And so it went for the next two weeks:
Sherlock would text Molly letting her know when he wanted to see her. Molly never said no. She never had to because he had her schedule memorized and never forced her to compromise her work schedule. Of course, her continued good standing at St. Bart's benefited him; couldn't go having his most helpful pathologist get canned for her taking off during her shifts, now could he?
She had lunch with her best friend four days after she first subbed for Sherlock; Barb immediately noticed Molly's happy "I've got a secret" vibe and pounced.
"WHO ARE YOU SHAGGING, MOLLY HOOPER!"
"What? No, it's nobody…nobody you know. I don't want to talk about it yet." She wasn't ready to share him, or explain how he made her feel. Barb was aware of her longstanding Sherlock crush and thought he was a complete tosser for ignoring Molly. She knew Barb wouldn't understand about the kinky side of things, as well.
"Well, what's he do? You can at least tell me that."
"What does he do…" A vision came to mind, of Sherlock striding into the morgue unannounced late last night after everyone else had gone home. She barely had time to put down the scalpels that she was inspecting for nicks before Sherlock pulled her into the storage closet, and pushed her to her knees. He had just come from the Yard, having finished a brief case for Lestrade ("Not even worth leaving Baker Street for, even Anderson could've solved that one") and he was still bursting with energy. Faced with two more hours of equipment inspection and inventory, Molly was more than happy to unzip Sherlock and take him into her mouth.
She took her time with his cock, learning him thoroughly in a way she hadn't gotten to yet. He had spent so much time pleasuring her the other night that when it should have been his turn, he already wanted to be inside her. But now she savored the taste of him, the way he stretched her jaw with his thickness. How he held tight to her hair, guiding her but not yanking the strands. He set the pace with his hands and thrusting into her mouth, but she set the tone with her teasing tongue. It had been so long for Molly, that she'd forgotten that the act could be really fun.
Served her right for letting Barb's constant eyerolling about oral sex jade her on the subject.
When he came in her mouth, cursing and gritting out her name, Molly didn't feel weak at all.
"….he um…He does a lot of things. He's brilliant. Lovely. Mad. Though not in a Jim Moriarty way," she rushed to add.
"Right. Well I'll say one thing for the criminal lunatic, he did send you beautiful flowers. Has this bloke sent you any yet," Barb queried.
"No. He's not the flower-sending type. He doesn't pretend or do the pointless sorts of things that other men do."
"Sure sure. Plus you've already shagged him, so what's he got to woo you with flowers for, am I right?"
Molly nodded ruefully and they laughed together. Her best friend was quite blunt and cynical sometimes, but those were qualities Molly rather liked in people.
Two days later:
Just as she arrived at her flat after an exhausting day at work, Sherlock texted Molly that he urgently needed her at Baker Street. Molly rushed over, uncertain if he was injured and John wasn't around, or if he just wanted Molly very much. When she opened the door to 221B, she saw Sherlock sitting calmly at the table, reading a journal article about an interesting larval effect on human putrefaction rates.
His eyes flickered over to Molly, who was standing there out of breath and anxious.
"I need tea. Make me a pot." And he resumed ignoring Molly, engrossed in the journal.
Her mouth dropped open. "You dragged me over here at night for a pot of tea-and you can't even say hello?"
He turned his head now to her and stared stonily into her eyes.
"Serve me or leave. I have work to do."
Molly chewed on her lip for a moment, and swallowed her frustration. She made him a pot and served it in a delicate china set. Sherlock sipped the tea without comment.
She moved to leave, and felt Sherlock's hand wrap around her wrist. She looked back.
"Take off your coat, and kneel here by my chair. And take your hair down."
Molly obeyed.
She knelt quietly, keeping her knees tightly together, her overall posture firm. As he read and drank the tea, his left hand twiddled her hair, wrapping pieces around his fingers idly. His touch was sensuous, but distant. She felt like a cat being petted. Staying still was a challenge, but she found her center and stayed in that pose, letting Sherlock do what he would.
After thirty minutes, he put down his tea cup and closed the laptop. He kissed Molly on the cheek, and told her she could go home.
She did.
A week later:
Mrs. Hudson's just asked me if I was watching a horror show last night, due to all the sounds of women screaming. Well done.
SH
Oh GOD.
MH
10pm tonight. Let yourself in. John's out. I have plans.
SH
I'll be there, with bells on!
MH
Not literally.
MH
Not yet.
SH
10pm, 221B Baker Street
"Draw the curtains and take your clothes off. Leave them on the chair."
Molly obeyed. "In the sitting area again? Have a carpet fetish, do you? Ha."
Sherlock curled one side of his mouth. "Have you finished the book yet?"
She didn't ask which one. "Yes. I took a lot of notes. I made a list of ideas if you want to see..." She smiled sheepishly.
"Email it to me tomorrow. If I don't like it, I'll tell you." As he spoke, Sherlock uncoiled a fresh lot of clothesline rope.
Molly grew quiet. She still didn't have a lot of experience with bondage, but was very intrigued by it. Some of the designs she saw online were incredibly complicated and beautiful. Something about ropes made a woman appear to be even more naked when they were partly covering her. Strange that.
Sherlock's face was expressionless as he approached her. His eyes were icy grey, barely any green at all. The coldness should've turned her off, but Sherlock at his hardest and most dominant is what made Molly want to drop to her knees and please him. He was wearing black head to toe tonight. She couldn't look away.
"Arms behind your back, straight down. Don't extend unnaturally. No talking unless it's 'isotope.'"
Sherlock stood behind her and stroked her arms. The pose pushed her into standing up quite straight, with her breasts high. His hands moved up over her arms and down to her collarbone. He could feel her heart pounding. She was anxious, but more aroused than nervous. He encircled both her nipples with his elegant fingers and pinched them lightly, toying until they were hard and she was moaning. She whimpered as his hands slid away from her breasts.
Picking up one loose coil of rope, Sherlock began wrapping it around Molly's arms, binding them together. They were snug but he was careful to avoid pressure points. He focused completely on Molly now, creating a pattern of ropes across her arms and then up and down to keep the arrangement neatly together. She was secured, a beautiful package.
He turned Molly around and latched onto one dark nipple with his teeth. She arched up as he sucked it into his mouth, his tongue easing over the place his teeth had just lightly scraped. Her other breast received the same treatment in turn.
Molly felt utterly exposed again. No secrets, no defenses. She was his now. He saw the surrender in her eyes and dove in for a hard, searching kiss. Her lips felt almost bruised when he pulled away reluctantly.
Sherlock slowly unbuttoned his shirt and dropped it to the floor. She loved this part. She loved his neck, loved biting it when he was inside of her. Loved how his chest hair was lighter than his head, and he had just the right amount of hair sprinkled across his body. It always surprised her how muscular he was for such a lean man.
His pants followed. He hadn't bothered with any boxers, she saw. His cock was already hard and ready to be used on her. He held it in his hands, stroking himself until his eyes fluttered shut for a moment. Molly watched hungrily.
He reached out and slid two fingers into her folds. Checking her readiness while he played with his own hardness.
Molly automatically opened her legs further apart but he didn't push in any more. Instead he sat down on the sofa. He plucked his crop and the wrapped condom off the end table. Setting the crop to his side on the seat, he tore open the wrapper and slipped the condom on quickly. Then he said simply, "Come."
Molly moved closer. She wanted to ask what he wanted of her, but she wasn't supposed to speak. Submission wasn't easy at times like this. She had to just let go and trust Sherlock to lead. It was a relief to do, once she got past the initial urge to question, at moments like this.
Sherlock reached forward and pulled Molly close to him by her thighs. She moved forward to him cautiously, trying to not pull on the arm bindings. He slipped his hand back between her legs.
"Do you want to come tonight, Molly Hooper? Hmm? Do you want my cock now?"
She nodded excitedly. She wasn't allowed to talk, but he couldn't keep her from grinning.
"Then ride me. Climb on and fuck me, Molly."
Molly was a bit puzzled as to how she could accomplish it with her arms behind her back. Her brows furrowed and she awkwardly bent a knee and placed it on one side of Sherlock's legs. He smiled like a devil now, at her predicament. Sherlock could be such a right bastard sometimes.
Contrary to what some thought, Molly Hooper was not one to run from a challenge. She would not cry uncle (or "isotope," in this case) and she would make this happen. She braced herself on the knee on the sofa, and then quickly lifted the other leg up, tensing her upper body to find some balance. Her other knee landed successfully on the other side of Sherlock. Unfortunately, she toppled forward with her face planting on his chest.
"Do you give up?"
Molly responded by pulling up her upper body after a minor struggle and balancing herself on his lap. She spread her legs wider for better balance, and let his cock press against her entrance. She threw her hair back and wiggled until she felt him begin to sink into her wetness.
"Good, good. If you go too slowly-" He held up the crop and let it speak for him.
He raised his hips up to bury himself in deeper. He let Molly do the work, though his dominant instinct was to grab her hips and fuck her until she couldn't help screaming his name. Sherlock couldn't believe there was a time when he thought that this was a bad idea. He could have been playing games with Molly Hooper for years by now, instead of domming her without sex as he had been doing.
Molly plunged up and down, finding it easier and easier as her juices flowed, slicking the way for him. When her pace faltered, Sherlock cropped her arse. She nearly swore, but moved faster.
She kept her belly tense and focused on the action on her hips, rolling her pelvis back and forth and leaning forward enough to grind her clit on the base of him. If only she could use her arms…it was prolonging this. He knew it would, of course.
Sherlock dipped his head in and caught a bobbing nipple between his teeth. He held it there, flicking his tongue over it side to side while Molly rode him hard. Every bounce on his cock pulled her breasts back, causing more pain. He switched off between nipples now. Molly didn't think she liked that pain at first, and let the distraction slow her. Sherlock punished her with another few lashes of his crop, and she responded beautifully.
She found that the more he bit and flicked over her nipples, the harder she fucked him. The intensity built and built until Molly reached her climax with an undignified shriek and she felt as though tidal waves were rippling through her lower body.
She began to topple over then, but Sherlock grabbed hold of her. Setting her up straight again, he kept her steady with one hand on her hip. She moved for him, clenching tight and smiling dreamily into his eyes until he picked up the pace suddenly, smacking her arse with the crop with every thrust. Pumping into her hard and making her squeal from his riding crop for another minute, Sherlock threw his head back and came with almost a look of pain on his face.
The moment of intensity abated. She laid her face on his chest, gasping. He reached around and untied the bindings on her arms. It hadn't been too long, but she would still be sore because of the very active sex. He briskly rubbed her arms, working them over to make sure the blood was flowing properly. There were indents, grooves, decorating her arms, but they began to fade quickly. He rubbed her bottom which was still toasty warm from his merciless cropping at the end.
He loved the patterns of bondage. He'd deleted that. One day soon he would create a rope harness for Molly. She would love it, he thought. She appreciated intricate, subtle things.
Molly rubbed her arms and shook herself. She felt like she'd run a marathon only using her abdominal, thigh, and pubic muscles, if that made any sense. She had done well. He had set the challenge, and she had succeeded. Molly Hooper was happy, and began to think about the possibilities that being Sherlock Holmes's submissive offered.
After that night, Molly did not see Sherlock for three weeks.