A/N: And so we come to the end of this smutty little fic. Will there be a follow up? Anything is possible! Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing and favoriting. You guys are amazing! Thanks once again to hobbitsdoitbetter for inspiring this fic and for reading the previous chapters over for me. (All errors are mine since this chapter has not been beta'd.) TTFN!
Sherlock bites off a curse as he thrusts deeper into Molly's sweet little cunt. He's slept with dozens of women, all of them forgettable. Even her, until he found out she was MI-5. That she got one over on him, planted a bug in wee Jimmy's oversized office after they'd fucked on his equally oversized desk.
Little bastard always was one for overcompensating.
His brother-in-law vanishes from his thoughts as Molly twists her hips just so, and Sherlock muffles a groan against the soft soft skin of her throat before biting down, sucking hard, making sure to leave a mark she won't soon forget.
He should hate her; she's the reason he was in prison, after all. The reason his sister is still in prison. Solitary confinement, actually, after there were a few...incidents...with other prisoners. And the guards. And the warden.
None of that matters to him now. All that matters is the woman lying beneath him, the one making those soft keening noises as their bodies slap together. The one he'd sworn to take down the way she'd taken him down.
Fuck plans, he thinks as he feels the sweat gathering between his shoulder blades, down the sides of his face and along his forehead. Fuck everything. Euri was out of control when she decided to kill Mycroft, and I was an idiot for helping her.
He stops short of telling himself he deserved what he got when he was sentenced to life in prison: no pair of big brown eyes, no matter how gorgeous, were worth that.
But he resolves to enjoy this moment, this brief respite before he goes out to do what he's promised to do, in exchange for his freedom - what he'd have been happy to do even without that enticement.
Take down Jim Moriarty. Wrestle control of the Holmes' territory back from his greedy little paws.
And maybe come back after he's done and have a private celebration with Molly Hooper, to whom he's rapidly becoming addicted.
In the meantime, right here, right now, he's going to enjoy fucking Molly Hooper until she screams out her pleasure, until he empties himself inside her and they're both a tangle of sweaty limbs and utter fulfillment.
With that goal in mind he maneuvers himself to a kneeling position, slipping out of her only briefly before shoving his way back inside again. His lips peel back from his teeth as he grabs her hips, shifting her roughly into position, watching her as her eyes snap open and she stares at him. "Come for me, princess," he says, moving one hand over to the place where their bodies are joined. He presses his thumb against her clit and her body bucks and heaves, short, sharp cries of pleasure tearing their way through her throat. He watches entranced as her lips part and her head thrashes and when she finally goes limp, he leans back down and snarls, "My turn now."
He takes his pleasure of her, merciless as he thrusts against her, watching his cock as it moves in and out of her. After a moment she lifts her head again, her tongue darting out to touch the corner of her lips as her gaze lands on his and that's. It.
He's done.
He comes with a roar, fingers gripping her hips so tightly they'll leave bruises, pumping into her and wishing suddenly they'd done without the johnnie, that his cum and her juices were mixing together. He wants to smear it over her body like some animal, finish claiming her as his and that thought makes him jerk away before he's fully soft.
This woman is dangerous, and not just because she's MI5.
He leaves the bed, removes the johnny, drops it into the bin by her door and heads into her bathroom for a quick piss and washup. He catches his reflection in the mirror over the sink; his hair is a sweaty mess, his face is flushed and he looks like exactly what he feels: a man who's just had one of the best shags of his life.
Whistling, he strolls out of the loo and back into her bedroom. She's still lying there, of course; he gets the key from the bedside table and undoes the cuffs before surprising them both by dropping back onto the bed next to her. "Could use a smoke," he says, but doesn't move to grab the pack out of his discarded trousers.
She sits up with her back to him, rubbing her wrists and frowning at the red marks. "Crap, I'm gonna have to wear long sleeves for a week," she complains.
"And a high collar," he points out complacently.
She turns to glare at him; he ogles her tits and finds himself wondering how long it'll take before he'll be ready for another go-round.
Regretfully, he realizes what a bad idea that would be.
After all, he has places to be. Things to do.
Number one on that list being Jim Moriarty.
"So," Molly says as he loses himself in contemplation of the future. "This deal you've cut, is…"
"Is none of your business," he says, his tone milder than it should be. Damn, he's really getting soft on this woman.
Seems only fair, since he was so 'hard' on her just now.
He sniggers inwardly at the juvenile joke, but keeps his voice cold and deliberate as he speaks. "All you need to know is that I've made one, and that you'd best stay out of my way while I do what needs doing." Some devil makes him add, "Or else."
"Or else what? I'll regret it?" she asks sardonically.
"Or else I'm likely to drag you to the nearest dark corner and shag you boneless," he answers, pleased to see she's still capable of blushing.
"I'd like to see you try," is her weak attempt at a retort.
Her blush deepens and he knows she realizes how poor a response that was.
How easily it could be misread as a challenge.
A challenge he is very much up for.
He leans forward, brushes a few sweaty strands of hair from her cheek. "Try me and see," he murmurs, then kisses her. Hard. Possessively.
She kisses back just as hard, then shoves him away with a huff of annoyance. "You've delivered your message," she snaps. "So get out of my flat and just remember - the next time I see you-"
"You'll be just as happy to see me as you were this time," he finishes for her. With a wink, he stands up, stretches, being sure to give her a proper show before he begins picking up his clothes. He dresses slowly while she sits on her bed, clutching the wrinkled sheets and duvet to her chest, and he can feel her eyes on him the entire time.
Once he's fully clothed down to his shoes, he heads for the door. He doesn't mean to turn back, but as his hand grasps the doorknob, he hesitates. Looks over his shoulder. Thinks about climbing back into bed with her for round two.
No. He has a mission.
"Good-bye, Molly Hooper," he says softly. "I doubt we'll meet again."
"Never say never," he thinks he hears her say as he closes the bedroom door behind him.
He smiles.
Never say never, indeed.
The End?