late-night smutfest written on tumblr. dub-con warning basically because they're under the influence of something.

"Please Molly, I can't take the smell anymore! You've got to come and take the last batch away. He's made a terrible mess of it."

Molly cringed, and glanced at her wristwatch. Less than an hour remained on her shift at Barts. "I'll be up after work, Mrs. Hudson. It can't be that bad, can it?" She could actually hear the older woman shaking through the phone.

"I've let it go too long this time. He made such a fuss when I mentioned you that I was afraid to call, said the results were vital and I shouldn't interrupt…but the smell. Like sulfur and molasses boiling."

"Alright, alright, I'll be up as soon as I can, I'm sorry I lent him the…well, never mind, I'll be right on over. Promise!" Relieved, Mrs. Hudson said grateful goodbyes while Molly rushed around the lab, hurrying through her end-of-day tidying ritual.

"Stupid man," she muttered under her breath, as she scrubbed her hands in the sink. She peeked in the tiny mirror a vainer pathologist had stashed above the industrial sink long ago, and saw only traces of lipstick left on her mouth after the busy day. Her pale brown hair hung loosely over her shoulders, her ponytail holder having fallen out somewhere in her last-minute dash around the lab. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes gleaming. She didn't bother to ask herself why.

After stripping off her white coat and hanging it neatly it in storage, she again looked in the mirror and saw the way her eyes were shining. Molly shook her head ruefully.

Even when he isn't here, everything goes topsy-turvy with his experiments and fuss. But it's always fun, isn't it. That's why you let him borrow parts he shouldn't have access to. And why you're going all the way over to Baker Street at nine o'clock.

Molly turned away from the mirror to flip the light switch but saw her mouth curving upward nonetheless in the reflection. Every encounter with Sherlock Holmes was an adventure; that was the fun in knowing and wanting him.

"Go on in, dear. He's got that Chopin album playing. Lovely, but the same one for hours, and my poor ears. Turn it off it if you can. I'm going to have a lie-down with my herbal soothers. You'll take care of this?" Mrs. Hudson beamed hopefully, and squeezed Molly's arm.

Molly nodded, shifting the storage containers awkwardly. Mrs. Hudson ambled down the stairs, disappearing into her flat and the comforting drone of a chat show.

She wasn't certain how much biohazardous material Sherlock had been hoarding in his flat, since he had a way of acquiring items from the morgue that she didn't give approval for. The last time Mrs. Hudson had called her in like this, she'd needed three large containers to haul away the disgusting mess while John stood in the kitchen having a row with Sherlock about it.

Molly laughed at the memory. Sherlock had stood silently, eyes rolled at the ceiling, smirking while the shorter man yelled and waved his arms at the ghoulish debris in the refrigerator. She didn't think it would be that bad this time; it shouldn't be more than a few items. There was a hand that Sherlock was being particularly stubborn about returning despite several urgent emails from Molly on the matter.

There was also the issue of a head he had sworn he only needed for a night but hadn't brought back yet. Molly was prepared to be strict about that one. She was lenient with him, but she did have to abide by some rules.

She summoned her hardest expression, set back her shoulders, buttoned her cherry cardigan up to her throat sternly and barged into the flat-

Only to find Sherlock sitting on the kitchen table cross-legged with his laptop, wearing his royal blue dressing gown-

And nothing else.

The biohazard containers fell to the floor with a clunk.

"Shut the door," he ordered without looking up from the computer.

Without thinking, Molly obeyed, reaching behind her to close the door.

"Thank you," he said brightly. Sherlock lifted his head and smiled. "Perfect timing!" His blue eyes sparkled. "I thought Mrs. Hudson was premature in summoning you but I may need more supplies for the formula I'm working on."

"The formula?" Molly knew she was staring but couldn't help herself. Unconcerned, Sherlock set the laptop and hopped off the table. The fabric flowed around his body but disguised nothing, emphasizing his pale skin and lean muscles.

"Yes, the formula," he said impatiently. He paced between the table and the refrigerator, gesturing toward the mess of beakers on the counter. "Obviously. For the McTigue case? She doused them with something. I attempted to replicate it. I had a minor mishap with the vial and now I need more supplies before I can make a new batch; I've run out. Are you wearing lipstick? You reapplied lipstick after your shift. Did you do that for me?"

"No. Maybe a little. Nevermind. What mishap? Sherlock-you're naked," Molly hissed, her cheeks flaming. Her head was aching. The flat stank of the remnants of the botched experiment. "What have you done?"

"Told you. Experiment. Broke the vial." Sherlock shrugged, and waved a hand. He smiled lazily. "Drug was supposed to replicate McTigue's. She increased erm…certain elements, susceptibility, whatnot to con her marks, the matter. Didn't work. Got rather hot in here though."

"So you took your trousers off." Molly nodded, the picture in her head becoming clear. She stepped backward, and a piece of glass crunched under her foot. She looked downward at the crushed vial, and then knelt to examine it. "Sherlock, was this it?"

He nodded. "Ah yes. Don't touch, the vapor enough is-"

"No, I won't. Gosh, that's strong." Molly stood, and then stumbled. The noxious odor filled her nostrils, overpowering her. "That is really quite strong." She swallowed, and her heart hammered. She felt warmth spreading through her chest and the absurd urge to laugh. It was as though she'd downed a bottle of champagne in one gulp. "Sherlock? I feel…rather good actually." She smiled up at him.

His blue eyes met hers. "Warm? Hot, even?"

"Yes, very." She tugged at her throat, at the buttons of her cardigan that was choking her suddenly.

"I have to admit something, Molly," Sherlock observed calmly, watching her fingers scramble unsteadily over the small buttons. He inched closer as she struggled.

"What's that," she said, softly.

He nudged her back against the wall. With a decisive move, he shoved aside her hands.

"I hate this cardigan- I always have- and I'm removing it now."

After that it was a blur of sighs and fingers sliding along skin.

Molly's cardigan found its way to the floor almost in shreds, and Sherlock's dressing gown joined it, with her other clothes finding their way onto the carpet as well. The pile of clothing formed a cushion on the floor when it became apparent that making their way to his bedroom seemed like too much work for the madness taking hold of them.

Sherlock rolled her down onto the floor under him and took hold of her, claiming Molly's mouth over and over. His ability to distinguish the nuances of every taste had him marveling at the flavors and textures of her, kissing and nipping and licking his way over her throat and breasts until she was wriggling and moaning. Once he let go of the why of things and just felt the sensations, he was delirious with it- with her.

Molly wrapped her legs around Sherlock's back and crossed her ankles, locking him to her. Her body came to life under his kisses and her rocking hips ground against his hard cock. She teased and laughed and marveled at holding Sherlock in her arms. Her fingers sank into his curls and she stroked his scalp, squeezing in time to him sucking on her nipples. He was sensitive, she found, and nipped at her breasts when she dug her nails into his head.

Sherlock's hand slipped down between them, dipping between her legs to feel how wet she was. Two fingers slid into her easily and she arched, adjusting to him and swiveling her hips.

"You like it?" He spoke for the first time. She saw uncertainty, something almost foreign in Sherlock Holmes.

"Oh yes. Yes, Sherlock." She covered his hand with her own, and showed him what she wanted. With a sharp speed that shocked even Molly, she came breathless and hoarse. Her deep moans intrigued Sherlock, who kissed her hard when they spilled from her lips.

"Roll over," she gasped. Sherlock obeyed immediately in a way unlike himself, settling beneath her. Molly sat on his groin, admiring the view, his pale body framed by the sapphire dressing gown spread out beneath them.

"I wish you listened this well when I asked you to return my body parts," Molly laughed. Sherlock looked puzzled, but shrugged. He reached up and cupped her breasts.

"I want to have sex now."

"Well since you asked so romantically…" Molly leaned in and pressed a kiss to his mouth before sitting upright.

She felt her head swimming again with the bubbly-champagne feeling. She wiggled on his lap and felt him grown harder underneath her. He groaned, and bit his full bottom lip.

She fisted his cock, letting his thickness slide through her fingers. She learned the velvety smoothness of him, and wondered again at how she could become so intimately acquainted with Sherlock in a new way when she had known him for so long. He watched her intently, focused while at the same lost in the intensity of the stroking. She thumbed the pearls of wetness growing on the tip of his cock, using them to slick the way.

Molly lifted herself up onto her knees and teased him now with her sex, letting the head of him dip into her wetness. His hands found her hips and held her firmly, anchoring himself to her. She smiled and gazed down at him, and sank down onto his cock.

Molly rocked and bounced and found the rhythm with him. Sherlock's eyes followed her movements and patterns and his timing matched hers with precision. She rode him until she felt the ripples rising through her again, through her clit and her belly and up her spine and she wanted to scream and sing for the pleasure of it. Sherlock held onto her, keeping her going and then she felt the moment of Sherlock's breaking, when his fingers dug into her painfully, and then-

His head thrown back, and his eyes shut, jaw clenched, seeming almost in pain, but then followed by the most peaceful expression of bliss she'd ever seen on his face. He came within her, pouring himself into Molly, and she allowed herself to fall forward onto his chest, and to hide her face for one last moment.

"Right. So…not a defective formula. I shouldn't have doubted my abilities, clearly." Sherlock stroked Molly's hair where it draped over her back. "Just have to replicate it to get McTigue and deal with the case. Later."

She laughed, but also felt a stab of hurt. She curled tighter around Sherlock. She felt the daze of dream slipping away but the lingering warmth of the vapor still ran in her blood. Or maybe it was just Sherlock and the way she always wanted him. And finally having him was going to be worse than never having had him at all.

"I should probably…I should get dressed then, I suppose." Molly gingerly extracted herself from his arms, resolved to make a graceful exit. She couldn't bring herself to look him in the eye, even though she wanted to throw herself back into his arms.


"No, it's fine. We don't have to talk about it." She drew her knickers and bra from the clothing pile and donned them. "She douses people and that's what happens, I get it. Causes…sexual attraction. Okay." Molly laughed, but she knew it sounded forced and awkward. She put on her camisole and trousers but her cardigan was a hopeless ruin.



"No." Sherlock stood, still nude. His voice was cool, and firm. The strange brightness had gone from his eyes and the controlled icy man she knew had returned. Her heart ached and she felt a bit ill.

"I won't tell anyone. I'm not a gossip or anything. I'm on the pill, and I've been tested recently. Have you? Oh-"

"Yes, I have. Shut up, Molly. It doesn't cause attraction. It decreases inhibition around existing attraction."

"It-" Molly's mouth dropped open and she felt her brain go utterly blank. She wondered if she had been dosed with something else to make her start imagining things.

Sherlock ran a hand through his messy curls impatiently. "Do I have to explain it again? And furthermore, don't think I missed what you said about taking the parts back. I still need the head for the coagulation experiment."

"You're attracted to me?" Molly grinned.

"Not. Giving. Up. The. Head. Yet. But yes," he added, begrudgingly.

Molly threw herself in his arms and they landed in an ungraceful pile on the floor.

Sherlock pushed a lock of hair behind Molly's ear and murmured, "You can take the hand I was experimenting on if you do that thing with your hips again."

"I think we can work out a mutually beneficial arrangement," Molly agreed before their lips met.