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It was mid June and the sun was tickling London feverishly. Smiling to herself from behind her aviators, Molly was pleased with herself for choosing this week annual leave. Sitting at her little wrought-iron coffee table on the patio outside her house soaking up every ray of sunshine that caressed her pale skin, littering it with freckles and blushing it tentatively, Molly felt happier than she had for months.
It had been four weeks since John and Mary's wedding- four weeks since the confession from Sherlock. Smiling to herself reminiscing about that beautiful night, she let her head relax back, and let the summer breeze play with her hair and the hem of her cute, floral skirt. Allowing herself to meditate momentarily, easing away the worries from work, the smile on her face would not leave.
A gentle kiss on her forehead brought Molly back to reality. Fluttering her eyes open from behind her sunglasses, she awoke to Sherlock's face tantalisingly close to her own. She could smell his sweet breath from behind his boyish smile that overtook his eyes as well as his eyes.
"Afternoon" he said, taking a seat next to hers and slipping off his suit jacket.
"Why on earth are you wearing a suit on a day like today?!" She exclaimed, genuinely searching his face for a reasonable explanation and mimicking to her vest top and floaty skirt.
"It was either this or a sheet Molly, and that would hardly be acceptable on the cab ride over here would it?" He smiled, rolling up the sleeves to his white shirt.
Trying not to dwell on Sherlock naked under a sheet for too long, Molly replied, whilst pouring Sherlock a glass of Pimms and topping her own glass up;
"We'll from what John's told me, wearing only a sheet out in public has never stopped you before." She smirked.
Chuckling together and sipping on their drinks, Molly stole a look at Sherlock's face. She didn't know where they were, not literally of course, but in their...relationship. If that was whatever this was called. Things were moving glacially slow since the night of the wedding. After waking up in the morning, they went about their routine as if he was still living there. Coffee was made, pleasantries were exchanged and Sherlock left whilst Molly took a shower. It hadn't been awkward, nor had it been when he came visiting the next day. Apart from gazing at each other, trying to converse via eye contact, holding hands now and then, or stolen yet chaste kisses in the morgue when John had left the room, their relationship (yes, Molly decided to refer to it as their relationship), nothing had really happened. And they certainly lacked intimacy.
Becoming more and more frustrated, most likely of the sexual nature, Molly began devising little plans and hatches to try and, well, tempt Sherlock into becoming the hungry, desperate man he was on the night of the wedding. Today for instance, inviting him round late afternoon when the sun was at it's most beautiful, she'd bought a new, rather expensive billowing floral skirt, hiking it up to her thighs, and teaming it up with a white vest, and the most delectable part, no bra. She sat in the sun, turning her face towards the sun and closing her eyes when she saw Sherlock look over at her. Eyeing her up, deducing her, or weighing her up like a predator and his prey.
"New skirt." it was really more of a statement than a question. Though she noticed how he shifted uncomfortably in his seat when she uncrossed her legs and opened them slightly. He coughed a little at made a conscious effort to look only at her face, not the gap between her thighs, nor her pert nipples through the white vest.
She saw his efforts and smiled to herself. I'm winning.
"Yeah, can't very well wear my jeans in this beautiful weather can I?" She added; "Why? Do you not like it?" She looked at him and hooked her sunglasses on the top of her head.
Coughing again nervously, he looked at her and met her eyes that twinkled in the sunbeams. "Of course. The length suits your legs."
Sipping again from her glass, she watched as he pulled out a white box and a little, gold accompaniment. He pulled out a cigarette and lit with his Zippo, inhaling deeply, savouring the burning sensation on his tongue and expelling the smoke lovingly. Molly wasn't surprised by his actions. She knew from living with him all those months he often treated himself to a cigarette- though just one- when he was feeling particularly frustrated.
Good. Molly thought, I am getting through to him. If she had more spunk in her, or even just drank a little more, she'd have made her move. Straddling his lap right there on the patio and sinking into his lustful kiss, inhaling his taste. Her mind wandered until she realised something was wrong. They'd been silent for far too long.
She looked over at Sherlock, who was staring at her in some fascination, wildly exploring the contours of her content face.
"Hmm?" She murmured rather too innocently.
Laughing rather deeply and seductively, or was it the heat? Molly thought, he reiterated;
"I'd asked you how your week off was going. Sorry to disturb the rather interesting day dream you were having." He smiled, continuing his cigarette but his eyes never faltering from her body.
"Oh," Molly blushed incandescently, "it's lovely, thank you. The weather has made it all the more wonderful." She replied, annoyed at her lapse in her facade of coolness.
Laughing once more, what a delightful mood he's in, he finished his cigarette and sighed, resting his eyes on hers,
"You look beautiful today." With that, he opened his arms and signalled for her to take a pew on his lap.
Smiling at the glorious invitation, she moved onto his lap, settling into his chest, arms wrapped around his neck as his encircled her waist. Aware that he has not looked anywhere else but her eyes for the past five minutes, Molly felt herself blush again as his caressed the small of her back. It'd only been a couple of days since she last saw him, but this comfortable embrace reminded her of what she was missing.
Leaning towards her, he caught her plump lips with his, snaring her bottom lip and biting gently before beginning a beautiful dance between their lips. Remaining like this for several minutes, eventually introducing his tender tongue to her willing mouth, they pulled apart, eyeing each others every reaction.
"I love you." The words escaped her mouth without her consent. Those three words had not been mentioned since that balmy night after the wedding.
Seeing the horror in her eyes, Sherlock reached up to her face lovingly and moved a strand of hair from her face and pushed it behind her ear, he smiled, the smile telling her not to panic, "I know. I love you too."
A sigh of relief broke Molly's baited breath, before she felt herself lunge towards Sherlock, lips crashing together like tides on a beach. Obviously taken aback by this pleasant surprise, Sherlock swallowed a gasp, and returned her passion by mirroring her urgency. Her hands were in his hair, gently tugging at the black curls and softly clinging his face closer to hers. Their noses brushed together, and their eyes fleetingly met as they opened simultaneously. Feeling the smiles on each others faces, she felt his hands, his big, spider web hands work their way up her back, and eventually, round to her chest, cupping her breasts and massaging her hard nipples under the thin cotton of the vest.
A gasp escaped her lips. About bloody time. She thought to herself, reminding herself to give her future self a pat on the back. Turning towards him and wrapping her legs around his waist and the chair, she grinding against his crotch suggestively. This cause him to break away. Undeterred, Molly continued to kiss the nape of his neck and finger free his shirt buttons. He tasted delicious.
"I've been talking to John," he began, hands making their way to Molly's arse that was rising simpatico to her lips as they traced his jawline. This will be difficult tot get out. He thought to himself. "He's been giving me tips, ideas, that sort of thing, referring to.. Intimacy issues."
He's so cute. Molly thought to herself, knowing full well where he was going with this, partly due to John's phone call earlier, enquiring why Sherlock was asking about sex, and finally giving up and putting it down to one of his 'experiments'. Little do you know John. She constantly thought throughout the conversation. They'd not let on they were, well, together to anyone yet. Sherlock continued;
"I really do love you Molly, I know we said we'd wait but I'm ready." He closed his eyes as she sank her teeth into his throat, sucking gently. "And by the way you're behaving, I can tell you're ready for me.." He said, returning to her kiss, his hand making it's way up her thigh, under her skirt, whilst his other hand held her tight against the small of her back. It was Molly's turn to throw her head back and feel his sharp teeth skim across her cheeks, her jaws and down her neck. Pulling aside her lace knickers, he gently felt her sex, caressing and exploring every millimetre, before swiftly entering her with his slender fingers.
Molly's gasping turned into a subdued moan, which awoke her from her trace. Suddenly she was very aware they were outside, and rather visible from the other apartments, seeing as it was a shared patio. Molly stiffened and froze from seeing the wrinkly old face of Mr Holban, the elderly gentleman that occupied the first floor flat, and who's window, unfortunately looked right onto the couple. Well he won't be letting me in the building any time soon when I forget my key. Molly thought. She shrugged it off- this was definitely worth that sacrifice.
"Come on." She said, a coy look in her eyes that signalled trouble to Sherlock. Climbing from off him, she rearranged herself and held a hand out to her lover. Looking sheepish, he took her hand and slowly rose from his chair, jacket in hand covering his now bulging crotch. Biting her lip at the notice of this, she led him upstairs to her flat.