A/N: Sweet fluffy goodness! The return of Sunny Jim! Fic recs! Intrigue at the masked ball! OK, no masked ball but I love saying that.
For those who were curious: my character quiz said I am Jim Moriarty. Soooo exciting!
Fics old and new for you to read, in no particular order:
"It Happened One Night" by conchepcion
"The Domestic Analysis" by somethinginthewayful
"The Sweet Sound" by Petra Todd
"The Human Condition" by goodgonegirl42
"The Road Less Travelled by," by Bexi
"The Broken Doll" by Heartgrater
"Away from the Sun" by T.N. Weston
"Landing on His Feet" by Vitawash
"The Five Stages of an Illogical Death" by AndInTimeThisTooShallPass"
"The Perfect Suitor" by Aelan Greenleaf
"Spectrum" by celeryy
"Take This Hand, We Can Do It" by eccentricpetal
"Molly Moves On" by MuteBanana
"Someone I Used to Know" by Mid-Nite-Potter
Lookit! Some sherlolly! Please review, I love reviews!
S&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS
Please…please…please don't let me wake up and this all have been a dream.
That was the only thought that ran through Molly's head.
Even though she knew it wasn't, knew she wasn't home in bed asleep, it felt like it. This moment had the beautiful, serene quality that normally only happened in her dreams, when she was lucky enough to dream about him. She couldn't imagine being any happier: anything being more perfect than his body against hers and her mouth moving with his.
He wasn't experienced: it was obvious though not in a horrible way like it had been with some men from her past. But he more than made it for it in curiosity and enthusiasm. He kissed her as though he was learning about her: learning about what she liked, how she liked it, and then imitating it. Taking what she was doing to him and reflecting it back to her. It was so sweet it made her heart ache, but she wanted more. She wanted this to be for him.
She pulled back just enough to flick the tip of her tongue into one damp corner of his mouth, and a flash of pride and pleasure went through her as he moaned again, louder than before, and she felt a tremor ripple through him. She felt him harden against her leg and gasped into his mouth, delirious with the knowledge that she had caused it. She, little Molly Hooper, who everyone thought was so quiet and shy. She was making Sherlock Holmes come undone. The thought made her grin inside. Well, they always said it was the quiet ones you had to watch out for…
His mouth caught hers again, harder this time, bolder and more demanding. She gave him what he wanted with her kiss, her hands pushing aside his coat and her fingers slipping to the buttons of his shirt. She didn't even try to stop her fingers from shaking as she slowly unfastened the buttons and untucked his shirt, slid her warm palms against his bare skin and drew back a bit.
For what seemed like forever she looked at him: looked at her trembling hands resting on his chest. She never, never thought she would see him like this, feel him like this. It was so intense it almost made her want to cry from happiness. He was so pale, but she knew that already from the fake autopsy and treating a cut after. But so unbelievably beautiful. She drew a ragged breath, struggling not to come undone. How could she explain it? He would think she was being an idiot, wouldn't understand what it felt like to want to touch someone so badly you could die inside. She wasn't even sure how she'd managed to be bold enough to pull him down and kiss him, except from a strength born of long-buried desperation and longing.
"Molly?"
He was studying her: trying to decipher the expression on her face. She shook her head, closed her eyes tightly, kissing him again, desperately, joyfully, her body and mind and heart floating up, up, so high into the sky she thought she might never come down again.
She could feel the firm muscle and the near absence of hair beneath her touch. She pressed her fingertips to him and glided her hands over him, ghosting his chest, pressing firmly on his nipples as though she was reading Braille, then pressing harder when he gasped.
His mouth was trailing kisses down her jaw, then her neck, pausing briefly each time as though figuring out if her skin tasted different at each place. When he pressed his tongue against her carotid artery it was her turn to gasp, then she moaned when he placed the lightest of kisses at the base of her throat. She pressed herself upward against him and the resulting heat enveloped them both.
Sherlock felt as though he was watching everything from outside of himself, as though it was a dream. This wasn't him. And yet it was. He was aching with need. Reason had deserted him: packed up its bags and fled, nowhere to be seen, and left him in the lion's den. He might as well have tried to stop an avalanche with an umbrella.
He hadn't known what to expect when he kissed her. She kissed him? He wasn't sure anymore. There was definitely a kiss, however. Right. When they'd kissed, he hadn't known what to expect. But whatever it was, it wasn't this. This… feeling. This passion, this wanting. Because it was her. Not because it was her. His body hurt and the primitive, instinctual part of him had shoved his higher reasoning ability aside and screamed that he had to Satisfy. This. Need. Now. He was pure, unadulterated lust, and all he wanted was to have her.
What stopped him was: 1. This wasn't the right time, and 2. This wasn't the right place. Moriarty was obviously saving their first time for something special. And even if he hadn't have issued his edict, Sherlock did not want his-their-first time to be in Holland Park with three of Mycroft's men wandering around. Call him old-fashioned, but even if he was going to be forced to do this, he still wanted it to be done properly.
The return of reason did not make it automatically make it easy to stop. But stop he did, pulling away to look down at her, her dark eyes opening and staring into his, both of them breathless and shaken.
"Sherlock?" Molly asked, confused and worried.
Sherlock blinked. She seemed confused and worried. Why was she confused and worried?
Oh.
He smiled to reassure her, pressing one last kiss to her lips. "You do realize we are in the middle of a public park?" he asked wryly.
Molly blushed and laughed. "Oh, yes. I had, I had forgotten about that a bit."
"A bit?" he smirked, sitting up and refastening his buttons.
"Well you were no better," she shot back, sitting up and smoothing down her blouse and hair.
"True," he said, carefully making himself presentable. "Someone was distracting me."
"Distracting you? Sherlock Holmes? That 'someone' must have been awfully good," Molly teased.
He raised his eyebrows. "Yes."
She smiled. Sherlock continued. "Now, as you've got to be at work in the morning, perhaps we should get you home?"
She nodded and moved to help him gather everything up.
Molly needed the loo before they left, and Sherlock waited outside the small public convenience building for her. As soon as he calculated she couldn't hear him, he walked away a bit and pulled out his mobile. "Ring, ring," he whispered into it.
The phone rang not ten seconds later. He quickly pressed the button. "Why?" he asked without preamble.
"Why what, hot lips?" Moriarty asked sweetly.
"Why did you want me to know it was Molly? You hate admitting weakness, and not only have you, you told me who was responsible for it."
"I told you we had to be on the same page: told you she counted. I tell you so many helpful things, Sherlock. But do you lis-ten," Moriarty gloated.
"You have another reason. A reason why you want me to know and a reason why you want me to fall in love with her. What is it all for?"
"Now that would be telling. Another fantastic date, by the way. I got a bit hot and bothered just imagining the two of you. Woof."
"Stop it," Sherlock said angrily.
"I always knew you had it in you. And I knew Molly was special. Pity you never did. But then, I wouldn't be able to play this marvelous game."
"Stop," Sherlock hissed.
"You felt it, didn't you. The ache. The desire. You wanted her. Go on. Say it."
Sherlock pressed his lips together.
"Say it," Moriarty ordered viciously.
"I wanted her," Sherlock said flatly. "Happy?"
"Deliciously so. Admitting it is the first step, Sherlock. One down, three to go."
"Three to go? And then what?"
"And then the movie ends, silly."
"How?" Sherlock asked sharply. "How does it end?"
Moriarty laughed. "Oh, Sherlock. That's another of your weaknesses. Always wanting to skip ahead. But not this time. This time you're going to go through the process and have the experiences. Are you excited?"
"Excited is not the word," Sherlock spat.
"Awww. Now don't be like that. I'll give you another clue tomorrow. And tomorrow you ask Molly out again, remember? For date number three-ee."
Sherlock frowned. There was some significance he was missing. "What's so special about the third date?"
Moriarty actually groaned. "How can you be so… never mind. The third date, my dear, is the traditional date for sex."
Sherlock's eyes widened and his throat went dry. "You said it wasn't quite time yet…"
"That was for tonight. Of course it wasn't. Try to keep up, would you? Maybe your big brother should send you that book after all."
Sherlock didn't know what to say to this.
"Just think," Moriarty whispered. "Two more nights, and you'll know. You'll know what sex is like. It's so good, Sherlock. You've really been missing out. I do it, Miss Adler does it, but you never have. So unfair. But soon. Soon you'll be a moaning mess, wrapped around Molly like a sleek cat, with no rational thoughts."
"No," Sherlock said softly. "Don't do this."
"Why are you begging? You don't beg, remember? Oh, sorry, forgot you can't say that anymore after your fall. Save the begging for Molly."
"I can't DO this," Sherlock whispered, hating the pleading he heard in his own voice.
"Yes, you can. End your suffering, Sherlock. End Molly's. She's loved you for so long and she's hurt so much. Make her happy just like in the movies."
"Make her happy so you can kill her," Sherlock said hollowly. "What great incentive for me to end our suffering."
Moriarty sighed. "Ok, I wasn't going to tell you anything yet, BUT. Since you're so worried, I will, so maybe you'll feel better. Play the game, and I promise you I won't kill Molly."
"Promise? You?" Sherlock laughed bitterly.
"When have I ever explicitly made you a promise, Sherlock? I haven't. But I'm making you one now."
"I don't have a choice anyway, if I don't want you blowing people up," Sherlock said.
"Exactly. Now pull yourself together and breathe your little sigh of relief that Molly is safe. We'll talk more tomorrow."
The line went dead. Sherlock pocketed his phone just as Molly emerged.
She moved to his side and smiled, reaching up to kiss him on the cheek. "Are you ok?"
Sherlock nodded, looking down at her with a strangely serene smile. "Yes."