Note: This 'belongs' the my story "Molly moves on" which will remain T-rated. This, on the other hand, isn't... You can read it without having read the story but it probably makes more sense if you know the background.
In the story, Sherlock has a recurring dream of Molly, set in a plain white room. In this one-shot, which follows Chapter 15 of the story, he dreams about her again and things get sexy! I hope you enjoy reading; comments are always welcome.
Disclaimer: As said numerous times before, the characters in this story aren't mine but belong to the genius writers Sir ACD, Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss.
Soon after going to bed, Sherlock found himself standing in the familiar bright light of his dream room. He sighed a little sigh telling his sub consciousness that he surrendered and waited for Molly to appear. He decided that he would have her remain fully dressed this time (it had really been embarrassing the last time when she found that she wasn't wearing her shirt anymore). Stop it, it's just a dream!, Sherlock reminded himself. Trying to clear his head, he stood and waited.
After an indefinite amount of time (oh, how he hated the blurriness of dreams), there still was no sign of Molly. He started to feel bored, realising that the rest of the dream was not exactly entertaining, what with the empty white room. Not really a mind filler rising up to his standards. Due to the lack of furniture, he sat on the floor in the middle of the room, starting to worry a bit. Why wasn't she coming? What was taking her up? Nothing is taking her up; dream Molly doesn't have an existence outside of these walls, you moron, he chastised himself.
"Very charming, indeed, Sherlock. So, you think I don't have a life outside of your presence?"
Sherlock shrugged and turned his head. He found Molly standing behind him, looking down on his crouched figure. Oh my god, dream Molly can read my thoughts!
"No, I can't. You're talking aloud," she stated calmly.
"Oh," was everything he managed to say before standing up to face her, relieved to notice she was wearing clothes. He patted non-existent dust off his jacket to avoid speaking. He didn't really know what to say to her.
"Erm… you know that I don't think that you-"
"Yeah, that's quite all right. As it turned out, I actually don't have a real life." She didn't seem distressed or bothered. Or feeling anything at all, he observed. Molly's arms hang limply next to her, her face was plain. "You know, I should just give up trying. Would probably be less hurtful to just accept the fact that I'll never find anyone who likes me for my sake."
"Molly…," he hesitated, "I.. I like you."
"Oh Sherlock, I'm tired of this. You like real Molly because she admires you and you like me, dream Molly, because your sexuality awoke approximately 20 years late and you really want to see boobs."
"Well, dream Molly, you're rather deadpan." Sherlock didn't react to her teasing tone.
"Yeah well, I'm in your head, you created me. If you wouldn't like it I wouldn't say all that stuff – I guess… Anyway, what do you want to do tonight? I think David won't show up this time." Molly began to tuck at the hem of her shirt, lifting it suggestively.
"Are you flirting with me?"
"Of course. Sherlock, I am sorry to be the one to inform you, but… this is kind of a naughty dream."
"No, it isn't. I don't have naughty dreams! I want to wake up! Now!" Sherlock turned to the ceiling and screamed at his brain. He felt ridiculously stupid. And so helpless. That was the worst. He, the famous consulting detective, the most independent man he knew, was completely at the mercy of some higher power. Ironically, the only power able to take control of him was his own mind.
"Oh come on now. This is not real; you don't have to be scared. Or embarrassed. See it as a test ride, an experiment if you will. You like those, don't you?" Molly moved closer and was now standing inches away. Her voice was a mere whisper and even Sherlock couldn't misread her demeanour. "Plus," Molly continued, "I really owe it to real Molly to have a go at this."
Sherlock looked at her. Why am I shy? I can handle any situation. "You know that I don't do this, not even in my dreams, so if you would be so nice as to go out the door as always? Thanks."
"Let's see if this will make me disappear," Molly said, looking around as if she was waiting for something. The door didn't materialise and the room remained sealed. "Didn't think so. You don't want me to go. Wait, maybe this helps," nonchalantly, she removed her shirt and threw it in a corner. Sherlock's eyes widened.
"This has no consequences and no one will ever know. Plus, I'm basically just a manifestation of your own brain in a female body. Nothing more. If you had to have sex with anyone, it would be with someone as brilliant as you, right? And since I am you…" She kissed him lightly on the lips. He didn't move.
"This sounds sick," he commented after processing the thought. Molly, dream Molly, who was just a picture made in his mind, wanted him to… do this… to himself. More or less. His head hurt.
"Don't overthink everything. And open my bra."
"What? I don't remember giving my consent to this madness." Sherlock tried hard to remain calm.
Turning her head a bit and peeking over his shoulder, Molly answered, "well, this suggests otherwise." She grinned and Sherlock slowly turned around and saw something very familiar. His own bed.
"Oh, really?" He was addressing the ceiling again (having decided before that this was his exit point). Molly moved closer and was now pressing her upper body against his chest. Stoically not looking at her, Sherlock begged to wake up. When he realised that it was unlikely, his eyes finally locked on hers. Her pupils were dilated. Naturally, he thought, she wants sex. Do I want sex?
His body answered the question with a rush of blood to his nether regions. Suddenly, he felt warmth grow in his cheeks and suspected that he was blushing. Molly smirked and pressed herself closer to him. She had noticed his growing arousal and was obviously pleased. Still looking at her, he swallowed hard.
"What now?" he asked in a pleading and tormented tone.
"That's up to you. It's your naughty dream, after all. But, as suggested before, you could remove my bra…"
"Hm… you could stop… calling this a … a naughty dream." Sherlock had difficulties keeping his voice steady, as Molly had started nestling her face in his neck. He felt her lips brush against his skin. And, as if a switch had been flipped, he gave in and moved his hands to take her face in them. Slowly, he turned her head until she faced him again. She looked expectant and raised an eyebrow. Then he kissed her carefully. Their lips barely met before he retreated again.
Her face still in his hands, he saw her beginning to smile candidly. He smiled back at her and felt his confidence reappear slowly.
"You may have to guide me here. I don't really-" Sherlock started.
"Oh, come on. I know very well that you had a close look at John's laptop before. You know how stuff works."
"Yes, well. That was research. What if I ever had to do it for a case? I simply wanted to be prepared for any possibility. Anyway, of course, I know the mechanics but the rest lies not particularly within my area of expertise." Am I actually explaining myself to… well, myself?
"I didn't judge. I just observed. I'll help you one more time: Remove. My. Bra."
Sherlock had hoped that she would do this. He had just now admitted to himself that he actually wanted the bra gone. But, this didn't mean he could muster the courage to take it off himself. It seemed, however, that he would have to do it. He closed his eyes and let go of her face. Stop thinking. The sooner this is over the sooner you will wake up.
With a sigh, Sherlock moved his hands until they hovered behind Molly's back. She touched his waist and her hands moved behind him as well, never leaving his body, until they rested on his buttocks, squeezing gently. Sherlock opened his eyes again and found the encouraging, sparkling ones of the pathologist. The touch of her had made him feel his nagging erection more intensely. Breathing in shakily, he began fumbling with the clasp of Molly's bra, fully expecting to fail miserably at opening it. To his immense surprise, it was quite easy and soon he held both ends of the clasp in his hands. He quickly let go of them. When he looked down to her chest, he found the bra was still clinging to her and wouldn't fall on its own. With slightly shaking hands, he reached up and slid the straps down her shoulders until the piece of cloth finally dropped to the floor.
He looked at her chest and found what he expected to find. Female breasts. He had of course seen breasts before but was still amazed. They were small but nicely shaped, rosy and…
"Beautiful!" he exclaimed while studying her hard nipples.
"May I… touch them?"
Instead of giving him an answer, she simply took his hands and placed them on her chest. Hesitantly, Sherlock moved and gently rubbed over her sensitive skin. She breathed in sharply. Her breasts felt firm and warm and fitted perfectly in his hands. The texture of her soft skin made him dizzy. But, he also felt bold and pinched her right nipple, which elicited a quiet moan from Molly. Sherlock smiled. He liked that his doings initiated such sweet sounds.
"Your doing very well," she said and tilted her head. Her lips were of a dark red and Sherlock was suddenly drawn to them, leaning in. Molly closed the small gap between them as she did the same. Their lips met. Sherlock ascribed the immense softness of Molly's lips to the dream; of course everything would be perfect in his imagination. Whilst he was analysing her lips, she had started to move them against his and it took him a while to take the cue and do the same. He remembered his first, and only, kiss. He had been 14 and decided to try it with the neighbour girl. He hadn't liked it back then. Too moist. So, he had concluded that is was best not to do it again.
This, however, was different. Molly's movement was gentle and she was applying just the right amount of pressure. When she bit down lightly on his lower lip, a breathy moan escaped his mouth. Then, she moved her tongue over his lip as if to sooth it after the bite. Her hands had moved into his hair and only now did he notice that she had manoeuvred them through the room so that they were standing right in front of his bed. His hands had begun to move hectically from her breasts over her stomach to her hips and back again. There was just too much to process and to learn about her body. His movement against her lips was getting more urgent and his tongue shot out of his mouth in between her slightly parted lips. Once there, it was a bit lost but Molly quickly reciprocated and Sherlock soon mirrored her movements. When she sucked at his tongue, he groaned and his hips bucked against Molly's body without him being able to control them. She giggled and Sherlock broke their kiss to move his lips to her throat. She smelled, and tasted, marvellous.
Molly removed her hands from his curls and started to unbutton the light blue shirt he was wearing. He froze.
"Don't think!" Molly just said and continued to open the buttons slowly.
Sherlock complied and resumed his oral examination of her neck and jaw. When his shirt was completely unbuttoned, she moved her warm hands over his chest and he shuddered when she brushed over his nipples. In one swift movement, she removed the shirt along with the jacket he had still been wearing. She took a step back and looked him over and her curt, approving nod made him somewhat proud. Her eyes rested on the obvious bulge in his trousers for a bit. Then, she came close again and rested her hands on his waistband. She looked up at him, her eyes asking for his permission to proceed. They seemed huge, her cheeks were flushed and her lips were swollen. How have I never noticed what a beautiful woman Molly is? It's blatantly obvious. He nodded and she opened the button of his trousers teasingly slowly. Sherlock watched in amazement as her small fingers undid his zip. He felt the trousers lose their grip on his hips. After the zip was undone completely, Molly, with a determined look in her eyes, grabbed his hips, and, while lowering her body to kneel, dragged the trousers down with her, sliding her hands down the sides of his legs.
Sherlock felt his heartbeat quicken in his chest. Only about three inches and a layer of thin cloth separated Molly's face from his very aroused member - and her intentions were clearly readable. He was nervous; this was unknown terrain. At the same time he couldn't wait for that last barrier between them to disappear as his need to be freed from his pants was growing by the second.
Naturally, Sherlock had had erections before. He even had managed to live with the fact that he had to take care of his male needs every once in a while. But, he had always treated it as a necessity rather than something pleasurable. He was certainly not seeing it as a hobby as some men seemed to do. Still, this feeling was different. He was more aroused than ever before and also, there was this new longing.
Without further ado, Molly tugged her fingers in his pants and brought them down as well. The feeling of Molly's breath dancing over his skin produced goose bumps on his body. Completely calm, she ignored his rather outstanding erection for the time being and began to untie Sherlock's shoelaces. When this was done she said, "Lift your leg," putting a hand on his right shoe. He did as she told him and she removed first his shoe, then his sock and lastly freed him from his trousers and pants. When she was done, he instinctively lifted his other foot and waited while she removed every last bit of his clothing. He was now standing completely naked, still looking down at her silently. His mouth was dry and he wasn't sure that, if his brain could actually have formed a sentence, he would have been able to speak it.
Looking up and into his eyes, Molly took him in her hand and Sherlock stopped breathing for a few seconds. Her eyes never left his when she began stroking him slowly. Sherlock's mouth fell open and he concentrated hard not to thrust into her hand. After a few lazy strokes, Molly stopped and moved her head even closer.
"Molly, you don't have to-"
"Shhh…," was the only and last sound she produced before taking his tip into her mouth and circling around it with her tongue unhurriedly. Sherlock's eyes flew shut and a rather loud moan sounded in the room. Only after hearing it, he became aware that it had been him moaning. The feeling of her warm mouth was overwhelming. He couldn't compare it to anything else he had ever experienced.
When she took all of him in her mouth his hands instinctively moved to the back of her head and started playing with her hair. He threw his head back and was scared to loose his balance for a moment. Molly began moving and soon settled into a slow but steady rhythm. Sherlock's breath was speeding up rapidly and he felt his muscles clench. Suddenly, he was scared that this would be over too soon. He didn't want it to end just yet.
"Molly, please… this is too much for me to…" She twisted her tongue while sliding up and down his shaft and suddenly grabbed his testicles, "Holy mother of god! Ahhh-ohhh! You… need to stop this, please, I want to, erm… last…" Molly released him and Sherlock opened his eyes and glanced down. He was slightly confused about his biblical outburst. He was an atheist and had never even considered going to church. But somehow, it didn't fit the situation to moan Darwin's name. Stay focused, he reminded himself, there are more important things going on at the moment.
"So, I suppose we're going all the way then?" Molly purred, displaying a cheeky grin. Sherlock blushed.
She stood up to face him and threw her hands around his neck. They kissed again, this time Sherlock went straight for the tongue. This kiss wasn't as sweet as the first one, both moving their lips hungrily and keen to take in as much of each other as possible. "Very well. Sit," Molly whispered when they paused their frenzied mouth clashing to breath. Once again, he did as he was told and sat down on his bed.
He watched Molly as she opened her trousers, slowly slid them down her legs, and stepped out of them. His eyes followed every move and he was inexplicably content that he found no sign of indecision or hesitation in her actions. He was well aware that he was rather ungentlemanly staring at her plain white knickers but couldn't for the love of… Darwin (no, it really doesn't work!) look away.
When Molly placed her hands on her hips and slid her thumbs in her knickers, Sherlock swallowed hard again. He felt almost scared and began to shiver nearly undetectably. What am I supposed to do with her? Molly did notice it, of course, and stopped mid motion. She came close him and planted another soft kiss on his lips.
"Don't worry. Everything will be just fine." Her soothing words calmed him a bit and he let her push him down until he was lying outstretched on his back. In a very quick movement, Molly had gotten rid of her knickers and was now climbing onto the bed.
I am naked. I am naked on my bed with Molly Hooper. Who is naked as well.
"Did I say that out loud again?" he enquired.
"Yes. And I have to say, Sherlock, you really are a master of observation," she said while starting to lick his chest. He let his head fall onto the sheets and closed his eyes, trying to catalogue the feeling of her tongue against his skin. It wasn't quite working, though. Although it was intense, he felt like his mind was cut off from his body, packed away in several layers of bubble wrap.
He reopened his eyes when he felt Molly's weight on the mattress shift. She was throwing one of her legs over so that she was now straddling him. Both of her hands moved to his chest to support herself when she looked deep into his eyes and asked, "Are you ready?" The sound of her voice surprised him. The lustrous, teasing tone had vanished and was replaced by a caring one. He held her gaze for a few seconds. He saw real unadulterated affection and – love. Sherlock nodded slowly.
So, Molly carefully lowered herself onto him until he was completely filling her. Sherlock moaned and lifted his head a bit to be able to see her properly. She hadn't started moving yet to allow both of their bodies to adjust to the new sensation. He felt like he was spinning on the bed. Molly felt warm, soft, and so tight.
Tenderly, she raised her hips and slowly came down on him again. Sherlock's hands flew up to her waist, sliding down to her hips and grabbing her desperately. She repeated her soft movement a few times and he groaned, half in pleasure, half in dissatisfaction. He wanted more of her. All of her. Mostly, he wanted more friction. With a sudden jerk, he raised his hips and met her movement.
"Please… faster," was all speech his brain would grant him. With light pressure, Molly pushed his chest down, signalling him to refrain from moving. Now, she fell into a more steady rhythm and quickened her movements at a slow rate. His breath was racing. While Molly was riding him assertively, his left hand moved to one of her breasts, cupping it gently, stroking it. Sherlock was concentrating. He wanted to move his hips again so badly but he forced himself to keep them still. Instead, he tried to focus on Molly's flushed cheeks and her bouncing breasts. Throaty hums were escaping his mouth constantly without him even noticing.
As Molly's movements became quicker, her hands slid up and down his torso erratically and both of their moans sounded together. Sherlock felt his stomach tighten and abruptly pulled her down to him to suck on her throat, causing a little surprised sigh and a cry of enjoyment. Claiming her mouth with his, he wrapped his arms around her upper body to hold her in place and finally started to pump into her hard and fast. With every breath, Molly exhaled high-pitched squeaks, which turned into loud cries the longer he kept thrusting into her.
Breathing into his ear heavily, her screams peaked in a desperate "Ooohh Sherlock!" Feeling her skin and her hot breath and listening to her ecstatic voice screaming his name made Sherlock dizzy. With a long grunt, he came undone and felt his orgasm rush through his body.
His head was spinning and his limbs felt heavy. When he finally managed to open his eyes again, he felt that something was wrong. He wasn't feeling Molly's weight on his chest anymore and when he looked around he had to shut his eyes again suddenly. The morning sun was blinding him; he had forgotten to close the blinds the night before. Confused, he took a moment to comprehend what was happening. He had woken up. Why was he sad about this?
I wish he didn't have to wake up, but he's got a case to solve so that's it. Please let me know what you thought!