Chapter 5

"I haven't felt this relaxed since…" Molly said giving him a brief glance over her shoulder, "I don't remember that anymore" she added giggling and turning again, "So, you want me to continue?" Sherlock asked, his warm breath near her ear, "Oh, yes please!" she pleaded.

And he was more than happy to indulge her by resuming the previous movements, this time sliding the straps of her black lace bra down her arms so that he could massage her shoulders as well.

It was amazing how good she felt about receiving that massage, Sherlock's hand finding and loosening every knot of tension in her muscles. And soon her mind too, cleared away all worry and frustration. The more Molly indulged in the pleasant sensation his touch gave her, the more her thoughts drifted in directions she believed she had buried, if not erased.

She told herself she had to leave with the excuse she needed to catch up on a few hours of sleep before starting her shift in the afternoon, but above all that she couldn't and shouldn't feel what she was feeling. But she couldn't move, there was some kind of force holding her nailed to Sherlock.

He watched in raptures as Molly's body responded to the touch of his hands. Her head alternatively shifting to give him more access to her neck's sides, her soft and velvet skin shivered with every stroke of his fingertips.

Suddenly, without her permission, Molly's hands found their way to lean against Sherlock's thighs, sensing the immediate twitch of his muscles at her touch. She couldn't stop herself from moving them slowly up and down, stroking him through his trousers' fabric. Once again she ordered herself to leave. What the hell had she thought of? She was teasing him and that wasn't what a friend was supposed to do.

At her light touch, Sherlock's stomach squeezed and his entire body was ripped by a jolt of pleasure. An unexpected and animalistic urge pushed Sherlock to wrap her waist whit his left arm and pull Molly closer to him, knowing that she would have caught how much he wanted her.

She closed her eyes and held her breath as she discovered how affected Sherlock was from the rubbing of her hands on his thighs. "He's a man after all, isn't he?" a voice in her mind told her, "His body reacts to stimuli. It would happen even if I were someone else".

He dipped his face into her hair inhaling the scent of her green apple and lime shampoo, his mind becoming dizzy and his nostrils intoxicated. Then, he cupped his right hand on her jaw, stroking her cheekbone with his thumb and bringing her to rest her right cheek on his collarbone.

At the contact with the fabric of Sherlock's jacket, Molly called herself stupid. Mycroft had warned her that seeing Sherlock again would bring back her feelings for him. And instead she had sworn again and again to him that she would be able, now that Sherlock had clearly told her that he could never love her as a man loves a woman, to be only his friend.

Sherlock felt Molly's breathing had become heavier and saw her breasts rise and fall at that rate. He looped his hand, lightly but possessively, around her neck brushing with his thumb her pulsing point. A gesture she found so erotic she could not hold back a low moan.

That faint sound elicited something deep inside him and spurred him to grind himself against her bum. In response Molly let out a more hoarse moan and her lips parted slightly as her hand moved to stroke his inner thighs. His mind was on the edge of a precipice, hers had already given up.

Sherlock brought his mouth close to hers totally taken by the thought of tasting it, and it was then that he felt her tongue slid along his lower lip. He snapped his eyes away from her mouth to fully savour the new sensation and to observe her entire face. Molly was, with her eyes closed, pink cheeks and rapture expression, as beautiful as Sherlock saw her in his latest dreams.

Molly's tongue slid along his upper lip brought him back to focus on her mouth. Sherlock stroked the tip of his tongue with that of hers once and then again, letting out a groan. She became bold and lashed her tongue with his, spinning herself and facing him.

"Oh God, Molly!" he let out in a rush as she grabbed the collar of his jacket with one hand and tucked the other between his curls pulling them slightly as her tongue intertwined with his. Sherlock cupped his hands on her jaw and deepened the kiss passionately.

He moved one arm around her waist and the other to the middle of her back holding Molly as close to him as possible, a deeper contact hampered by their clothes. Sherlock's kiss became ravenous, he seemed to devour her and she kissed him back with the same enthusiasm. Luckily there was no one in that part of the building at that time of the night, so they didn't have to worry about how loud their moans were.

The insistent ringtone of Sherlock's phone, placed in the inside pocket of his jacket, brought Molly back to reality. She broke the kiss and abruptly broke away from his embrace, rearranging her clothes. Sherlock reached out to her, to hold her back but she nervously escaped his grip, "Answer your phone" she panted.

He looked at her confused "Molly", she turned away from him "Answer that damn phone!" she repeated irritated with herself for letting herself go. "Why? Why the hell are you so stupid?" she kept repeating to herself as Sherlock rolled his eyes seeing who was calling him.

"What do you want?" he asked sharply as he slipped off the stool, "Yes, Lestrade called me" he laughed ironically, "Why am I not surprised you know the girl's father?" he added trying to hide the evident bulge in his trousers under his jacket.

Listening to the other person, Sherlock glanced at Molly who was scribbling something on a piece of paper "Oh, stop please, Mycroft!" he snorted bored and noticed that in mentioning his brother's name, Molly had jerked her head up and turned red.

"I know how to do my work! At this exact moment I am at Bart's lab" he stated slipping a hand in his pocket, he turned his back on her and began to pace the room, "Plus there's Molly here with me to help me out" Sherlock said with the evident intent of annoying his brother by letting him know that his 'girlfriend' was alone with him at that time of the night, and at the same time seeing Molly's reaction for himself.

But when he turned again Sherlock saw that Molly was gone. Mycroft just told him not to take advantage of Molly's kindness and to keep him informed about the case of the murdered girl. Sherlock closed the call and walked over to the counter where the piece of paper Molly had written on lay. He took it in his hand and read it I'M SORRY ABOUT THE KISS. IT WASN'T FAIR OF ME TO TEASE YOU. IT WILL NOT HAPPEN AGAIN.

Sherlock rushed into the corridor but there was no sign of her. He considered joining her in the locker room but for sure by the time he got there, Molly would probably have already been outside the building.

He picked up his phone and sent her a text, WE NEED TO TALK. TOMORROW AT LUNCH. WAITING FOR YOU IN BAKER STREET. SH

It was several minutes before her reply arrived, THERE IS NOTHING TO TALK ABOUT. I'M YOUR FRIEND AND I SHOULD NOT HAVE KISSED YOU, THAT'S IT. I ALREADY HAVE A LUNCH DATE. SEE YOU AT BART'S IN THE AFTERNOON. I'LL GIVE YOU OTHER AUTOPSY'S RESULTS. MH

Sherlock let out a cry of frustration. Why wasn't it clear to Molly that he too had wanted that kiss, that if Mycroft hadn't interrupted them they would surely go beyond kissing? Wasn't it obvious enough how much he wanted her?

"And how could it be clear to Molly?" John's voice in his head asked him, "Wasn't it you who told her that your declaration of love was made only to save her life? That no matter how deeply you loved her, wasn't a man's love for a woman?" he saw his mind-John shake his head, "How can Molly think you've changed your mind?".

He had been a perfect idiot! His second 'I love you' had fallen out of his lips without even him noticing and he had destroyed the coffin intended for Molly with his bare hands out of anger at having been manipulated by his sister into hurting a woman who had been next to him in all those years without expecting anything from him and that had loved him afar and silently.

Sherlock, always cold and calculating, had suddenly found himself overwhelmed by an infinite number of emotions without knowing what to do with them or how to manage them. And the emotions he felt for Molly had been so intense that it frightened him.

He had seen John's grief over the loss of Mary and Sherlock didn't want to know such grief, and loving Molly openly would surely put her life in danger as it had with Euros. So he made sure that Molly continued to be a part of his life thanks to their friendship but didn't become its hub, its heart.

Sherlock had had thus plenty of time to put his life back in order, which had been totally upset by what happened in Sherrinford and by the revelations of his sister. And despite all the clues of his real feelings for Molly was there in front of him, Sherlock had refused to see them and admit the reality. He had been in love with her, and for a very long time.

In the meantime, however, Molly had agreed to go to Baltimore for three months. And since then she had crept into his head, into his dreams, under his skin. Her absence had become a physical discomfort to which Sherlock found remedy for in meeting her more and more frequently in his mind palace.

The space Molly occupied in Sherlock's mind palace was not confined to a single room, it was more like an apartment with several rooms connected to each other. At first he entered that space for a short time and only once a week, exactly after talking to her on video call.

Then he went to his mind-Molly more often and stayed longer. He always found her waiting for him, welcoming him with her sweet and warm smile. Sometimes wearing only her underwear and one of his shirt, sometimes fully clothed.

During those visits they often made love. He remembered the first time was a passionate and erotic act consumed against the front door because his desire for her was so strong that the bedroom seemed too far away. But most of the time their lovemaking was slower and more intimate, whispering their names like a chant amid rising groans.

Countless times they had just talked hugging and curled up in bed. Or they were both on the sofa, she sitting with a book in one hand and the other intent on stroking his hair as he was lying with his head on her lap lingering in his mind palace.

Other times they stood in the kitchen with Molly wrapped in a white apron with cherry designs in front of the stove and he beside her, ready to taste what she was cooking. Or sitting across from each other with the chessboard between them, with Molly very focused on the best move to make and occasionally looking up at him in an attempt to deduce him.

Sherlock's favourite moments, however, were when they were relaxing in the hot water of the bathtub. The bubble bath's foam covered their naked bodies. Molly's back against his chest and her head resting on his shoulder, their fingers intertwined and their legs tangled.

Sherlock was brought back to reality by the sound of the machine, which had finished analysing the samples. He ran a hand over his face wearily, now he had to concentrate on the case, but the first thing to do in the morning was to talk to John, he needed his advice.