skype you so we could watch each other, but needs must."

She scrambled to do as he'd asked, propping it against the base of the lamp with its frilly yellow shade and ceramic kittens. Hers, of course, a childhood memento that made what they were about to do seem even filthier. God, she was getting incredibly wet, and they'd barely even started! She pressed the speaker on her mobile and settled back with her head on the pillow. "Can you hear me?" she asked, a bit breathlessly.

"Clear as a bell," Sherlock replied. "Now lie back and tell me what you're doing."

"Wishing you were here with me," she replied promptly, one hand drifting down to brush against her nipples. Just a flick of the fingertips, a slight scrape of the nails and they went from slightly hard to rigid, especially since she was imagining it was Sherlock's teeth and lips. "Touching myself," she added when she heard him give an impatient huff.

"Touching yourself where?"

"My breasts," she replied, both hands now working her nipples, twisting and pulling on them as she pictured his mouth sucking hard. He always gave them his full and undivided attention whether they were just a pit-stop on the way further south or whether they were the final destination for his mouth. 'Compensating for past misdeeds', he called it, and Molly had absolutely no objections.

"Imagining my mouth on them? Wishing you could feel the scrape of my teeth, the flat of my tongue?"

"More than you can possibly imagine," she assured him, rubbing her thighs together as his voice combined with her efforts to bring a sweet ache between her legs.

"I'm stroking my cock, wishing rather desperately that it was your mouth on it," he said. His voice was rough and a bit unsteady, which only turned her on more. "Especially since I didn't think to bring any lube with me," he added in a grumble.

"Not sexy," Molly advised him, then added in a sultry voice, "but don't worry, I've got enough lubrication right now for the two of us. Mmmm." She slid her fingers through her slick folds and closed her eyes, imagining it was Sherlock touching her.

His only response, at least at first, was an inaudible mumble and the sound of panting. "Molly, do you have any idea how much I want to taste you right now? Make you come with my mouth, play you like my fucking violin?"

"Probably about as much as I want to be riding your cock right now," Molly gasped out, her fingers moving with more urgency, pressing against her clit and the lips of her pussy. "I love looking down at you, seeing your hair in tangles from me pulling it, sweat beading on your forehead, God, your whole body just glistening with it. I love how you look when you come, did you know that? Those gorgeous lips parted as you gasp for breath, the way your cock feels, pulsing inside me, your fingers on my nipples as you tug me down for a kiss…ungghghghhhh!"

Her orgasm took her by surprise, overwhelming her, a cresting tide that washed away every word, every thought as she floated blissfully in its wake. She came back to reality as she heard Sherlock give a strangled shout. "Fuck, Molly, oh God, ahhhhhhhh!"

Her orgasm had apparently triggered his; so much for his complaints about a lack of lubrication! She giggled and wiped her fingers off with a tissue, then reached for her phone, turning languidly on her side and cradling the mobile to her ear. "Was that as good for you as it was for me?" she cooed.

"You will be seeing me in person very soon, Molly," he advised after a long moment of heavy breathing. "If I have to make up evidence, I swear I will be home before the end of the week."

She giggled. "Now, Sherlock, flattering as that is, don't turn criminal because of me." She stretched and wiggled her feet under the duvet, kicking it up high enough for her groping hand to snag it and pull it over her cooling body. She yawned, pulling the phone away as she did so. "Love you," she said softly.

"Love you, too," he replied. "Also, I may have to reassess my ability to go without sex for long periods of time. It seems being married to you has spoiled me for abstinence."

"Mm, now that I'm willing to take credit for," Molly said with a giggle, followed immediately by another yawn. "Just finish the case, Sherlock. I'll be here waiting for you when you get home. Promise."

"Will you, er, be available for another session tomorrow night?"

Molly chuckled ruefully. "Seems like I've created a monster!"

His response made her laugh out loud. "Well, you know I'm a creature of habit...and this is one habit I think you won't find any reason to slap me for!"

"Mmm, nope," Molly said, popping the p the way he loved to do when being obnoxious. "Unless you want me to...and that's a conversation for when you're here in person."

There was no response; for a moment, Molly thought he must have hung up. "Sherlock?"

"Umm, yes, here, just...thinking. About things. Do you think you could run to Harrods and pick up a few things? I'll text them to you."

Molly's eyebrow raised as she saw the list that followed, and her cheeks heated up to furnace temperature. "Sherlock, I'm not sure I want to have any of that used on me…" she started, only to be interrupted by her husband.

"No need to worry Molly." She could practically hear the smile in his voice as he added in a sensuous purr, "They're for you, yes, but for you to use on me. Sweet dreams!" Then he did hang up, before she could do more than start to sputter out a response.

She laid her mobile on the nightstand, cheeks still warm and feeling a bit bemused...but more than a bit pleased at her the turn her husband's thoughts had taken.

Sexting was fun, she had to admit that, but what he had in mind for the future?

Now THAT she could sink her teeth into!

A/N: Thank you to everyone who sends me a PM or leaves a review or follows or just plain reads my stuff. I appreciate it from the bottom of my heart!