You have no idea how hard it was, this time, to get this chapter to you. I have just spent half an hour getting it onto my PC so I could edit and upload it. On a hot day like today I didn't need the extra stress as I'm now sweating in a quite undignified way. Hopefully, Molly and Sherlock aren't sweating in a similar way…or are they?

Chapter 7

Molly followed Sherlock nervously through the corridors of the hotel.

'You haven't said where we're going or why? Slow up a little...talk to me.'

Sherlock huffed a little and let her catch up. He kept his voice low as he replied. 'Now we know the dead man is Harlow we're going to check his room before the body turns up and the police destroy all the evidence.'

'And why now?'

'Everyone will be at breakfast. Staff get free breakfasts but no other meals so it's the only time the staff quarters are likely to be empty. There's not many that live in though. Chantelle said it's just the owners, the dancers, and the head chef.'

Molly hated how utterly unnerved she felt at the idea of breaking into someone's room. Sherlock seemed as calm as ever and she was just a bag of nerves. She kept close to him and equally kept looking all around them for signs of anyone else.

After a minute he stopped and looked down at her chuckling. 'Calm down Molly. You wouldn't make a very good criminal. We won't get found I promise and if we do, just let me do the talking. Right, it's this door here.'

As he picked the lock Molly couldn't help muttering. 'It worries me how good a criminal you would make.'

He glanced back at her and winked. 'Aren't you glad I chose to be on the side of the angels then?'

At this she smiled. 'Not that you are one though.'

This time when he glanced at her he seemed more thoughtful...almost puzzled. 'Funny, I said that myself...once.'

There was a click and Sherlock gently pushed the door open, and Molly found herself holding her breath waiting for someone inside to shout at them...but no one did.

She quickly followed him inside to a fairly small and scruffy room. It was certainly not as well kitted out or decorated as the main hotel rooms.

There was a small window high up on one wall which gave the only natural light. It only served to accentuate the fact that the staff rooms were down in the basement.

The bed was unmade and strewn with clothes. There was a bedside cabinet, a chest of drawers, and an alcove in the room had been turned into a kind of wardrobe/storage space with a slatted, sliding door on one half.

'Look for anything that might be pertinent...letters, bills, identification...'

She nodded and headed over towards the drawers and started to open them. She couldn't help feeling guilty at rooting through a dead man's things, but she supposed if it helped to catch his killer it was all good.

She passed anything that looked remotely interesting to Sherlock. Most he discarded and handed back for her to replace but a couple he took photos of.

She had almost finished when they both heard a noise in the corridor outside, footsteps heading towards them.

Sherlock immediately stood and reached for her. He glanced around and then pulled her towards the wardrobe. He swiftly opened the door and dragged her in just managing to close it as the outer door slowly opened. Whoever was coming in they were acting as stealthily as Molly and Sherlock had. This was no Harlow coming home.

Molly's heart felt like it was thundering in her chest as she desperately tried not to make any sound. Her breathing sounded loud to her own ears as did Sherlock's, but she guessed it was more her nerves playing tricks on her as it didn't seem to alert whoever had come in.

Sherlock had pulled them past the clothes hanging on the rail and then he had leant his back against the wall and pulled Molly up against him, but it was only when he moved to reposition himself that she really realised how close they were. He slid down the wall ever so slightly so he could peer through a slight gap in the wood fronting the wardrobe and as he did his leg slid between her thighs pressing against her in a way that sent all kinds of inappropriate signals to her brain.

His hand was on her lower back holding her close and she felt her breasts pressed up against his chest, their hips almost touching and his breath hot on her neck.

He shifted again and once again Molly felt a jolt of lust and her breath must have hitched in her throat because he moved his face closer, their cheeks sliding against each other until his mouth was by her ear. 'Shh'.

She nodded to let him know she understood and then she squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to think about just how horny she was and just how much Sherlock's thigh was rubbing against her and turning her on. The trouble was the more she tried not to think about it the worse her situation got. She tried to move slightly so they weren't touching as much but his hand tightened on her lower back and pressed her harder against him and she felt her inner muscles start to clench with need.

She could vaguely hear whoever had come in moving about the room and shifting various light objects and when she opened her eyes, she could see Sherlock's eye lit up slightly from the only light coming into their small space. The fear of being caught just seemed to add to her spike of adrenaline and it was all mixing to become a perfect storm of hormones in her traitorous body and she had to bite back a moan of desire.

The cupboard they were hidden in was opened and for a moment fear overtook all her other thoughts. The clothes that they were hidden behind were moved back and forth on the rails but whatever the intruder was looking for he didn't find because he closed the door again and all Molly could do was breathe a sigh of relief knowing he was even more of an amateur at searching than she was.

There was a creak of bedsprings, and she could only think that he or she had sat down to wait or think or something and all she could do was silently curse because that meant she was trapped with her own thoughts and the feel of Sherlock's body.

She let her head drop to his shoulder and she could feel him breathing. She tried to centre herself using it but instead it seemed to be a rhythm; one that was tied to the ever growing feeling of need between her thighs. She found herself involuntarily moving against him ever so slightly and each time she did she felt her desperate need for him growing until she realised with an almost out of body horror that she was going to come.

The need to not move, to keep still, was causing her arousal to grow more and more and there was nothing she could do to stop it. All she could hope was that Sherlock wouldn't notice but how could he not. Her breathing was erratic and as her climax started, she knew she was shaking with the effort not to move or make any sound.

She must have let out some kind of noise because Sherlock quickly brought his hand up to press against her mouth, but it mustn't have been enough because a second later he moved his head and replaced his hand with his mouth and then he was kissing her, and Molly seemed to lose all grip on reality. She gave in to the feeling of her orgasm as it washed over her, pressing herself against him even more, more than she'd thought possible. Her hands gripped his shirt and as the kiss deepened, she could feel his hand threaded through her hair holding her head as he carried on kissing her until her body finally came back under some sort of her control.

As he broke away from her, she saw his eyes move back to the gap in the door and she felt him sag against the wall.

'He's gone...come on.'

Carefully they extracted themselves from the wardrobe, but as Molly came back into the light of the room she found herself cringing with utter mortification and embarrassment. What must he be thinking? Why had he kissed her? Unfortunately, she felt that the latter could be answered with his simple need to keep her quiet. She'd forced him into it and that just made her feel even worse.

She knew she need to say something...to apologise...but she couldn't even begin to face him.

'I...I'm sorry...I need to go.'

She turned to make for the door, but Sherlock caught hold of her arm.

'No, wait, Molly I'm sorry. I shouldn't have kissed you...but you...you were having a panic attack and it was the only thing I could think of to distract you from it.'

Molly turned to him in shock. 'A panic attack?'

He didn't seem to want to meet her eye as he answered. 'Don't be embarrassed...it was claustrophobic in there...it's not that big a deal. Let's just finish up here and then you can go shopping as planned and I'll head off to find Chantelle for those dance lessons...God I wish she didn't have such a god awful name. I can't say it and keep my face straight.'

She half laughed at his attempt to lighten the mood and she helped him to carry on searching the room, but she was glad when they finally parted. She made her way back to her room theoretically to freshen up and pick up her handbag but when she got there, she collapsed into the small vanity chair and put her head in her hands. How much more pathetic could her life get? She had just 'got off' on Sherlock's thigh and as embarrassing as that was, he hadn't even known what was happening. He'd thought she was having a panic attack. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry but she knew without doubt that she'd need a drink with her lunch.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

Sherlock had also gone back to his room to splash some water over his face and try to calm down before he went to meet the dancer. He had known exactly the situation he had put Molly in and from the first moment that he had heard her breath hitch in her throat and felt the way she had ever so slightly rocked against his leg he hadn't been able to stop himself from shifting his position and holding her to him until he finally felt her come. And to make it even worse he hadn't been strong enough to resist her, and instead he'd found himself holding her and kissing her and just wishing he could hear her crying out his name as she climaxed. Just holding her as she'd gone through it had almost unmanned him, and it put paid to him telling himself that he didn't want her in a sexual way.

It didn't change the fact that he didn't think he was good for her...or that his life was not cut out to include a girlfriend or a wife. He'd always prided himself on being alone...Eurus had proved to him that that was the safest way for him to live, but he also knew his resolve was weakening.

It had been a spur of the moment thing to convince Molly that he'd thought she'd had a panic attack. He knew her, and he knew she'd be mortified by what had happened; that she might even leave and continue on with her holiday and he didn't want her to. No matter his own personal conflicts over his feelings for her he still wanted her with him...no, he needed her with him...it wasn't a choice. He wondered vaguely how much else wasn't a choice anymore, but he pushed those thoughts away. He had a murder to solve. He should focus on that for now and worry about his feelings for Molly after.

So, things have somewhat come to a head between them, and they're both trying to cope with the emotional ramifications. I hope you enjoyed the little offering of smut, but let me know xx