A/N: Part 3 of 4 of sexy sherlolly stuff. Next chapter there will be a big announcement.

This chapter is dedicated to Angeleene, who save for some sleep read this entire novel-length fic in one sitting. That is the highest compliment any fic writer could receive.

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Molly sat up and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him down on top of her as she kissed him. He responded eagerly, holding her to him as though he was drowning and she was his life raft. His hands tangled in her hair, his mouth hard on hers, and she met its demands with a ferocity that equaled his own.

After a few minutes, he was no longer aware of their bodies being separate things: he felt so much a part of her, and her a part of him, that he no longer knew where he ended and she began. The ache he'd had for her, long buried, now blazed with a purity of rightness and receded, changed into a blinding halo of surety that had every nerve in him screaming for consummation.

Sherlock raised himself slightly, peering down at her with gentle eyes as he searched her face. "Are you certain, Molly?"

She couldn't suppress the laughter. "Fine time to be asking me that, isn't it?"

"Well, no one could accuse me of having impeccable timing, I realize." He got the look again, the "serious now" look. "I mean it, Molly. It's not too late to stop. I'd never want you to…"

"Here now, what're you going on about!" she exclaimed. She gave him a stern look. "I could say the same thing to you, you know. It's not every day a woman seduces Sherlock Holmes!"

He seemed to process what she'd just said: his eyes widened. "Seducing me? I thought I was doing the seducing here."

"Shows how little you know sometimes, doesn't it?"

Her grin was so cheeky he couldn't stop himself from returning it. "Well, we've already established I'm lacking in a few areas, so I'm willing to concede the possibility…"

"Big of you," she interjected.

"…This time," Sherlock finished crisply. "But don't expect me to make a habit of it."

"I'd never dream of it," Molly assured him.

"Good. Now, where were we?"

Molly glanced at his hands, then at her body, in such a way that left no doubt as to what she'd like him to be doing. He gladly obliged her.

He slid his hands up to cup her breasts again.

She arched her back slightly, a tiny gasp escaping her. He tilted his head, considering what he held in his hands, the smoothness of the skin, the soft weight, the way they fit in his palms so naturally. He slid his hands up further to hold them, fingers caressing the skin, thumbs brushing over her dusky nipples. She moaned when he did this, and he felt them swell and harden under his touch with a mixture of amazement and delight.

Molly arched against him again, her breathing faster, wanting more than his caress, pleasurable as it might be, needing things she couldn't put a name to or form words around. Her fingers tangled in his hair and she gently pulled his head down towards what his hands held.

He needed no further urging, moving down upon her until his lips met a breast. He licked at the warm globe, nuzzled it, and just when she thought she would explode with anticipation he drew her nipple into his mouth.

Molly made a low guttural sound, and he instantly started to draw back, alarmed. "Don't you dare," she gasped, holding his head.

Sherlock snorted quietly in amusement, sucking on the turgid flesh as she writhed beneath him, making incoherent passionate murmurs, fingers sliding down and gripping the bed as he moved his attention to her other breast, her back arching again as though she was caught in an electric current and he was the conduit. He took the nipple in his mouth, caressed it, then rose up slightly to hold both breasts again, kneading and stroking, watching her with curious eyes, pleased with the response she made.

"Sherlock…"

She reached up to kiss him, no longer able to be still, wanting to give him the same sweet torturous bliss he'd given her. Molly wrapped her arms around him and with a swift deft movement rolled him beneath her.

She kissed him again, long and deep, resting her body against his just enough for him to feel her soft heat. She rose up and took Sherlock's face in her hands, running her thumbs across his high cheekbones, his eyelids, his lips wet from her kisses.

Molly swallowed hard. She wanted to say something, but found that she was at a loss for words. And when he reached up to kiss her, she decided that was just fine.

It was perfect, this kiss. Neither awkward nor tentative, his lips caressed hers, feasted on them, devoured them. Sherlock rolled them over so that she was beneath him again. Molly slipped her arms around him, ran her hands up and down the smooth expanse of his back, trailed her nails lightly along his spine and smiled against his mouth when she felt him shudder. There was no tension in him: at least not the tension of nervousness. He'd pushed it away, let it go. And in its place was the sweet peace that came with surrender. With his yielding came more than acceptance: he was aroused, eager, ready to match her desire with his.

His mouth left hers and trailed kisses over her face; quick tiny kisses that fell on her cheeks, forehead and chin like raindrops. When Sherlock reached her throat he slid his lips down the skin hard and fast and was rewarded with a guttural gasp. He continued down, fingers kneading her breasts as the kisses left damp imprints on her chest and stomach. He gave the soft mounds a final caress before his hands moved to her hips, gently squeezing them, marveling at her contours and how they differed from his. Intellectually he knew this, had always known it: his biology and physiology studies were thorough. But here, now, her body beneath his, he could fully understand. Her body was made for his.

When his mouth went lower and grazed her navel Molly felt a jolt of excitement and apprehension. She was intensely aware of his lips and hands, how they were moving slowly down her body. It was almost more than she could stand, and if he went any further…

"Sherlock," she whispered.

He paused mid-kiss, hands grazing the sensitive flesh of her thighs. "Yes, Molly?"

She swallowed hard. How the hell did she say what she needed to say?

"You seem to be…"

"What?"

"Heading south," she blurted, then kicked herself hard mentally for the stupid phrasing.

Sherlock chuckled, his breath light and warm against her stomach. "I'm glad to know your sense of direction is impeccable."

Molly exhaled fiercely. "What I mean is… you don't… have to do anything you don't want to," she said, knowing she sounded lame but unable to put it any other way.

He raised his head. "I'm not doing anything I don't want to."

"Oh," she said weakly "That's good. I mean—"

"Molly."

"Yes?"

"Hush."

She hushed.

He lowered his head again, his lips a scant inch away from the juncture of her thighs. They grazed her dark curls, his fingers tracing the shape of the hair before slowly slipping further.

When he found her center she cried out softly, biting her lip, her hands clenching and unclenching the sheets. He brushed one thumb over her, his other fingers resting against her pubic bone, watching the expressions that crossed her face.

She was in pleasure: he could see that. But how much? How could he be sure he was doing what she wanted?

"Molly," he whispered.

"Sherlock?" she asked, puzzled by the look on his face.

"Show me, Molly."

Her heart hammered in her chest. "Show you what?" she asked nervously, voice husky.

"Show me how to please you."

Molly shook. She hadn't misunderstood him, then. "You really want me to—"

"Yes, I do ," he whispered. "Show me."

Fingers trembling, Molly slid her right hand down until it rested against his. Never had a man asked her to do this: either they were too afraid, or they assumed that whatever they were doing was creating fits of ecstasy in her. Sometimes she enlightened them otherwise: sometimes they were doing a decent job on their own. But no one, no one had ever wanted her to tell him, show him. And the fact that it was Sherlock, his voice so earnest, so innocent and sincere, made her insides quake. And she felt no shame, no hesitation. Only a desire to share herself with him.

She moved her fingers over, bringing his along. "Here," she whispered. She placed her hand on his and guided him, taking his fingers where she wanted them to be. "Like this." And she worked them in a slow, easy rhythm. After a minute or so she moved her hand back slightly, and he continued, copying her actions perfectly. "Oh, yes," Molly gasped, closing her eyes.

Sherlock smiled—somehow she felt that he was smiling—and continued. He felt her arch her back, heard her quiet gasps. When her hand had been on his, the simple eroticism of it had aroused him so much it was painful. Part of him had wanted to stop, to join his body with hers and ease the fierce ache growing inside him. But he wasn't going to do that yet.

After a few minutes, Molly began to moan. He continued, looking down at her, her eyes shut and face flushed, and marveled at how beautiful she looked. She writhed against him, breathing in short gasps, her entire body rippling like an ocean wave. He knew she must be closer…

Molly was, in fact, poised on the edge. But she was holding herself back. It was a reflex reaction: it had always been a bit hard for her to let go. More than one man had been confused and upset by this. But she didn't want that, not with Sherlock. She wanted to let him in. It was so hard to undo habit…

He altered his tempo slightly, but it was enough to send her rolling out again, building so fast she almost didn't realize it. She felt the trembling, the spasms, and she knew it was the moment of truth.

"Let it happen, Molly," Sherlock whispered.

He had sensed conflict in her, and while he knew little about sex, he knew a great deal about Molly. He didn't intend to let old fears stop her. They had come too far, shared too much for that. There was no going back: not now, not for him, not for her.

Molly arched against him, raising herself up, a low wanton cry escaping her lips, her hips writhing as release claimed her, as her body was flooded with spasm after spasm of pleasure. Finally, she quieted and went limp, drawing him to her in a fierce kiss. When it ended, she cupped his face in her hands, brushing a lock of hair away from his eye. She chuckled, the sound rich and happy.

"Are you going to let me in on the joke?" Sherlock asked, bracing himself over her on his arms.

"You." At his puzzled "hmm?" she elaborated: "I've always thought you could do anything you tried and do it well. This proves it!"

"I did have help from you, Molly," he murmured. When she touched his mouth, he smiled.

"You might not need too much more help!" she exclaimed. "That was amazing."

"Only because you were able to show me what to do," he insisted.

"Sherlock… some guys wouldn't even have asked."

"Then how would they know?"

She sighed, twining her fingers in his hair as he moved to lie down beside her, resting his head on her breasts. "Sometimes they don't," she said. "They assume they know what they're doing or that you like whatever they do."

"That seems rather inefficient."

Molly laughed until her eyes watered. "Only you would describe sex like that!"

Sherlock shrugged. "It's not logical. If you're having sex to give each other pleasure, you should find out what the other person likes. Otherwise it's a waste of time and effort."

"So practical," she teased, kissing the top of his head.

He tucked his chin down. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

"No, it's ok," she said softly, tipping his face up towards hers. "You are who you are. And I'm glad that you care about pleasing me, even if you're a bit clinical about it."

"That isn't all of it, you know," Sherlock replied earnestly. "It's because…" he broke off.

"Because?" Molly prompted gently.

"It gives me pleasure, knowing I can make you feel that way. Your face, Molly, at that moment… and it was because of me, I was able to give you that."

She nodded. "I understand."

He raised up and kissed her, taking her by surprise. When it was over, she said: "but you know, that works both ways."

"Oh?"

"Oh, yes," she told him.

And with a quick fluid movement, he was on his back with her on top of him again.