A/N: Hello and a happy 2013 to everyone. So, this has been on my computer for a while and I was unsure if to post it. It was just an idea that popped into my head a while ago and I have to admit it was a lot more erotic in my head. Damn language barrier. Still I hope some of you enjoy this little smut-fic. Can there ever be enough of it? :)
Molly supressed a yawn as she flung her bag over her shoulder. It was past 3 a.m. and she was more than exhausted. As always, she swore herself that this had been the last time she went out in the middle of the night to help Sherlock, even though she already knew that she would do it again.
Tired as hell she stepped out into the night. The warm summer air wasn't refreshing but was welcome nonetheless. As she looked out for a cab, Sherlock appeared at her side.
„Already called one. Should be here any minute. I don't mind to share."
Which is the least you can do after you dragged me out here in the middle of the bloody night, moron!
One of these days, Molly should really say something like this to him. Well, not tonight...or today. She was too tired, she told herself.
„Thanks" she replied instead and gave into her body's need to stretch. „Have you solved the case?"
Sherlock just nodded. He obvioulsy didn't feel the need to talk. Or maybe he just didn't want to talk to her. Horrible at conversations, he once had said to her. She had wanted to reply that day that she was only horrible conversating with him because he made her feel like a mouse, but, like so many other things, she hadn't said that, either.
Luckily, the cab arrived a minute later. Sherlock opened the door for her and she wanted to climb in when she saw that almost half the cab was filled with bags of laundry.
„Sorry, folks. It' laundry night and I was already off duty when the call came to pick you guys up", the driver excused himself. Molly sighed inwardly.
„You take the cab, Sherlock. I go back inside and call another one", she offered when Sherlock was suddenly standing behind her, already pushing her into the cab.
„Don't be ridiculous, Molly. You don't need much space anyway with your underdeveloped body."
Hit below the belt, Mister!
Molly faught the urge to punch Sherlock in the face and blushed instead. She hated that she still did it, even after all those years they've known each other, after all the thousands of insults.
Sherlock pushed a shrieking Molly into the cab and into the pile of dirty laundry before climbing inside and closing the door.
Molly tried to find a place to sit, yanking her skirt out from under Sherlock's bum. Both of them were trying to get comfortable while the cab started driving. Sherlock had given the cabbie the address when Molly still had her head buried in a blue sweater.
Molly was squished between the bags and Sherlock. She pressed her knees together and folded her hands in her lap, but it still was damn uncomfortable.
„You are bigger than I thought, Molly Hooper", Sherlock commented impatiently and Molly seriously thought of talking back when he unexpectantly laid an arm around her and pulled her against his frame. Molly's heartbeat accelerated and she felt another blush creep up her cheeks. His arm had disappeared into the laundry, but she could feel it against her own arm, his hand pressed against her hip. Sherlock noticed her frozen posture and rolled his eyes.
„I can feel your heartbeat against my side, Molly. I thought you were past this childish crush."
Why can't he just shut the fuck up?
Molly decided not to reply and kept her eyes fixed on her hands which clutched the skirt so hard that the knuckles where white.
„Since when are you wearing skirts?" Sherlock asked. This was when she noticed her hands had pulled up her skirt past her knees while kneating the fabric.
„It was a gift from Mary", Molly replied hoarsly and tried to pull her skirt down without attracting attention. She should have known that it was useless. She heard him snort before he said with clear amusement in his voice:
„Afraid I will molest you in the cab, Molly?"
Gosh, I will kill him. One of these days, I will!
It was silent for a couple of minutes before Sherlock started shifting again. He hissed and moved his arm, pressing her against him even more.
„My arm fell asleep. I can't get it out. Be at least a little helpful, Molly" he snapped and she tried to make space for his arm, but it didn't seem to be enough. After a few seconds, Sherlock made a noise which should state his impatience, grabbed her waist with his free arm and with one powerful movement lifted her onto his lap. Molly shrieked again when she felt her back pressed against his chest and his breath on her neck. Sherlock yanked his arm out and shook it in order to make the blood start flowing through it again. He pumped with his hand while he completely ignored Molly on his lap. She, on the other hand, couldn't feel anything else but him. She felt his body heat against her back, butt and flanks, his hair brushed against her temple as he looked down at his arm and his scent was slowing wrapping around her. He smelled amazing, fresh, clean and a little musky, with a pinch of something that was unique Sherlock.
Sherlock let his arm sink and Molly wanted to crawl off his lap and back on the seat, but his other arm was still locked around her waist.
„Ehm...Sherlock?" Molly asked and looked up.
„It is much more comfortable if we just stay like this."
Molly couldn't believe what she was hearing. He saw her gaping at him and rolled his eyes.
„We will need another 25 minutes before we arrive at your flat and I refuse to let my extremeties fall asleep again. Just sit still...no, wait..."
Sherlock started shifting beneath her, pulling her waist against his. His lips were close to her ear when he whispered:
„Spread your legs."
Molly's heart stopped beating and she froze again. A shiver ran down her spine and warmth spread between her legs.
„Do as I say."
She still couldn't move. He was too close, his lips brushing her ear...and his manhood pressed against her bum.
„You're hurting me, Molly."
Another shiver ran up and down her spine when she realized what he meant. Carefully, she spread her legs and with that lifted some weight off his private parts.
„Thank you" he said and Molly swallowed hard before she nodded.
This was unbelievable.
Maybe I'm dreaming, she wondered. It has to be a dream, for there is no way this is actually happening. Me sitting on Sherlock bloddy Holmes' lap. Impossible!
Unfortunately, it all felt real. Very, very real. His warmth and his scent drove her crazy. She sat straight up, trying to avoid him as much as possible. But after several minutes, her back ached and she shifted uncomfortably.
„I don't mind you resting your back against me, Molly. I am quite comfortable like this and I don't know a reason why you shouldn't be comfortable, too."
Yeah, because you have no idea how much it turns me on to sit on you, you idiot!
She was aroused. She could feel the heat between her spreaded legs, only covered by her briefs. More body contact wouldn't improve her situation, so she refused to give in.
That was until he said: „Don't be a child, Molly."
I'm just trying to be a lady!
Molly almost laughed at that thought. Who was she kidding? They both knew she couldn't master a ladylike grace, not even if her life was at stake. So why bother?
Her back really hurt now and she decided that it was stupid to have a stiff back tomorrow just because of Sherlock Holmes.
So, after a deep breath, she leaned back and carefully rested against him. It was a relief and her back was more than thankful.
Even though her heart was beating fast, she tried to relax, which wasn't very easy with her cheek brushing against his every time the car was rocking.
It felt so good and at the same time terrifying to be so close to him. Molly lost herself in her fantasies, dreaming of a Sherlock who pulled her onto his lap because he wanted, no, needed to be close to her, feel her, kiss her, make love to her. She sighed inwardly.
Never going to happen, Molly. Never. You're just imagining Sherlock's hand caressing your thigh. Just glance down and you'll see...
Her train of thoughts stopped when she glanced down and saw his slender fingers lazily circling over her thigh. Molly stopped breathing and a jolt rushed through her body, making her womanhood twitch.
Oh my God! Oh my God! Sherlock is stroking my thigh!
Her brain wasn't able to produce any other thought for almost a minute. Then she carefully glanced up at him. He was still looking out of the window, like he wasn't even aware of doing it.
What shall I do? Should I say something? ...Why on eart would you do that? It feels so good! ...But he doesn't want to do it. He's just lost in thought. It's not fair to enjoy it. ...I give a damn about fairness! He treats you like crap all the time, so just enjoy his strokes! ...No, it's wrong. Very, very wrong!
Molly won the argument with herself and wanted to point out to Sherlock what he was doing when suddenly his phone went off. It was still in his coat which was buried under him and he started shifting under her. She crawled back on the seat, realizing too late that she sat on his coat.
„Move out of the way, Molly."
Molly tried her best, but it was just too crowded in the cab.
„Move, woman" Sherlock commanded impatiently. He grabbed her, shifted her around while he tried to get his coat out from underneath them. She bumped her head against the roof and her elbow slammed into his side. It was all a big mess. Molly had no idea how it happened, but in the end she was sitting on his lap again. Only difference: Now she stradled him.
While she was still in shock, Sherlock got hold of his phone and answered it. He was talking casually to Lestrade about the earlier solved case while Molly's mind and body were in uproar. Sherlock had his arm locked around her waist again, pulling her pelvis down on his. She could feel him.
Oh my God! He's getting hard!
Molly stared into his beautiful blue-green eyes while she felt how his length got harder with every second until it was firmly pressed against her heat. Molly couldn't suppress the high pitched gasp that escaped her lips. Sherlock glanced into her eyes for a second before he said to Lestrade:
„Gotta go. Call me back tomorrow." And he hung up.
He let his arm sink, his gaze still fixed on her. They stared into each others eyes for a few seconds, both frozen in place.
Then she saw a flicker in his eyes and gasped again.
„What are you doing?" Molly asked, confused.
„I'm not doing anything", he replied, his voice just as low as hers.
Molly knew that he was lying.
„You know exactly what you're doing" she gasped in shock and confusion.
Sherlock didn't answer. He didn't have to. She could read him better than anyone else. She didn't understand why he had done it, but she knew now that it was his doing her ending up in this position. And his manhood was hard...
„Let go of me", Molly whispered. His grip tightened. He didn't want her to get off his lap, she realized.
„I need to move" she whispered again, looking deeply into his eyes. She wasn't scared anymore. She was beyond being shy. She was too aroused. Her sex was hot, throbbing and moist.
She reached up, laid her arms around his shoulders and did what she had wanted to do since the first time she met him: She let her fingers wander into his hair, gently gripping it. It was silky and smooth, a splendid feeling. When she pulled at his hair, tilting his head back so he would look at her, Sherlock let go of her waist. Without hesitation her hips started rocking in a slow rhythm. She bit her lip as she felt his length through her briefs and his thin trousers. She stroked her sex over his shaft again and again. It felt like heaven. Molly closed her eyes and sped up her pace. She pressed against him a little harder until his tip poked her clit. She rocked against it needily, suppressing the moans that wanted to get out.
She didn't dare to open her eyes, being afraid of his glare. Molly tried very hard to only focus on the feeling of his cock and block out every other thought about what she was actually doing. She was dry-humping Sherlock Holmes, for heaven's sake!
Then she heard it. It was low, but she heard it. Sherlock gasped. Her eyes snapped open. His gaze was locked on her. Molly stopped moving. She was too amazed by his face. His lids half-closed, pupils dilated, only a thin blue ring left, lips slightly parted, her fingers buried deep in his hair. .Sexy.
„Sherlock", she whispered hoarsly.
He closed his eyes at this and she felt his fingers dig into her buttcheeks. Biting his lower lip, he made her hips move again. Molly whimpered and she moved her hips on her own behalf, taking control again. It was obvious he wanted her to move faster, but she didn't. A little smirk appeared on her lips and Molly pulled on his hair to make him look at her. He opened his eyes again and Molly quivered. They never broke eye-contact while Molly was riding him. At first slowly, savouring, totally in control. Then, with her arousal building up into a torturing tension, Molly's rhythm sped up and became urgent. She was close.
Sherlock gasped again as he saw how her mouth formed into an 'O' and she squeezed her eyes shut while she came, jerking on top of him. She grinded at him painfully and with a low moan he gripped her hips to still them.
While Molly fought hard to stop the shivering and to slow down her heartbeat, she heard him breathe hard, feeling it on her cheek. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes.
Better to face the demon right away.
He was still looking at her, his eyes still full of desire. There was no jugdement, no anger. Just pure lust. Sherlock looked so adorable, so sexy, that she couldn't help but run her fingers through his hair tenderly. He was desperate. He tried to hide it, but the burning in his eyes gave him away. And his lips were trembling. In a way, she really pitied him. All those years fighting to suppress his most basic instincts.
But you didn't win, did you? In the end, you're still just a man...
The cab came to a halt. It took both passengers a second to notice. Then it hit Molly what they had just done right in front of the cabbies eyes...sort of, an blushed furiously. Her mousy self came back to the surface and she stammered something incoherent, climbing off Sherlock's lap and practically jumping out of the cab. She slammed the door shut and took a deep breath before running her hands through her hair.
„That did just NOT happen. I just didn't get off by dry-humping Sherlock Holmes."
„In fact you did."
Molly jumped with a scream and whirled around.
He was standing by the cab and turned to the cabbie.
„Thanks, Mario. Send Angelo my best."
„Of course, Sherlock. Have a good night", Mario said and winked at Molly before driving off.
„You're doing it again" he said dryly and rolled his eyes.
She gestured into the direction where the cab had gone and then back to him, opening and closing her mouth.
„Did you...Did you plan this to happen?"
Sherlock just smirked. He actually dared to smirk!
„Wh...I mean...Why? In God's name, why?"
Sherlock closed the distance between them and looked down at her.
„I need release, Molly. Do you rather want me to go find another woman for this purpose?"
Molly looked up. All she could do was gape at him.
What on earth should she reply to that? Of course she didn't!
„Why me?" she finally managed to ask.
„You're the logical choice. We know each other well enough. I trust you not to go around and brag about it. And we're attracted to each other."
Sherlock just cocked an eyebrow at her, then rolled his eyes, slung his arm around her face and crushed her against his body. His still hard cock poked into her belly.
„Don't play hard to get, Molly. I know you want me."
His tone was so arrogant, his raised eyebrow made her so angry that she finally mastered the strength to talk back to him:
„I just had you...sort of."
There it was. Insecurity. It washed over his face and the cocky eyebrow fell back into his usual position. The look on his face was priceless and Molly heard applause inside her head.
But then Sherlock's expression became stern and determined and he lowered his head to press his lips on hers for a passionate, needy kiss.
The brown-haired pathologist felt his soft lips on hers and automatically opened her mouth to great his tongue with her own. She moaned and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him even closer to her. His arms were around her, his hands explored her back, her sides and her buttcheeks and set her skin on fire.
When they broke apart, both of them were panting.
„Tell me that you want me", Sherlock whispered in a low voice which aroused Molly to no end.
Her hands roamed over his shoulders before they slipped under his coat to roam over his hard chest.
„Never. You're cocky enough as it is."
He grinned at that and pulled her lower half against his so she could feel his hardness again.
His blue eyes bored into her brown ones before he nibbled playfully at her earlobe.
„Don't make me beg, Molly."
She shivered as his lips brushed over her ear, his deep baritone voice made her heat throb in anticipation.
„I want you...I need you."
She closed her eyes and gasped. Those words, whispered in this voice, whispered from this man, almost made her come again.
Finally, Molly let out a breath in surrender, took him by the hand and led him all the way up to her flat.
In the end, she was just a woman. And if Sherlock Holmes wanted to give into his human nature, she wanted to be a part of this.
A/N 2: What do you think? Should I leave it at that? I kind of like it how it is...Let me know! :)