A/N: Hello, pretties! A little short, but I hope the content will have me forgiven.

The SAMFA results should be in and the winners posted within about a week!

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He turned on the water and adjusted it to what for him was the ideal temperature. Molly promptly turned the hot water up a notch as soon as the spray hit her skin, smoothing her now partially wet hair away from her face until she felt Sherlock's hand move up to take care of that task himself.

"Like it hot in the shower, do you?" he asked, tone innocent but eyes not quite so.

She shrugged. "Some like it hot," she joked, and he rolled his eyes a bit.

"I thought I told you not to make jokes," he said, handing her a washcloth and his soap.

She took them, lathered the cloth up and began to make large, slow circles over his back. "You also once told me you suggested I avoid all future attempts at a relationship," she told him.

Sherlock sighed, enjoying the feel of Molly's small, strong hands moving in sensual circles across his back. "So I did. It seems you have a habit of not listening to me."

"Oh, well, I could stop… this," Molly offered jokingly, halting the movement of her hands. "I mean, since I'm supposed to listen to you about everything…"

Sherlock turned quickly to face her, the stream of water hitting breasts for an instant until his body was blocking the spray once more. "I have no desire for you to blindly obey me, Molly, despite my habit of ordering people about. People who are easily controlled are only of use when I need to accomplish a task. Meekness is dull."

He winced a bit mentally after the words left his mouth, realizing they would sound harsh. But to his surprise, Molly only chucked.

"So that's why." She switched to washing his chest. Sherlock was about to tell her he was capable of doing that himself when he realized he was intrigued by her comment and what she was doing felt incredibly good. It was remarkable how different someone else's hands could feel: how they could bring pleasure to the simplest things.

"That is why what?"

"I started standing up to you a bit. Telling you how I felt, not backing down. The year before what happened with Moriarty and after your…fall. I could tell then that things had started to change between us. You weren't as cruel. You listened to me. You started respecting me."

Sherlock reached up and took her hands, washcloth and all. "I respected you before, Molly. But you're right, in a way. I didn't respect you as a person, just as a pathologist and a doctor. Respect has to be earned and deserved. It should never be blindly given to anyone."

Molly glanced down. "I suppose we're even, then. Because after that Christmas I realized that even though I loved you, I didn't respect you. As a detective, yes. But not as a person."

Sherlock stared at her in confusion. "But you still helped me."

"Please reference above comment about still loving you," Molly said with a small laugh.

She resumed washing him, moving to his thighs. Sherlock sighed again. "Love is without any doubt one of the most confusing things in existence."

"You only think that because it's not something you can quantify," Molly told him, crouching to wash his calves. "Love is chemically based, yes. But that doesn't change the feelings. Just saying 'oh, it's oxytocin' or 'damn this dopamine' doesn't make the feelings go away or make them less powerful."

He shook his head. "No. It does not."

"That doesn't mean those chemicals can't feel… nice, though," Molly said, her voice teasing. Her hands moved up to his penis and began a slick, soapy caress.

Sherlock found the shower suddenly felt hotter. "No," he said, voice slightly strained. "No, they certainly… can be," he gasped as she squeezed him, applying just enough pressure to make him feel that his body would burst.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Molly asked, one hand moving to cup his testicles. "Did you say those feelings could be nice?"

Sherlock groaned. "Molly… this is… not fair…"

"Oh, well… I could stop if you want," she offered again, doing something with her hands that Sherlock couldn't see but certainly felt. His penis was harder than an iron bar.

"No," he gasped.

"No, I should stop, or no, I shouldn't?" Molly asked, squeezing him again that way.

"Shouldn't," Sherlock replied with another groan.

"Are you sure? You seem a bit… distressed," she said with a smirk.

"No, don't stop, yes, those feelings can be nice," Sherlock panted. "Now will you please stop teasing me and…"

His words turned into a moan as she put her mouth where her hands had been, and that was all it took to send him into a series of violet and blue paroxysms. She slid all of him into her mouth as he came, drawing his semen down her throat with gentle sucking, relishing the feeling of him arching against her in wild abandon, gasping her name as if it was a prayer.

When she finally stood up his breathing was slowly subsiding and the flush fading from his cheeks. His eyes still had a dark stormy look that made her own body ache for the release she'd just given him.

Sherlock scowled at her, then looked almost pouty. "That admission is inadmissible. I made it under duress."

Molly only laughed. She reached for her shower gel, but Sherlock deftly took the bottle and then plucked the washcloth from her.

He grinned, kissing her firmly before moving his lips to her ear to whisper in the voice that always gave her shivers. "You didn't think I wasn't getting my turn, now, did you?"

She didn't get a chance to reply, because his mouth returned to hers. He tossed the washcloth aside and squeezed some of her shower gel into one large, fine hand, lathered up and began washing her breasts.

Her shivers increased and she felt gloriously, overwhelmingly hot. It was like a volcano that had been on the verge of erupting for ages, waiting for just the right moment. And when Sherlock suddenly lifted one of her legs onto the side of the shower and slipped inside her, somehow insanely hard again, that volcano promptly erupted.

He steadied her with one arm wrapped around her waist, while his free hand slipped down, fingers pressing against her gently, experimentally, letting her gasps and ragged breathing guide him. All the while he moved against her, slowly and patiently, watching the expressions that crossed her face as the water struck their sides and slid down their thighs. He brushed his thumb over her clitoris, pressing it, and felt her jerk against him like a puppet on a string.

He laughed softly as her arms went around him, one hand cupping his backside to draw him closer, the nails on the other lightly tracing patterns on his back, then not so lightly. He gasped, his breath moist and hot against her cheek, and his thumb brushed again, pressing and releasing, and Molly felt her orgasm rip through her, cut her to pieces inside like a steel symphony.

Sherlock kissed her as she came; greedily devouring every cry into his mouth as though it was air to him. Only then did his movements become less controlled, more animalistic, thrusting deeper and faster until he reached another climax of his own. Molly brought her hands up, holding his face, tongue taking possession of his mouth, swallowing his cries as he had hers.

When they leaned against each other, sated and limp, Molly released his mouth and pressed a kiss to his warm wet cheek. She felt him smile ever-so-slightly against her face.

"I do believe we've used nearly all your hot water," he told her, soaping his hands again rapidly and working to finish getting her clean before the warm water became cold.

"Mmm. It was worth it," Molly said with a sleepy smile, watching him lather and rinse her. "You're so amazingly passionate. I used to think you'd be a cold fish in bed, back when we first met."

He looked at her with both eyebrows raised. "But that did not stop you from wanting to find out."

"No, it didn't," she admitted, feeling a slight blush color her cheeks. "I'm glad I was wrong."

"There are times when being wrong can be pleasant," Sherlock said, and something in his tone confused Molly.

She didn't have time to think about it, however: he moved her in front of the water and rinsed her, then just as quickly and methodically washed her hair. While she rinsed it, he washed his own, and they barely had time to finish before the water turned completely cold.

As they dried themselves off, Molly glanced at him. "So… what happens now?"

He looked over at her. "We get dressed and go to 221 B and meet Mary." He said Mary the way most people would say sinus infection, and Molly couldn't help but laugh.

"Sherlock, will you please try and be"- Molly was about to say nice but changed her mind- "Civil?"

He rolled his eyes. "I don't try to be rude, Molly. I just meet people and they're insipid or dull or tedious and I don't have much patience for it."

"Oh, I know," she said, and Sherlock frowned. "Just… try, please. You said she means a lot to John. It would really make him feel better."

He sighed. "I cannot make a promise I might not be able to keep. However, I will agree to attempt to… be civil."

Molly moved over to him and kissed him on the cheek. "Well, that's all I can ask, I suppose."

Sherlock glanced at her with a puzzled frown several times while they got dressed.