So, what can I say? Since I last posted we have lost our beloved, amazing Mrs Hudson! Sherlock and Baker St will never be the same and England may fall. I was so sad to hear of Una Stubbs passing, she has been a constant throughout my life from Summer Holiday, to Worzel Gummidge (third doctor - Jon Pertwee), Give us a Clue and then, the best, Sherlock.

I was lucky enough to meet her and have a photo taken at one of the sherlocked conventions and she was lovely, even though we were the last in line and she'd been there for ages. She will be very missed.

Anyway, thank you for all your likes and comments on the first chapter. Shall we wrap things up…

Chapter 2

Sherlock had known since that phone call that he and Molly would eventually get to this point, but he had never anticipated that it would be so soon.

The last fortnight had been two of the worst weeks of his life, as he'd grappled with the knowledge that his biggest enemy in all this has been his own mind. His whole life had been built around the premise that the only person he could trust was himself, and that simple fact had lain in tatters around his feet.

Just as he had told Molly, the one thing he had been able to cling to, was that he had meant it when he had told her he loved her. It had been so hard to say it the first time. He'd closed his eyes and stuttered over the words, forcing them out because her very life depended on it. But when he had, it had been the key which had unlocked his heart, and as he'd repeated his 'I love you' to her, he'd felt a lightness, a warmth, a flood of emotions such as he'd never before felt.

It had been that rush, and then the subsequent fear that Euros might kill Molly anyway, just on a whim, that had led to him breaking that coffin with his bare hands. For that one moment he'd been overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by all those 'complicated emotions' as his sister had called them.

And after, as he'd helped to deal with his parents' reaction to the news that their daughter was alive; and worked with Mycroft to ensure a new, more effective security system to contain her, he'd known that at some point he would have to go to Molly and admit the truth.

He had been honest with her though. He hadn't planned to see her tonight, that had been forced upon him by necessity, and he HAD expected her to be cold with him.

She would have been well within her rights to be. He'd treated her appallingly in the past. Manipulating her, taking advantage of her feelings, pushing her away. The fact that he now understood why he'd always kept her at arm's length wouldn't help. He needed to earn her trust, and win back her affections, and he'd expected that to take time.

His beautiful, strong, confident Molly had surprised him once again. Yes, she'd needed him to be honest with her, but when he had been she had just accepted it, and now here he was, on the verge of realising those fantasies that had been dominating his every waking, and sleeping thought, over the last two weeks. If he was honest with himself, they were fantasies that he had been trying to repress for longer than he cared to remember.

As they kissed, his hand moved to her waist. The soft touch of the fabric had him recalling the moment that she'd opened the door, spinning his world upside down.

He'd quickly realised, as he'd fallen into the taxi, that John wasn't an option. His friend had left London two days earlier, with his daughter, for a short holiday. He was not going to put himself through the boredom of a long wait in A&E, and Molly was therefore his only option, whether she wanted to see him or not.

He'd made his way into her block of flats by picking the lock, but even he had realised that letting himself into her home would be a bad thing. Instead, he'd hammered on the door, knowing her innate sense of neighbourliness would have her rushing to answer it.

As he heard movement in the flat he'd leant against the wall, and momentarily let himself give into the pain of his various injuries. It left him biting back a groan. He'd had worse, much worse, but it didn't lessen the sting of his forehead and jaw, or the ache of his eye and his ribs.

It all faded when she'd opened the door though, when he'd seen what she was wearing.

She obviously hadn't had time to think about what she had on, and for that Sherlock was immensely grateful. This image of her would easily take pride of place in his mind palace. She was wearing barely a slip of pink silk topped and tailed with a lace, which looked so soft to the touch it had his fingers itching to test the theory. She had thrown a black, sheer gown over the top which gave an edgy, sexy side to what could have been a chaste, virginal look; it was a heady, arousing combination, and if he'd had mind to, he could have listed numerous physical changes taking place in his own body in reaction.

He brought himself back to the present, the feel of her breast in his mouth, her hard nipple against his tongue. It sent a powerful surge of lust coursing through him, making him rut his hips against her, desperate for a friction he hadn't sought out from another in over a decade. He wanted to bury himself in her, lose himself in a way only drugs had managed previously.

Her right hand was woven into his hair, tugging on the strands, making him growl his need out loud. He slid his own hand down her body, over her hip and then between her legs. Shifting slightly he moved it between her body and his, and as he explored her with his fingers he could feel her heat. It had his cock pulsing in trousers that had become too tight since the moment he'd entered her flat. Any pain from his injuries had long since been forgotten, if anything they just added an edge to the pleasure he was currently chasing.

She let out a gasp as he touched her and the sound was unlike anything Sherlock had heard before. It had him lifting his head and shifting back so he could kiss her again.

'You have no idea Molly, how much I want to hear you come.'

Even just those words from him had her begging him for more, and he felt her hands moving to the waistband of his trousers, as she rushed to try to undo the fastenings. Within a minute she was pushing the material down, finally freeing his erection from its restricted confines. Nothing had quite prepared him though, for the feel of her small hand wrapping around his aching cock, and this time it was him letting out a gasp. It was an effort not to beg in his turn. He had prided himself in the past that he never begged, but he rather suspected Molly would be his downfall.

He rocked his hips, using the grip of her hand to ease his need, but it just left him wanting more. His fingers were buried deep inside her, and he had a desperate desire to feel that same sucking heat around his manhood.

He lifted his head slightly, and when he looked into her eyes, he saw how dilated they were, how filled with need and love and desire they were, and he could only imagine that his were the same.

'Molly, are you sure you want this? Tell me now if you don't.'

Her rejection was the only thing that would stop them having sex right now, Sherlock knew he was well passed the point of no return. The relief he felt as she nodded her head was palpable.

'God, Sherlock, I've never been more sure. I want you, I've always wanted you.'

He bent his head and kissed her again, happy to delay their mutual satisfaction, now he knew it was assured. As he let his tongue slide against hers he could still taste the residual mint of her toothpaste, but other than that it was all Molly. He felt as if he could kiss her, and touch her, for the rest of his life and it would still never be enough. How had he not realised how all consuming love would be? Reading about it, hearing about it…it was nothing compared to the reality. Now he understood what John had meant about taking his chance whilst he still could, and he was just so grateful that she had never given up on him.

MHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMH

When Sherlock had looked down on her, and asked her if she was sure, Molly had been amazed that she could still form words let alone verbalise them. The last hour had been a complete rollercoaster of emotions, from fear at seeing his injuries, to confusion, to the realisation of all her hopes, and now to pure need and lust.

Never though, in her wildest fantasies about Sherlock (and there had been many), had she ever imagined seeing such a look of desperate desire on his face.

His ever changeable eyes were almost black ringed with stormy grey, which had her breath catching in her throat, and an aching need between her legs that even his nimble hand could not assuage.

As he bent his head to kiss her again she welcomed it, opening her mouth to him, feeling his tongue twist against her own and she could feel her climax starting to build inexorably. She didn't want to come just yet though, she wanted to be properly joined with him, and so she brought her knees higher, up near his waist. He seemed to intuit what she wanted; he deftly removed his hand, and then held himself still until she'd positioned him at her entrance.

He held her gaze as he slowly pushed into her, and it was almost too much. She'd never had such a connection, or such strong feelings for any previous lover before. She felt as if she was stripped down to her soul and laid bare before him, as though he could see all of her, even her deepest, darkest secrets. And maybe he could, he was Sherlock Holmes after all.

'Fuck, Molly, I can't… you feel so good, too good.'

As he finally reached her limits he held still for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut, and she could feel him pulsing. It was like a chain reaction rippling through her body, and she dug her nails into his lush backside urging him to start moving, feeling her orgasm building.

He almost tentatively withdrew and then plunged back in, and as he did they both cried out with mutual need.

Molly kissed his throat, sucking on his skin, tasting him, urging him on with her hands and her words. It was only a few moments later that she felt herself falling, calling out his name as she did, knowing he was as close, and that he'd fall soon after.

Every thrust seemed to send more waves of pleasure through her until she wasn't sure she could even take anymore, but then he came, pressing into her even more than he had previously, his head buried against her shoulder. Hearing him say her name, in that moment, was like the final piece of proof that his feelings for her were real, that it wasn't just desire talking.

As his body sagged against her own, she wrapped her arms around his back, holding him close, wondering just how he must be feeling. It hadn't occurred to her before, when they were in the throes of passion, but she was starting to wonder how long it might have been since he'd had sex, if he even had.

After a few seconds he lifted his head, and looked at her searchingly, before he bent and pressed his lips against hers. Then he moved off her, sitting and pulling his trousers and shorts back up.

Molly quickly excused herself, hurrying to the bathroom to clean up, and as she did she wondered what exactly was going to happen now. It had all felt so real and seemed so clear when they were having sex, but now it was over she was starting to doubt him… maybe it had just been a reaction to everything he'd been through over the last few weeks, or maybe he wanted something more casual, a friends with benefits type of arrangement.

In the end all she could do was to head back out and see what he said, and so that's what she did, almost nervously making her way back into the front room.

Sherlock was lying with his head against the back of the settee, his eyes closed and an enigmatic smile playing on his lips. He must have sensed her hesitancy, because he spoke without even looking at her.

'No need to be nervous Molly, I haven't changed my mind about anything I said or that we did. I am exhausted though, and I rather suspect I'll be feeling my injuries a bit more tomorrow.'

Finally, he lifted his head and looked at her, smirking. 'You'll have to go on top in the morning.' Then he winked and she felt relief wash over her as she laughed.

'You'd better come on then, before my bed gets cold.'

He pushed himself off the settee with a pained groan, his hand moving to his ribs. He followed her through to her bedroom, and as they finally cuddled up together naked, Molly actually found herself grateful that Sherlock had ended up in her doorstep that night, even if he had had to be beaten bloody to do it.

And there we go, short but maybe sexy over sweet? I don't know, you tell me.

The good news is that I do have another, longer fic lined up for you all. I'm off to London next weekend so I'll probably start posting it the week after. Until then, take care of yourselves xxx