A/N: aydamagethematurerminded asked: Hi! I love your work, could I ask for a prompt? It's after Sherringford and Irene Adler turns up for whatever reason and threatens molly (either seriously or as a joke to annoy Sherlock) but Sherlock's not having any of it. Maybe molly is there when it happens? You are amazing :D
Me: Enjoy this slightly naughty T rated fic. It's Sherlolly, even if it may not quite seem like it.
"My, my, Sherlock, what would Kitty Reilly say if she got her little pitty-paws on some of the snaps in your phone? I don't doubt she'd pay me a pretty penny for any one of them, but especially the one with Miss Hooper in the hat…and nothing else!"
Sherlock, who had stopped, paralyzed with a combination of shock and panic at the sight of Irene Adler perched naked on the arm of his sofa and scrolling calmly through his mobile, sprang into action. "Give me that," he growled, snatching the phone from Irene's unprotesting grip. "Woman, what are you doing here?"
"Can't an old friend drop by for a visit?" she asked with a little pout…but her eyes remained wicked and knowing. She ran a hand up his leg; he twitched away and she laughed. "Oh, relax, I'm not here for you. You weren't supposed to be home for hours yet, at least that's what my dear friend told me!" She had the audacity to wink at him. "And I must say, I'm so pleased you have your own 'dear friend' these days."
A dear friend who would be home in about fifteen minutes. "Woman, get your clothes on, get whatever scheme you have going on out of my flat and out of my life, and consider yourself told no. No the scheme, no to whatever trouble it is you're currently in, and especially no to, to dinner!" The last word was said in a lower tone, almost a whisper, and he found himself involuntarily glancing around as if they might be overheard.
Then something she'd said earlier finally brought itself to his attention. "Wait, what 'dear friend' are you talking about?" he demanded.
As if on cue the door to the bathroom opened, emitting a cloud of steam…and a very naked Greg Lestrade. "Right, all done," he said cheerily as he made his way to the sitting room. "Suppose we should start lookin' for our clothes, eh?"
His grin vanished as soon as he saw that Irene wasn't alone. "Bugger all!" he exclaimed, automatically reaching down with both hands to cover himself. "What are you doin' here?"
"Oh, don't mind me, it's just my flat," was Sherlock's sardonic rejoinder. He glanced down at Irene, still unselfconsciously naked, and raised an eyebrow. "Really, Woman? DI Lestrade?"
"Really really," she replied, rising gracefully to her feet and crossing the small distance to stop by Greg's side. She linked her arm through his, ignoring his squawk of dismay as his hand was temporarily dislodged from its 'ow my balls' position. "I told you, didn't I, that I liked detective stories?" She smirked and placed a deliberate kiss on Lestrade's cheek. "And detectives?"
(Sherlock never did find out why they decided to use his flat for their liaison - but he was extremely glad Molly didn't arrive until they both had their clothes back on!)