From a prompt from soyeahso (aka dietplainlite) on Tumblr. Total smut, total indulgence fic :)
"I cannot believe I let you talk me into going to this," Sherlock muttered as John brought him a glass of Scotch, neat.
"And you're only an hour late," John replied with a grin. "It's a bloody miracle."
"Didn't we celebrate your birthday last year?" Sherlock said.
"If by celebrate you mean you looked at me sometime during July and said, 'Wasn't it your birthday?' then yes, we celebrated," John said, clapping his friend on the shoulder before returning to Mary's side.
"It's not so bad, Sherlock," Mary offered with a smile. "You know a few people and you can ignore the rest."
Sherlock gave a long suffering sigh and looked around the living room of the Watson's home. There was Mike Stamford. Mrs. Hudson. And Lestrade. And Molly. The others were strangers, or perhaps he had met them at the wedding or some other tedious social occasion and forgotten all about them. Most were about two drinks in already and the noise was beginning to build, only helped along by the music playing. He was surprised the neighbors hadn't complained yet.
"Do you remember when birthday parties were about eating so much cake and ice cream you nearly got sick?" Lestrade was asking when Sherlock finally tuned back in to the party.
"Oh, and the games!" Mrs. Hudson chimed in, smiling with the memories.
"Somewhere around sixteen is when it became about drinking until you got sick," one of John's friends said, raising his beer glass to emphasize his point.
"Ah, the games were fun, though," Mary agreed.
"What was the one, we used to play it when we were in secondary school," Mrs. Hudson said, waving her hand about to get someone to help her. "Shut two people away, used to embarrass them to no end - "
"Seven minutes in heaven!" Mary cried before a wistful look came over her. "Oh that was a fun one."
"What's that now?" John asked as he turned to look at her.
"Nothing, dear," Mary said, patting his leg.
"Oh it was fun, wasn't it?" Mrs. Hudson said with a smile. She giggled when she realized most of the room was looking at her. "I was young once."
"Let's play," Mary said decisively, hopping from her seat to grab some slips of paper and a pen.
"Uh, Mary," John said. "One problem – there are three married couples here. Oh, and, we're all adults now."
"Oh come one, it's just for fun," Mary brushed him off. She started to write names down before tossing them into an emptied snack bowl. "People can chit chat about the weather in there for all I care. And if it's Sherlock, he can tell them about crimes."
"Heaven, Mary, seven minutes in heaven," Lestrade said. "Not hell."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. Completely ridiculous.
Mary swished her hand around in the bowl of names and dramatically pulled the first one out.
"Well, we'll find out, won't we," she said. "Sherlock, you're in."
His eyes flashed up to hers and he glared.
"Don't be a spoil sport," she told him with a good natured smile. "At least wait to find out who you're in there with."
Her hand swept around again and she extracted a second name. When she looked at it, her hesitation made his stomach tighten.
"Uh," Mary stammered. "Molly…"
Everyone's gaze turned on the pathologist who was turning pink and looking as though she was trying to blend into the sofa.
"Um, we don't have to do this," Mary started.
"No, it's fine," Molly said bravely, putting her drink on the table and standing up. "I don't want to spoil the fun. We can chat about…corpses or something."
Her joke earned a halfhearted laugh from the room. She looked at Sherlock hesitantly and he gritted his teeth.
"Where are we supposed to go?" he asked stiffly.
Life came back into the room and Mary smiled, walking towards the hall.
"Right this way," she said, leading them with the rest of the party close behind. When she reached the cupboard at the end of the hall, she stopped and opened the door. "Seven minutes as soon as the door closes. We'll come back for you."
Sherlock looked into the dark, cramped space and wrinkled his nose. He'd never played these games when he was a child or even an adolescent. Birthdays were a slightly more grown-up affair in the Holmes' house. Though, now he was at a grown-up's party and being dragged into what was clearly a youthful excuse to snog someone, so what did he know?
Without a word, he marched into the cupboard, turned mechanically, and waited for Molly. She followed, slightly more cautiously.
John waved at them and shut the door.
Sherlock heard the sounds of laughter and chatter fading down the hall and back into the living room. Light made its way through the cracks around the door and he could just make out Molly's face. She seemed slightly less pink and she was looking up at him with expectant eyes.
"We don't have to do anything," he offered politely.
"Why not?" she asked.
"Because we were just at yours last night and I don't want you to feel obligated by a stupid game," he said.
Molly laughed and shook her head, causing her hair to sway over her shoulder.
"How long before you think they finally figure it out?" she asked him.
"Well, if you do intend to put this time to its proper use, they'll find out rather quickly if we don't start now," Sherlock said, reaching for her and pulling her in for a heated kiss.
Sliding her arms around his neck, Molly leaned into Sherlock and returned the kiss, her lips and tongue hot against his as he backed her into the wall next to coats and a pile of shoes. Pulling one final kiss from her, he ran his hands over her breasts and down her stomach, his mouth following the path as he knelt in front of her. Reaching into his pocket, he grabbed his phone and tossed it to the ground, making note of the time.
"Don't you think it's sort of cruel?" she asked breathlessly. "Keeping it from them?"
"What's cruel about it?" he asked in return, running his hands up the outsides of her thighs and catching the hem of her skirt as he did so. "Have I told you I love it when you wear skirts?"
"On several occasions, yes," Molly gasped out as his head disappeared under said garment and his mouth landed on her cotton knickers. He grinned, reveling in the warmth and scent of her. His hands bunched in the fabric of her skirt and brought it to her waist, giving him more freedom as he began to mouth at her core, licking and sucking through the cotton. Molly tried to stammer on. "They're going to be pissed – oh! – when they…when they find out how long – oh, yes – how long we've been…we've…"
"How long we've been seeing each other, yes," Sherlock finished for her, taking a break to hook his fingers into her knickers and pull them down. Molly toed out of her flats and quickly shed the underwear. "Frankly, I don't mind them not knowing for a little longer. I like having you to myself. Now, try to keep it quiet."
Lifting her skirt again, he resumed his previous attentions, dragging his tongue roughly across her folds and lingering on her clit. Molly squirmed under his grasp and her leg hitched up over his shoulder. He felt her fingers dig into his shoulders and scalp and closed his lips around her, sucking, as he looked up to see her biting her lip and obviously struggling to follow his instructions.
"You like having me to yourself," she breathed out carefully and then hummed. "If that isn't the most pretentious…"
She trailed of when his tongue sped up and he slipped two fingers inside of her, her back arching and whimpering quietly as she could. When he felt her muscles begin to tighten, he pulled away from her and stood quickly, unzipped his trousers, and grabbed at her arse, lifting her up against the wall.
"Two minutes and forty-five seconds left, by my count," he announced as he slid deep inside of her, letting out a desperate gasp at the feeling of her slick and hot around him.
Molly pulled him close to her and brought her mouth to his, kissing and nipping as he thrust into her until she gripped him with all her strength, dropping her face into the crook of his neck and whispering his name, her lips brushing his skin. Her muscles spasmed and clenched around him and he lost it, his hips bucking against her as he came hard.
He hated to do it, but he let her down from his grasp almost immediately, realizing too late that they had nothing to clean up with. Seeming to read his mind, Molly bent down and reached for a stray, nearly empty package of wipes that had been abandoned on the floor beside some other random diaper bag items. Talk about making do…
In less than thirty seconds, they were cleaned up and the powdery scent of the wipes had helped cover up their activities. Sherlock took the wipes and shoved them deep into a rubbish bag in the corner before grabbing his phone from the floor.
"Twenty seconds to spare," he said, smiling triumphantly.
"For the record, Sherlock, speed is not something to be bragged about in the future," Molly said teasingly.
Sherlock wound his arms around her waist and pulled her to him firmly, dipping his head to look her in the eye.
"Trust me, Molly, this was a situational expediency," he told her before kissing her solidly one last time.
Hearing the party crowd approaching in the hall, Sherlock stepped away from Molly and straightened his jacket. Molly assumed a perfectly neutral pose, her hands clasped in front of her. The door opened and Sherlock blinked, surprised by the bright light suddenly flooding the cupboard.
"Molly survived," Lestrade announced to the hall full of people, turning and heading for the kitchen. "Who wants another gin and tonic?"
A few people replied in the affirmative and followed him, swiftly losing interest in the game after the seemingly disappointing ending. Mary leaned on the door as Molly exited the cupboard, ducking her head as she went.
"Not the worst thing, yeah?" Mary said, looking at Sherlock.
"Yes, I now know all the reasons why Molly gave up on watching Glee," Sherlock said, feigning boredom. "I feel all the richer for the experience."
"Which led to a tirade on age believability in television, an even richer experience, let me tell you," Molly shot back as she wandered back to the lounge, Mary following behind her.
John looked up at Sherlock.
"See? Parties aren't so bad. A little food and drink, a few games," he said. "Might turn you into a fan yet."
"Doubtful," Sherlock said, stepping out of the cupboard.
"Sherlock?" John said as he shut the door again.
"You might want to zip your fly, mate," John said with a smirk as he walked by a suddenly frozen Sherlock.