She knew already.
His stride, his pose, his hand on the riding crop and his expression were all exalted.
She'd been waiting an hour, in a cold room, overhearing muffled conversation through the door.
Usually, she'd come, get something, and leave.
She had now stroked the spine of his books, tried to decipher his cramped written-notes, and admired the sheets on his bed.
Never had she stepped the threshold of his bedroom before, everything screamed noir.
The entire thing was very well executed down to the ashtray, which was proper crystal it seemed.
His eyes lingered on her bare crossed legs; she was sitting in a chair in the right corner of the room, covered in shadow.
"You said it was cold," he says, quirking a brow at her attire.
She's wearing a coat in doors, with a pair of stiletto heels. "I don't like playing games Miss Hooper."
"You shouldn't have kept me waiting then," she says, slipping off the heels, catching him staring.
She laughs, but stops at the expression on his face.
He walks with decisive steps into the direction of her chair, the riding crop firmly at hand.
She looks at it; he latches onto her eyes, before holding it up, as if he needed to inspect it even more.
She fixes her gaze on his shoulder instead.
"Leaving it with Mrs Hudson. You could have scared her stiff," he says a hint of amusement in his voice, as he stops walking – a wide gap still between them.
"She knew that I was in your bedroom-," she says pleased standing up from her chair. "-That would surely have given her fright enough. You didn't seem to care, as you opened it in front of them."
"I didn't know what was inside," he lies.
She removes the distance between them, looking him in the eye.
"Of course you did," she says vexed that he tries to play dumb.
"Of course I did," he says sounding entertained looking down on her face.
"Now, I suggest you hand it over," she says holding one hand out. He glances at her hand, she grins, "You are aware that you weren't supposed to get this now?"
"A present is a present. No time better than the present don't you think?" he says like a trickster slipping it behind his back, as she tries to reach for it.
She frowns.
"I am not going to fight you for it," she says crossing her arms at him.
She wasn't really trying and he's not really trying to stop her.
"I wasn't aware that you were going to," he says. "You are in my bedroom, I did suppose I'd win this one."
"Win? I thought you said you didn't play games-," she asks derisively.
"You drank a glass of wine, you took your time before you got into my bedroom. You had an element of surprise, except you knew you didn't, which means you aren't here for-,"
"No, not that, of course not," she says not bashful whatsoever.
He blinks momentarily, before regaining his composure.
He can see the faint blush on her skin.
"You are in my bedroom," he says a matter-of-factly.
"Yes, evidentially," she says, walking away from him, uttering, "It is yours," pacing towards the door "I am here, as you were in mine," ending her speech just by the entrance.
"Your point?" he says, following her movements with his eyes.
She feels his gaze upon her face, analysing every single action, as she returns to her position in front of him. She licks her lips, puts on an amused expression, before saying "I thought this was the best room for it really."
"For what?" he asks, brows furrowed, as he breathes down upon her.
Their mouths are close, as she says in the most elicit of tones, "I'm not going to get naked this time." With his blue eyes on her, he slips his one free hand on her wrist, as she tries to grab hold of the whip, which he momentarily forgets.
The attempt on taking it causes him to pressure her up against the door.
He teases, "tut-tut", while pressed up against her. He sees the bare rosy skin underneath her coat for a flash.
Her expression is one mixed with frustration and amusement, for she sees the whip in his hand, which she cannot reach.
"So you expect me to take off my clothes?" he mutters in her ear, disbelieving her supposed agenda.
He's searching her eyes, touching her pulse, and hears her rapid breathing, reveal her inner thought.
"Yes," she says not holding back, her usual demure flush takes apparent pleasure in appearing, but not in the manner he supposes.
He let's go off her wrist, walks off putting the riding crop gently on his desk.
"Or else?" he says, taking off his dress jacket, starting to unbutton the wrists of his purple shirt, while keeping his eyes trained on her.
Her back is still firmly on the door where he left her; he sees more of the rosy flesh that protrudes from under the coat.
"I'll leave with the riding crop," she says under a great deal of strain.
It evokes every part of her not to stutter, watching him start to unbutton his shirt, eyes still immovable on hers.
He stops abruptly.
"You seem a bit breathless," he says looking quite cool there he stands, as if he's unaffected.
"Well, it was a very boring conversation to overhear," she says, leaning on the door now with confidence, crossing her legs.
"You had hoped for a more outpour of emotion? A reveal of my feelings perhaps?" he asks her.
"No, I just hoped for a bit more surprising conversation. You took up something you already knew, because you were biding your time. You made me wait, because you wanted me to see your room."
He smirks at her.
"Yes, and you're supposed to get undressed. Get to it. I'll take care of the talking from now on," she says red lips twisted in a wry smile.
His hands return to the buttons, enticingly removing every button at a slow pace still staring at her. She ignores his look.
"You left the apartment for a reason," she says thinking out loud.
He is finished unbuttoning the shirt, revealing his chest, her eyes flash into his direction, but she continues her speech "You needed me here to prove a point."
"What point?" he says studying her face, his hands coming to a halt on his belt. She comes close, spreads her warm hands on his chest "That I'd be here later."
She can see the effect of her words on his face, for a flash of a second, his armour down as it was before the fall.
"You are," he says with that gaze of his.
"You were worried," she says teasingly.
"I know the effect I have on you Miss Hooper," he says smugly.
She starts to laugh, but the laughter gets caught in her throat.
His expression softens, as his hands stretch out and reach for her face. He strokes his thumb on her lips, as her lips part ever so slightly.
She stares in his blue eyes, as he starts to leans in whispering, "You aren't wearing anything under your coat."
"You've still got clothes on," she says, but before she manages to squirm away from his grip – he kisses her.
It is a long lingering kiss, not one for those in rush, but deep with emotion.
Somehow, during the tugging and the pulling, the clothes vanish, evaporating between the kisses.
Any plan that had formed in her mind was thrown aside – riding crop forgotten, coat gone, as his hands seemed to be everywhere.
For a brief moment he paused, as they were face to face on the bed. His blue eye stared into hers, one hand pushing some hair that had fallen into her face aside, before he gently stroked the part of flesh between her breasts.
"Molly, are you sure?" he tentatively whispers, as he teases her breasts.
She smiles at him for a moment, capturing his lips in a kiss, without a moment of hesitation he's pinned her underneath him.
He trails kisses in her thighs, teasing with his tongue, wiggling free from his grip – she grabs him up to her face, kissing him, before pinning him underneath her.
He just smirks at her for having overpowered him.
Her hands caress his chest, taking time to observe his steady gaze, as she teases him with herself.
His fingers enter, briefly for a few seconds, and she almost slaps his hand away.
He laughs huskily at her frustration, as she holds his arms to his sides, teasing him by wiggling on top of him, kissing his chest, and mouth.
Of course, he easily overthrows her again, but this time it is obvious that it was not for teasing.
She pulls him in with her legs crossed behind his back, arms clasped at his neck, diverting between kissing his mouth and his face, as he pushes into her.
She moans, he breathes deeply, going at a slow pace, which soon quickens.
His grips the board of the bed, the bed banging into the wall, her and his moans mixing in together.
She clasps her legs tighter around him, her hands digging into his back, as he pushes further inside of her.
She moves on top, slowing down the pace, his one hand fondling her breast the other clasping on her hips, as she goes up and down the length of him.
They are slamming up against each other now, as he raises himself up holding her, she moans, they kiss, and soon she's underneath him again – the pace quickens, deepens, harder he pushes through, nails digging in his back, moans louder – then sweet release.
He is ahead, and she is behind.
There is a glow on their entangled bodies.
A giggle escapes her mouth, he looks at her bewildered – "I'm sorry, I-," he captures her mouth with an understanding kiss amidst her laugh.
Molly did not silently weep, or just keep still – she would laugh.
He looks at her, in a manner she cannot entirely describe, but not in the way of a man who wants to run away.
A thought comes to her, after she's properly calm, peering at him – soft gaze and all.
"Is John still in the apartment?" she asks, for a moment Sherlock stiffens entirely, before breaking out in sounding laughter.
That was answer enough.