It was the medicine. Obviously. Molly prayed that's all it was.
The copulation between cherry flavored cold and flu medicine mixed with his rushing red blood was the cause of this. This situation where large sweaty hands palmed at the warm skin below him. Flushed red lips randomly placing kisses over her cheeks and lips. His body so earnest and eager that it felt as if she were being devoured by an animal and not a man.
Clothes were eventually subtracted from the heated equation. Wherein two naked bodies were left in a time and space they only knew. A space where past pains, harsh words, and neglect were forgotten. A space Sherlock had experienced time and time again—yet, Molly was only coming to first time grips with.
Her brief encounters with men at university never went past the occasional make out sessions. It wasn't the fact that Molly couldn't obtain a night-time suitor—it was the painful reality that she was more of a sport than an equal person. The butt of the joke, so to say. The one girl who was just decently attractive enough to go out on a date with. However, not decently attractive to sleep with unless the lad was winning a bet between him and the blokes. She wouldn't trade something that was meant to be shared with deeply for a one night stand of cheap alcohol and sub-par sex. Not because Molly was a prude, but it seemed like a waste to do so. Giving something that intimate and vulnerable with someone who would barely remember her the next day. Giving something like that for awkward passes at class and social gatherings. Giving something like that up for leers and cruel jokes. Perhaps she was wrong. Maybe she really was a prude?
Her inexperience with men wasn't a curse or a hindrance for Molly. Granted, there were a handful of men Molly would have gladly slept with. If only it weren't for their roguish reputation and the line of women already at their doorstep. Too much time and calculation for a one night stand that it seemed pointless in the end. Besides, sex wasn't something she had on the top of her list to begin with. Thanks to her parents, Molly already felt awkward and out of place at University.
Thanks to her parents, Molly's scores, and finals were passed with flying colors. Her parents had told her many a times that men came and gone. Yet, your education would always be something harder to achieve if not done within a timely manner. Their way of raising her had lasted until she managed to break free and become solely independent of herself.
It was there that Molly eventually found herself with a boyfriend and all the intricacies of such a relationship soon followed. Eventually, her sprouting adoration for him evolved into something deeper... yet... he was afraid to commit fully to her. It was a bittersweet and enlightening learning experience for the female pathologist. It ended solemnly and quietly. Her parents knew of his existence.
But here, with Sherlock, this was different and almost too raw. Is this what it felt like? To be fully encompassed in passion and lust for another person? To feel every sensation draw through your veins like liquid fire. Where your skin quietly pleaded to be touched, to be licked, to be ravished red and aching?
The way Sherlock had spread her open and played with her sensitive femininity. No words could describe the motion he made within her. The ache soothing between her legs as she found a high unfamiliar. Her pale skin breaking out into a sheen of perspiration. Mewls and soft cries could only vibrate through her throat before the detective quieted her with soft pecks. It wasn't enough. Now that Molly had felt the intensity of the famed detective.
Sherlock moved so effortlessly within her that it brought shivers down Molly's entire body. The fullness of him made her toes curl and her eyes flutter. His thrusts and slow grinds almost had Molly unraveling once again.
This is what actual love making felt like? So complete. So raw. So sickeningly delicious.
The entwinement of two imperfect persons finding the personal connection between their flesh and soul. Tearing deeply into the doubts they had of each other, and slowly melting whatever frost covered them.
He was talented as he wove their bodies even closer together. It wasn't the way he was able to play her like he could his violin. It was how he made her forget all her troubles... all her worries. Sherlock's talent laid in the way he made her forgot how horrible he had been to her so many times before. How he made her forget that he had so much to learn as a husband. He made her forget any sort of inconsistencies between them. He made her forgot her slow burning contempt for him. See? Talent.
Funny how a year of marriage without sex could easily turn into some passionate toss in the sheets.
The climax to it all was intoxicating and explosive. Beyond even that it was relieving,and extensive. Communication between them was small hands pressed against the side of Sherlock's face. Slowly, his head lowered and Molly pressed the most gentlest kiss she had against his mouth. Whatever emotion she had left pouring into that simple act. It made Sherlock almost feel dirty when he cleared his vision from red lust.
She was a woman unraveled to her most vulnerable state. The after math of their copulation looked different than all those before her. A need to be sated wasn't something befitting for this—for her. Below him, a book was torn open, and its pages spread wide. Every emotion, every un-said word, every little thing that Sherlock had tried to suppress as a hindrance. Molly reflected these things back to him so vividly. It tore into his heart when he realized the specific way she gently eyed him. Something with so much tenderness that it made Sherlock feel... unworthy.
Tears escaped the corners of her eyes without hesitation, a sob wretched from her throat as she said, "Do you really mean it?"
Sherlock's face still caught in-between her warm hands. His eyes staring into her that it physically made her tremble from the intensity.
"I do." He said.
Molly slowly smiled at him, the corners of her mouth faltering as she begged him. "Please, say it."
Sherlock Holmes closed his eyes, a gentle breath of air escaping past his lips, and his nose brushed against her cheek. "You've always mattered, Molly. You've always cared. I love... you."
Vanyiah: OOh, the drama is baccckk! Guys, please don't hurt me, haha! Give me a chance to explain in further chapters :) And yes, the story lives and thrives! Yes, Sherlock does indeed love his wife. The ending is a foreshadowing.