1Well all right, here we go!
The conclusion... Sorry it didn't really end up deserving the upgrade to M.
But, first the obligatory disclaimer: I own no rights whatsoever to Sherlock or it's characters. Hmpf!
Molly moaned into Sherlock's mouth as she threaded her hands into his silky curls, luxuriating in the soft feel of them and twisting them round her fingers like she had always fantasised about doing. All her fantasies were coming true, Sherlock's mouth was on hers, his hands were roaming her body, one of them creeping beneath the hem of her shirt, his thumb stroking the smooth flesh of her flat stomach making her shiver.
His other hand wrapped round her wrist, his fingertips pressing lightly into it. Molly felt Sherlock smile against her mouth and his grip on her wrist slacken. He began to finger the chain of the bracelet he'd given her and playing with the pendant, twirling it in his fingers.
Hmpf, playing with your heart – nothing new there. There went that voice again, reminding Molly who she was dealing with and what he was capable of.
Right – oh – right!
All those pretty words he'd said about feelings could just be an escalation of whatever game he had initiated the night before.
So, what? It seems fun doesn't it? Why not just play along? It appeared Molly had a devil on her shoulder as well.
No. No, no, no!
No matter how nice it felt, she couldn't let herself get sucked in if this was some kind of a lark of his.
It took more strength of will than Molly would have believed she possessed, but pressed her hands against Sherlock's chest and pushed him away.
"Wait, stop," she said breathlessly.
"What?" Sherlock asked, brow knitting in confusion. "Did I do something wrong? Forgive me. I haven't been in an intimate situation since university."
"No, no." Molly shook her head. "You didn't do anything wrong – wait – did you say you haven't had sex since university?"
She took a long blink and shook her head. "How on earth is that possible?" she boggled. "I mean you're... well, look at you!"
Sherlock's lips ticked upward. "Thank you, Molly," he said smoothly. "But just because I haven't actually been with a woman in years, doesn't mean I haven't been propositioned by them – I have. Many, many times. Just recently in fact I received numerous invitations from a certain woman, to have dinner."
Something about the way he said 'have dinner' made her knees quake.
"I've just never been tempted – or tempted enough, I should say – to deviate from my commitment to my work and take them up on their offers," Sherlock continued. "I've never wanted anyone bad enough..." He leaned forward so close to Molly's mouth that she felt his next words on her lips. "Until now, until you, Molly Hooper."
A whimper escaped from her lips just before Sherlock closed the minuscule gap between them with his own.
Molly quickly found herself being swept up anew in a current of desire and almost forgot her purpose in pushing Sherlock away from her.
"No. Wait!" she cried, tearing herself away again. "You always do this, every time– " They both winced at the reminder her words induced. "No, no – that's not what I - She shook her head hard and sighed. "You always make me loose my train of thought," she said steadily. "My head doesn't work properly whenever you're near. And now with the touching and the snogging – well it's a wonder my brain hasn't turned to complete mush!" She stopped and took a breath. "But, I made a promise to myself that I wasn't going to let you do that to me anymore. And I'm going to stick to it." Molly's fingers had curled into fist to keep them from trembling.
A small wrinkle appeared between Sherlock's brow. "Okaaay," he drawled. "So what's the problem?"
Molly closed her eyes and took another breath. "The problem is," she began quietly to keep control of her voice, "that I don't know if I can trust this, Sherlock. For years you have used my crush on you against me – throwing me little compliments and giving me that smirk of yours and looking at me with... those eyes."
"Well, it's not as though I could look at you with anyone else's eyes, now is it, Molly?" he quipped, those eyes twinkling and his lips curving into that smirk.
"Stop it!" she shrieked. "You're not going to throw me off! You've used me to get what you needed, whatever you needed and I just want you to know that if this" – she gestured a hand between them – "is some sort of game to you... Well, I'll never forgive you Sherlock Holmes. In fact I might even kill you! And I'm a pathologist so I know all the types of undetectable poisons to do it too. And with you being dead there won't be anyone clever enough to figure out what I've done."
"What the bloody hell are you smiling at?" Molly demanded.
"You," he said. "Has anyone ever told you, you are incredibly sexy when you're angry?" he said, his voice dark and deep, draping over her like velvet.
"Oh, no you don't," Molly said, pushing past him, getting herself out of her cornered position. "You're not going to distract me. Sherlock, I want to know," she pleaded in earnest. "Is this real? I mean...really?"
Sherlock steepled his hands together and brought them to his lips. "Real?" he asked. "In what sense? Am I doing all of this out of some sort of manipulation? No. Is it an experiment?" He paused and Molly felt her stomach flip-flopping all over the place. "Perhaps," he finally answered and Molly's stomach sank completely.
"But," Sherlock went on and Molly's belly fluttered once again with hope. "It was not one I endeavoured to conduct prior to kissing you the first time. I can say with absolute certainty that there was no thinking involved there whatsoever; I was acting purely on instinct – which is new ground for me. I also didn't plan to kiss you again, here now, or ever in fact. I've always been married to my work and never had any room for extramarital entanglements. But for some reason, I just can't seem to help myself in your presence."
"You always could before," Molly pointed out carefully. "What's changed now?"
Sherlock pivoted sharply on his heel and pressed his lips together in consideration."That's what I can't quite pinpoint," he murmured. "Because nothing has changed, not really – perception has just shifted a bit – mine, that is. It started at the Christmas gathering when you stood up to me – you'd never done that before."
Molly crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin slightly. "Well you'd never attacked me quite so cruelly before. And in front of so many people," she defended.
"Oh, you were quite right to do what you did. It brought to the surface something inside of you I'd never seen before – I always do miss something. You intrigued me. And stirred something inside me I didn't know existed – or have tried very hard to deny exist for a long time." He sighed. "You've open a Pandora's box in me Molly and I don't know how to close it. The real shocker however is that I'm not entirely sure I want to anymore, even if I could. I was so certain this morning, but now... Congratulations Dr. Hooper, you've turned my entire way of thinking completely on its head," he finished drily.
Molly's lips parted automatically with the urge to apologise, but she shut it quickly – she had nothing to apologise for. Her brow pulled into a frown and she worried her lower lip as she let Sherlock's words settle in. She wasn't entirely sure what to make of them. She had the answer she'd been hoping for – sort of – he had said he wasn't playing mind games with her. That is interest in her was genuine, however, he didn't sound all too pleased about that being the case.
She had been looking at the man for clarity, but it appeared he was even more confused about what was happening between them than she was; that realisation almost made Molly laugh. She'd never thought she'd see the day when she had one on the great Sherlock Holmes.
She shook the thought away, then Sherlock's voice took her completely out of her musings.
"I can't promise you anything." Molly's head snapped to Sherlock at the sound of his solemn tone. "Things will never be... traditional between us," he elaborated. "We won't have a conventional relationship. But, I would be interested in exploring this new territory with you – if you are willing to as well, that is. And as long as you know not to expect too much from me in romantic matters."
Molly pressed her lips together to hold back a smile – she never heard someone purpose entering a relationship as if discussing a business transaction. She almost felt like she was signing a contract.
Fanciful Molly took hold of her. He, Sherlock Holmes, was purposing to have a relationship with her, Molly Hooper.
She couldn't contain the joy any longer, it burst from her in the form of that cheek hurting smile from this morning.
"Can I take that lunatic grin you're wearing to mean that you are amenable to these terms?" Sherlock asked her with just the hint of ahis own smile in his voice.
Molly let out a noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob – yes, she had started to cry a bit; she couldn't help it. This was the best day of her life. She cleared her throat and tried to school her emotions as much as she could.
"Oh yes," she declared. "I am very amenable. Most definitely amenable." With that Molly crossed the space between them and proceeded to show Sherlock just how amenable she was.
Sherlock let out a muffled noise of surprise, that quickly shifted into a moan as Molly's lips came colliding into his own; she had pulled him down by the collar of his shirt so abruptly, Sherlock had almost been knocked off balance.
He quickly recovered himself though and gripped his hands on the sides of Molly's hips. He parted his lips yieldingly to the eager tongue lapping against them and as the tongue slipped into his mouth, Sherlock's own delved into Molly's. He took control of the situation she had initiated, turning them about and pushing Molly, yet again, up against the edge of the work-station.
His mouth left hers and trailed hotly across her cheek and down to her neck; he slipped out his tongue and lapped it along Molly's jumping pulse.
She let out a moan as her fingers raked through his curls, tugging slightly on his hair as they balled into fist.
Sherlock's lips curved up against Molly's throat at the reaciton.
"Er...S-Sherlock?" Molly's voice sounded strained and breathy.
"Hm?" he mumbled, his mouth too busy with other things to form actual words.
"D-didn't you erm," She paused to clear her throat and lick her lips, before continuing. "Didn't you mention something about wanting to throw me on top this work-top and shag me senseless?" she finished in a rush, her voice was high and her face flaming; she couldn't believe she was actually saying such things to Sherlock Holmes.
Sherlock pulled his head back so that he could look at her face; her eyes were dilated almost full black – as were his own– her pulse jumping visibly in the hollow of her throat, face flushed with an attractive rosy hue.
Sherlock gave Molly a smile so wicked she nearly fell over at the sight of it – so it was a good thing he had a firm hold on her hips. He easily lifted her up and sat her down on the surface of the work-top. Molly let out a surprised yip as he did so.
Sherlock nudged her knees apart with his hips and stepped between them as he slowly ran his hand up her leg. "How fortuitous that you thought to wear a skirt today, Molly Hooper," he murmured in that grey-silk voice of his, his hand slipping underneath the hem of said skirt.
"It was a Christmas gift," she informed, voice strained. "From my mum. She said I should show off my legs more."
Sherlock looked down at the leg he was stroking, then back up to Molly's face. "She's right," he concluded. "Do thank her for me, will you?" he said, then proceeded to move his hand all the way up her the inside of her thigh.
Molly let out a cry as his nimble fingers grazed her most sensitive area. Oh, yes, mum would definitely be getting a thank you card.
John Watson was grumbling all sorts of colourful epithets about his flatmate –who it appeared, despite being a 'genius' had forgotten how to answer his phone – as he stalked, once again, down the hall to the morgue of St. Bartholomew's hospital.
The doctor had been resting, just starting to get over his headache, when his mobile began ringing non-stop; it was Lestrade trying to get hold of Sherlock – the DI needed his help on a case.
John tried ringing Sherlock himself, but like Lestrade got no answer. He'd tried Molly's mobile as well. When she didn't answer John began to worry a bit.
So, he heaved himself out of the comfort of his bed and went out into the frigid day and grabbed a cab to Bart's.
As he turned the corridor, he heard what sounded like a crash coming from the direction of the labs. He froze for a moment, eye widening, before taking off in a sprint toward the noise.
"Sherlock!" he shouted he came bursting through the doors; the door came swinging back and nearly knocked the doctor over as he stood frozen at the sight before him; a half naked Molly Hooper straddling Sherlock Holmes, who was in an equal state of undress, on one of the work-tops.
Molly let out a squeal and crossed her arms over her bra-clad chest.
"Hello John," Sherlock drolly greeted, craning his neck back to get a look at his flummoxed flatmate. "What impeccable timing you have."
John just stared in open-mouthed silence.
"John!" Sherlock barked sternly, becoming irritated when John's eyes lingered on Molly for a moment too long.
"Sorry," he blurted, closing his eyes shut tightly and turning his back to them for good measure. "Oh god, sorry."
Sherlock cleared his throat smoothly. "Yes, fine. I presume you're here for some purpose...?" he prompted.
John licked his lips, his brow furrowing as he grappled to recall his reason for coming here. "Oh, right, er... um." He cleared his throat. "Erm, Lestrade phoned me," he finally managed. "You weren't answering you're phone –now I know why; you had your hands full– he needs your help on a case."
"A case?" Sherlock's voice perked slightly at this. "What case?"
"I...er, it's um," John stammered, his brain was still reeling a bit.
"Oh spit it out John!" Sherlock snapped.
"I didn't get all the details!" John cried.
"Right." Sherlock reached his hand back over his head, palm up. "Phone."
John didn't move.
"John. Phone. Now," Sherlock demanded impatiently.
John groaned and turned round, carefully keeping his eyes averted of the bodies on the counter. He looked about the room.
"Right. Where the bloody hell is it?"
"Trousers," said Sherlock. "Right pocket."
John boggled, from the angle he glimpsed he hadn't noticed Sherlock was missing his trousers – just that his shirt was undone exposing his chest.
"Right... okay," he drawled, eyes searching the floor. He saw Molly's discarded blouse and lab coat, but not Sherlock's trousers. "And where are they, then?"
"Erm... I think they might've landed on top of the specimen freezer," A sheepish, yet helpful Molly offered.
John looked up carefully and saw that, yes, Sherlock's black slacks were dangling from the freezer.
He cleared his throat and muttered an awkward 'thank you' to Molly. He crossed the room and plucked down the trousers. He stretched his arm out behind them to hand them to Sherlock.
"Molly, could you?" Sherlock asked.
Molly excepted the trousers and dug in his right pocket for the phone, then handed it off to him.
"Thank you, Molly," he said as he punched in Lestrade's number.
"Hmm..." he murmured as he listened to the specifics of the case. "Yes, all right," he pronounced after a moment. "We're on our way." He hung up and handed his mobile back to Molly to return to his pocket.
"Right, er... 'spose I should be getting off you now then," Molly piped in.
"Yes, unfortunately," he agreed with a smile. "John, do be so kind as to go down and fetch us a cab so that Molly may keep what's left of her modestly in tact, hm?"
"Oh, yeah, right 'course." The doctor beat a hasty retreat to the door.
"Bye John," Molly called after him.
"Right, bye Molly. It was nice to see you," he said automatically. "Er... I mean... I didn't mean that it was nice to see you – not that wasn't nice – but not that I enjoyed it – or that I didn't– "
"John!" Sherlock interrupted. "Cab! Now."
"Right. Bye." John practically flew out of the lab.
A few moments later John was waving his hand about trying to hail a taxi to no avail while his mind reeled from what he'd just witnessed.
What the bloody hell...?
He was still puzzling on it when Sherlock strode out of the hospital – his clothing perfectly in place as always – no signs of the activity he'd been engaged in just moments before.
John wondered if perhaps he wasn't still a little bit drunk and maybe imagined the whole thing. Until he noticed the faint tint of lipstick still clinging to Sherlock's usually pale lips.
John gaped at him, shaking his head in amazement.
"I thought I told you to get a cab," Sherlock remarked, stepping up to the kerb and sticking out his hand – almost immediately a taxi pulled to a stop.
Sherlock opened the door and slid in leaving a still gawping John alone again on the kerb. He popped his head back out with an impatient sigh. "Are you coming or not, John?"
John pressed his mouth in a tight annoyed line and clamoured into the cab, slamming the door shut behind him.
"Right," he ventured after Sherlock gave the cabbie the address and they pulled away from the hospital. "What the bloody hell was that I just walked in on, then?"
Sherlock snorted. "Well, my dear Dr. Watson," he jeered. "If you don't know the answer to that I'd say your medical training was seriously lacking."
John blew out a breath in anger. "I'm serious Sherlock! You were having sex – or were about to be – with Molly Hooper – in the morgue!"
At this Sherlock saw the eyebrows of the cabbie rise in the rearview mirror; the man was probably wondering if Molly Hooper was living or dead.
Sherlock gave the man a pointed glare and his eyes immediately flicked back to the road.
Sherlock cleared his throat and looked out the window. "Yes," he replied in a bored tone. "And?"
"And?" John spluttered. "Bloody, and? Don't give me that Sherlock. This is huge. Something's going on and I want to know just what the hell it is. And I swear to god if you tell me this is some sort of game your playing with her, I swear I'll..."
Sherlock held up a hand cutting off whatever threat the doctor intended to make. "No need for that John," he said smoothly. "Molly already beat you to it, promising to dispose of me in a manner no-one will ever discover if I wasn't being genuine in my intentions."
"Well, good for her," said John with an approving huff. "So wait... You are being genuine, then?" he wanted to know. "You and Molly; it's for real?"
Sherlock hummed an affirmation.
A big grin spread across John's face – it had that 'on to something' look about it like the one from earlier that day.
"Well," John said, "I guess that New Year's kiss meant something after all."
Sherlock rolled his eyes at the man and sighed before turning back to look out the window. He pulled out his mobile and began to text – signalling the end of this conversation.
John just chuckled and shook his head, turning it to look out his own side.
Molly's hands shook as she buttoned up her blouse and tried to smooth her hair back into place.
She couldn't believe what had just happened.
She had very nearly engaged in illicit activity with Sherlock Holmes.
It was mad.
She couldn't decide for sure if she was grateful that John Watson had interrupted them or not; if he hadn't someone else could have and if it had been anyone else Molly would no doubt have ended up sacked.
She'd have to be more careful in future not to let things get out of hand with Sherlock while she was at work.
In the future...
Molly frowned. She still felt ambivalent about all of this. She believed Sherlock when he said he wanted to explore this new territory with her, but he had a notoriously short attention span; he got bored so easily.
He could go off and get wrapped up in this case and forget any of this ever happened.
Molly sucked her bottom lip between her teeth.
She didn't know what she would do if that happened.
She jumped when her mobile dinged, surprised. She shook herself and grabbed it up.
The case shouldn't take long. I'll text you when it's over.
We'll have dinner – SH.
Molly felt her mouth stretching up in a smile, the nervous knots in her stomach starting to loosen.
Sounds lovely. Have fun – MH
She put he phone back down; she didn't expect a reply. She hadn't expected the first text. She sighed and finished doing up her blouse – hands no longer shaking and went back to work, humming a little tune as she did so.
Thanks to everyone for reading. As much as I love these characters and enjoyed writing for them, I'm afraid I didn't do them justice; I'm still new to this fandom ( I only read my first Sherlock fic about a month ago) Hopefully I'll get better with them as I go on – which I hope to do if people are interested in reading more from me.
Well anyway, if you would please leave me a review and tell me what you thought, I'd really appreciate it. Concrit gratefully accepted!