AN: I wrote this one-shot almost a year ago for a fun Tumblr prompt provided Emcee Frodis. If you haven't read it before now, here's your chance! Enjoy.
Mary forwards the link to her in an email with the subject line: Have you seen this?! LOL!
Molly clicks on the link without a second thought because she trusts Mary. Mary is her friend and would never direct her to a website that isn't suitable for the workplace.
It turns out Mary isn't as trustworthy with chain link emails as Molly previously believed her to be.
Ironically, most of the stories on the website aren't that bad. There's the ever-so-popular 'he has his dirty way with me whilst wearing the Deerstalker' prompt or the occasional 'romp in a back alley after saving you from a vicious serial killer' idea.
The one that catches Molly's attention is a chaptered story. It's nearly ten thousand words in length and it's rated E for Explicit.
Half of the words describe in graphic detail the countless ways in which Sherlock uses his 'red, swollen phallus' to bring Cassandra Thérèse Elizabeth Archambault (yes, that is indeed the original character's full name) to the height of ecstasy time and time again.
The other five thousand words describe the tender love that Cassandra has miraculously instilled in Sherlock's hardened heart within a matter of days. All because she saved him from the murky waters of the Thames one dark and foggy night, apparently.
One chapter in, Molly shamelessly hits the Download button on the website. The story is safely embedded in her Kindle, available for her to continue reading at her leisure.
"Whatever you're reading must be terribly interesting. Your nose is two inches away from the screen."
His sudden appearance frightens Molly so much that she spills her cup of coffee down the front of her recently laundered and starched lab coat.
The only attempt Sherlock makes to help is to hold out a box of tissues. Molly shrugs out of her ruined coat and flings it across her office to the coat rack. She's genuinely angry with him for startling her and it must show on her face because he backs up slightly as she turns to face him.
"What do you want?" She keeps her temper in check by clenching her hands into fists and squeezing until her nails bite into the flesh of her palm, leaving small crescent shapes in the skin.
Sherlock opens his mouth to reply but snaps it shut at the last second as if he's thought better than to give her an answer she doesn't want to hear. His eyes flick in the direction of her desk for a moment before they return to her. He gives the box of tissues he's holding a little shake. "Take a tissue."
Molly pulls several out of the box until she has a large wad in her hand. She glances down at her partially stained jumper and groans. Of course it's a lightweight pink fabric that clings to her skin when damp.
Thankfully Sherlock's attention is focused on something over her shoulder.
She blots her jumper until the front is littered with little clumps of tissue. It's mostly dry but she can feel how gritty and sticky her chest is underneath the clothing. "I need a shower."
Sherlock whips his head back in her direction. "Hmm?" His brows are raised impossibly high on his forehead and his eyes are wide with childlike innocence. Molly doesn't think anything of it. She's too preoccupied with getting rid of the overwhelming smell of coffee and changing into clean clothes.
"I'm going to take a shower. Whatever you need from me is going to have to wait." She throws the coffee stained ball of tissues into the bin and brushes past him.
"I'll show myself out, then," he offers.
Molly nods and gives a distracted little wave on her way out the door.
"He saw, Mary. He knows. It was on my desk the entire time. The worst part is that I left him alone with it! In my office! He probably read the entire thing!" Molly hisses.
Mary sighs on the other end of the phone line. "I think you're overreacting. Do you honestly believe that Sherlock would give two figs about your choice of reading material?"
"Yes, Mary! He's the main character in it!"
Molly is bordering on hysterical. Toby blinks at her from the other end of the sofa, his tail twitching back and forth in irritation. He makes a big deal of turning himself around so that his bushy derrière is facing her way.
Mary is silent for a while and Molly bites her thumbnail until it's a ragged stump of its former self.
"What am I going to do?" she finally asks.
"Honestly?" Mary huffs out a breath and then gives a short, humorless chuckle. "If he ever brings it up, tell him to go fuck himself and mind his own damn business."
Sherlock is surprisingly quiet about the whole thing. Molly almost fools herself into believing that he's oblivious but deep down she just knows he read a page or two - enough to get an idea about the racy subject matter, at any rate.
After a week the initial shame wears off and everything returns to normal, more or less. Molly blocks the explicit fanfiction from her mind and refuses to read another word of the story. The only time her thoughts wander off in that direction is late at night in bed.
She tries to think of David Beckham or Michael Fassbender while she's touching herself, she really does, but their facial features gradually morph into Sherlock's. Her mind willingly supplies her with all of the story's scenarios that she has tried so hard to forget.
Some of them are downright ridiculous (no woman, no matter how talented in bed, could bring a man to orgasm twice in the span of ten minutes). Most of them are deliciously naughty. Molly puts herself in Cassandra Thérèse Elizabeth Archambault's place and that's all it takes. Her thighs shake and her eyes roll to the back of her head from the intensity of her fantasy fueled orgasms.
Molly knows it will never happen to her and she's fine with that. Just the thought of Sherlock doing all of the sexual acts described in the passages is enough.
It's nearing the end of her nightshift and she's filling out last minute paperwork when the power goes off.
Molly fumbles for her phone but then remembers she left it in the pocket of her newly purchased lab coat. "Damn."
Slowly standing up, she pushes herself away from the desk and stretches her arms out into the darkness in front of her.
She collides with a solid, human barrier halfway to the door.
Gloved hands grab for her and turn her around so that her back is facing the intruder's chest. Molly takes in a sharp breath to let out a bloodcurdling scream but one of the gloved hands clasps over her mouth, effectively silencing her.
"Shhh. None of that. After all, 'I live to serve you. Your body drives me to distraction and my cock positively aches with the need to be inside of you and to give you pleasure.'"
Molly stops struggling and stills the moment she recognizes the voice quoting a strand of dialogue from the explicit Sherlock fanfiction.
"As astute as ever." Sherlock's hand falls from her mouth and comes to rest on top of her ribcage, just below the underside of her right breast.
"Sherlock, what—" Molly gasps as a warm pair of lips press lingering, heated kisses along the skin covering her jugular vein.
"Did you honestly think I wouldn't notice?" he mumbles into her skin. The tip of his tongue darts out to lick along her pulse point. He blows on the wetness to cool it.
Goose pimples spring to the surface of Molly's arms and legs but she manages to shake her head. "No."
"I appreciate your honesty." His hand slides from her ribcage and down the side of her body until it returns to its previous position on her hip. "I'd like to try something."
"Guess." He nips her ear and that is when it dawns on her. Every touch, caress and nuzzle he's given to her thus far has been taken verbatim from one of the story's passages. The one where Sherlock gets Cassandra off with his mouth.
"You want to…"
"You're so wet for me already, aren't you?" He returns to quoting the story. Heat pools in her lower abdomen from the deep, sensual timbre of his voice.
Molly has familiarized herself with the cunnilingus section of the story to the point where she can recite Cassandra's words back to him. And so she does.
"And what if I am?" Molly teases, her breath hitching on the last syllable. She's not a very convincing Cassandra, apparently. Then again she knows what's coming whereas Cassandra didn't.
"I want to taste you."
He's thumbing the waistline of her work slacks. Molly gulps and then nods though Sherlock probably can't see her do so in the dark. "Please…"
"Please what?" He's unbuttoned her trousers and is now taking his time unzipping the front.
"Please taste me."
She's slowly coaxed onto the carpeted floor of the office. Everything is pitch black so she doesn't even have to close her eyes to envision what's going to happen next.
Sherlock has taken off his gloves when he touches her again. His long fingers hook into the belt loops of her trousers and he pulls down, slowly exposing the skin of her thighs and legs.
Once she's kicked off her trousers, she clamps her legs shut from the chill of the room but also out of embarrassment. Sherlock can't see her in the dark but it feels shameful to be nearly naked from the waist down when he's still fully clothed.
"You're nervous." These are his words, not the seductive dialogue written for him by some obsessed fan.
"A bit." Molly bites the inside of her cheek as his trimmed fingernails lightly rake up and down her thighs.
"I've never performed cunnilingus before." He wedges one of his palms in between her legs and she spreads herself for him without even thinking about it. "Not to worry, though: I've conducted my fair share of research these past few weeks."
"You've been planning this?" she whispers. Her heart skips a beat in her chest as she realizes that he's been biding his time ever since the coffee spill incident, all the while intending to do this to her.
His hands leave her inner thighs only to be replaced by his mouth. He nibbles on the sensitive skin and then soothes the scattered nips and bites with kisses. "Do keep up."
"That's…" Words fail her as his tongue joins in. He's so close to her now that she can feel his breath ghosting over her overheated skin.
"Your panties are damp." It's a line from the story but it's also true. His index finger starts to stroke her moistened slit through the thin cotton barrier of her underwear.
"So they are." She feels ridiculous saying the words that are meant for a fictional character. So ridiculous, in fact, that a peal of laughter escapes from her lips before she's able to reign it in.
Much to her surprise, Sherlock joins in. She's never heard him laugh before. It's a deep, rumbling sound and it's so genuine and warm that it squashes any of her lingering doubt over whether or not this is a good idea.
"Open for me," Sherlock urges, and Molly obediently plants her feet on the floor and spreads her legs wider.
He rubs her through her panties until she's writhing on the carpet. It's only when she begs him to take them off that he complies and shucks the cotton underwear over his shoulder.
Within seconds, he's back at the crux in between her legs. His hand languorously brushes over the small patch of curls, his index finger occasionally tracing the line of her puffy outer lips.
Sherlock has yet to touch her clitoris, and it's driving Molly insane with lust. "Please, Sherlock," she sighs, too caught up in the moment to care that she's begging.
"Say it and I'll do it."
Molly cups her breasts through the fabric of her shirt. "Please touch me there."
With a frustrated wail, Molly reaches down and finds his hand. She presses it against her clitoris, holding it there with her hand atop his.
It turns out Sherlock has done extensive research. He plays her like a musician would an instrument, coaxing lurid and needy moans past her lips every time he circles her clit with the pad of his finger. But it isn't enough. She's still very much aware of his hot breath between her legs.
"Say it this time or I'll stop all together." His touch is feather light but she can still feel his finger stroking her every so often.
"Taste me. Lick my…pussy." She's never had a problem with dirty talk before but it is fifty shades of mortifying to say such a thing to Sherlock Holmes.
"Since you've asked so sweetly..."
A sob is ripped from her throat as he suckles her engorged clit into his mouth, licking and flicking at the hypersensitive nub with the tip of his tongue.
"Oh…" Molly reaches out in the darkness until her hand finds his head full of curls. She buries her fingers into the thick locks for purchase.
With his tongue still touching her center, Sherlock grabs hold of her legs and hoists them over his shoulders. Now every inch of her is spread out for him and he revels in it. That much is evident by the satisfied hums he's making in the back of his throat as he laps at her juices.
He varies and experiments with his technique by sucking on her clit and then letting go with an obscene, wet popping noise to focus his attention on her inner folds. The sound alone is enough to send another jolt of pleasure spiking through her gut.
Molly feels that all-too familiar tension coiling up inside of her. It's been so long since someone has done this to her. Years. She's forgotten how heady a sensation it is for someone's tongue, teeth and lips to explore an area of her body that is normally so private and hidden.
"Come for me," he demands in a gravelly voice.
The lights flicker back on and they both jump out of instinct.
Once Molly's eyes have adjusted to the fluorescent lights overhead, she frantically looks over to the door.
"It's locked. I made sure of it when I cut off the power. Relax."
She breathes a sigh of relief and then sits up slightly with her weight evenly distributed on her elbows.
At this angle, Molly has a better view of the sight below her. What she sees takes her breath away.
Sherlock is looking up at her with eyes so dark that his glacier blue irises are only thin rings of color. His lips are flushed red and they're glistening; in fact, his entire chin is wet from a combination of his saliva and her wetness.
Still maintaining eye contact, Sherlock settles back in between her legs and licks a stripe from her perineum all the way up to her clit. She's utterly entranced by the sight of his gorgeous mouth sucking on her pink skin and his knowing, lust-clouded eyes peering up at her from the apex of her thighs. She's moments away from climaxing and there's nothing she can do to draw this out, even though she desperately wants to savor it.
"Sherlock," she rasps. "I'm this close—"
"I know," he answers in between frantic licks. "Breathe."
Molly draws in a shaky breath at the same moment that two of his fingers slide inside of her heat. He picks up the pace, his tongue relentlessly flicking over her small bundle of nerves in tandem to the rhythmic thrusting of his fingers.
She comes on a silent sob. Her face is contorted into a scream but no sound emerges. The only noises are of Sherlock's heavy breathing and the wet, sloppy sounds his fingers make as they glide in and out of her pussy.
Once he's coaxed every last tremor from her body, she pulls on his hair as a signal to stop. The overstimulation is too much. He cooperates, burying his face in the side of her thigh as she comes down from the mindless euphoria.
"What…" she exhales before trying again, "What was that?"
"I was testing a theory."
"A theory? What theory?"
"That I can be just as good of a lover as my fictional counterpart." He pauses for a second and licks his lips. "Also that female ejaculate tastes entirely different than…how did the author describe it? 'Sweet like a sugary bonbon?'"
They both lapse into snorts and giggles. Sherlock is the first to quiet down. He stares at her with fire still in his eyes.
Feeling like she should say something to fill the silence, Molly blurts out, "How would you describe mine, then?"
Sherlock narrows his eyes as he considers the question and then leans in until his lips are but a hairsbreadth away from hers.
"Why don't you taste for yourself?"