Thanks to Emcee and dietplainlite for their support and beta-reading on this fic!


"No, she's sleeping with the one she met on Facebook."

"Really? Oh, don't tell before the lie detector results come in, Sherlock! Spoils the fun."

Standing outside the door of 221B Baker Street and listening to the exchange, Molly sighed.

After spending hours mucking about with especially nasty cases in the morgue and then banging her hip on the corner of a table on her way out of the lab, she'd been looking forward to a soothing evening at home. Sherlock was deep into a case that week and expected to be out with John Watson all night, leaving her alone at their flat with a hot bath, a bottle of wine, and absolute peace and quiet. And so she had to force herself not to cringe when she pushed open the door and found the flat bustling with activity.

"Molly love, you're home late. Long day?" Mrs. Hudson called from the sofa. The smug prattling of Jeremy Kyle blared from the television. Pots and pans crashed against each other in the kitchen as someone searched through the cabinets carelessly. She spotted Sherlock's microscope, the box of disposable gloves, a sheet of latex, a beaker and an assortment of vials spread out on the counter. Through the entryway, Molly spied a length of maroon silk peeping out from the side of the cabinet door.

"Very long. Missed your program this morning, did you?" Molly dropped her handbag on the floor in defeat. On the television, the presenter was quizzing a young woman as to whether she'd had sexual contact with anyone besides her boyfriend that could be her child's father.

"Oooh yes, I was visiting a friend and forgot to record it. Luckily I know Sherlock never forgets so we're catching up." The older woman smiled from her spot on the sofa and sipped her tea. She wrinkled her nose and frowned. "What is that odor? It's a bit ripe. Is that…you?"

Molly sniffed the wrist of her jumper, and then the ends of her ponytail. "It was…a very long day. There was this drowning victim; they found him after he'd been dead several days in a sewage tank."

"Sewage tank?" Sherlock appeared in the kitchen entryway, his face bright with hope. "An investigation?"

She shook her head, and rubbed her neck. "He slipped. It was an accident; I confirmed it to be sure."

"Damn." His face fell. Sherlock threw himself into his chair and grabbed hold of Molly's hand, tugging her closer. "Boring. I need a case."

"I thought you had one," Mrs. Hudson interjected, half her attention still on the telly.

"That was this morning. Solved it. Maybe I don't need an assistant after all, it's making things too easy."

"Oh please, you'd be impossible without John." Molly leaned over her husband to kiss his cheek. He turned his head swiftly so her lips landed on his mouth, and hauled her into his lap, snogging her soundly. She laughed against his mouth. "Hello to you too. Are we putting on a show for our landlady?"

"Why not. She might learn a thing or two." He arched a dark brow at Molly, his mouth curving and she giggled. "You smell like a charming combination of sulfur, vomit and curry, by the way. I'm impressed you found a cabbie willing to take you."

"Gave him an extra ten quid and we drove the whole way with the windows down." Molly kissed the tip of his nose. "I'm overdue for a shower."

"I'll come." He moved to stand, but Molly pressed on his chest and slid off his lap.

"Sherlock. Company." She tilted her head toward Mrs. Hudson, rapt as the drama broke. The couple onscreen admitted neither had been faithful throughout the course of their relationship and the audience went wild.

"Oh don't mind me," Mrs. Hudson cast them a sidelong knowing glance. "Might be nice to have some children around here actually. Just to visit, mind you. I'm your landlady, not your nanny."

"Leave it out," Sherlock barked.

Mrs. Hudson pinched her lips closed, and turned to Molly. "I was just saying before you got home, that I was chatting with his mum earlier about what lovely babies you'll have. When it's time," she added quickly at Sherlock's stormy expression.

"You talk to Sherlock's mum?" Molly asked as she worked the ponytail holder out of her hair.

The landlady turned back to her program and shrugged casually. "Not too often." She winked at Molly. "Not more than once a week."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed and he drummed his fingers on the arms of his chair.

Molly laughed and bent down to kiss her husband once more. It wasn't the homecoming she'd expected, but all the same, it was home.


The pains of the day receded as the hot water pounded down Molly's back. It took three rounds of shampoo but the stench of the drowning victim was finally washed away. She took her time and massaged conditioner through her long hair, working the tangles out, and humming as steam filled the small bathroom. She was grateful she'd splurged on her favorite oatmeal almond soap that week as she scrubbed herself head to toe. As her soap-slicked palm slid over her left hip, she winced, remembering the corner she'd caught it on in the lab.

Craning her neck around, she inspected the blooming bruise. There was no broken skin, just a deep red blotch that would darken to purple-black by morning. Satisfied, her hands wandered back to her belly, rubbing her sore muscles. She leaned forward, a palm braced against the wall, and let the hot jet of water strike her back now, teasing the sensitive skin there before rolling over her bum.

Molly widened her stance, leaning in and letting her forehead press against the tiled wall, and the water struck lower, just above the cleft of her arse. One hand slipped down between her thighs to smooth over the tight curls between them. She sighed as the drops of water struck her, and dipped deeper between her legs, stroking her clit with her fingertips. Molly rocked gently against her hand, enjoying the sweet shivers it drew from her body. She smiled, and reconsidered whether having Sherlock home that night might not be such a bad idea after all.


The television had been silenced when Molly exited the loo, dressing gown tightly secured and her hair wrapped up in a towel. In the bedroom, she dried her hair into dampness and tossed the towel aside before attacking her tangles with a comb. After conquering her long mess of waves, she realized it was still curiously quiet in the flat.

Poking her head out of the door, she called, "Sherlock? Has Mrs. Hudson gone?"

Sherlock's goggles-clad face head appeared as he leaned back on his stool in the kitchen. "Her program ended and her herbal soothers were calling."

Molly stepped out of the bedroom. "She didn't really say that, did she?"

Sherlock picked up the box of vinyl gloves and pulled out a pair. "No, I told her you were masturbating in the shower and that that meant it was time for her to move along."

"Shut up, you did not!" She rushed into the kitchen and poked her husband in the arm. "You don't know that."

Sherlock swung around on his stool, gloves curled in his fist, and slid his arms around her waist. "Even with additional hair cleaning time, you don't take that long in the shower unless you're wanking. Or unless I'm in there with you." He undid the tie that held her old dressing gown together, and dragged a hand over her bare stomach. Sherlock smiled as his wife's cheeks grew pink, acknowledging the truth of his deductions. She hated being so damn predictable. But she knew he loved being able to read all her behavioral tells and every flush of her body.

His blue eyes glittered at her through the goggles, and she barely had time to take in a breath before his mouth was on hers, hard and claiming, while his hand skimmed down her belly to cup her sex. Molly moaned and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him off the stool toward her. As she stroked his curls and yanked him tighter to her, his goggles crashed into her cheeks and he swore.

"Sorry!" Molly shoved the goggles up and pushed them off his head, throwing them onto the table. "Wait, you haven't got anything toxic or…gooey…on your hands, have you?"

"Mmm no, hadn't gotten that far. Was distracted. Masturbating wife, bad for brain work." He pulled her close, nuzzling at her throat. "But good for creative thoughts in other avenues. Bedroom."


It wasn't until Molly was lying on her bed, with the dressing gown on the floor, that she realized Sherlock had brought his vinyl gloves in. She propped herself up on her elbows, and raised her eyebrows.

Sherlock responded only with a shrug. He dropped them onto the bedside table and climbed onto the bed, still fully clothed in his pyjamas and maroon dressing gown. The silky material tickled Molly as he lowered himself onto her, and she giggled.

"Try not to laugh when I'm making love to you, Molly," he murmured as he bent to flick his tongue over her right nipple. "Appalling manners."

Molly wriggled under his attentions. "Your fault. You'll just have to do better," she added, dimples deep in her cheeks. She sank her fingers into his dark curls, and grinned.

"That was the plan." He sprinkled kisses across her breasts, caressing the soft undersides before circling around her nipples again, and tugging gently with his teeth and tongue. Molly cradled his head and wrapped her legs around his body, urging him on harder until she was whimpering and her cunt was soaked and aching for attention. Sherlock dipped a finger through her wetness and smirked up at her. He traced her bottom lip, and Molly's tongue darted out to lick her juices from the tip of his finger. Sherlock's eyes blazed and he dove down to kiss her roughly, their tongues dancing against one another. Molly tore at his clothing but he brushed her hands away, after pressing one more bruising kiss to her lips.

"At least take your clothes off," she demanded.

Ignoring her, he leaned down to kiss the forming bruise on her hip, and she ached at the tenderness in his gaze, the softness of his mouth, when he inspected her little mark.

"It doesn't hurt anymore," Molly assured him, her voice husky.

Satisfied, Sherlock crawled down between her legs and hoisted one up over his shoulder, deliberately tickling the back of her knee for good measure. Molly's shriek of glee turned to a moan as her husband's tongue slid between the folds of her pussy to find her clit. Her eyes fluttered shut but opened halfway to watch his headful of curls moving between her pale thighs, shifting her legs as he needed to expose her better. His head bobbed as his tongue twisted against her swollen clit, slashing over the bud and circling around it while his fingers stroked the flesh around it.

Molly strained against his fingers, begging for more pressure. She grabbed at his curls, but he swatted away her hand, and laughed. The rumbles vibrated against her cunt, and she wiggled happily. She pushed on his head and Sherlock slid lower, his tongue dragging over her folds, while he pressed both of her thighs up, supported with his hands under her knees. Sensing his next move, Molly rolled back, and shifted her weight.

Sherlock sucked and licked his way down her cunt, not missing a centimeter, before sliding across the sensitive skin beyond to flick over her arse. Molly shivered and sucked in her breath. She didn't think she could be any more aroused, but as Sherlock teased the tender skin around her arsehole, she felt herself getting even wetter. She reached down and stroked her clit, as Sherlock spread her wide and tongued her arse. Molly's soft moans broke, and ragged pleas tore from her throat.

"Fuck me, just fuck me, please," she begged. "I'm ready, do it."

"Mmm you're really not," Sherlock said regretfully. He kissed her arse cheeks and lowered her legs slowly. Hopping off the bed, he opened the bedside table and rummaged around a few seconds before pulling out the lube and a condom packet, and grabbing the gloves he'd left on the table earlier.

He donned the gloves quickly, threw the condom on the bed and opened the bottle. Squirting out a liberal amount, he coated his fingers while studying his gloved hands as though it was part of an experiment.

Sitting up and watching the process from the bed, Molly couldn't help but laugh. Sherlock's left eyebrow rose.

"Problem?"

"I love you."

He knelt on the bed and nudged her onto her back with his clean-gloved hand. "Obviously."

Within a minute, Sherlock's tongue was rolling against her arse and Molly was moaning, her thighs hoisted over his shoulders. The first fingertip of his right hand slid in easily, it being far from their first time playing with her arse. The second finger took more playing, more stroking, and then he was adding a third with more lube, and Molly was biting her hand and fucking herself on his fingers before long. Her cunt glistened with wetness, and Sherlock's left hand came around to play with her clit. He teased her slowly, and she gasped, frantic to come. He drew his hands away from her body instead.

"You're ready now. Properly stretched and ready to be fucked." Sherlock stripped off the gloves, and tossed them in the bin. His pyjamas and dressing gown then joined Molly's gown on the floor.

"Oh God, just fuck me already!"

"No, I don't think he's involved." Sherlock ripped open the condom and slipped it on. He grabbed the bottle of lube and added more onto his cock, stroking himself fully hard. "Just me. Although I understand how you could mix up the two."

Molly laughed through her frustration and wrapped her arms around her husband's waist, tugging him back to her. "Bastard."

He smiled down at her. "I love you too."


She scooted back onto the bed to make room for him. He knew how she loved being fucked best this way, on her back with her knees bent and legs high, her arse clenched tight around him. Sherlock took hold of her legs, spread them and her arse, and found her stretched plenty for him. He sank the head of his cock in easily, and rocked into her until he slid all the way in. She bore down and took him in deep, sucking him in until he bottomed out, his balls slapping her arse cheeks. Their eyes locked, and she wondered again what he saw when he looked at her this way. Could he see how much she ached for him, how she always had? That even in her filthiest shower wanks it was still her husband she mostly thought of? She was open to him in every way, her heart and her body, and wanted to give him more.

"Fuck, I love this. I love your cock in my arse. Harder. Now."

Sherlock clung to her legs and guided them as he thrust into her arse, stirring her with his hip motions. He maneuvered around her bruise, and rode her. His eyes were heavy-lidded as he pumped into her and Molly saw some of his sharpness fall away as he lost himself in her.

She was never more present than when he was inside her, never more alive.

"Sherlock, I need to come," she begged. His eyes snapped open.

He braced them with one powerful arm and readjusted to keep on thrusting steadily. His fat cock pumped into her arse, while his other hand moved down to strum her clit. His long fingers worked her bud back to peak sensitivity while he was stuffing her full. His face was fierce, sweat beading on his forehead, as he drove her furiously to climax, and when Molly came wailing his name, she nearly wept with the force of it.

Sherlock placed her legs onto the bed and rubbed her trembling thighs. Molly kissed his forehead, caressing his damp curls away from his bright eyes. After a minute's recovery, she rolled over onto her knees, and crawled to Sherlock's favorite place on the bed: across from where they had positioned the full length mirror.

Needing no encouragement, he poured more lube onto his cock and slipped back inside Molly with a groan. In the mirror, she watched as the great detective came completely undone, burying his cock inside his wife's snug arse, thrusting like an animal. She saw her hair tangling over them, their skin slapping together and her tits bouncing while he fucked her. She saw the gleam in Sherlock's eyes, him knowing that she got off on watching him come deep inside her arse.

And she saw the exact second his moment came- when his head fell back, when all his muscles went rigid, his fingers squeezing like a vise on her waist, and then he was pouring himself into her. The brainless relief and raw pleasure written across his face as he gasped her name, chanting.

"Molly. Molly. I love you. I love you. Molly."


"So my showers are really that inspirational for you?" Molly asked Sherlock the next morning over coffee.

"I don't know what you're talking about." He snapped the newspaper open and hid behind it.

"Yoohooo? Anyone home? Just seeing if you need anything since I'm popping out to the shops."

"Clearly, since the door's unlocked and you're coming in anyway," Sherlock grumbled.

"Such a grump in the morning!" Mrs. Hudson chided him. "Work today, dear?"

"Yeah, I'm leaving in a bit. Just having breakfast." Molly lifted her coffee and the bagel she was nibbling.

"Oh you'll need more than that to keep your strength up. Young men are so vigorous. I remember my husband, oh that one. He was, well, not very nice," she added in a half-whisper. "But made up for it in other ways."

"Been listening at doors again, Mrs. Hudson?" Sherlock lowered his paper.

"No. But these old buildings, the floors are thin." She shrugged and cast a conspiratorial smile toward Molly. "Maybe we'll have a baby in the flat soon enough, then, dear?"

Molly's burst of laughter turned into a coughing fit. "Ummm."

Sherlock sipped his coffee. "We are trying our hardest." He smiled angelically.

"Awww well that's lovely to hear." Mrs. Hudson ducked back out the door. "Have a nice day then."

"You are terrible. Alright, I've got to run. I'll be home late again. Try not to set anything on fire." Molly gathered her coat and handbag, and found herself pulled onto her husband's lap.

"You're extra lovey this week, aren't you. Are you trying to get me to bring home another head or something?"

"That would be good, actually. But I find Mrs. Hudson's nagging motivates me to be contradictory." Sherlock kissed her and cupped her bottom. "Especially with regards to this."

"So you're saying you were really hot for my arse last night because she was bothering you about making babies?"

Sherlock considered her statement. "It sounds not good when you put it that way."

Molly laughed. "We'll have them when we're ready, if we want to. But if you love me that way for always, we won't have any problems."

"Ah. I will," he said, kissing her. "I do."