Molly was exercising every bit of self-control she had to not break into hysterical laughter. The famous Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective for Scotland Yard, was sitting on her toilet with a towel around his shoulders, hair covered in ginger hair dye, reading the directions on the back of the box. Out of spite for Mycroft he had removed the white t-shirt as soon as he left and kept the sweat pants on as well. The entire day up to the hair dye experience this evening had been spent with Molly cleaning up the flat while Sherlock sporadically moved about tending to this-or-that, much like a hyperactive housecat.
"It says here we were supposed to do a test patch-did you do that?" He looked up at Molly, concerned.
"Would you relax," she said, letting a giggle escape, "I've done this loads of times. Come on, let's go rinse you off," she took his hand and led him to the kitchen, directing him to the sink. He leaned his head into the basin as she readied the sprayer to rinse the dye away. After a thorough rinse and lather with shampoo, he stood before her, now with a messy, damp mop of bright ginger hair atop his head.
"How do I look?" he said, clearly nervous for the response.
Molly could not hold her giggles any longer. They escaped out of her as she doubled over, struggling to breath, grasping the edge of the counter as she laughed. Sherlock worryingly looked at his reflection in the stainless steel toaster and groaned.
"Oh, come on. Is it that bad?"
Molly continued her hysterics, now laughing at Sherlock staring heatedly at her toaster, running his fingers through the red mess. He looked down at her with a look of contempt.
"It's not funny," he said, looking down at her gasping for air.
"You look like a-" she couldn't get a full sentence out between her bursts of laughter.
"Like a what?" he asked, concerned. She gestured for him to bend down so she could whisper in his ear. He obliged, and Molly had to stifle her laughter for a brief moment to prevent herself from spitting into his face.
"You look like a-WEASLEY." At this she lost it again, doubling over on the floor in a heap, unable to remain standing.
Sherlock stood back up, staring at her, when suddenly a chuckle escaped his own lips. Molly looked up just long enough to see him start to laugh in earnest, and within seconds he was near hysterics with her. She had never seen him laugh before, let alone red-faced and gasping for air like a child.
"Stop it, I'm gonna wet my pants!" She screamed, watching him lean to the floor to pick her up, unable to control his own laughter.
"Oh, yeah? Let me help you along!" He grabbed the sprayer from the sink and turned on the cold water, drenching her and causing her to scream as she scrambled to stand up and escape. Before she could get out of range, he reached out and held her by the waist, dropping the sprayer and tickling her in the ribs.
Molly's laughter doubled at the tickling and she desperately reached out, coming up with the sprayer and managing to strike him in the face with a well-placed stream of water before dropping it and running out of the kitchen towards her bedroom, still laughing. Before she could make it to the door, she felt herself being turned around and picked up in a fireman's carry over Sherlock's shoulder, both still giggling like kids on Christmas as he made his way to her bedroom.
Sherlock made a noise that sounded like Molly was much heavier than her one hundred twenty pounds as he hefted her onto the bed, but she locked her arms around his neck as she fell, pulling him on top of her. Their laughter settled quickly as reached a hand out to brush a stray lock of hair out of her face, still flushed from laughing.
"You really do look ridiculous," she said, still smiling despite the suddenly intimate situation.
"Yeah, well, at least I'm not wearing a jumper with a cat on it," he jabbed in jest.
"At least my cheekbones fit inside my face!" she said, the ghost of a laugh still on her face.
"At least I don't smell like dead people!"
"Sociopath!"
"Nerd!"
"Freak!"
Rather than answer her final playful insult, he replied by kissing her fully, putting his hand behind her head to pull her deeper into his mouth. Her hands flew up to tangle into his curls, their color all-but-forgotten as she lost herself in him. His free hand rested on her hip, toying precariously at the hem of her jumper before moving up slightly to come in contact with the bare skin of her stomach. Molly felt her skin ignite at his touch, and immediately mustered all her courage to fling herself forward, tossing him on his back, now straddling him. His eyes widened at the sudden burst of courage, but his look of surprise melted into one of amusement as he reached to pull her back to his lips.
This time he bravely brought his hands up with her jumper, helping her to pull it off over her head. He gasped at the skin-to-skin contact as she came back down to kiss him before fumbling with the waistband of his sweatpants.
"Molly, I-" he stammered as she pulled the sweats away from his legs, leaving him only in his pants upon the bed, a tell-tale bulge beginning to stretch the elasticity of the boxer briefs.
"I know-you're not my boyfriend," she said as she crawled back up his body, planting a trail of soft kisses up his chest as she resumed her position near his face.
"No. That's not it. I just- I've never-" She stopped his sentence by placing two fingers over his mouth.
"Shh. I know. Just relax and…try to turn your brain off." Sherlock sighed and pulled her into another kiss, resolving himself to do just that. He flipped her over so he once again was resting his weight on his elbows, hovering over her, and began to let his body take complete control over his usually out-paced mind.
His mouth strayed from her lips and fell down into the crevice between her neck and shoulders, eliciting wonderful gasps from Molly. His hands worked their way across the flat of her stomach, barely glancing over the material of her bra, almost asking permission before her own hand came down on his, encouraging his exploratory touch. He pulled the material down, exposing her breast before bringing his dead down to her chest and giving it a gentle kiss. He pulled her up slightly to allow himself access to the clasp at her back which he somehow deftly removed without so much as a struggle. Molly didn't think she could handle much more of this.
I'm in bed with Sherlock. Bloody. Holmes.
As he came back up to continue his ministrations upon her neck and shoulder, Molly decided to take matters into her own hands-literally. She unwound her hands from his now ginger hair and ran them down his sculpted chest, barely hesitating before continuing into the waistband of his pants, wrapping one hand around him firmly.
Sherlock immediately stopped what he was doing with a sharp hiss of breath and looked into her eyes. She brought her free hand up to his face and stroked his cheek once before letting her other hand begin working up and down, causing Sherlock to close his eyes and let out a ragged breath before coming back down to kiss her again, this time with more need. Before she really knew what had happened he removed himself from her grip, stood up, and swiftly pulled her pajama bottoms and knickers off in one carefully orchestrated movement. She was now lying before him, completely nude-but in all her sexual encounters before, she never remembered feeling less self-conscious or nervous. Sherlock lithely stepped out of his pants and positioned himself over her once more.
"You certainly look like you've done this before," said Molly, her arms wrapping around his neck, fingers once again twirling his hair. I could get used to the ginger.
"I've walked in on John watching a lot of romantic comedies on his laptop," he smirked, his fingers brushing the side of her cheeks. She laughed again before silently nodding to him and joining their lips again. In one gentle, but confident motion he entered her, both of them breaking the kiss long enough to gasp, before he began to rock his hips and develop a rhythm. Molly's head swam with sensations, both physical and emotional, as she felt herself swinging her own hips to meet his. Within minutes, she felt a familiar knotting sensation in her lower stomach, though she was shocked as it had never actually happened during intercourse before. Not wanting to question it, she allowed herself to completely unravel, panting Sherlock's name in the process. This vocalization apparently was his undoing as well, as he almost immediately responded with her name, before collapsing against her chest, his head at her shoulder.
They stayed in this position for several minutes, catching their breath, allowing their heart rates to return to normal before Sherlock rolled to one side, pulling her over to rest against his chest. Molly saw large black spots before her eyes, and smiled as she succumbed to a pleasant dizzy sensation. Sherlock brought his hand up to run it through his hair before chuckling softly.
Molly looked up into his face, smiling despite her curiosity. "What?"
He continued to laugh softly before pulling her head to his lips to kiss the top of her head. "If I would have known this was going to happen, I would have become a ginger a long time ago."
She laughed with him only once more, before settling against his chest and falling into a deep, contented sleep.
A/N: Soooo, I've never written fluff or smut before, so hopefully that was all right! Let me know what you think! More to come-all this happiness can't possibly last with Moriarty lurking around the corner!