Disclaimer: This fanfiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Not beta read so all mistakes are mine. Slightly NSFW, just so you know...
#HurricaneHolmes
"Best. Shag. Ever."
And a breathless, blissfully post-coital Sherlock flops onto his back.
Lets out a long, lusty sigh of contentment before pulling Molly to him with his free arm.
His intent is clearly to snog her silly.
The pathologist comes easily, allowing him to settle her on his chest. In the pale light of the bedroom she can see his eyes glittering, face split into a gorgeous, daft smile which is made of three parts joy and one part swaggering, manly pride.
(He has, after all- despite his protestations to the contrary- reduced her to jelly just as much as she reduced him).
Breathing heavily, she stares down at him. Drinks in the sight of him. Her Sherlock. Hers. Beneath her palm, she can feel his heart thundering, its pounding rhythm a match for her own. His sweat-slicked body is every bit as warm and sated as hers; the scent of salt and arousal and his aftershave hangs in the air. She stares down at him and he cocks his head, darts a coy, butterfly kiss to the edge of her lips, her jaw, before just as suddenly letting out a whoop of devilish laughter and changing places, pressing her into the bed beneath him-
She retaliates by tickling him until he's reduced to a messy puddle of swearing and giggles, the latter nearly causing him to fall out of the bed.
He's only saved by grabbing onto her, forcing her to pull him back to her with a yelp.
"My hero," he grins when she does it, and she digs him playfully in the side. In retaliation, he links their fingers together, interlocking them before pulling Molly's arms above her head. Moving so that now he's straddling her hips, her body laid out beneath him.
He stares down at her and suddenly- as always- Molly feels like the world has come to a standstill.
"Beautiful little thing," he says, and the words sound almost like they're being said to himself. "Pretty little thing," he says, and he kisses her collarbone. Runs his nose along it. Breathes in her scent. "Lovely, gorgeous, clever little thing," he says, and he kisses her lips. Her throat. The undersides of her breasts.
She finds herself grinning up at him like an idiot, but then she always does.
"So perfect," he says, and he's pressing cheeky, grinning kisses to her nipples, now. Sucking and licking and nuzzling them as he grins up at her."I'm so lucky," he murmurs, more quietly, and at this she sees something move through him.
Something... soft.
Something vulnerable.
Something unutterable, inalienably, him.
Molly knows she would do anything to protect it.
"We're both of us lucky, love," she says softly, threading her fingers through his curls and stroking.
He sighs and leans into her like a tomcat being petted. The familiarity of the reaction brings a burst of fondness to her heart.
She may be the Hurricane in their relationship- At least that's what Sherlock always calls her- but in this moment, he's the storm. He's the hurricane. A force of nature, a knot of want. Of trust and joy and loveliness and feeling.
Molly winds him in her arms and holds him close.
It's as she assumes he's drifting off to sleep that she hears him whisper, "Ready for another round, my clever little thing?" and of course- for him- she is.