Author's Note:
This is not smut. Sorry to all my dirty-minded darlings, but I don't write smutty stuff very well. Remember to review and don't hate me for how short this chapter is.
Chapter 12: Gasping
Kissing Sherlock was even better than Molly had hoped it would be.
He was gentle with her, conscious of her injury, but still firm. Molly could tell that this was something that he'd decided he wanted and wasn't backing down. His lips were smooth and soft, persistently seeking out as much of her as they could find. His hands held her face, holding her like she was made out of glass. This kiss was so sweet and so much more than all of the other kisses Molly had experienced. It took her breath away.
She pulled her head back, gasping for air, but Sherlock's lips only moved down to her neck, where he lightly kisses the sensitive skin over her corroded artery. He wasn't letting her catch her breath that easily. His hands had drifted down to her waist, still careful of her injury, tracing patterns on her through the flimsy fabric of her t-shirt. Molly's hands found their way into Sherlock's hair, gripping the dark curls and pinning him to her. She couldn't get enough of him. The way he smelled, the feel of his lips on her skin, and the light touches of his hands were making it hard for her to focus.
"Molly," he murmured against her skin. "I…Molly?"
He had just realized that she was having trouble breathing and tried to look at her face. But Molly's hands tightened in his hair, making him halt with his lips only inches away from her neck.
"Don't you dare," she breathed. "Don't you dare stop."
She felt his chuckle deep in her bones, the sound vibrating to her very soul. But he did as she asked and brought his lips back to her waiting skin. Tentatively, she let her hands roam across his shoulders and down his chest. She could feel the muscles beneath her fingers and the warmth of his skin through is shirt. When her hands reached the hem, she tugged. Catching the hint, Sherlock leaned away for a second to free himself of his shirt. He tried to return to her, but she put a hand on his chest and pushed him back so she could look at him. His skin was pale and flawless, smooth and warm to the touch. His muscles were thin but well defined. Her eyes wandered across his chest and down his stomach, where she could see a hint of ribs, down to his hip bones. He was beautiful, Molly had always known that, but this was something different. This kind of beauty was unearthly and unattainable…and it was being offered to her.
"You're…beautiful." Her eyes met his again to see the happiness in his face, and the thinly veiled desire. He reached for her, hands at her hips, fingers lightly gripping the fabric of her shirt. His eyes searched hers, looking for permission. She nodded slightly, and was struck by the emotion she saw in his face. Like he was amazed she was trusting him this much. She raised her arms over her head and felt the slight shift in fabric as he lifted her shirt, exposing her stomach. His fingers were suddenly there, painting fiery patterns on her skin wherever he touched her. She shuddered with pleasure.
At that moment, the door to her flat opened. Sherlock froze, torn between wanting to stay with her, needing to hide, and murdering whoever had just interrupted. Molly pushed him off the bed, towards the closet, but not before he snuck one more kiss. She smiled against his lips.
'Hello? Molly?" They both froze. That was John's voice.