This is day seven of Sherlolly Appreciation Week. I didn't put this one in my 'Tumblr stuff...' stories, because it's pretty long and I created that for short stories (less than 2000 words) - I have to say, I had a BLAST participating in the SAW party. I rated this story M for a reason... it's a super M! After seven days of wholesomeness, I needed this one ; )
Huge thanks to Mizjoely for betaing and to MrsMCrieff for Brit-picking. The are the best!
I own nothing. Enjoy! ~Lil~
"Thanks, but no. I just sat down," Molly said, politely declining to dance with the decent looking bloke standing in front of her.
The would-be dance partner turned to Sherlock, who was typing on his phone (just as he had been most every time Molly had seen him that evening), and asked, "What about you?"
The detective didn't move, he just said, "I think not." The bloke glanced over at Molly; she shrugged. Sherlock glanced up at the entrance then back to his mobile. "Besides, your wife's cousin just walked in, you should probably be on your best behaviour."
"Wh- what? How d-did you..?" the man stammered, looking towards the door. Finding nothing but a very crowded bar, he looked back to Sherlock. "Hey! You're that detective. The one from the telly!"
Sherlock finally stowed his phone and addressed the man directly. "I am. You should run along and stop attempting to pick up every person in the building before you get caught...again."
The man wandered off, shaking his head.
Molly took a drink of her gin and tonic. "You made all that up!"
Sherlock smirked. "Of course I did, though I'm not wrong about the cheating. He is married."
"But you didn't know that."
"He proved it," he said before draining the rest of his pint. A few more minutes passed then he abruptly got up and left the table.
It was all for John Watson, this evening of drinks and loud music. Molly had long since stopped going to clubs, but after the year that John had had if he wanted to celebrate his forty-fifth birthday drinking and listening to electronic versions of the latest pop hits, so be it. She scanned the dance floor, looking for the birthday boy, finding him sandwiched between two twenty-something's: a blonde and a brunette. He's gonna throw his back out, Molly thought with a giggle as she finished her drink.
"Here you are," Sherlock's voice pulled her away from her observations. He had sat a fresh G&T in front of her. Taking the seat next to her, instead of two away where he'd been sitting, he started in on his pint. By her count, that was his third, maybe fourth. She couldn't remember ever seeing him drink so much before.
Molly leant closer and said, "Greg's pretty pissed. I'd be careful, he won't be able to help you out if you get arrested this time."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I'm not too worried." Then drained the glass in one long chug.
Molly stared, more than a little taken-aback. And he thinks I'm the one who enjoys a drink. She took a sip and went back to scanning the crowd for the rest of their group. Sally had come but disappeared quickly with Detective Hopkins. Good for her! John had brought a couple of people from the clinic, but they'd begged off early, which she'd assumed Sherlock would do, but no, here he sat. She looked over at the man to find him watching her.
"Are you rested?" he asked as he looped an arm around the back of her chair.
"When you blew off the cheater, you had just sat back down from your fourth dance. You've had another drink…" He eyed the glass in her hand, then took it from her, finishing it off in one swallow. "Are you rested now?"
He stood and held out his hand. "Let's dance."
Molly had seen Sherlock turn down three smokin' hot men and two gorgeous woman since they'd arrived. She was a little dumbstruck, but she stood and took his hand nevertheless. He led her to the dance floor, making their way through the throng of people until he stopped near the back of the club. Okay, it was really more of a bar, hosting a club themed night, but nevertheless.
Turning, he put his hands on her hips and pulled her closer, their bodies not quite touching, but very nearly. Molly was still a bit too shocked to do much more than move her hips. She focused her eyes on the people around them as she tried to figure out what had come over him. Was he drunk? She really didn't think so.
Leaning in close, Sherlock spoke into her ear, "You're a better dancer than this, Molly. I've been watching you all night. I expect you to participate."
Hooking his fingers in her belt loops, he tugged her closer until their hips and chests touched. Molly reached up to steady herself on Sherlock's shoulders, finally looking into his eyes. What she found caused her breath to hitch.
The look in his eyes was beyond intense. Even in the dark club with strobe lights flashing, Molly could see the desire burning in those… Tonight they're turquoise, she thought as she ran her hands over his shoulders to link behind his neck.
Holding on for dear life, she ground her hips against his. If he wanted her to dance, than dance she would! Suddenly, Sherlock's hands were on her arse, gripping her tightly as he lowered his head to her neck. He slotted his thigh between her legs, pressing himself roughly against her clothed quim.
The song continued to play as they danced, shamelessly grinding against each other to the beat. She felt the hard ridge of his erection pressing against her hip, and couldn't stop the soft whimper that escaped her mouth. Molly moved her hands up until she found his hair, it was slightly damp but soft and, fuck she wanted to pull it! His hands made their way under her shirt, grazing her skin. She tugged at his locks, and in response Sherlock bit down on the skin at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. It had all happened so fast. Weren't they just talking about the bisexual cheater? She hadn't expected him to ask her to dance and certainly not like this.
He pulled back, looking her in the eyes, though his hips never stopped moving. Molly seemed to forget where she was, all the other bar goers just disappeared as she tugged on his sweaty locks once again, bringing his face closer to hers until their foreheads touched.
Sherlock's hands moved further up her back, tracing her bra. Molly's mouth was suddenly parched. I bet he could wet it for me, she thought as he gripped her around her ribs, his thumbs skimming the underside of her breasts. Then he lowered his head once again, this time until his lips barely touched her neck.
The music was loud, but not so loud that she couldn't hear him whispering against her skin. "Ever just want to fuck, Molly?" he asked then placed a soft kiss to her throat. "Just fuck for the sake of fucking?"
Well, of fucking course I have! She jerked away enough to look him in the eyes.
"I'm not high, slightly drunk, but not high. I want you, Molly, and there's a perfectly acceptable alley behind this building." He bit his lower lip, almost shyly. It made her knickers damp... well, more damp. "I know you've thought about it." His eyes raked down her body. "I certainly have. Join me?"
"Yes," she answered without even thinking.
He didn't hesitate, he just took her hand and started weaving them through the crowd toward the back of the bar, pushing past drunken strangers. He paused only once, to grab a large bag from the bouncer at the back exit and shove something into the man's hand. As they walked, Sherlock pulled his Belstaff from the bag and put it on. How the hell does he do that? Not for the first time, Molly wondered if the detective was just a little bit magic.
Was it a mistake? Of course it was. Would she regret it tomorrow? No doubt. Was she about to stop him and tell him: 'No, Sherlock, we shouldn't be doing this. It'll ruin our friendship and blah...blah... blah…' Hell no! He was right. Sometimes you just want to fuck!
Within minutes they were in a deserted alley. It was dark, very dark; most of the street lamps seemed broken except for the one closest to them. The warm, muggy summer air wasn't much cooler than in the bar and it smelled awful. But she found that she didn't care one iota as Sherlock pushed her up against a rough brick wall and started sucking on her neck whilst his hands tugged at her clothes. All she could see and smell was him.
Molly's head was spinning from intoxication and arousal; her heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest. Looking down, she realised that her shirt was unbuttoned. God, he was moving so fast! His hands pushed both of her bra cups aside, then he shoved her tits together, creating more cleavage than she should rightfully have. His head lowered, then she felt his tongue slip between her breasts. She didn't know when she'd started gripping his hair, but as he licked his way to a nipple, she clawed at his scalp, encouraging him on his short journey. As he sucked one taut bud into his mouth, biting down, Molly cried out then covered her mouth with one hand when she realised what she had done.
Sherlock released her nipple and looked up. "Do you think we're the first couple to use this location for such a purpose, Molly?" he asked with a devilish smirk. How could he sound so proper with his mouth an inch from her breast? Straightening so that he was almost level with her face, he added, "I intend to hear you scream tonight. If I only have once chance at you, it will be unforgettable."
What the hell was that supposed to mean? Once chance? He sounded desperate and… almost somber. And for the love of God, if he wants more than once chance...
Then his mouth closed onto hers aggressively, obliterating her thought process and pressing her head against the bricks behind her. His tongue pushed passed her lips, causing her to moan into his mouth and frantically clutch at his chest.
After several seconds of the breathtaking kiss, she felt his hand on her jeans, working the button and zip. He shoved the jeans down her hips, leaving them resting just below her bum. Kissing his way across her jaw until he reached her ear, he whispered, "How many of those men did you want to fuck, Molly? Hmm?" He bit down on the lobe, sucking it into his mouth. "Any of them?" he asked, releasing the now wet flesh. "All of them?" His hand was toying with the top of her knickers, tickling at her skin. "I know the answer, of course." He chuckled. "It was the third one, wasn't it? The photographer? He slipped his number into your pocket." Keeping his right hand near her pants, he reached lower with his left, pulling the small slip of paper out of her pocket. "Ahh, here it is." He held it up to the dim light coming off of a nearby security lamp. "David," he said as he read it then crumpled it up and shoved it into his pocket. "Did you want to fuck David, Molly?"
He sounded so jealous, so possessive. She wanted to knock him to the ground and mount him. Answering him with a nod, she watched his eyes closely. He was jealous. It was unmistakable.
"Do you want to fuck him more than you want to fuck me?" he asked through gritted teeth.
The needy whimper came out of her mouth before she could stop it.
That seemed to mollify him. He smiled as his hand slipped into her pants, parting her, grazing her lower lips. She knew that she was embarrassingly wet and she knew he was about to say something incredibly smug.
"Now for the important question, Molly. Did David get you this wet, or did I?"
His finger made contact with her clit and she bucked forward. After several soft circles, he backed off.
"Me or David, Molly?" he asked as his finger found her entrance. "This is important."
"You! It's you, you fucking bastard!" she growled. "It's always been you!"
Sherlock's eyes softened a little more. "Always?"
Drawing a deep breath, Molly started to answer, but her words were stopped as Sherlock's finger slowly filled her. She bit her lip, once again silencing herself.
He pulled her bottom lip down with his thumb. "Say my name, Molly. Say it when you come."
It should have been disconcerting the way he watched her intently while fingering her in a dirty alley, but Molly found it incredibly hot. His eyes never left hers as his added another digit, stretching her, stroking her. Then suddenly she felt it and so did he. She gasped as the nail of one finger scraped against her g-spot.
"Ah, there we go," he said with a wicked grin. Bracing his free hand on the wall beside her head, Sherlock increased his pace and pressure. "Do you think David would have found it so easily, so quickly?"
She couldn't answer, and besides, she was pretty sure it was a rhetorical question. Instead, Molly let her head fall back as her eyes closed and her hips moved in tandem with Sherlock's hand. Several seconds, maybe minutes later his lips were on her neck again, licking, sucking. His hot breath was driving her mad, but he didn't seem to be trying to push her over the edge. It seemed like he was trying to prolong the experience. He'd been in such a rush before... Weren't drunken alley fucks supposed to be quick? She wasn't sure, seeing as this was her first one.
"Are you ready for me, Molly?" he asked and she felt his fingers slipping away from her.
He took a single step back and Molly decided to finish removing her jeans and knickers to show him just how ready she was for him. But as she bent, he stopped her.
"No. I'll take care of that." He knelt at her feet and she actually worried for a split second about the state of those lovely, tailored trousers. But her worry didn't last as she watched him carefully remove one of her flats and place her foot on his knee. He then pulled her leg out of her jeans and knickers and replaced the shoe. He repeated the process on the other foot and leg, taking his time and being so gentle she could barely believe what she was seeing. He didn't want her standing barefoot on the dirty ground. How...sweet?
Pausing for a moment to press a kiss to her mound, he stood and placed her clothes on a conveniently located, upturned (and oddly clean looking- actually brand new looking) bin, he turned back to her, his eyes taking in her nearly naked body.
And then it finally hit her…
She closed her blouse, tugging it down as far as she could. "Sh-Sherlock," she said, looking around the alley and finding them still alone, but nevertheless. "Ah…"
"Don't worry, Molly. I won't let anything happen to you. No one will see you but me. Promise."
"How could you possibly know that?"
He pulled her hands away from her shirt, exposing her once again, and said, "I guess you'll just have to trust me, now won't you?" Stepping back into her, his hands moved to her waist, gripping her tightly. "Give this to me, Molly. Let me have you for one night." His head was bowed, he wasn't looking her in the eyes. It was is if he was talking to her body.
There it was again. What was this all about? What happened to fucking for the sake of fucking? "Sherlock?"
He didn't answer but quickly brought his head up, closing his mouth on hers. This time he playfully nipped at her lips as he pressed up against her body, the soft fabric of his shirt rubbing across her nipples a stark contrast to the hard ridge of his erection pressing up against her belly. His tongue breached her lips, tangling with hers as he grunted into her mouth. His wet lips left hers, sliding across her jaw gently biting at her flesh until he reached her neck. "Your back," he whispered.
Molly had no idea what he was talking about, she was far too distracted by his hands which had been kneading her buttocks.
"Your back, Molly." He pulled away, tugging her forward and quickly removing his Belstaff. "Put this on," he said as he draped the expensive coat around her shoulders.
She complied, shoving her arms through the sleeves (which were far too long) then glanced down at herself. "I look ridiculous, Sherlock," she said before looking up to find him staring at her, his mouth agape, his breathing laboured.
"No you fucking don't." His voice was rough and low. Slamming her body back up against the building, Sherlock's mouth returned to her throat. "My coat's never looked better," he mumbled against her skin before sucking it into his mouth, no doubt leaving an impressive love bite in his wake.
"Now, Sherlock!" she pleaded.
One of his hands was occupied, she could feel him dealing with the button and zip on his trousers. "Right pocket, Molly. The right, ah, pocket of my coat," he said in a strained voice.
Molly shoved her hand into the pocket and immediately found what he was talking about. "This?" she said, pulling out a condom.
"Yessss." He moved away just enough for her to see his hand fisted around his cock. "I'll let you do the honours."
Quickly opening the johnny, Molly rolled it onto his impressive erection. Oh God, I'm about to have sex with Sherlock... in public...in a dirty alley...behind a bar. This is so fucking hot.
His hands moved to the back of her thighs, easily picking her up and holding her up against the building, pinning her there. She immediately wrapped her legs around his back. Then he lined himself up, dragging the tip of his cock through her wetness. He looked her in the eyes and said, "This is it, Molly. Do you know how much this means to me?"
Her chest constricted at his words because, no, she didn't know. What was he saying? "I… I…"
"It's okay," he said sadly. "I just need tonight." Pressing forward, he filled her, his head dropping to her shoulder. "Oh, God! I knew it!" he whispered.
Molly was speechless as she held on tightly to his shoulders. It was perfect. Actually perfect. Yes, she was half dressed, wearing his coat as protection, evidently, from the bricks at her back, and still slightly tipsy. But he felt like he absolutely belonged inside her. "Sherlock, you feel so good," she moaned.
He hummed in agreement as his hands moved to her arse and started to thrust in earnest. In her position, she could do little more than hold on and enjoy the ride, so to speak. She did press her back more firmly against the building and grind against his hips, seeking more friction though she knew it wouldn't take much to push her over the edge. As a matter of fact, if he'd just start talking again. And none of that 'only tonight' shit...
"Molly, I swear I've never been inside a sweeter feeling cunt. Fuck, you're perfect."
He drove up into her, twisting his hips and the head of his cock hitting her sweet spot. "Uhhhhhh…"
"That's it! Give it to me. Let me feel you."
Slam. Thrust. Twist.
She tightened her internal muscles as best as she could in her position, knowing it would speed up her orgasm and damn did she want to come!
"Fucking hell! Do that again!" he demanded.
She did, squeezing his dick as she dug her nails into his scalp. It couldn't be helped, she needed something to hold on to.
"Yes!" he grunted, his lips right next to her ear. He kissed her neck, her temple, her cheek. "I'm close! Come for me, Molly. I need this, need you. I need you to come for me now!"
That was it. Her muscles clenched, this time without her help as waves of pleasure wracked her body. She called out his name, digging her heels into his thighs. She felt him thrusting harder, less gracefully, as he bit down on her shoulder before his hips slowed, then stopped, pulling out. She thought she heard him removing the condom and fiddle with his clothes, but was still in another world and couldn't be sure.
"That was fantastic," he said in a breathy whisper against her bruised skin. "Amazing."
He sat her back onto her feet and pulled his mobile out of his breast pocket.
Molly reached for her jeans and knickers and started to get dressed, not sure how one was supposed to act after getting shagged by their long-time unrequited love in a back alley, so she decided on returning to business as usual. That seemed to be Sherlock's MO, since he was typing away on his phone.
Once dressed, she started to remove his coat, but something struck her…
The coat, the bin, the deserted alley. They'd been there for at least a half an hour, maybe forty-five minutes. How on Earth were we alone this whole time? And what was with his strange statements about this one time? Oh… she realised with suddenly clarity exactly what had happened. Though she still had questions.
He didn't look up. "Hmm?"
"Did you plan this?" she asked.
Cutting his eyes up, though his head didn't move, he said, "You know I helped plan John's party, Molly, you and I both…"
"Now's not the time, Sherlock." He knew better than to screw with her.
"And, I want to know what you meant about this being your only chance at me? Very flattering by the way."
He took a step back, pocketing his mobile and looked around the alley. "Fine. Yes, there was a bit of planning involved," he said, never making eye contact.
"Why did the bouncer have you coat?"
"I had it delivered to him. Mostly to keep you covered and offer you some sense of modesty. There was the added effect of protecting you back from the bricks, however."
"And this brand new bin?' she asked, pointing to her left.
"That too was delivered. I needed a place to put your trousers and knickers that wasn't dirty. I… had hoped that you wouldn't notice another bin sitting around. But, of course, you realised that it was new. I told them to remove the sticker!" he grumbled under his breath.
It all made sense and was oddly thoughtful. However… "Lastly, Sherlock, why were you so confidant that we wouldn't be found. That no one would see us?"
He sighed, hands on his hips and squared on her. "Let me start by saying that I did not plan this in advance."
Folding her arms across her chest as best as she could with the bulky coat in the way, she said, "No?"
"Well, you were dancing with all those men and… none of them were me! There's a good reason none of them were me, of course. Had I let myself get close enough to dance with you - to touch you, to feel you - I knew that wouldn't be enough. So I sent a few texts, set up…" He waved his hand around. "...this."
She narrowed her eyes, letting him know that his explanation wasn't enough.
With a roll of his eyes, he explained, "I had my brother send some men to close off both ends of the alley. And the few shops with adjacent exits. They also cut all the lights except the one above us and the CCTV."
"Bloody hell, Sherlock."
"Why?" she asked, dumbstruck.
He looked at her like she'd lost her mind. "Why? Because I had one chance. Just one shot."
"What does that even mean, one shot? What..?"
He moved back to her quick as lightening, nostrils flaring, eyes intense. "Yes, Molly. One shot! Once chance. Because I blew it so many times before. Christmas, when I mocked your sexy dress? I should have thrown you over my shoulder and taken you to my bedroom. That would have shown Lestrade and John! Panting at my pathologist…" His last words were said distractedly, almost to himself. He turned his attention back to Molly. "The night I asked for your help to fake my death? I should have taken you over a slab first. Shown you why I trusted you so damn much! So many wasted opportunities at your flat, you sleeping just a few feet away while I fisted my cock, thinking about how you'd taste. Didn't you ever wonder why I preferred your bed, Molly?" He leant forward, raking his nose up her neck. "It smells like you, you know. Like your hair, your skin… your cunt."
She was panting again; moments before she was completely sated and suddenly she wanted him again. Thankfully, he pulled away slightly, an almost unpleasant smile on his face.
"The wedding was a real test. You were with the idiot. You went home with him. Shagged him in that bed! And shortly thereafter I had to start my ruse, pretending to be the doting boyfriend to another woman. It was sickening. Then just as I predicted, if only to myself, you ended your engagement, but everything went tits up." He backed up again, tossing his hands in the air. "I never thought I was good enough for you, Molly, but the last eighteen months proved me right in the worst possible way."
"Sherlock…" she said, stepping forward.
He held up a hand, stopping her. "This was selfish. It was selfish and stupid and so fucking good." He closed his eyes. "And not nearly enough," he whispered, closing his eyes. When he opened them, Molly could see them glistening in the single street lamp. "But it will have to do." He straightened his jacket, turning his head as headlights filled the alley. Holding out his hand he said, "I'll need my coat back, Molly. My ride's here."
Though stunned, she wasn't about to settle for that. "No," she said defiantly.
His head turned back to her. "What?"
"You're not good enough for me? You've decided that, have you?" She closed the distance between them. "Well that's just too damn bad."
"You meant it, didn't you? You meant it when you said 'I love you' and you never told me."
He dropped his head.
Molly nodded. "It's okay. I mean it's not, but…" Putting her hand on his chin, she brought his face up to hers. "I understand you, mostly. As much as anyone can understand Sherlock Holmes," she added with a smile. Then she turned and started walking toward the car at the end of the alley.
"Where are you going?" she heard coming from behind her.
"Home, with you," she answered without turning around.
"Ummm, Molly?" His footsteps increased to a slow run until he caught up with her. "You've just decided this?"
"Yes, just like you decided that you didn't deserve me; I've decided that you do. Decision made," she answered, looking straight forward.
He laughed and asked, "Do I get my coat back at some point?"
She stopped walking, so did Sherlock. "Do you want me to take it off? I got the feeling that you rather enjoyed seeing me in it."
Slipping his arms inside the coat, around her waist, he kissed her neck. "I'd prefer to see you in nothing but the coat."
"That could be arranged."
"You'll regret this," he warned, pulling back. He looked a little frightened. "I will fuck up and when I do…"
"Of course you will, and when you do I'll forgive you. It's what people do, Sherlock. Especially when they're in love. Now come on." She started walking toward the black government car. "I need a hot bath and another shot at you."
Sigh... it's been a long week. I could REALLY use a review on this one (not to sound needy...but please ; ) Thanks for reading. Love to you all and happy Sherlollying! ~Lil~