A Maddening Experiment
It was unbelievable, but there he was, sitting on her sofa, in her flat, arms folded and face plastered with a distant look. Molly couldn't help but admire him a little – oh, just a little, she knew he returned no feelings. His thin frame molded and folded perfectly to the contours of her life – err, her sofa. How she had dreamed of him being here with her, how she had longed to hear him calling her name –
"Molly," said Sherlock, his palms pressed together, distant look intact. "Your girlish fantasies are truly fascinating."
Molly blushed a deep crimson. She stammered – damn her telling stammer! – "D-Don't know what you're on about."
Sherlock rolled his eyes in a most infuriating way. "Your flushed face suggests increased blood flow, your pupils are dilated, your posture is a sure-sign of arousal—"
"Steady on," Molly squeaked, consciously uncrossing her legs. She blushed again and made to get up. "Don't know what you're on about. Tea? Oh…never mind, I know you don't want any…"
"Tea would be lovely," he replied, glancing at her. She stumbled up-right, eyebrows raised. Nodding, she made for the kitchen. After clicking on the water kettle, she took a steading breath. This is ridiculous, she thought. This is MY home. Why should I feel like a fool in MY home? After all…I did help him fake his own death. He owes me…least he could do is not be a prick. Perhaps an impossible request.
Tea in hand, Molly returned to the living room. Wordlessly, she handed Sherlock his tea. She found it was better not to speak. She took a few sips, snuggling up on the sofa. She folded her legs to her chest. Sherlock was still silently musing.
After a period of silence, Sherlock shifted in his chair and turned to stare at Molly. Somehow, this direct attention made her more uncomfortable. He cleared his throat.
"Molly," he started, now staring intently at her. "I owe you a thank you. Surely, if not for you, this wouldn't have panned out. Rather, perhaps they'd be cleaning me off the pavement by now."
"Glad to help," she smiled faintly. "Really, it's no trouble. Er, I'm always helping my friends fake their deaths and then hiding it from the world." She gave a feeble laugh.
Sherlock cocked his head and squinted. "Ah, a joke," he said stonily. "How entertaining."
"Right then…" she trailed off. "Time for bed."
Sherlock cocked his head at her again, this time adding a flourishing eyebrow raise. She blushed, stammering, "O-obviously you go on sleeping on the sofa, me in my bed. You know, alone as usual. I m-mean, sometimes with company…er, not Moriarty though, never had him over…er…" she smacked her hand to her forehead. Why could she never form proper sentences around this man? "I'll just go then, shall I?"
She hurried out of the room, mentally kicking herself. Clearly, he had no interest in her. He had more interest in John Watson, or even a bag of crisps. She thought perhaps he was gay. It would certainly explain a lot. But if that were the case, she was sorry for it. Such gorgeous hands…
"Blast," Molly cursed, turning her lamp light on. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She blinked at the clock on her nightstand – 2 am. What now? It was the middle of the night, for bloody sakes!
"Who's that?" she called, stumbling to the door. She heard an exasperated sigh.
"It's the fairy queen," came the sarcastic reply. "Who do you think?"
Molly opened the door and peered through the crack. "What's the matter? It's the middle of the night."
"Can I come in?" he asked, in what she considered a rather non-chalant manner considering the circumstances. "Please? If I may…"
"Well, I don't think—" he pushed his way inside. "This is rather awkward, Sherlock…"
"Yes, yes," Sherlock said, waving his hands. "The world is full of awkward events."
"Um, so can I help you?" she asked, suddenly now annoyed. He had some nerve to come barging into her bedroom in the middle of the night, after she had so graciously agreed to hide him from civilization.
Sherlock threw himself down onto her bed. He spread his long legs out, stretching his arms back behind his head. He stared at her for a moment. "Thought we'd have a little chat, perhaps test out some of my theories."
"So you've come to chat in the middle of the night?" she asked, hands on hips. "That's rather a lot of nerve, don't you think? I mean, I've opened my flat to you, kept your secret, haven't asked anything in return—"
"Precisely," he said, suddenly shooting straight up into a sitting position. He stared at the spot on the bed next to him. She sighed and tentatively approached – imagine, her own damn bed – and sat down. She was growing angrier by the second.
"Precisely what?" she quipped, arms crossed. "Precisely bloody what?"
"Hmm, colorful language," he said, suddenly smiling. "Fascinating development."
"Yes, how ruddy fascinating," she huffed. Whether it was from lack of sleep or lack of patience, she was suddenly growing increasingly bold. She took his arm and began to shove him. She was infuriated to find that she could not budge him. "Sherlock, it's the middle of the night, and so please – I say this respectfully – but sod off! I want to go to sleep. Sod your 'experiments' and 'theories.'"
"Fine," he said, kicking her covers off to her side. "But first, just a quick experiment, if you'll permit it."
"An experiment?" she sighed. "Really now, leave your experiments til morn—"
"Yes," he said, leaning dangerously close to her. She shut up immediately. "But surely this can't wait."
"S-surely not…I suppose…" she said, vaguely. Her breathing caught in her throat in the most unbearable way. "S-surely…not."
"You do have a terrible habit, Molly," he said. Hmm, was it her or did he just purr at her. "You really must stop talking so much. How unnecessary."
"Quite," she said. Her heart was about ready to burst. Was he going to make a move? Was he going to make a long-awaited, blessed, sodding move?
His hand trailed down the side of her face. His brows furrowed, as if he was seriously contemplating the shape of her face and the way her hair fell into her eyes. He brushed some strands away. She was aching, practically dying for just a taste of his lips. Surely he planned this.
"You're intriguing," he offered, his face close to hers, his breath on her cheek. His lips brushed her ear and his breath was tantalizingly wet. "I've solved your mystery, and yet I'm still puzzled by it."
She could practically scream. She carefully inched her fingers to his leg – no, it was his thigh. Steady on, Molly, she thought. This might be some mad joke. Or perhaps a dream…
He bit her ear gently and she jumped, startled. Definitely not a dream. Was it her imagination or was he running his tongue down her earlobe?
"Wh-what does this mean exactly?" she said, her voice practically inaudible. "You've always been so oblivious, so distant." His tongue was making its way back up her ear.
"Distant? No. Reserved? Perhaps." What a maddening answer!
"I was sitting in the living room," he offered, now kissing her neck softly. "When it occurred to me: I really haven't properly thanked you for your help."
"I-it's really nothing," she shivered. She dared not move her hand any farther up his leg. He'd taken no notice of her wondering hand.
He laughed almost dryly in between kisses. His kisses were working their way back up her face. Finally, his eyes stared directly into hers. "Really Molly, if I can see through the biggest criminal masterminds in England, I rather think I can see through you."
She moved her face back a few inches. His hand caught her head and he gently tugged at her hair. It hurt a bit, but it was a strange sort of pleasurably hurting. She was startled to realize it.
"Ah, but I haven't finished with you yet," he said, staring at her lips. He licked his own. She was near fainting. "I've a long way to go yet before my theory can be proved. First, experimentation is in order."
He pressed his lips to hers slowly and carefully. It took all her strength not to melt completely into him. She was still in a state of shock. Somewhere in her mind lingered the fear that this might be some cruel joke or perhaps even her imagination. She allowed herself to kiss back – but only just a little. There, she thought. I'll show you Sherlock Holmes.
He pulled away briefly. "Hmm, better than I expected." His lips returned to hers, this time with more urgency. She found herself pulling at his robe, somewhat more desperately than she'd intended. She'd wanted him for a terribly long time. He brushed her hands away and she couldn't help feeling dejected. Was this it then? He parted her lips with his tongue, exploring her mouth. Suddenly she frowned. He really thinks he's clever, doesn't he? she thought.
She pushed him back into the bed, breaking their kiss. She quickly straddled him and pinned his arms above his head. He raised an eyebrow at her. "Interesting turn of events," he said. "Unfortunately, I rather fancy being on top." He quickly grabbed her and rolled over her – now he was pinning her down. She squirmed underneath him in a most satisfying way.
"Remember how I said I needed you?" he muttered softly. "I realize now what I meant by it."
He kissed her again, this time rougher, more urgently than before. She felt her breath was taken away as he carefully slipped a hand down her leg to find the hem of her night gown. She gasped as he slipped his hand under her gown and stroked her leg, a little higher, a little higher –
"This will never do," he purred, tugging at her hemline and quickly lifting it up. "Shall we try this scenario without the gown?"
Her eyes suddenly darkened in a way which he was not accustomed to. "Rather. And shall we try it with you also naked?"
Her bravery surprised him a little. He smirked, untying his robe. "Really? Not sure you'd like the result…"
"Suppose I am the judge of that," she blushed but held his gaze. He smiled in what she supposed was his most seductive way. She thought it was working quite well.
He slipped out of his robe and tossed it on the floor. He was still on top of her and her view was rather…splendid from beneath him. Yes, he certainly passed the test.
He lifted her gown off her and tossed it on the floor with his robe. He stared silently at her for a moment. She felt the heat rising in her cheeks. "Well, well," he muttered, kissing her neck, her chest and her bosom, "you always did aim to please."
She found herself wrapping her legs around him, almost – yes, almost – unconsciously. She'd dreamed of this moment, imaged it would be snarky, but she had never dared to allow her fantasies to get as far along as this. His warm hands were gliding up her leg, tracing her thigh…oh, and how splendid that he chose not to wear anything under his robe. Splendid, splendid.
"This is the part in which our story can go two ways," he purred seductively. "I could be a gentleman, gentle, soft. Or I could sway dangerously on the rakish side, rough and tumble as they say. I'd ask your opinion but I already know the answer. Right, rakish it is."
He kissed her breasts, licking and sucking when appropriate, opening her legs, exploring her body here and there. She allowed him to do what he would with her. She made no objections, no sounds expect for occasional, startling loud squeals and gasps. When he slid into her, she wrapped her legs tighter about him. He really was deceptively heavenly. Their bodies had now begun to move in unison, all speech promptly ending in favor of heavy panting, gasps and moans from both of them. He slid her arms above her head and placed his face to her neck. His passionate panting and soft moaning drove her practically to the edge. She could almost see white. When finally he could stand it no longer, his grip on her arms tightened and he finally let go – and in that moment she knew this was the first time he had ever allowed himself to let go completely. She closed her eyes tightly, enjoying his body twitching and moving. When finally he stopped moving, he lifted off of her slightly and stared at her, a smirk on his lips.
"Well, I must say, that experiment went better than I expected."
"Glad to be of service," she said with a giggle. It was the first time she had giggled in front of him. "That was rather nice."
"It will be rather nice," he said, raising his eyebrows at her. "when I'm finished."
Suddenly he had scooted down to the end of her bed and pulled her down toward him. She was caught quite off guard. His mouth kissed her in a most…intimate location. She blushed deeper than she ever had before. His tongue really could do the most amazing things to her. One moment her back was arching, the next moment she was gripping the sheets for dear life. He was doing anything and everything she could imagine, interspersed with gentle chuckles, his green eyes often looking up and meeting her own eyes. It wasn't long before she herself was convulsing in a most embarrassing but pleasing way. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs, but she held it in – the result was a strangled cry and much thrashing about.
Sherlock pulled himself back up to lie next to her. She caught her breath and he smiled in a devilish way. "All right, now my job is done."
"Splendid job," she offered shyly. "Actually, quite well done."
"Indeed," he said with a nod. "Successful experiment."
"So, not sure what this means," Molly ventured.
"Please, Molly, not the right moment," Sherlock tsk-tsked. "Let's draw this moment out, shall we?"
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her head. She had just snuggled up when he rustled and unwinding himself from her, he leapt from the bed. He scooped up his robe and slid into it. He pounced over to the door.
"Right then, see you tomorrow," he said, opening the door and slipping out.
Before she could reply, he'd left and closed the door behind him. What this meant to him, she hadn't the faintest idea. She never knew what he thought or what he meant. She did know one thing, however: her bed sheets were soaking wet.