NOTE: This is the scariest thing I have ever done in my entire life, so please don't kill me for it. I enjoyed writing this so much, so I hope it's okay. I've never let anyone read my M stuff before, please let me know what you think. If you don't like it, let me know, I will never attempt smut again.

I really do have to say a huge thank you to badwolf-221 over on tumblr. She helped me a tremendous amount by going over this for me and building my confidence. I will forever be indebted to her.

I own nothing here, just having fun.

It had all happened rather quickly, so quickly in fact, Molly hadn't even had the chance to scream. Ever since she'd taken on a side career of helping Sherlock Holmes, the love of her life, solve crime under the watchful eye of London, whilst John busied himself with fatherhood, Molly had always envisaged being captured would result in profound fear, followed by a high pitched scream, from her of course.

But it hadn't happened that way, surprisingly. She was braver than she gave herself credit for. The gun, what she assumed was a gun, had coldly pressed against her temple as she and Sherlock searched through the darkness, for the criminal who had been utterly aloof to the police. Sherlock had tracked him down to a rundown school, no longer in use, or closed down for serious refurbishment, Molly wasn't sure. She didn't really care. All she did know was that once again, Sherlock was right, because the scruffy, bald headed, beer bellied criminal was now pressing his weapon to the side of her face, in complete darkness. The only illumination came from the moon.

"If you want your pretty little lady to live, I suggest you do as you're told." The man stepped side to side from foot to foot, licking his lips as his free hand gripped her arm firmly. Considering the circumstances, Molly was rather calm. Her heart was racing furiously of course, yet seeing the curly haired man stood ahead of her, she felt little fear. Sherlock, who had stopped in his tracks, turned slowly to face them, eyeing Molly briefly as though to reassure her before scanning the criminal all over.

Sherlock's hands linked behind his own back, the opposite of what the criminal wished for, the slightest of smirks tugging the corner of his mouth.

"You don't have the nerve."

The gun was shoved harder against Molly's temple causing her to instinctively shut her eyes. But the Pathologist resisted a whimper, trusting Sherlock completely that he wouldn't put her in too much danger. He would do his best. He always did his best.

"Don't push me Mr Holmes." The man shouted, agitated, sweaty hands readjusting the weapon, "I know who you are and your games won't work on me."

"Oh," He sucked in a breath for dramatic effect, "but they will."

"Right!" The criminal released his grip on her arm, grabbing Molly's ponytail roughly and yanking her head back. This time she did whimper. It hurt so much when people did that without consent, "I heard about this, Molly Hooper in the papers. Your Pathologist. I know you care about her. Hold your hands in the air! Now!" Sherlock rolled his eyes but did as he was told, though at a mockingly slow speed, further causing the shuffle of the criminal's feet.

"Good boy. Now," he licked his lips, "slowly walk over to that cupboard and open it." Sherlock chuckled derisively, "Don't you laugh at me!"

The gun moved to Molly's cheek, pressing firmly against it. Sherlock caught her eye, brown locking with blue, something in her own making him gradually obey, the heavy door dragging on the school carpet as he opened it.

"Get in." The criminal ordered.

"Urgh," The detective moaned, "dull. I don't suppose you have the key for this storage room, do you?"

"I do."

"Thought so." Sherlock stepped inside, turning so his back rested against the shelving clad walls. Molly managed to watch his actions, observing the lack of space there was for him in there. He barely fit in, the vacuum and mop and bucket taking up much of the space. The next thing she knew, she was being shoved in there too, her whole body flush with Sherlock's as the door was forcibly closed behind her. Completely lacking in space and wedged up tightly against the man who had always filled her mind, Molly shut her eyes as she heard the lock of the door and the heavy plod of feet walking away.

"What now?" Molly whispered. She honestly couldn't fathom why she was whispering, there really wasn't the need for it, but being in complete darkness in a dense room, made her feel as though it was a necessity.

"Pick the lock, obviously." His tone was blunt.

She frowned in disbelief, "How, exactly? Can you move?"


"So tell me how you're going to pick the lock?"

There was a silence before a huff of breath left his mouth, caressing her face, ears and neck. She shivered in delight. This was not good, very not good. Confined in such a small space with the man she had nightly fantasies about, was definitely cause for concern. He however, was not as eager to feel her up as he was in her dreams.

"You'll have to do it. You have what little arm room there is available near the door."

"Me? I-I've never picked a lock in my life." She wished she could see his face in the dark. It was much less painful when she could see his looks of disapproval rather than wondering if they were there or not.

"You're of a competent mind Molly, I'm sure you're a fast learner. You'll need to turn round."

"Sherlock," It was her turn to huff, "You're intelligent enough, surely, to realise there is not enough room for me to swivel and face the other direction." God, his body was so warm, his chest so firm. Molly felt the tiny room temperature rising, her breath slowly increasing its pace. She knew he would be oblivious as to how arousing this was for her. And somehow she didn't really care, despite how and why they were in this situation.

Sherlock began to shuffle about, attempting to reach into his jacket pockets but not having the arm room to do so, elbows bumping into shelves and knocking over a number of cleaning products. He then tested whether he could reach the lock but it was no use.

"Reach inside the left pocket of my jacket. You'll find the necessary equipment for unlocking the door." Was it her imagination or did he sound apprehensive?

"Okay." Molly muttered quietly. Wiggling her hands upwards, she managed to get them in front of her, pressed tightly between their chests, "I'm going to have to unbutton your suit."

"I know." He replied promptly, as though speaking to an invalid. Molly gritted her teeth to prevent shooting something back at him, undoing the button with little ease and reaching awkwardly inside.

Though the small confined space meant her hands kept brushing against his chest, causing a very faint, yet very obvious intake of breath from the man before her, her eyes shooting up to his in the dim light. Molly couldn't see him, but she knew he was staring back, the darkness shielding her knowledge of the true nature of what he was feeling. So she continued to reach into his pocket, finding the tools to pick the lock and quickly withdrawing her hand. Why did he have these specific tools with him? Did he keep them on his person at all times, or had he predicted their lock up?

"If you can't turn around, you're going to have to do pick the lock from the angle you're at. You'll need both hands." Sherlock instructed, Molly nodding through habit and fiddling around for the handle. But it was no use. The angle was too difficult, only having one hand available, the other trapped on her left side. And there was no way she could pick the lock being pressed against him this way, his breath causing goose bumps to form across her skin. She was going to have to try and swivel.

"I can't reach. One second." Molly shimmied down somewhat, bending her knees temporarily in an attempt to create more space, even though it probably didn't help at all. She pushed and shoved and twisted against him until finally, by some miracle, they were both now facing the door. Their bodies were flush together from shoulder to toe, her nose almost touching the dark stained wooden door.

"Okay," Molly said proudly, "what do I do?" She waited and waited, though there was no response, "Sherlock?"

"Yes, erm..." He didn't finish, the sounds of him swallowing loudly being the only noise she could hear. It was then that Molly realised he was no longer breathing through his nose, but through his mouth, each puff of air grazing the back of her neck and making her shiver and tremble.

The more he breathed, the more she became aware of everything else. In the process of her swivelling, his right hand had found her hip, her bottom shoved deliciously against his groin, which she could feel was warm against her, pressing slightly harder than what would be considered a friendly attraction. Sherlock had somehow become aroused from her movements, not something he was used to dealing with, clearly now struggling to fight the natural urges his body was asking of him.

"Sherlock?" She queried again, this time not about the lock, but about the state of his arousal. His breathing was no calmer, it causing her own voice to be somewhat shaky.

"I apologise, Molly." Sherlock uttered quickly, breathlessly, "'s the body's natural chemical reaction to stimulation...I don't know why-"

"It's okay." She cut in, feeling slightly amused at his scientific explanation, but knowing it was his way of dealing with the situation, Sherlock clearly feeling awkward. She didn't want to embarrass him further. The grip he had on her hip remained firm, the weight of his fingertips sending a wave arousal through her. She cleared her throat, biting her lip, "So what do I do?"

"You..." He paused, releasing a big breath, "You put the tension wrench inside the base of the hole...and use the pick to feel for the pins." Oh god. She knew they weren't intentional innuendos, this was Sherlock after all, but Molly's resistance to take them any differently was nil. He clearly noticed how the sentence sounded, releasing a frustrated breath as his cock twitched against the curve of her bottom, a mumbled 'sorry' falling from his parted lips. He was so warm and firm against her, her head began to spin.

They were pretty firmly pressed together in the confined space and Molly couldn't help her want to test his reaction. She slowly placed the wrench inside the lock to cover up her true intentions, whilst simultaneously pressing her bum more firmly against him. His breath hitched as he stifled a moan, trying to move his own hips away from her but unable to.

"Don't move, Molly." Sherlock mumbled, the desperation evident in his voice, the hand on her hip now trying to create some distance between them. But it was no use, there was no distance. There was so little space and the temptation got the better of her. Molly's own breath now shaky, she experimentally pushed back against him again, this time the detective not able to stifle his groan. It escaped his lips quietly, almost a whimper, but not quite.

"Sorry." She muttered as innocently as she could, a smirk on her face in the darkness.

"You're not." He managed to say, swallowing loudly as his breath become all the more uneven. She rubbed against him again and got the same response, his cock seemingly harder now as his other hand found her other hip, "Stop it."

The Pathologist made no response, her back against his chest and his breath on her neck making her ridiculously turned on. The fact that she, Molly Hooper was causing Sherlock Holmes, the famous consulting detective, to become breathless and hard, made her confidence take over. There was nothing he could do if she were to continue to rock her hips. There wasn't the room to stop her. So she rocked them again and again, gratefully receiving another groan from the detective.

After a few silent minutes of stimulation against him, head turned back, temptingly close to his lips, Molly had thankfully gained a response from him, the slight, hesitant thrusting of his hips towards her as she pushed back. He was a mess, all from a little close proximity to her, the sounds of his adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he was all the more drawn in.

"Touch me, Sherlock." She whispered in his ear, hearing the catch in his breathing as he contemplated her words.

"I can't." He whispered back.

"Why not?" Her confidence was about to dribble away, "Do you not want to?"

"I-we're on...we're on a case." His voice was husky, low in a full state of arousal and Molly knew he wanted to. He would with a little more persuasion.

"Please touch me." She added a frustrated whimper close to his ear whilst putting more weight on his groin, hoping this would somehow sway him. And it did. Molly heard the quiver of his breathing, his shaky hand moving from her hip to the waistband of her skirt. He was hesitant, though slowly slid past the elastic edge, halting at the top of her knickers. The anticipation, the feather touch of his finger tips made her whimper and bite her lip, his hips bucking in an uncontrollable reaction.

"I don't know what I'm doing." He whispered swiftly, nervously, evidently not sure what the result of his confession would be. It was a revelation to her, what with Irene Adler and that Janine woman not so long ago. Though Molly felt somewhat unsurprised. He was married to his work after all.

"It's okay." Molly wiggled her own hand to lie on top of his, guiding him down and down until his fingers touched between her folds, the contact alone sending a tingle across her whole body, a groan falling from her lips. Sherlock let off a small whimper, obviously imagining his cock being warm and snug down there instead of his fingers. His head, his soft curls came to rest alongside the side of her face as he began to move his fingers in small circles. It was glorious, "Yes, like that."

He made no comment, just continued to rub in small circles, experimentally exploring until he found her centre, pushing a finger inside. Molly gratefully cried out and threw her head back to rest against his chest, Sherlock's own breath unstable as he listened to her reactions, learning what she liked and disliked. He added another finger, moving them in and out, again and again until she began to lose control of her voice, the whimpers of his name and the bucking of her hips against his groin. He sped up his movements, mumbling her name quietly into her ear as he enjoyed the delights of her reactions. It usually took more to push her over the edge, though knowing this was her fantasy come true, Sherlock touching her most intimate area, little was needed. With two more slides of his long fingers and her name falling shakily from his lips one final time, Molly was gone, attempting to stifle her climax, but in all honesty, too wrapped up in the situation to care.

As she came down from the high, the sudden change in their situation became blatantly obvious to her. Sherlock remained breathless, head upon her shoulder, fingers stilled within her as he figured out how to handle it all. After a moment he removed them, his hand finding her hip again and resting there unsurely. His own desire for her was pressing against Molly's bum and she couldn't stop herself pressing back against him, wanting to return the favour he had just bestowed upon her.

He attempted to hide his moan but the height of his arousal was too much and it came out of his mouth, muffled slightly into the side of her neck, with the clench of his hands on her hips.

"You need..." He took several breaths of air before continuing, "you need to place the tension wrench at the base of the lock-"

"Sherlock." Evidently, he was attempting to completely forget and rid his mind of what had just occurred, but how could she when his hard cock was shoved up against her, there in the first place because of her?

"Then use the pick to fe-ahh." The detective's last word turned into a groan as she rubbed again and again against him, "Stop." He begged breathlessly, trying his best to move away from her but not able to. He was clearly inexperienced with all of this, not that she was complaining, so easily aroused by the simplest of stimulations.

With effort, Molly turned herself back around, not caring about the fact she would have to awkwardly swivel again when they finally got round to unpicking the lock. Now face to face with him, noses faintly brushing together, she inelegantly reached up and ran a hand through his silky curls, gripping the back of his head as he made a noise of approval. Sherlock's breath grazed her face, her other hand slowly reaching down until it made contact with the swell in his trousers. There was hardly the space between them to make this easy, but she would make it work.

"Molly, please." He was begging. Sherlock Holmes was begging her for something. Either it was for her to stop her stimulations or to ask her to continue.

"Please what?" The Pathologist began to rub him through his trousers, a stutter in his hips suggesting the need for release.

"I don't know." He replied honestly, though soon found the answer as a hand came up awkwardly to grip the back of her hair, resting his forehead against her own. Taking this as permission, Molly unbuttoned and unzipped the front of his confinements, allowing her hand to creep inside his boxers and grip his cock in her hand. It was so warm and firm and made a twitch upon first contact. Sherlock's jaw dropped instantly, panting being the only thing he could do, the grip of his hand being deliciously tight in her hair. Molly moved her hand up and down, slowly at first, wanting to envelope herself in the delightful noises spewing from his mouth.

"Molly." He panted where possible, the odd moan here and there arousing her once more. She sped up her movements, not caring where they were, why they were here, just happy to know that it was she, Molly Hooper, causing Sherlock Holmes to moan and groan before her. Her name fell breathlessly from his lips as he reached his peek, groaning loudly, deliciously, into her ear. Losing all control, he spilled out onto her hand and all over the inside his boxers.

It took several moments before his breathing returned to a somewhat normal state, hand in her hair gradually, reluctantly letting go. Molly wiped her hands on his already ruined boxers and returned him to a fully dressed state, not sure whether he was going to be utterly mad with her and never speak to her again, or ask for a weekly shag for the foreseeable future. It had all happened in the heat of the moment and it was hard to tell how he would react.

Silently, she clumsily turned to face the other way again, putting the tension wrench in the base of the lock with shaky hands, feeling for the pins with the pick. Sherlock remained silent behind her, so she did her best to figure out what to do with the lock. Molly pushed all the pins up until they locked and then twisted, removing the tools and turning the handle. They both stumbled out of the small space, the air feeling cold and thick around them as they tried to process what the next step would be, who would be the first to handle what had happened.

Without meeting her eye, Molly watched him hurriedly button up the front of his coat to hide the evidence in his trousers, his gaze fixed to the ground as he focused on the case.

"I will look for him. You can go. You'll only be in danger if you follow me."

"I'm not leaving you." Her stare remained fixed on his face, waiting for him to look directly at her. He did briefly, swallowing and looking behind him as though something important was approaching.

"He held a gun to your head, Molly." His sentence was somewhat normal in tone for Sherlock, except for her name, which he added on the end with hesitancy, as though a reminder of what had just passed between them.

"I'm not leaving you." She repeated, not wanting to comprehend the thought of Sherlock facing the gunman alone.

He sighed, "Fine. But we need to hurry. He's probably moved on by now."

"Let's go then." She responded, brushing past him and out into the cold night air.


After little searching, Sherlock and Molly, along with Lestrade's team following close behind, eventually caught the criminal in a nearby field, the consulting detective knocking the gun easily from the grasp of the grubby man's hand and knocking him to floor. Molly had been utterly impressed by his flawless actions and wanted to tell him so, though after what had happened, she didn't know how to approach him.

He had hastily left the crime scene with his coat still buttoned up, not making eye contact with her once as he strode past her and into a nearby taxi. Molly didn't exactly know what to anticipate in reality. It had been a heat of the moment 'thing' and she felt apprehensive at the thought of seeing him again. Why had she done what she had done? Of course she had dreamt of such an occurrence happening between them, but she had honestly thought they would only stretch so far as her dreams. The reality was much more vivid and difficult to deal with.

Days went by, weeks even, where she would only see brief glimpses of him. Sometimes he would turn up to the lab, never alone, using the microscope or the chemicals to finally crack a case he had been getting a high from. John would always be with him, not that this was unusual, though Molly realised with sad realisation, that he only ever visited for cases now and none of his appearances were because he was 'bored' or 'in need of entertainment'. He would never turn up asking for body parts, instead, sent someone else to collect them for him, John, more often than not. Being invited along on cases hadn't happened since.

And she had finally had enough. Molly was sick of him avoiding her, dismissing her, acting like she suddenly meant nothing to him, reminiscent of how they were back in day one. So she decided to head to Baker Street, knowing that he would believe himself safe from her presence there. Sherlock wouldn't think she would have the guts to approach him on the subject, especially in his own home.

Arriving at the door, she knocked confidently, knowing full well that if Sherlock was listening, her timid tap on the door would give her away immediately. When Mrs Hudson greeted her with cheer, Molly said nothing, just gestured with a smile and a point of her finger that she was here to see Sherlock.

"Oh go on up dear, he and John have been up there for hours. It's about time they were disturbed."

She beamed a grin at her and headed up the stairs, swallowing her nerves before knocking on the door. Molly heard the deep rumble of Sherlock's voice as he continued to talk to John, answering the door mid sentence, that which was cut short as his eyes fell upon her. Clearly, he didn't want John to realise anything was different between them, and so he painfully forced a smile and stood to the side, allowing her entry.

"Molly." John greeted warmly, rising from his chair as he pecked her on the cheek and walked over to the open door, "Nice to see you."

"Where are you going?" Sherlock frowned, making it obvious he didn't want his companion to leave him.

"I need to get back to Mary and the baby. I said I wouldn't be long and I've been ages." He laughed and Molly giggled along with him, eyeing Sherlock as he avoided her stare and gripped the door handle tightly. John said his goodbyes and left down the wooden stairs, the door remaining open until the sound of the front door closed.

The detective slowly, uneasily, closed the door so that they wouldn't be disturbed, silently walking past her to sit in his chair. He crossed his leg, one over the other, bringing his hands under his chin and staring completely forward. Molly knew he wouldn't say anything and so took it upon herself to occupy John's chair, right in his line of sight.

"You've been avoiding me." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. He knew it, she knew it and it would take a lot for him to deny it. Finally, his gaze connected with her, blue and brown unable to pull apart.

"Yes." He simply said, not the answer Molly had expected, "I didn't know how else to handle the situation."

"So you thought it was best to run rather than face it?" She was probably being more harsh that she should have been, considering this wasn't a circumstance he usually found himself in, being inexperienced and all, but Molly just wanted to clear the air. Whether that meant things ended here, or things continued, as long as the atmosphere was no longer suffocating them bit by bit.

"You know this isn't my area." His eyes dropped then, mouth hidden behind his prayer-like hands.

"I know." Molly responded softly. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her loose straightened hair falling around her face, "What do you want Sherlock?"

His eyes squinted slightly, trying to work out what answer she expected, "I don't know what you mean."

"I mean, I'm not asking for anything." She took a breath, feeling nervous inside, though keeping true to her new found confidence around him, "I just want to clear the air. If you'd rather forget that anything happened between us, then I'll hold up my hands and never mention it again, as long as you acknowledge something did happen that night."

He looked as though he were about to speak, taking in a breath, though fell short and closed his mouth again.

"I just want to know what you want, Sherlock."

"I'm confused." He admitted vulnerably. He let off a frustrated sigh, ruffling his hair and turning his head to the side as he found his words, "I despise the hindrance of sentimental acts on the mind. That is why I don't involve myself with them. I never have." Molly braced herself for utter rejection, disgust at what had occurred that night, "However," Her heart suddenly raced, "when I'm not on a case, I find myself thinking about..." The sentence faded, the detective evidently finding this hard, "thinking of what happened at the school."

"Sherlock." Molly whispered, not knowing what else to say. But he soon continued.

"I don't know how to proceed in such circumstances because I've never found myself here before." He couldn't look her in the eye for long, "I tell myself over and over that I don't want this, that I don't want you." Sherlock sighed, "But I do. I do want you, Molly."

She didn't know what to say to his confession, knowing it must have been wholly difficult for him to admit. Sherlock didn't do sentiment, he did his best to avoid it. Though the look in his eye was inviting, almost asking her to draw him in, asking her to make him go against what he had held so firmly onto all his years.

And she didn't know what possessed her to do it. She didn't know what gave her the courage, or the bravery to act upon her instincts. Molly silently stood from the chair, pulling her coat unhurriedly from of her shoulders without breaking contact with his blue eyes. She waited a moment, willing for him to protest, allowing the garment to drop loudly to the floor. When he remained still, stare connected strongly with her own, the Pathologist stepped forward and watched as he predicted her next move, uncrossing his legs and waiting. She hitched up her skirt slightly and placed a knee either side of his body to straddle his lap. Instinctively, Sherlock placed his hands on her hips, holding her in place.

No words were uttered between them, the detective's eyes falling to her mouth as he edged his face closer, bringing his lips to rest gently, tentatively against her own. It was sweet and chaste, an acceptance almost, that this was what he wanted. Pulling away from her, Sherlock looked Molly in the eye, a hand coming up to stroke her cheek before kissing her a second time. Molly responded quickly, sneaking her tongue into his mouth to deepen the kiss and tugging him forward to bring him closer. He copied her action, timidly stroking his own tongue inside her mouth as he felt his urges take over. One hand remained on her hip, gripping tightly as the other held the back of her head, holding her hair to make sure she didn't suddenly pull away.

Minutes passed, the room silent but for their actions. Sherlock became more adventurous, hands roaming over her shoulders, deep into her hair and down her back, grabbing her bum tightly and pulling her ever closer so that their groins rubbed together. Simultaneously they groaned, eyes flying open to watch each other's reactions. Molly moved her hips again and again until Sherlock's eyes became half lidded, his breath coming out in pants as he rocked his hips to meet hers.

"Bedroom." She whispered, pecking his lips for a long moment before readying to stand. Though his hold on her tightened, keeping her in place.

"No." What? He didn't want to? Suddenly her heart collapsed, presuming she had misread the signals, the man before her not wanting to shag her brains out after all. Sherlock must have read her worries, for he pushed her hips down with his hands and lifted his own so that her groin pressed against his hardness. It was a deliberate, slow movement and Molly let out a gasp, eyes never leaving his in case she missed something important.

"Here." He uttered, not giving her anymore confirmation, bringing their lips together in a heated kiss as his hand slid up her thigh. She whimpered when his hand caressed her damp knickers, one finger sliding underneath and rubbing her clit, like he had learnt in the storage room. Molly threw her head back, parted lips, closed eyes, making Sherlock tighten his hold. He let out a noise before taking advantage of her exposed neck, licking and kissing her skin, moving down to her collarbone. Hands suddenly frantic, Sherlock tugged at the front of her blouse, unsteadily fumbling with the buttons until her front was exposed to him. He didn't hesitate in kissing the tops of her breasts, taking her nipples into his mouth through the thin lace of her bra. Molly cried out desperately, hips still moving, hands gripping his hair. She pulled his head back, taking in the look of arousal on his face, knowing she would cherish the moment for the rest of her life. Kissing him passionately, Molly unbuttoned his shirt, rubbing her hands against his chest, his muscles twitching under her touch.

She moved her hands down, undoing his trousers as fast as her hands would allow and raising herself up momentarily to tug them along his thighs. In response, Sherlock lifted his bum so that she could, simultaneously reaching for her knickers, though not able to remove them because of her position. Without giving her time to stand, Sherlock yanked them swiftly so that they ripped, Molly's eyes widening an unnatural amount. She would have dropped her jaw in shock had it not already fallen earlier.

"Sherlock!" She questioned in breathless anticipation, her tone somewhat scolding. But the look in his eye was primal and wanting. He responded by chuckling and kissing her jaw line, breath thick and fast against her skin.

"They were in the way." He muttered, Sherlock swiftly, unexpectedly plunging two fingers inside her. Molly groaned loudly, tugging his hair before her hands rested on his shoulders, allowing him to explore where he would soon be. Though it was becoming too much, tension unbearable. Silently she stilled his hands, the detective pulling his head back to look at her. For a moment, Molly allowed herself to roam her eyes over him, darkened gaze, swollen lips and curls in disarray. It was glorious. He removed his fingers, swallowing deeply when she moved her centre closer his hardened cock. Sherlock's hesitancy returned, something in his eyes reminding her of how new he was to all this.

"Sherlock?" She asked tenderly, wanting him to be sure on all matters before they proceeded. He brought their lips together sweetly, tugging her hips forward. He then reached down, grasping himself in hand and positioning at her entrance. Looking directly at the detective, she lowered herself onto him, watching as his eyes widened with wonder, his breath sticking in his throat as he tried to adapt to the feeling of her around him. Molly could see that he wanted to speak, but all that surfaced was a mix of a hum and a groan.

No more waiting, she'd been waiting too long. Molly began to move her hips up and down, slowly at first, acutely watching his reactions. His eyes never left her, closing briefly when she teasingly stopped a moment, though soon opened again when she continued. Sherlock's hands on her hips began to quicken her thrusts, the tension within them both building. Their breaths were quick, their mouths were loud, hands gripping tightly in the most intimate of places.

"Molly." He moaned, head falling to her shoulder as he thrust his hips up to meet hers. God it was so wonderful, the feeling of them both joined together in blissful harmony. Though it was over took soon. He came, hard and fast and loud, hands gripping her pleasantly tight. Molly was in no way disappointed, it wasn't all about the finish, his ragged breath in her ear delightful enough as he came down from his high. He was in this state because of her and she couldn't help but bite her lip.

"Sorry." Sherlock managed to say, body collapsing back on the chair, limp with the effort. Molly rested on his front, nicely surprised when his arms wrapped themselves around her, enveloping her in a hug.

"Don't apologise." She replied, raising her head and pecking him lightly on the lips, their breaths now much calmer, "First times are first times for a reason. We have plenty of time to practice."

He hummed in response, kissing her lazily, affectionately moving a lose strand of hair from her face with a single finger before pulling her back down against his chest. Molly knew she could get used to this. Of course she knew he wouldn't be so loving with her all the time, especially in the public domain, though it would make these private moments, where Sherlock trustingly showed her his emotions ever more treasured, tremendously special.

At some point, she must have fallen asleep, for she woke up, curled in his chair with a blanket wrapped around her. Molly glanced around the darkened room, brushing her dishevelled hair from her face as she pulled herself to sit.

"Sherlock?" There was no response, not that she expected one in the obviously empty flat. Molly stretched to sit and turned her head to the side. It was then that she spotted the note, pinned gracelessly to the back of his desk chair, obviously predicting it was the likeliest place she would see it. Grabbing the note, she read the words, the slow progression of a smile lighting up her face.

Case. Didn't want to wake you. You're welcome to stay. I'll see you tonight.


Quickly, Molly fumbled in her coat pocket for her phone, grinning the whole time she typed.

I'm afraid I can't stay tonight. I have work in the morning x

Molly held the phone to her lips in anticipation, not expecting a reply at all, he often didn't reply. The fact that he was on a case lessened the chances further. So she was utterly shocked when her phone lit and buzzed by her side.

I've cancelled your shifts for the next three days. You won't have time to work. I need time to practice. SH

Molly's eyes widened with surprise, hand coming up to cover her mouth in shock. She giggled into the empty room, smiling widely and dropping her phone on the arm of the chair with a content sigh. She then pulled the blanket further around herself and let her eyes drift close, trying to understand how all her dreams had just come true. It was glorious.