Not So Sociopathic-

"Sherlock," Molly called out from her bedroom. "Can you come here a moment?"

With a sigh of boredom, Sherlock pulled himself from the vials of mixing chemicals and dropped the notebook on the tabletop. With a flinch he stood in the doorway of her room, hands tucked behind him, one grasping the other over his lower back. "Yes?"

"What. Is. This?" Molly frowned at him, holding out a wet handkerchief.

"Er…" Sherlock stepped into the room. He leaned down to inhale the smell of the rag deeply, and then jerked back quickly. "That would be chloroform." He began to swoon and blinked rapidly trying to settle back into his surroundings. His hand reached out and gripped at the doorway. "Forgot I left that in the bathroom…"

He watched Molly drop the cloth and come for him, taking him about the waist. "Sherlock, you great idiot…" She moved him over to the bed just as his eyes were falling shut.

Sherlock woke curled on a bed, head comfortably buried in fluffy white pillows and body wrapped in a quilt. He reached up to his head, rubbing his slightly aching temples and tried to sit up. When the world spun about him, he stopped attempting and lay back, just breathing. He felt slightly like throwing up but squelched the feeling with a run of his hand over his face.

"Oh bloody hell…" He murmured into his hand. Moving it away from his face, he looked about where he could without sitting up. Molly's room. He was sure of it from the curtains across the window and the picture of her parents on the bedside table.

When he felt his body settling, Sherlock sat himself up against the headboard carefully. Sunlight was still pouring through the window into the room so he knew he couldn't have been out too long. The door to the room was cracked open, but he couldn't hear Molly outside of it. Then the bed next to him moved and he glanced down. She was there, napping next to him. Sherlock had apparently pulled most of the blanket from her and she was huddled in on herself, knees tucked up almost to her chest.

Frowning he pulled the quilt aside and laid it gently atop her sleeping form. He looked around for that handkerchief and saw it on top of her dresser. He would have to get rid of that. The experiment he was going to use it for would no longer work with it contaminated now. Sighing at the loss of the project, he swung his legs over the bed and went to get up. He barely had his feet on the ground and body off the edge of the bed when a hand reached out and tugged him backwards. He sat back down and glanced over his shoulder. Molly's eyes were barely cracked open, but she had a strong grip on the sleeve of his button-up.

"Don't go yet. I'm cold."

"I gave you the blanket." He started to move again, but she tugged harder this time.

"I'm still cold. Lay with me?"

He stared down at her, at those lips he'd kissed a total of three times now. Twice was to prove a point. Once- the last time, two days ago- was because he'd wanted to. Now he saw them again, a slight pout come over them as she watched him and he couldn't help but want that again. His own lips twitched at the thought and so he consented. Rolling over he pulled up the quilt and lay next to Molly. He put an arm over her shoulders and found that she tucked herself neatly up to his chest. Her head sat on his shoulder and her brown hair was tousled between the two of them.

Sherlock buried his nose into it and inhaled. This scent was much better than that kerchief. Aside from the rosy smell of her shampoo, Sherlock picked up the natural sweet pheromones she put off. Soon the heat pooled between them and he had to push the quilt off himself.

Molly dragged it the rest of the way off the bed and then titled her head up so she could look at him. He stared back down at her with an almost blank look. His mind was racing though. He was taking in every little detail of her face, the way her eyes shone, the way her lips moved subtly with thought, and the tiniest of wrinkles that formed with each passing emotion. She was such an open book when you really sat and watched her. Sherlock should have been able to read her this easy much earlier. It proved even further how distant he was until John came about. John was the start of Sherlock looking closer at friends, not just who they were, but what they were thinking and feeling. Now, in the last few weeks with Molly, he couldn't help but read into her feelings. Right now, with those eyes open wide, her eyebrows ever so slightly furrowed, and her mouth in a little bow of soft movements, he knew she was waiting for him. Perhaps she was thinking she should initiate, but he knew she wouldn't. He knew that she was too gentle a woman for that.

Now, Sherlock was not a stranger to sex, no matter how Mycroft pushed the idea that the man was a virgin and unfamiliar with the topic. But, Sherlock had not found someone he really enjoyed it with. That made him hesitant towards starting anything with Molly despite the growing tightness in his groin, despite the desire he felt emotionally. Sex had only ever been a release of the physical and never a connection of the emotional as far as he'd come to experience it. Molly deserved more than that.

And yet….

Molly let her eyes slowly close and tilted her chin up just a touch further, putting her lips within millimeters of Sherlock's. He closed the distance with only a tip of his head, letting his lips rest softly against her pouty warm ones. They were soft and giving. Molly was soft altogether. Sherlock's other experiences with other women, and even a few men, had been rougher and quicker.

He took his time with the kiss, at first the two just sat with skin touching and breath mixing between them. Then he moved his mouth, massaging against hers. Her lips parted easily and she tilted sideways a bit for him so that their lips locked succinctly. He let the tip of his tongue run lightly across her bottom lip, wetting the kiss and allowing for the easier slide of skin. When he dipped it out again, he met the warmth of Molly's and it was all just mind-blowing. Each slow, new move into this kiss sent shocks of feeling down Sherlock's spine.

A delicate but sure hand wound its way up into Sherlock's hair and tugged at it lightly. He was pulled closer to her, lilting slightly and having to put a hand down between them to keep him upwards. He thought it took away too much from the kiss. Grabbing her hips he dragged them up onto his hips.

"I think this will work better," he said looking into her eyes.

Molly smiled and nodded. She shifted on his lap, knees squeezing about his slim waist. She felt warm against him and Sherlock felt things tighten even further. He knew she must feel him, against her center but she didn't seem to mind one bit. Instead of moving away, she leaned in, putting her hands to his chest and captured his lips again. Her fingers thread into the charcoal gray t-shirt he was wearing and yanked him closer to her. Their bodies melded in heat together and Sherlock thought this was much better. He wrapped his own arms about her back, long violinist fingers treading paths across her back.

She shivered once under his touch and Sherlock pulled back. He had to look at her. He had to see her reaction and deduce what she was thinking. Molly smiled at him, not a big smile, just a soft twitch up of her lips but it was genuine. Reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, Molly sat back a little bit.

"Is this… is this okay, Sherlock?"

"Yes," he breathed out heavily, hands still on her, resting now on her lower back.

She nodded slowly and then leaned back in. It became quick, needy. Sherlock could feel her hands in his hair, then down his shoulders, gripping them as she went up on her knees. It pushed his head back, making him rely on the headboard of the bed to stay up. She hunched over him, taking control as she kissed him fiercely. A heat was building between them and she delved her tongue into his mouth. Her tongue was small but pliant, and warm. It ran across the roof of his mouth and Sherlock found that tickled slightly. It made him squirm and she laughed, her mouth still over his.

The sensations were starting to make his head spin and he found that it was not enough. He needed more from her and he needed it soon. His body felt like it was going to explode with all of these sensations building up.

"Molly I need…"

She pulled back just enough so that he could speak; their noses were touching as they tried to look into one another's eyes. "Yes?" Her voice was husky, deeper, and sexy. It sent a jolt through Sherlock that ended in a tingling in his groin.

"You. I need you."

This time her smile was wide. It was so much like the one she wore when she was hiding that she was unhappy, but this one reached her eyes. It was so real that Sherlock felt even more for her than the kissing could ever provoke from him.

"And there you are, Molly Hooper. Let me have you."

"I was always yours."

Sherlock could not breathe. If Molly hadn't suddenly taken control, he wasn't sure he would have been able to start again. She moved off of the bed and stood at the foot of it, just watching him for a moment. Sherlock lay back against the headboard still, eyes on her face. Then they moved down as she reached for the hem of her shirt and slowly pulled it over her head.

Her skin looked pale and soft. He wanted to reach out for it now, but she wasn't moving any closer. So he sat and watched, as it seemed to be what she wanted from him. Her eyes held him captive there on the bed, a stare so intense he thought maybe, just maybe, she could be in the wild reckless head of his with him.

Statistics started to pour in, statistics on sex, on love, on relationships, and on sociopaths. Numbers invaded his sense of her and he grimaced, shutting it out as he leaned forward and tried to take in only her. She fit well into the Fibonacci spiral, each feature perfect in its dimensions- she was his perfect little number and his eyes bounced from eyes, to lips, to her whole body, to those wide inviting hips. He crawled across the bed to her as her hands went behind her back to undo her bra.

He heard her gasp as he put his lips to her solar plexus area, dabbing kisses there and inhaling those perfect rose scents and sweet pheromones. He felt her bra drop on his head and he chuckled against her stomach, and Molly laughed with him, picking it up and tossing it somewhere. Her hands went into his hair and that sent tendrils of warmth through him once again. He kissed down to her navel and then pulled his legs around, swinging them off the bed so that Molly stood between them. Sherlock slowly undid the button and zipper to her khakis.

They slid down her legs slowly, bunching at her bare feet. He watched her toes work them off her and she stood before him now in just her pink pants. They were cute. They were her. Molly reached out and tugged his shirt up. He lifted his arms up so she could remove it. When it was gone, Molly pushed him back on the bed and he fell, the bed comfortable and inviting. He looked down his body as she started to work his trousers and pants off.

Sherlock had the capacity to think something was cute, even though he didn't often squeal over little animals or children. Molly, working his trousers off with her tongue between her teeth in concentration, hair falling about her face… that was cute.

He was splendidly surprised to find that now his mind was occupying itself entirely with the two of them. He had so many emotions to read from her, especially when she moved up and Sherlock let his hands wander down to her hips, sliding her pink pants off. That face, which was usually never tinged with embarrassment, was pink. He loved it.

With no clothes between them, Sherlock's mind was starting to go into overload again. Her skin was so soft against his, and straddling his hips, her warmth was right on his hardened erection. It felt silken, heavenly. He ground his hips up, rubbing against her. Her escaped groan had Sherlock tossing his head back, and shutting his eyes. This was what he need, here, all of her. Taking control, he flipped her over, pulling them both up the bed comfortably. Then he dove down on her skin, tasting his way to her warm center. She wriggled happily under him, and Sherlock didn't even have to look up at her face to read her. Molly's body and voice were enough direction for him.

He came back up breathless, and Molly was shivering. Putting his wet lips to Molly's lips, he kissed her tasting everything about her all at once. Slowly he lowered his hips down to hers and took his time with her. He noted every toss back of the head, every gasp, every little thing that made Molly explode with bliss. And he used that all to her advantage, taking up most of the afternoon, he would think.