"What? What is it? God, Sherlock, stop looking at me as if I'm made of glass. I assure you, I am not about to crack up."
Molly hopped off the hospital bed and slipped her shoes on. Her eyes scanned the room for her jacket. She just wanted to get out of there. She looked at him anxiously.
"Well?"
Sherlock gave a little shake of his head. "No, Molly, I am, in fact, quite cognisant of the opposite. You seem to be, ah, less inclined to be persuaded lately."
She raised her brows. "You mean, I'm less of a pushover?"
He looked sideways and exhaled. "There is no right way to answer that question."
Molly tilted her head as she scrutinized Sherlock. The wheels were grinding in his head so forcefully she could almost hear them.
"What do you want, Sherlock?"
Sherlock clasped his hands behind his back and rocked back and forth on his feet. When she moved he leaped into action. He grabbed her jacket from the hook on the back of the door, shook it out, and held it up as she slipped into it. He stepped closer to adjust her collar. She drew in a shaky breath as his fingers brushed the back of her neck. It was too much for her to resist him anymore. After several uneasy hours of feeling like she would go out of her mind, she finally felt safe. She leaned back into him.
"Molly," he mumbled.
He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and buried his face in her hair. She held onto his hands that were folded over her chest and let his warmth envelop her. She closed her eyes and tried to commit every detail to memory. She wished she had a mind palace so she could lock this moment away and visit it any time she wished. He smelled wonderful, his cologne was a unique mix of fresh split wood and distant marketplace spices. His body was strong and solid, a refuge when the world around her felt like it was spinning.
"I want to suggest something," he murmured. "But I do not know how to say it without sounding like I am telling you to do it . . . even though I think you should do it."
Molly laughed softly. "I suppose you could just ask, um - nicely that is."
"A novel idea," he purred. "Would you come stay with me at Baker Street? It is the only way I can protect you."
She leaned her head back on his shoulder and absorbed his request. Stay with him at his house? Her mind whirled. She couldn't help wondering if that was a terrible idea. She still had so many questions and concerns about everything that had been going on lately. Not to mention, she desperately wanted to feel in control of something and she would be at his mercy there . . . not that that was entirely a bad thing . . .
"I gather you are not inclined to heed my advice."
She gripped his hands. "No, I was waiting for the magic word."
"Mm, abracadabra?" His lips moved at her temple as he spoke.
"Not quite."
He puffed out a breath. "Really?"
She wriggled her shoulders, snuggling into his embrace. "Yes, I want to hear you beg me, Sherlock."
His chest rumbled at her back then his lips brushed her ear. "Please, Molly."
She turned in his arms. He was so incredibly handsome. His bow lips were parted slightly. His pale green eyes looked relaxed but there was a glittering intensity to them.
"Yes, Mr. Holmes. I will come home with you."
He pushed a hair from her face. "Good, it will save me the hassle of returning several of your personal items."
Molly frowned. "What? When did you have time for that?"
He smiled. "I enlisted Mycroft's help while you were sleeping. However, he made me pay for it. I promised not to discuss his recent extracurricular activities with Mummy. Actually, we came to kind of a mutual agreement on that score."
Molly shook her head once. "Wait! Wait a minute! You weren't going to accept no for an answer."
He raised his brows. A smile spread lazily across his face.
"Have I ever?"
Mrs. Hudson stood in the doorway of 221 Baker Street wringing her hands when Sherlock and Molly arrived. Molly looked at Sherlock with a quizzical look.
"Did you tell Mrs. Hudson what happened?"
He pursed his lips, then looked around before smiling at her apologetically. "Um, nooo?"
She swatted his arm. "You twat, she's going to treat me like a charity case."
He poked her in the back and pushed her forwards. "Go on, it'll give her something to do. She does so love to fuss."
Molly sighed and put her hand in in Mrs. Hudson's outstretched fingers as she reached the doorway. Mrs. Hudson shook her head and pulled Molly into a hug.
"Oh, you poor little thing. How are you doing, dear?"
Molly managed a wan smile. "I'm fine, Mrs. Hudson. I'm sure Sherlock has exaggerated what happened."
He made a sound. "I never exaggerate."
Mrs. Hudson poked her lips out and frowned at him. "Pssht, don't be you, Sherlock. Come, Molly, I'll make you a cup of tea and maybe you can tend to that critter of yours upstairs. It's been making an awful racket."
Molly's eyes flew to Sherlock. "Toby's here?"
Sherlock lifted his chin and straightened his jacket. "I would hardly leave Tobias somewhere unsafe."
Oh, that sent her heart a flutter. She blinked a couple times at Sherlock and then headed up the stairs with him close behind. At his door, he reached around her and pushed it open. Molly was about to turn around when Toby bounced up to them.
"Rrrr-ooooow, maaaooow!"
Molly scooped Toby up and stepped into the flat, unsure of what to do with herself. "Hi, sweetie, how's my boy?"
It was a bit strange playing domestic with Sherlock in his flat. Mrs. Hudson brought them tea and stayed to chat for a bit. They ordered take away after she left and watched some crap tele that he thoroughly picked apart. She knew he had to be ridiculously bored but he kept looking at her out of the corner of his eye as if checking to see if she was okay like any regular person might. It was lovely and comfortable and probably just what she needed but she was going insane.
Finally, when he rose from his chair and asked her if she'd like a refill on her tea, she snapped.
"Stop it already!"
Sherlock set her tea cup back down. He stretched his neck sideways and smoothed his hair back. Every movement seemed fraught with extra energy he could barely contain.
"What?" He asked innocently.
She stood up and stuck a finger right on one of his shirt buttons. "I told you at the hospital to cut this out. I do not need to be tip-toed around."
He flexed his fingers at his sides. His eyes slanted as he studied her face. "You have suffered an emotional trauma today. I was just attempting to act like a normal, indulgent friend might."
She splayed her fingers over his chest. His breath intake was sharp.
"I do not want normal so stop with the white-glove treatment. I want you to be you. Erm, except maybe for the indulgent part. Yes, I'll take that any day."
His hands gripped her wrists. "Molly . . ."
She wrinkled her nose and squinted up at him. "I'm not going to get the trouble lecture again, am I?"
He started walking her backwards with dark intent in his eyes. "No."
"No?" She stumbled over a wayward shoe.
He snaked an arm around her back. "I don't think it would help."
Sherlock kept shuffling her rearwards until they were shrouded by the darkness of his room. Before her eyes could adjust, his mouth sought hers, muffling her little gasp of surprise. His hands cupped the sides of her face and he thrust his tongue into her mouth. She melted then, like butter left in the microwave too long. Then she came alive and kissed him back as if he was a hit of drugs she'd been denied. Every slide of his warm, wet tongue across hers sent shivers through her body. She was lost, she couldn't stop what was happening if an ice bucket was dumped on their heads.
She could feel it rise in her again, that insatiable need to be possessed by him. Her hands yanked at his shirt, popping open the buttons and exposing the flesh underneath. His body shuddered as she greedily ran her hands over his stomach and around his sides.
"Fifty-five hours," he mumbled against her lips. "Fifty-five hours of hell since I had you, Molly."
"Me too," she whispered.
She honestly didn't want to think about how much their lives had changed in that time. She just wanted for him to make her forget about everything. Her prayers were answered when his hands wrenched at the button of her trousers and they hit the floor with a whoosh. He peeled off her cardigan and shirt leaving her stripped to her bra and panties. Mad with need, she assaulted his clothing. He chuckled as she fought with his belt.
"Let me," he flicked her fingers away as she impatiently tried to assist him.
She made a sound of protest. "But . . ."
"It'll go faster if you just leave well enough alone!"
She heard the telltale slide of metal against metal as the clasp came apart and jerked his belt from his grasp. "Not fast enough."
She kicked his pants aside when he stepped out of them. His shirt flew from the ends of her fingers towards some unknown destination in the dark. Then, it was Sherlock's turn to struggle.
"This is a different bra," he muttered.
"Huh?" She sighed.
She was dying. His heated skin rubbed up against hers as he worked at her fastening. She grabbed his taut arse impatiently needing something to alleviate the fire that burned in her gut.
"Mmph, Molly that is not helping."
His cock was hard against hip. He kissed her again, probably to buy time. She grunted and reached around behind her back. One flick and the bra fell away. Sherlock didn't even bother sliding her panties off, he gripped them like a packet and ripped them along each seam.
She had to bite her lip against a cry wanting to erupt from her throat. That was so incredibly hot, she felt like she could come right then. His hand slid down her stomach to the wet juncture between her thighs.
"I cannot believe how quickly you are ready for me," he probed a finger against her clit.
"Ah, haaa," she licked her lips. "Silly man, I am pretty much like that whenever I am within ten feet of you."
She felt herself being moved backwards again until her legs bumped into the bed. Instead of falling back, she grabbed him around his shoulders and swapped their places before pushing him down. Her eyes had adjusted by then and the dim light reflecting from the living room around the corner illuminated his beautiful body. There really was no spare inch of fat anywhere on him but he wasn't thin. He was just athletically lean with a muscled stomach that rippled as she ran her hands over it. His body jumped as she was finally able to straddle him and encircle his stiff shaft with both hands. Then she scooted backwards a little until she could dip her head and run her tongue over the moistening head of his penis.
"Uuh," his closed his eyes. "Um . . ."
Sherlock cursed she slid his cock into her mouth. She stroked it a few times, wetting it along as much of his length as she could manage. She did that several more times until he was gasping for air and begging her to stop. He clutched the sides of her head and stared down at her with liquid eyes.
"As good as that feels," he murmured. "I really want to bury myself in you, feel you come underneath me again."
Molly nodded. She wasn't going to turn that down. She positioned herself alongside him. He didn't immediately cover her. He spent some time placing kisses along her body, teasing her nipples and stroking her folds until she was quivering like a live wire. He had one finger, then two, plunged deep inside her when his lips slid along her jaw and tickled her ear.
"We are being stupid again, I guess," he whispered.
"Yes, oh!"
"And you haven't taken anything for our first encounter?"
She shook her head. She could barely think.
"Good."
Then, he rolled on top of her and with a quick, hard thrust, penetrated her completely. A tremor surged through his body before he began moving within her. He gripped her shoulders, plunged into her over and over, each time jolting her against the bed. She felt a deep well start to spring up then, a gathering almost painful in its intensity. Each thrust of his member slid deliciously against her insides and she gripped him tightly until the friction begin building pressure. His pace stayed that way, slow yet deliberate, as if he had honed right in on her most sensitive spot and attacked it relentlessly until she was almost clawing at his back.
"Sherlock! Oh, please . . ."
Then he reached between them, his finger pressed down and her well burst like a geyser. She absolutely split apart, shattered and bit her lip as spasms undulated through her body. A million little streams seemed to originate from that same spot, cascading and crashing together and she shook. Sherlock leaned into her, pushing himself into her several more times until grunting and releasing himself. His cock stiffened then twitched several times and she knew he was done. She held onto him, stroking his hair as his breathing calmed.
Sense. Sense had to return then in all its ugliness.
Oh, he was so bad for her. Bad, bad, bad!
And what the hell did he mean by, "Good"?