"Apparently he'd just come back from the States, and the police have no idea yet what he'd been up to over there. He didn't live with anybody. Told his friends he was feeling poorly and stopped answering the phone." Molly sipped her glass of red wine and carried on sharing her day at the morgue. "By the time they called to have someone go check on him, the poor man was too far gone to be saved. His body was a mess. So much tissue had already been destroyed by the methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus-"
Sherlock perked up.
"NO, Sherlock," Molly said with a giggle. The wine was making her tipsy.
"If you really loved me, you would do it," he purred while reaching out to interlace his fingers with hers. He opened his eyes wide with a sad pleading that she didn't buy for a minute.
"I am not getting you a sample of flesh-eating bacteria to play with. Don't even ask!"
Sherlock pouted and added puppy eyes for effect, but continued holding her hand and rubbing her palm with his thumb. Molly blushed but didn't relent.
"I shall just have to try other means of getting what I want from you then."
She bit her lip and did her best to look as though she wasn't thrilled at the prospect. She failed, her eyes sparkling as her dimples grew deeper.
Across their table at Angelo's, John Watson and Mary Morstan watched the interplay with fascination and on Mary's part, a degree of dismay. The plate of spaghetti carbonara had lain untouched in front of Mary once the pathologist began describing the rather oozy parts of her day at the hospital.
Mary's job at a nursery school hadn't prepared her for double-dating with her boyfriend's odd flatmate Sherlock Holmes and his friendly but even odder girlfriend, whose conversation topics easily segued between corpses and the latest series of Skins.
John was considerably more at ease than his girlfriend, his eyes darting back and forth between the two across the table. It was like watching a wildlife special on the telly, he thought. Like observing a panda that has figured out how to mate in captivity when you never thought it would happen. Amazing…and sort of bizarre.
"Do I get a say in the flesh-eating bacteria in our flat business?" John broke into the conversation.
"Of course not," Sherlock responded with scorn.
"Right." John craned his neck looking for the server. "Cheque, please?"
x x x x x
Molly offered to share a cab with Mary, since they were headed home in the same direction. Mary accepted with a shy smile, nodding her pale blonde head and ducking into the car after Molly.
John and Sherlock walked home. As they passed a closed-for-the-evening flower shop, a thought occurred to John.
"What are you up to tomorrow? Got special plans? Mary's cooking me dinner at hers and then we're going to watch An Affair to Remember."
"That sounds awful. Why do you ask?"
John drew up short.
"Sherlock, tomorrow is Valentine's Day. You have to do something. Buy flowers. Give her something she wants and make her happy for one day. I'm guessing the bar is set pretty low in the romance department for you."
Sherlock pretended to be offended for a few seconds before nodding.
"It's a false holiday. I can barely be bothered to observe the real ones and now you're saying I have to celebrate one invented by American greeting card companies and greedy florists?"
"That's exactly what I'm saying," John said with a grin, delighting in his friend's discomfort.
Until this year, Molly had thought it very appropriate that she always worked the evening shift on Valentine's Day. Even if someone else was assigned the shift, the other morgue staff knew that Molly would swap schedules with them if they had dates for the holiday. Spending the night among the dead was a perfect metaphor for her love life.
Until this year. The first time she'd had a boyfriend on Valentine's Day in five years, and she was scheduled to work. They had begun trying some of the kinky requests Molly compiled in an orderly list for him, based on her BDSM research, and she was very satisfied with their experiments so far. She was happy with her dominant boyfriend, and so of course she had to work today. Dammit.
Molly resigned herself to a boring shift of transport paperwork until additional bodies came in. There were usually more homicides on holidays, so if she got lucky some work would come in to make the time pass faster.
That sounds terrible of me, Molly admonished herself. I don't want it to happen, but it always does.
A depressing thought. Holidays were like that here so under her white coat, Molly had worn her cheeriest red jumper with tiny white hearts embroidered on the wrists and low neckline, with a matching skirt. She'd been wearing shorter skirts lately. She felt much more at ease with her body since she'd begun subbing for Sherlock, and less worried about what other people thought.
She had a gift for Sherlock tucked into her desk drawer she intended to give him when she saw him next. He might not be the sort to like silly holidays, but Molly was, and this present was for both of them. It was a Wartenberg wheel; the formerly medical aspect of the tool appealing to her. She hoped Sherlock would like it.
She settled into her work day at 4 pm, and whiled away the time by going through lab reports that had come back and assessing the results for further reports. Paperwork felt like ninety percent of the job sometimes.
It was past ten o'clock when the door flew open with a loud noise, startling Molly out of yawning boredom at her desk.
Sherlock Holmes strode over to her desk, burning with intense energy. His unsmiling face was carved into cold lines and his eyes were a hypnotic bluish green tonight. She could often read his moods based on the shade of his irises, but now they were unfathomable, and beautiful in an untouchable way.
As she gazed up, surprised into grinning unabashedly like a schoolgirl, he shrugged off his elegant long coat and tossed it onto the desk without speaking.
Molly bit her lip. His presence was overwhelming, as always.
"What do you need?" she breathed.
He held out his hand and waited. Molly jumped up and took his hand, shivering slightly as her warm fingers slid into his cool palm. His mood-ring eyes glanced up and down her body, taking in the shining white gold necklace she wore, and her cherry red outfit under the pristine white lab coat. He frowned and dropped her hand, and pushed the coat down off her shoulders.
It pooled on the floor, abandoned as he took back her hand and led her swiftly into the large walk-in storage closet at the back of the morgue. He turned on the light, closed the door behind them, and unbuttoned his shirt slowly, deliberately, locking eyes with Molly the entire time. Her mouth parted and she found herself biting her lips to keep from pouncing. She had to be patient, and watch, and wait for his permission to touch.
His pale, leanly muscled chest and shoulders were revealed as he shed the midnight blue shirt and hung it up on the hook on the back of the door. He unbuttoned his trousers, drew himself out, and reached forward to guide Molly firmly down onto her knees.
Her bare knees scraped on the floor as she bent her head forward to taste the tip of him, tickling the hypersensitive head of his cock with her tongue before gingerly sucking him into her mouth. He gripped her head now, moving his hips and pushing himself into her throat as he grew harder and thicker, filling her mouth until she couldn't hold any more of him without gagging.
Molly bobbed and relished the taste of his skin and musk, wrapping her hands around him, squeezing his beautifully formed arse as she made his cock as hard as stone.
Sherlock suddenly yanked himself from her mouth. She whimpered and looked up in frustration. He pulled her to standing, turned her around, and moved her forward to face the painted-over pipe at the back of the closet.
Molly obeyed and moved as he guided her. Her legs were beginning to shake as she understood what he wanted from her now.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. He placed Molly's wrist into one cuff, threaded the other behind the sturdy pipe, and then clasped Molly's other wrist in the second cuff. She was bound now to the wall and at his mercy.
Sherlock pulled her hips back until she was forced to lean forward, her body stretching now as the cuffs kept her restrained. He slid his hand around Molly's waist and pushed the snug jumper up until it was above her bra, exposing the tops of her breasts. He wrapped his body around hers, his groin pressed into her bum as his hands pulled the lacy fabric of her bra down to toy with her.
Molly arched and groaned as he had his way with her pebbled nipples. Her arse ground into his cock as he pinched and pulled and stroked. The only sounds in the dusty closet were her pleading moans and the rattle of the metal cuffs against the pipe.
He slid his hands down her belly now, and over her thighs before gripping the hem of her skirt and dragging it up to her waist. Molly would have been very pleased if she could have seen the bright smile that crossed Sherlock's face as her girly knickers were revealed to him. He appreciated the accuracy of her "Tuesday" pants, the lettering on the white cotton surrounded by little pink hearts.
He smoothly pulled her knickers down to her ankles, and came back up, letting his cock rub against her naked bottom, the thickness already trying to press its way between her cheeks.
Molly cried out now, uncaring if he wanted her to be silent.
"Please, just…please." She spread her legs wider and pressed back into him, her upper body bent forward completely. She mashed herself against him, letting him feel how wet and ready she was.
He slipped a hand into the moisture and tested her readiness inside. Her muscles clenched on his fingers, begging for more fullness. She was ripe for him now.
He slid a condom on quickly and stroked her back and bum for a moment.
And then holding her hips tightly, Sherlock slammed himself into her, their flesh slapping together in a primal way as he built up a rhythm. The sheer filthiness of the sound had Molly lifting her pelvis back in a way that was anything but disciplined. She needed more, she needed all of him.
Moving a hand to lower her back, Sherlock held her in place while he rode his girl to bits. The perfection of her instinctual giving and her unguarded cries drove him to the brink of orgasm within a few minutes. He held onto his control for her.
Knowing how to push her over the edge after weeks of experimentation, Sherlock stretched one hand up to Molly's head, digging in deep to tug on her hair while his hips kept up the pace.
The sensation of the careful pulling sent hot shivers around Molly's scalp and face, and her breathing quickened even more. Her arms were growing quite tired from remaining up and trying to grasp the thankfully cool pipe. She reached for her orgasm with determination, pumping herself back into him, and riding his cock in return. Her necklace with the padlock charm bounced around over her bunched-up sweater and her aching breasts.
Feeling her muscles draw tighter around his cock, knowing the end was near, Sherlock squeezed the strands in his fist tighter now and rode her warmth hard until she began shaking and crying out in her high-pitched squeaky way that he found so charming. Finally able to let go, he allowed himself to come, pumping himself into Molly and at last making a sound, a guttural groan that almost sounded like her name.
A few minutes later, after they had put their clothes back in order and tossed the condom into the Biohazard Waste bin, Sherlock pulled Molly close and they kissed for the first time that evening.
"I've got to go see a man about an illegal after-hours poker circuit. I hope this was an acceptable Valentine's Day," Sherlock said slyly, his mouth still hovering near hers. "I think it's safe to say that we can cross #1 off your list of requests." He brushed his lips over hers again, and then picked up his coat.
Donning it and popping the collar up, he looked as unruffled and coldly attractive as he had when he first marched into her morgue that night. He pulled a scarf from his coat pocket, wrapped it around his neck carelessly and strolled out.
"Oh damn!" Molly said as he disappeared into the elevator. She'd forgotten to give him his present, in all the amazing post-shag kissing. Ah well. She'd give it to next time they met up. Gifts were more special when it wasn't on a holiday, anyway.
I never would have guessed, Molly thought with a dreamy smile, as she rubbed her wrists absently, Sherlock Holmes is absolutely fantastic at picking out presents for Valentine's Day.
Sherlock and Molly will be back in a second multi-chapter arc of their kinky exploration of love, with a bit more mystery next time. Look for the next story in a week or so.