AN: This is my first foray into the "Sherlock" fandom. I just watched the entire series on a rather long flight from LA to Tokyo and I instantly fell in love. I have a thing for this sort of character and smut so this is my rather poor attempt at a bit of Sherlock/Molly sexy time while trying to keep it fitting with their characters and circumstances. Like to listen to music as you read? Here's my suggestion for this one: "Radioactive" by Imagine Dragons. Since it would basically take an apocalypse for Sherlock to actually do anything like this.
Breathless, fatigued and running entirely on adrenaline, Molly acted as a third leg to one 'deceased' consulting detective as they made their way up the stairs to her third floor flat.
The day had been exhausting, both emotionally and physically. She'd never been so terrified in her life. She'd never once even entertained the idea of pulling someone out of a chemical induced coma-like death and if she had, a morgue would not have been her first choice of locations in which to do it. Her normal workspace was woefully poor in the life-resuscitating instrument department and locating the drugs and equipment necessary had been far more than just nerve wracking as Sherlock literally lie dying on one of her tables as she scrambled about, trying her best not to have a nervous breakdown in the process.
This wasn't a game; he really could have died. There were no guaranties that he would come out of it and not suddenly fit right in with the rest of her regular patients. He would still have trauma from his fall, despite the nerve deadening, muscle relaxing cocktail of drugs they'd agreed upon using. She'd only given him a twenty percent chance of even surviving the fall despite his vehement assurances that he'd be just like a cat surviving better from a ten story fall than a three story one.
Of course she dropped her keys as she tried to juggle both the man leaning heavily on her shoulder and the blasted little metal dangilies that are supposed to grant her easy access to her flat. Amazingly, she managed to get them lodged against the wall, drug up by the toe of her shoe and back into her hands before she finally got them into the lock, disabling it and allowing them inside her rather small living room.
"Exactly as I imagined." She heard him say quietly as he managed to push himself against her now shut door, surprisingly under his own steam. The entire drive here in the cab, he'd been slowly coming further back into the land of the living and with each step forward, Molly found herself less and less worried that he might have survived without brain damage despite his extended time as a dead man. She found the idea of a mentally impaired Sherlock far worse than a dead one. As absolutely horrid as that sounded in her head, it was the truth.
"Can you… stay there without…" Why was she still acting like a silly schoolgirl? She'd just broken how many laws? Lied about how many things? Grossly misused her position at Barts in order to help him fake his death and still she couldn't form a coherent sentence to save her own metaphorical life.
"I'll manage," the slightly slurred baritone of her new houseguest assured her from his position against her door.
"Right," she breathed out as she set about to fetch him some water, knowing that his system had to be severely dehydrated. It simply wouldn't do to have him expire on her now after all the effort she'd gone through to make him not dead… dead… oh bugger it. He needed water.
"Here." She offered, holding the cup to his lips and letting him drink deeply, some of it escaping his lips and dribbling down his chin. "Oh no, here… let me…" and she set the glass down on the small table she used to set her keys on each day. Then, reaching up, she wiped away the excess water, focusing unnecessarily on his lips, his lips that seemed like some renascence master had sculpted them. She continued to run her thumb over his lower lip even after all traces of water had been removed. Realizing how foolish she was being, she started to pull away in abject mortification but the moment her fingers began to depart, she suddenly found her wrist in his firm grip, one she was surprised he could manage in his post fall, post drugged state.
She looked up into his eyes, terrified of what she was going to see there. She'd seen too many of his less than pleasant stares over the years, from derision to scorn, and she didn't know if she could handle any of them right then. She'd been through far too much. When she mustered the courage to meet his gaze, she didn't find what she expected see. Instead she found that he was just looking at her like she was some sort of delivering angel.
Really, truly looking at her as though she was the only other living creature on the face of the planet. And maybe for him, she was. He was supposed to be dead after all.
"I…" That's all she got out before his other hand lodged in her hair at the nape of her neck, holding her firmly as his lips clumsily crashed upon hers.
How many times had she fantasized about this, dreamed of this, only to wake to a world where he would never actually do this? She'd lost count over the years, always thinking that maybe at the end of the world she'd have a chance. This was it, the apocalypse. It had actually occurred, at least within the microcosm that was her flat.
She knew as soon as it began that she should push him away, put a stop to this. Neither of them were in the right state of mind, both exhausted, both terrified but it seemed that all those circumstances were exactly what made her mentally say, 'fuck it'.
She didn't flinch when his tongue pushed its way into her mouth before leaving quickly, only to plant itself oddly on her cheek before his teeth lodged firmly on her neck, biting down and causing her to wince slightly at the roughness of it.
Suddenly, he was leaning heavily on her once more but this time, instead of his hands resting innocently on her shoulders for support, they were planted, one in her hair and the other gripping the back of her neck. As his weight started to rest on her heavily, she couldn't help but stagger back. She wasn't built for holding up someone of his stature under normal circumstances and the fact that she her knees already felt weak wasn't making matters any easier.
Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, her old chesterfield was situated in very close proximity to the door this had all started against. The moment her calves touched it, her legs buckled, sending them toppling to its worn surface, accepting them with a quiet groan of old leather.
The hand in her hair quickly abandoned its post and slunk down her body, clutching at her shoulder, then gripping one of her once proclaimed too-small-breasts before sliding down to the edge of her pleated kakis.
Her hands, on the other hand, were busy discovering just exactly what the naked flesh of his chest felt like. Once the top few buttons were quickly dispatched, she slid her hands in to feel the almost cool skin of his seemingly hairless upper torso. 'Did he shave it?' she thought idly as she indulged in one of the many fantasies she'd had concerning this exact action so many times before. It lived up to her expectations spectacularly. However, his attempts at loosening the buttons on her slacks did not. He fumbled about for so long that she finally heard a strangled sounding curse under his breath. It was then that she took it upon herself to reach down and take care of that with which he'd been struggling.
The button popped, the zip was pulled down and she found herself pushing the now overly scratchy material down her thighs, going so far as to get one of her legs fully out of a pant leg. She was just about to set about getting the second free of the garment when she suddenly noticed that while she'd been doing that, he'd been successfully unfastening the bindings of his own trousers.
She couldn't help but gasp as she felt the hard heat of him against her thigh. If this had been any other time, any other circumstance or any other man, she would have quickly realized that everything about this encounter was moving far too quickly. She would have maybe pleaded with the man above her that they needed to slow down. If it had been any of her past four or five attempts at a romantic relationship, she would have protested as they roughly pried her legs apart. She might have put the brakes to the man grasping hold of himself and trying to press himself within her only minutes after stumbling inside the threshold of her home for the first time. As it were, this wasn't any man, this was Sherlock Holmes, the man she had been completely smitten with for the past three years and this wasn't any old situation like an after dinner night cap. This was a post 'suicide' frenzy the likes of which had never once entered her mental fantasies even on her most creative days after seeing what he could do with a riding crop.
After one too many times of his inept attempts of penetration traveling a bit too far south, Molly Hooper, Bart's youngest pathologist, took it upon herself to grasp the… erection of Sherlock Holmes and guide him to the place he oughtn't be if she'd been thinking straight. Since she wasn't, she found it the most glorious thing she'd ever known as he slid within her. The second most glorious event of the night was the unadulterated moan she hear emanating from the man above her as he bottomed out within her.
It had been too long since her last sexual encounter for his first rushed penetration to be anything but nearly painful and that was probably why she cried out as loudly as she did as he set a fast, almost blundering pace.
The hand she'd batted out of the way, in order to set in motion his current thrustings, now rested tightly on her naked hip, gripping her powerfully enough to make her grit her teeth. Under any other circumstances, it would have been irritating but she was too lost in the moment to even acknowledge it as anything other than erotically essential.
Her hands gripped desperately at his upper arms as she just tried to hold on and keep herself somewhat grounded as he grunted above her, his panting breath hot against her neck.
The sudden and unexpected coupling of Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper burned as intensely as any bright flame and subsequently burned itself out just a quickly. With a rather loud utterance of her name that she wasn't likely to ever forget, he shuddered against her, his already erratic thrusts only growing more so right before he pressed fully to her before ceasing all together.
They both just lay there, panting and sweaty. Despite the fact that he was still hard and firmly embedded inside of her, she could feel his ejaculate start to escape her filled cavity and drip down the crack of her buttocks. It was that feeling that finally forced her to out of the highly erotic situation and moved her forcefully into the inevitable awkwardness in which that they now found themselves.
"I…" she started with the same syllable that this had begun with but this time she got a little further verbally…somewhat, "should use the loo." She then unceremoniously extracted herself from beneath him, earning both of them odd little groans as he slipped from within her. With a hand between her thighs and a pair of trousers and knickers trailing from one leg, she made her way to her restroom as quickly as she could.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck." She chanted as she stripped out of her clothes and jumped into the shower for the quickest spray she'd ever taken. Just two minutes later, she pulled the same clothes back on her damp body and took a deep breath before exiting. She found him, pants back as they should be, passed out on her sofa. Running a hand through her damp hair, she considered her options before deciding that leaving him to sleep as-is was probably best for several very good reasons. She grabbed a throw and settled it around her sleeping guest.
She then retreated to her own room, throwing herself onto her bed and only going so far as to clutch one of her pillows before falling asleep herself. She could deal with the consequences of today, tomorrow.
AN: There you have it, a bit of post 'fall' Sherlolly smut. I only watched the series once on a plane flight and have only read a few associated fics (and I'm American) so please forgive any glaring inconsistencies to either her or his characters (and anything else British). Feel free to tell me what you think, good or bad; I love any and all commentary on my silly writing. Fans of my Loki writings, sorry but watching this show just forced my typing fingers into it, as well as a night drinking with clients (thank you expense account for making that not a complete disaster).