It was a bit like déjà vu standing across from each other in his sitting room. So much had happened in the last year and the enormity of it hung between them, neither wanting to be the one to break the silence. Molly caved first.
"You're back." She immediately chastised herself for stating the obvious (which Sherlock previously would have done for her, but who knew anymore).
"It appears I am," he said, taking a step toward her, the glint in his eye making her breath catch.
"That was quick."
"Yes, well, apparently a pregnant ex-assassin in her last week of gestation is just as adept at giving deadlines as a criminal mastermind when it comes to getting her husband back to her."
Molly laughed despite herself. The knot of mixed emotions in her stomach loosened slightly, but there were still questions that needed answers. He looked conflicted to her, not quite happy but not totally distressed. He didn't seem the usual tightly wound spring waiting to be set off which struck her as odd at the least. Something was different, but he wasn't giving anything away. "Sherlock, why did you ask me here?" she quietly asked.
His brow furrowed in confusion. "You're not happy to see me?"
Exasperation and months of being stuck on a carousel of her own emotions began spilling out. "Of course I'm happy to see you, Sherlock! But you've looked through me for months and ignored me after I thought we were finally something like equals and I tried to be okay with that since it was always how it was before, that maybe my being angry with you had been enough to push you back into old habits…" She wasn't yelling, but she was rambling now. "But then you were sent off to your death! A real, actual death that I did not help you fake and I was going to have to live with knowing the last real conversation we had was where I pushed you away!"
The anguish written over her features stabbed through him. Oh God, she blamed herself, he thought. That's not what he'd wanted at all. He opened his mouth to reply, but he had nothing for once in his life.
"So yes, Sherlock, I am completely and utterly happy to see you, and relieved that you're alive." Her resolve threatened to break and much of the wind went out of her. "But why do you want to see me?"
She looked at him pointedly, waiting for any kind of response, saw the pain in his expression as he struggled and failed to start numerous sentences. He sighed heavily and hung his head, eyes closed.
"I wanted to ask you to solve crimes with me," he replied softly, looking somewhat sheepish.
"What?" The absolute absurdity of it hit her almost comically, part of her wanting to burst into laughter at the ridiculousness of his statement. Particularly after she'd gone off on him, and especially since she knew what he'd meant last time he'd asked, nevermind after the fact. That he was asking her now, after everything, mystified and enthralled her. She dared not assume anything, though, with this revelation.
He lifted his gaze to her, the open look she'd seen before returning. "I wanted to ask you to solve crimes with me," he repeated gently. He took in her puzzlement and smiled slightly, glad to see some of the annoyance draining from her.
"But…why?"
This might be harder than he'd anticipated. His usual defense mechanisms were trying to rear their heads, but he'd denied the dull throb in his chest long enough. This was finally the time. He would not back down now.
"Because…I've…missed you," he staggered out. She remained silent, seeming dumbstruck by his admission. For a moment, he feared he'd been wrong this whole time, that maybe she wouldn't forgive him, and he rushed to get the rest out. "And I, well, that is, I thought you did, too. Miss me. And that maybe we could…go through cases and speak with clients and get…something. To eat somewhere. Other people owe me favors, we could probably get whatever you fancy." He waved a hand dismissively as though to draw attention away from his awkwardness. The usual self-assured tone had run off, his face hot with embarrassment as he uncharacteristically babbled.
Molly's overall demeanor shifted as he spoke, a mix of joy and confusion washing over her. "But…Sherlock, you stayed away and I thought…"
"Yes, I know, and I'm sorry I let you think you'd ruined everything," he interrupted hurriedly. "But Molly, nothing could be further from the truth." He took another step toward her then. "I wanted to do all those things when I came back and when I realized too late that you were engaged, I knew I had to leave it alone. And after it ended, I couldn't do anything because of the Magnusson case." With another two steps toward her, he was in her personal space. He saw the shallow rise and fall of her chest, the accentuated pink of her cheeks, pupils dark. She was utterly lovely. "I couldn't risk letting him find out what you are to me. I had to keep you safe," he said in earnest. Hesitantly, he tucked a stray hair behind her ear and cradled her head, his thumb stroking her temple.
Molly cautiously turned into his touch, eyes fluttering shut. The gentleness of the gesture had her barely breathing. His honesty had blindsided her, his sheer proximity short-circuiting parts of her brain. He suddenly seemed so much taller than her and his presence an ever fiercer edge. At this closeness, she could feel the warmth emanating from his body; chocolate brown eyes stared up into piercing blue ones as her heart pounded n her chest.
She took a breath. "I'm not engaged anymore." Her brain would kick her later for sounding so inane.
A small smile graced his lips. "I know."
He descended on her lips then, her mouth molding easily to his. They lingered there for a few moments, sweetly pliant against each other. The bag Molly had been holding thumped to the floor as she brought her hands to either side of his face. To think this very nearly could never have happened suddenly hit her, and with it an increased sense of desperation despite him being right there with her. She nipped at his lower lip, her tongue tracing a line across demanding entrance—this was real, and she could have him now, sudden intensity be damned. His mouth parted for her as he wove one hand through her hair, the other braced on her hip.
Sherlock was briefly dizzied from the sensory overload. He'd gone from seeing and hearing to touching, smelling, and tasting faster than he had with another human being in a considerably long time and it was almost too much. Almost—his body still worked like any other man's, and physically responded as such. He yanked her flush to him by her hip and circled his arm around her waist.
She gasped and broke away as much from the abruptness of his movement as the realization that he was growing hard against abdomen. She was short of breath as she looked up into eyes that only retained a rim of blue around the edges. She noticed belatedly he was just as short of breath as she was, a tinge of pink coloring him. He looked panicked for a moment, as though he was afraid she would walk away from him now. Well, she would just have to put such ludicrous ideas out of his head. She pulled him back down to her, furiously sliding her mouth against his as she wound a hand through his curls. He responded in kind, jerkily turning them around so he could kick the door shut.
His hands pushed the jacket from her shoulders and ran down her back to cup her bottom. He grazed his teeth along her jaw and down her neck, pausing to suck a dark spot into the juncture at her shoulder. She whimpered slightly and pressed into him—he'd found a particularly sensitive spot that sent sparks of arousal down her.
"I missed you, too," she said more breathily than she'd intended. Not that she could do anything about it now if she'd wanted to. His answering "mmm" reverberated against her skin making her shiver in the most pleasant way. "I thought I'd never see you again."
He lifted his head from her clavicle to look at her then. "I know, and I am sorry. But," he nuzzled her ear with his nose and let his voice drop, "if it's all the same to you, I'd like very much to see you now."
She ground herself against him. "And, um…I get to see you, too?" she asked cheekily.
"Oh God, yes." He tugged his dressing gown off and let it fall to the floor. They both tried going at each other's buttons and zips at the same time, only a few successfully undone before frustration got the better of Sherlock. He grabbed Molly's hand and began pulling her toward the bedroom. She let out an undignified squeak, but let herself be pulled along.
Once in, he pushed her to the bed and they individually made short work of their clothes. Molly had gotten topless but was halted by the sight of a completely naked Sherlock and quickly forgot her trouser's zip. He was every bit as gorgeous as she thought he'd be. Smooth angles and lean muscle undercut pale skin peppered with the faded scars of his past. He stepped toward her, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and Molly broke out of her short reverie. Her eyes followed the sparse trail of hair down his torso to his erection, and unconsciously licked her lips.
"Next time," he said. He came to stand between her knees then and urged her back onto the bed. She huffed out a small laugh as he helped her shimmy out of her slacks and considerably damp knickers. "Laughter at this moment could easily be misconstrued, Miss Hooper," he said with no ill. He moved back up her body to her chest, planting random kisses across the expanse. His cock brushed against her thigh and his breath hitched. She heard this and reached down to grasp him, firmly stroking his thickness. Low, broken groans fell from him as he bucked into her hand. Part of him wanted to touch her everywhere at once while the other wanted to be pounding her into his mattress. So much for being immune, he thought hazily.
"Just the prospect of there being a next time."
"Indeed." He sucked one dusky, upturned nipple into his mouth and she cried out in surprise, releasing him. "Many, many next times," he supplied, and returned to work. Any thought of responding fled her when he took her back in his mouth again, intermittently sucking and laving at the small bud. Molly moaned wantonly, arching into him more when he reached up to experimentally pinch the other nipple. He took the opportunity to slide both arms underneath her upper back to hold her to him, keeping her right where he wanted her under his mouth. She clutched at his shoulders as she rocked her wet center against his abdomen, desperate for more friction. He released her breast with an audible pop and moved to pay similar homage to the other one. "Not too small, fucking perfect," she vaguely heard him mutter into her skin as he held her fast before resuming his ministrations.
Her fingers scratched at him frantically, her whole body tense with desire and longing. He took mercy on her then and removed his arms from beneath her. He slowly began trailing kisses and nipping down her ribcage and stomach toward her neatly trimmed curls when he felt her tense again.
"Um, Sherlock, you don't have to, um…"
He stopped just shy of her mons and glanced up at her. "You don't enjoy oral stimulation?" Only he could make something sound clinical and sexy at the same time.
She couldn't believe she was having this conversation right then. "I do, it's just…you know, most men don't like it or aren't very good at it," she offered awkwardly.
"Nonsense," he punctuated with a rough suckle to her hip bone. She gasped and he slid lower, continuing his nibbling exploration on her thighs. "I've done some preliminary research as to technique, and beyond that, I am a very quick study," he said scandalously. "I'm fairly certain I can observe and adjust to your liking accordingly. And given my extended period of abstinence, I'm afraid I may not last very long this time and I refuse to leave you high and dry, as it were." He glanced back up at her from her apex. "And furthermore, I want to."
She relaxed and ached all over again when she saw the look of complete lustful adoration on his face. She bit her lip suppressing a knowing smile when something he'd said dawned on her. "Sherlock Holmes, did you watch porn?"
"Research," he corrected and licked a stripe up her slit. She cried out and automatically spread her legs wider in a silent plea to continue. Eye level with her glistening sex, he held her open to him, one hand on her inner thigh while one arm hooked under her other leg and parted her from above. He lightly flicked at her clit, gradually allowing firmer strokes of his tongue as breathy sighs and gasps escaped her. He alternated between tracing her sensitive nub and using the rough flat of his tongue on her. She rocked against him with abandon, wordlessly begging for more, hands gripping his sheets. With that, he reached the arm under her leg up to her breast and rolled her nipple between his fingers. He began sucking her clit while still tonguing her and he knew it wasn't long now. Her moans became louder and more frequent as she squirmed and writhed above him, her hips bucking off the bed. He followed her movements, mouth plastered to her core and relentlessly consuming her. Her thighs trembled and she clamped a hand onto his forearm, digging into the skin there. She was trapped under his hands and mouth, completely exposed and helpless to do anything but surrender to the deliciously sinful things he was doing to her. She chanced a glance down and the sight of him between her thighs doing such glorious things was perhaps the most devastatingly erotic thing she'd seen, she thought vaguely. With a final series of hard sucks, she came with a high-pitched wail, a string of curses in its wake.
His following never ceased until she gently pushed his head away. He couldn't remember being this painfully hard in his life. He wiped his mouth on the back of his arm as he made his way back up her body. She was panting heavily, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She watched him through half-lidded eyes as he leaned over to his nightstand to get a condom. She appreciated the unobstructed view of his marvelous backside and ran a hand down him.
"Wait, Sherlock," she started breathlessly. "I, um, I know we're both clean and I, uh, still have my IUD in from…before."
He grinned at her wickedly and tossed the foil package somewhere off the bed. "That's my girl," he all but growled at her. His mouth met hers in a frenzied kiss as he positioned himself between her legs. She felt the thick heat of him against her thigh and rocked her hips up in invitation. Bracing one arm on the side of her head, he reached down with his free hand to guide himself toward her beckoning wetness. One shallow stroke and he was inside her. A few more and he was seated fully within her. They gasped at the electrifying new sensations running through them and he paused to give her a moment to adjust. A few seconds later, she nodded her ascent and rocked against him again.
He began a slow pace, adrift in the thrall of her. He didn't remember the act ever feeling this good, whether due to deleting it or being unable to recall much right now. It didn't matter. She was all around him—slick, warm, and tight, and after so much lost time, it felt heavenly and fucking amazing and like coming home. He leaned down and slid one arm under her shoulders, his face in her neck as he sped up. She was keening with almost every thrust now, and a distant part of Sherlock's mind knew he'd do everything he could to keep her and keep those noises slipping freely from her for him alone. He was panting and groaning into her neck now, his hips forcibly snapping into her. The only sounds were their impassioned vocalizations and the slap of skin on skin. She clutched at his back and sobbed her pleasure as the first wave of her orgasm hit her. Her inner muscles clamped down on him and every muscle in his body corded taut, his jaw clenched as he felt the onslaught of his own end within reach. His movements quickened and stuttered, erratic and shallow, until he came with a roar ripped from the very middle of him.
They lay there interlocked still, panting against each other. She held him to her and he made no effort to move, what little energy he had applied to not putting his full weight on her. They stayed like that a few minutes longer as they caught their breath and their sweat-soaked bodies cooled. Molly absently stroked his back and carded her fingers through his hair, not wanting to break the spell for either of them. Eventually, he rolled to her side and pulled her to him, haphazardly tugging a sheet over both of them. She pillowed her head on his shoulder with one arm flung over his stomach. Twenty-four hours ago she never could have guessed this is where she'd be.
He hugged her to him protectively, and felt confident he wasn't the only one more content than he'd been in a long time. She looked happy and positively sated in the afterglow—she was beautiful. A surge of masculine pride ran through him knowing he was responsible for that, the feeling only growing when he thought of all the wonderful noises she had made that he'd have to coax out of her again soon.
Molly was the first to break the silence again. "Pretty good for a man who hinted at a wanting a freebie his first time back," she jokingly cracked.
He chuckled and briefly tightened his grip on her. "I don't recall hearing any complaints, and I believe I made doubly good on my promise," he said smugly.
"Yes, well, I'm sure it helped that I've probably never been that thoroughly switched on," she said with humor, not wanting to inflate his ego any more but having to give credit where it was due.
"Well, I guess we'll just have to experiment with that some more in the future, won't we?" He smiled down at her, the calm aftermath softening his features. She beamed at him, pulling his head down for a mellow kiss.
Despite the sunlight coming through the window, Molly suddenly had to stifle a yawn, the events of the morning catching up with her. "I don't know how much help I'll be with clients today now," she said.
"Oh, there aren't any clients coming in today," he offered plainly.
"What? I thought you said you wanted me to solve crimes with you today." Her tone conveyed her confusion.
"No, no, I was just asking in general. Like from here on out. I didn't mean today specifically." She rolled her eyes and playfully swatted at him. "Besides, I think the day is working out just fine, don't you?"
She had to concede that. "It is. So…is it safe to say that you won't be solving crimes with anyone else in the near future?" she asked hesitantly, some of her old self-doubt creeping up on her.
"Well, I can't promise I won't enlist John if you're busy with work and he's available," he began. "But don't worry, despite the rumors and any gossip Mrs. Hudson propagates, we will most certainly not be doing this." He gestured to them on the bed.
He would tell her all those things he wanted to say another time, not so far away—that he did think her beautiful, that being by her side felt like home, that he loved her. It might be difficult, but he would do it, he knew, because they both deserved to have those things be known after such a long wait. For now, it was enough to hear her giggle and feel her lithe body against him before noon in his own bed. This could be a very good addition to actual crime solving, indeed.