A/N: For the February 28th prompt - "What if..." Rated M. Swap!lock. There will be a sequel.
"I need a husband."
Dr. Sherlock Holmes, forensic pathologist, looked up from the microscope, scowling in confusion at the petite consulting detective next to him. "I-I'm sorry?"
Molly Hooper grinned at him. "You heard me, Sherlock. Donovan needs help catching a serial mugger who preys on married couples."
"Can't you ask John?" he asked, distinctly uncomfortable. To give himself a reason not to meet her eyes, he took off his glasses and cleaned them with a handkerchief before putting them back on. The idea of pretending to be married to the woman he'd been in love with since they'd met hit a little too close to home. Please, God, let her just want a pretend marriage. I wouldn't put it past her to insist we actually get married, just to make it more "realistic."
She smirked. "I would, but I consider it self-preservation to stay on Mary's good side. C'mon, Sherlock, it'll only be for a day or two."
And a night, his libido unhelpfully supplied. "What about Greg?"
"Lestrade hates me, you know that. If I wanted to have us be a couple on the brink of divorce, he'd be perfect, but the mugger likes couples with a thing for PDA."
Sherlock felt his face getting warm. "And you think we could do that?"
The grin she shot him was absolutely sinful. "Well, you are the hottest doctor at Bart's."
His cheeks were flaming now and he determinedly turned back to his microscope. "Go away, Molly," he muttered.
"I'll pick you up at eight. Have an overnight bag ready." Then with a swirl of her long coat, she was gone.
God give me strength.
"I don't see what you're so worked up about," John said on the phone later. "Well, I do see why you're worked up," he added, snickering, "but I don't see why you're complaining."
Sherlock rolled his eyes as he tilted his head to his shoulder, keeping the mobile to his ear as he packed. "God, every time she comes to Bart's, I have to run to the men's locker room as soon as she's gone and wank off. What am I supposed to do when I have to spend an entire day and night with her, wank in the shower?"
"You could always tell her how you feel," his best friend and former flatmate suggested. The grin in his voice was evident.
"Then she'll know exactly how sad and pathetic I am, instead of just suspecting. No, thank you."
"Mate, she's known since that Christmas. Signing the card 'Love, Sherlock' wasn't exactly subtle."
"Yes, well, I'm hoping she's forgotten that little incident."
"I'm sure it's permanently etched in her brain, just like it is for everyone else who was there."
"Shut up, John," he muttered, cutting off John's laughter when he hung up.
Sherlock finished packing then carried the bag to the front door and set it down. His Siamese cat Irene came over, meowing at him. He bent to pick her up and carried her to the kitchen. "If I do decide to say something, I hope you'll be alright with not being the only female living here." Irene rubbed her face against his shirt. He smiled a bit. "Good, though you know this means I'll have to change my shirt."
He set the cat down and filled her bowl then walked back to his bedroom. Sherlock had just taken off his cat hair-covered shirt when he heard a familiar voice in the doorway.
"Mmm, don't get dressed on my account," Molly said, grinning, as she took in the sight of him shirtless.
Sherlock felt his face flame yet again and he turned to his open closet. "You're early. Please tell me you didn't pick the lock again."
"Nope," she said, grinning and popping the P in a way he found unbearably adorable. "I actually used my key this time."
"Good." He pulled out the aubergine dress shirt he'd bought years ago but never had a reason to wear. As soon as he pulled it on, Molly's eyes lit up.
"Ooo, that looks amazing on you," she murmured. She grabbed the two halves before he could start to button it up, running the material through her fingers. "It goes so well with your coloring. Hmm." She suddenly jerked the shirt off him just enough for his arms to be stuck in the half-off sleeves, effectively pinning them to his sides.
"Molly!" Sherlock exclaimed, a little nervous and a lot turned on.
"Oh, Sherlock," she purred, "let's stop beating around the bush." She pushed him until the backs of his knees hit the bed and he sat down, staring up at her.
"What … what are you going to do?" he murmured, awed.
"With you like this," she murmured as she hitched up her knee-length skirt then straddled his lap, "anything I want." She ground her damp center against his growing erection
Sherlock could only think one thing. She's not wearing panties… "Please, Molly," he whispered desperately, "kiss me…"
She kissed him deeply. Her lips were soft and perfect and Sherlock couldn't get enough. He kissed her back, damning his shirt for keeping him from wrapping his arms around her. He also damned his trousers for being entirely too tight.
"Molly… God, I need you…"
"Like this?" she murmured teasingly. "You're sure you wouldn't rather have me in a rose petal-strewn bed after wining and dining me for hours?"
"Shut up and let me fuck you." His eyes widened. "That is … I mean… God, I'm sorry…"
Molly chuckled. "Don't worry, Sherlock – it'll take a lot more than that to offend me." She made quick work of his bespoke trousers, pushing them and his pants down enough to free his cock. "Ooo, I knew you'd be well-endowed…" Without another word, she guided him to her entrance and impaled herself on him, both of them groaning in pleasure.
She felt better than any fantasy he'd ever had, and he'd had quite a few.