AN: Chapter contains extreme sexuality.

CHAPTER THREE

The house was dark and quiet when Sherlock returned home. He forced himself to go up the front staircase which would take him to his bedroom, instead of going around to the kitchen staircase which would take him near the servants quarters. Near Molly...

He knocked on the bedroom door, there was still a light. He didn't wait for an answer and entered. Janine lay in bed with a book.

"The Joy of Motherhood" was her favorite. He stifled a groan when he saw it. He leaned down and kissed her forehead. She reached up one a hand and cupped his cheek and pressed her lips to his chastely. It wasn't uncommon for her to do that.

"Will you take me tonight?" She asked very clinically. He sighed and shook his head.

"I'm tired." He said and began to change. He heard her indignant sigh. She slammed her book down on the night table and began to pout. As she always did when she didn't get her way. Sherlock was used to it and easily ignored it, most of the time. However not tonight. He was in no mood for her temper tantrums.

Sherlock marched over to her and grabbed her by the forearm, yanking her towards him.

"Stop being a brat!" He shouted and she jerked away from him. He had never raised his voice to her before or touched her in such a way that made her fear him. Husbands weren't supposed to do that to their wives!

"Let me go, Sherlock!" She cried and he released her.

"Go to bed." He ordered. She didn't dare raise her voice to him or pout or mumble under her breath. She simply turned on her side and closed her eyes, suddenly very afraid of him when she never had been before.

Sherlock laid down next to her and tried to sleep. He sighed and looked over at her. She was awake and staring at him.

"I can't sleep." She whispered in the dark. He closed his eyes and stood walking to the door.

"Where are you going? I told you I can't sleep." She said again, that whining tone returning to her voice. Sherlock pulled on a t-shirt put a hand on the doorknob.

"Then take a damn pill." He snapped before he left. He did and didn't know where he was going. And he ended up exactly where he knew he shouldn't.

Sherlock slowly and quietly opened Molly's door, it wasn't locked. It had no lock. He had been in this room many times. She just didn't know that part. He once crept into her room when she was busy doing something else, he had laid in her bed and breathed in her scent.

Molly was asleep, curled up onto her side facing away from him in her full size bed. She never asked why she was the only member of staff with such a large bed and her own room.

No one ever questioned it. They weren't allowed to. More importantly they weren't even allowed to think of such things. So they didn't.

Sherlock sat down on the side of the bed, her back to him still. She wore a simple pink t-shirt. He wondered if she wore anything else to bed. He reached out and touched her arm, shaking her awake gently. She moaned sleepily and turned over. Startled to see him she pulled the covers up higher.

"Sir!" She whispered sharply in the dark. He pressed a finger to his lips and she silenced herself.

"What do you need?" She asked when the silence dragged on for too long.

"You'll tell me it's wrong," he began quietly and she looked confused. "Indecent. You'll tell me many things. But I want you Molly. I want you."

Molly didn't fully understand what he was saying. Only from their previous encounters did she have some grasp on what he said. She shook her head but suddenly his mouth was on hers and he was pressing her back into the mattress and pillows. She gasped as he claimed her lips and fell upon her.

"Please, Sir," she whimpered, gripping his strong arms and feeling his muscles ripple beneath her hands. Her core was ablaze, slickening in what felt like seconds.

Sherlock responded with more rough kisses, more hands and tongue. More nips at her neck. She clenched her eyes shut as he pulled every feeling she had never felt before to the surface, into the light.

But where she bathed in sunlight, he wallowed in the darkness.

Sherlock was pleased to see she wore only underwear under the covers. He pushed a hand up her shirt, gently squeezing her small breast and manipulating her nipple to hardness. She cried out as he lowered his head to her chest. Her hands dug into his soft dark hair, those dark blue eyes gazing up at her; hooded with lust. A word she still didn't know.

"Did you touch yourself tonight?" He asked her and she frowned at him, confused. He smirked, she had no idea what he meant even still.

"Did you take your hand and touch yourself between your legs?" He said more directly, almost impatiently, as if he was panting to know the answer.

Molly blushed furiously at his words and looked away from him. His smiled widened.

"You did didn't you?" He whispered against her tummy. He licked lower. She sat up and attempted to push him away. He sat up as well, placing a hand on either side of her waist and met her halfway, kissing her hard once more. She had propped herself on her elbows, meaning to try and fight him away but she couldn't, and she didn't want to.

Without much effort or resistance, Sherlock made her lie back down. He propped her legs up, so her feet were flat on the bed. He tore his shirt off and returned to the space between her legs. She was shaking all over. And when he ran a finger over her clothed entrance she tried jerking her legs closed.

"Oh god, please..." She begged him fruitlessly. He leaned down and inhaled her sweet, innocent scent. It almost seemed a pity to take her. But he wanted her and needed to cum inside her. He needed to fuck himself into her again and again. No matter how many times she begged him to stop, he would have her.

And truthfully, she never had told him to stop...

He tore her panties off and pushed her legs open.

"Sir..." she whimpered helplessly.

"Don't fight me," he said to her as he pressed a finger to her opening. She covered her face with her hands. After a minute or two of gently stroking her with one he added a second. And then he added his mouth. She let out a moan and then a shocked gasped. Her eyes were wide and bulged greatly at his assault.

"You- you... shouldn't-" She managed to say. But he didn't stop. His other hand reached up to grasp her swollen breast beneath her shirt. He felt a hand grip his shoulder, not pushing him away. Pulling him closer, her little fingers sliding the nape of his... holding him there.

Sherlock continued until he felt her breath quickening. She was on the edge. He wanted her to cum. He wanted her to break free from her conditioning. He wanted her to cum on his tongue and then he would make her taste her liberation.

And she did, again and again. The tremors rocked her body as she unknowingly thrust her hips against his mouth. He held her down with one hand on her hip and the other holding her hand, their fingers interlocked with one another. He didn't realize he had taken her hand in his, or maybe she had done that.

Molly panted heavily as she came down from her high. He loomed over her, both hands on either side of her head. She stared at him breathless. He leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers. Too weak to fight him she opened her mouth and tasted herself on his tongue. And then she felt something pressing hard between her legs, against her exposed womanhood.

Still too weak to move away from him she let him press it back and forth against her. It was hard, felt thick as he moved against her. And then he reached between them and moved his hand about for a few seconds.

"What now?" She whispered against his lips. He kissed her forehead and pressed his bare cock against her still twitching and dripping cunt. She gasped at the feel of it and out of instinct she tried to move away.

"Don't be afraid." He told her gently and began pressing the head of his cock against her opening. She tensed a little then relaxed, placing her hands gently to his sweaty chest, her thumbs making small circles of their accord.

"I am." She confessed to him. He paused. Should he take her? What would happen after? If they were found out she would taken away and he would executed... high treason for going again his sacred vows. Cardinal Magnusson was just looking for an excuse to get rid of Sherlock; it was only Sherlock's brother who had kept him in line all these years...

What of Molly? His sweet, Molly. His one true girl. And the guilt began to mount as he thought of her father; as he thought of brain matter hitting glass, there had been no shock, no anger... all he asked was-

As Sherlock tried to make a decision something pulled him closer and he felt the warmth of her core meet his aching cock. And further into her he was gripped and he gasped. And he realized she had done that.

Molly cried out and pushed her hips further upwards towards him. He couldn't believe it! She had taken him into her. He didn't need to think anymore. He only needed to feel her. He stroked her face as her sheath wrapped around him like a tight, hot glove.

Sherlock wrapped her legs around his waist, her feet resting just above his backside. He pulled out a little and pushed back in gently. He remembered the night he took Janine for the first time. She had been silent, unmoving, not very wet. It had been as unpleasant for him as it had been for her, well, more so for her.

But Molly was dripping, she was mewling. Pulling him into her, attempting to meet his thrusts though he was sure she didn't know why. But now the deep, primal instinctual part of her that been repressed was awakening.

"Does it still hurt?" He managed to say, he had stopped to make sure she was alright. She nodded her head, her bangs sticking to her sweaty forehead. The small, dark room smelled of sex. It was a heavy odor Sherock wanted to never be without and one he would always associate with Molly. Sherlock glanced down at his girl. Her shirt had ridden up over her sweet, delicate breasts. As she reached up to cup his face in her hands her arms squeezed her breasts together. He watched little beads of sweat drip down between them.

Sherlock wondered if she knew how heavily erotic he found her right now.

Surely, she must know... he thought.

He kept up his gentle thrusting for a little while, she grew accustomed to his length and thickness.

"Does it feel good?" He whispered into her ear, needing to know, and she nodded her head.

"Everything is on fire." She whispered back to him. Sherlock could hold back no longer. He gripped her hard against him and pushed himself as far into her as he could go. She gasped loudly as he held himself there for a moment. And then began fucking into her with short hard thrusts that shook the bed and forced the air out of her lungs.

"Oh." She managed to whimper. She stared at the ceiling with a dumbfounded look on her face. She could make out the side of his head, his hot breath against her neck, the room seemed to glow in the darkness.

Molly had never felt such sensations before and she could think of nothing else. Everything from his kisses, to his manhood, to his flesh against hers, felt so foreign. She had been taught from an early age to never allow herself, let alone a man, to evoke such feelings in her.

For they were evil, debauched feelings meant to be suppressed and denied. They were the feelings that could send her to a factory and worse for him.

But now, as he pressed into her, she felt damned and didn't care.

Let him never stop, never... never... she thought helplessly in her mind.

"Fuck." Sherlock groaned hard into her neck. He quickened his pace, he felt himself nearing the end. And it had never felt so amazing, so agonizing, so wrong...

Suddenly he had an urge to hold her down, to see a flash of fear in her eyes. It hardened him even more. He sat up on his knees and gripped her wrists in his hands and kept them pinned down at her sides.

Out of instinct once more she fought him and he delighted as the fear returned to her glassy eyes.

"Trust me." He said quietly, lovingly even.

She watched as every muscle in his body flexed and moved beneath his skin. He didn't look real for a moment. Her wrists ached.

Why did he hold me down? Did all men do this?

Sherlock thrust harder into her and it hurt a little. But she felt that rising feeling again, the one she had felt when his mouth had been on her. It wasn't nearly as intense and it ended sooner than the first. But watching Mr. Holmes suddenly moan loudly, throw his head back with his abs flexing beautifully made it more pleasurable.

Sherlock pumped his cock into her hard and fast, the sounds of the sexes slapping against one another filled the room. Her panting and his moaning could not be ignored by others if they were awake. And he didn't really care if they had woken anyone.

"Oh god." He groaned, collapsing on top of her and kissing her neck.

Molly's eyes fluttered, she realized she had been biting her lips and it was swollen. She felt his kisses travel to her shoulder and a hand gripped the side of her face strongly.

For a moment they marveled at one another; taking in one another's presence. It was as if they were meeting for the first time. An awakening neither had ever expected.

A word came to Sherlock's mind, one he had never said before. And one he felt possessed and compelled to say. But when he opened his mouth to say it he couldn't.

Like being shot in the heart, Sherlock felt the rush of cold, hard reality. And in place of that mysterious and sacred word, he felt bitterness.

An unusual resentment found it's place in his heart.

What have I done? He thought, like a wild animal who had wandered into a trap.

What if she's a spy sent by Magnusson to destroy me!

Sherlock tore himself away from her and sat with his back to her. He was shaking, the high was muddled, his brain overworking, over stimulated. His muscles twitched in the afterglow of his orgasmn. He could still feel her around his cock.

"Sir?" He heard Molly's faint whisper in the dark.

I'll know if she's lying, he thought quickly. He turned back to her, grabbing his hard by the arms and pulling her into the dark light with him. She looked dazed, once more confused by his behavior but not entirely unsurprised by it.

Sherlock searched his girl's face for any sign she was herself one great lie.

But he found nothing; only a simple maid, ravaged and tainted by her employer. A man she was supposed to trust.

Sherlock now felt the guilt once more. He wasn't a man she could trust. He had taken everything from her. He had murdered her father, taken her home, placed her under his watchful eye and then ruined her body. He had taken so much from her and she didn't even know it.

He released her arms and those little hands came up to touch his face.

"Sir? Please, what can I do? Why do you cry?" She asked him.

Sherlock realized his cheeks were wet and not from perspiration. He drew in a deep breath and stood, finding his clothes.

"You will not speak of this to anyone." Sherlock ordered, his back still to her.

"What... what was this, Sir?" She asked him, her voice shaking. Why would he be so kind to her with his kisses, with his... whatever it was they did and then turn on her so? Was cruelty a part of they did? Did he treat her Lady in such a way?

Molly felt for the first time in her life, jealously.

He takes her too, perhaps she's better at it than I, she thought miserably.

Sherlock listened at the door, he saw no light coming from the other side and heard no noise. He didn't even know what time it was. He could not have been long. Janine would be asleep by the time he returned to their bed.

"Sir, please, what did we do that I mustn't speak of?" Molly pleaded.

Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment.

Look at her damn it, she doesn't understand! How could she?

Sherlock did look at her. He returned to the bed, pulling the covers over her thighs, he reached down and handed her her underwear.

"You know what we did, you know it was wrong," he said to her quickly and she nodded. "They would take you from me. I won't let that happen, Molly. Not now, not ever."

"Why did you do it?" She asked him, almost childishly. Sherlock sighed deeply and kissed her forehead.

"One day you'll know why. Now rest a while, before everyone wakes up I want you to change your sheets and dispose of these. Understood?" Molly nodded again.

When Sherlock left her he stood outside her door for a moment or two. He went to his study and took a shower in the bathroom connected to it. He rinsed and rinsed so hard his flesh turned red.

And no matter how hard his scrubbed, no matter how much soap he used, Molly's scent remained.

They had imprinted on one another. He had showed her what men were capable of and she had shown him what the love of a good woman could be even if she didn't realize it.

Sherlock would lie to himself; he knew she only knew what fatherly love was. But there had been something in her eyes akin to love, perhaps.

Who are you trying to fool? He thought as he wrapped a hand around the doorknob of the bedroom he shared with Janine. No one could ever love you.