Author's Note: This is written for the LJ prompt asking for a dark possessive Sherlock. This isn't betaed so all the errors are mine. Dear anon OP, I'm not sure whether you can see this, but I do hope this meets your expectation (I'm still on my way of practicing writing smut :P).
Disclaimer: Nope. Not a bit is mine.
Warning: Potential BDSM.
The way she said it made him want to seize her by her throat, forcing her to look into his eyes, and remember: He is her master. Mind the Manner.
Sherlock took a deep breathe, and reminded himself again he had absolutely no right to claim her as his own.
You don't want to spook the prey. The ruthless beast inside him reasoned. Don't scare her away.
Instead, he leaned forward and brushed a strand of hair from her face. "Where are the cultures I put on the bench, Molly?"
Molly straightened at the instant of his touch. The corner of Sherlock's mouth curled up, proud of his influence on her. Her pupils were already dilated and he hadn't really done anything yet. If only he could have had his ways, om nom nom…
"I…" Molly shook her head, "I don't know. I noticed they are gone this morning. I thought you finished them and got rid of them yourself." She seemed slightly panicked.
Sherlock didn't say anything. He just concentrated on her with his piercing green eyes, deducing her every little move.
Her face was now crimson. "I could re-cultivate them if that's what you want. Please don't throw a tantrum at me, Sherlock."
That was not what he wanted.
Tantrum was never his thing.
"What were they? Fungus? I could get you anything, Sherlock."
He was tempted. Her eager to compensate had always been entertaining. He was wondering how far he could push her. Would she let him spank her? Would she squat down nakedly and put hands on her toes with back straight like a cat? Would she say "Yes", if he wanted to tie her up, gag her and fuck her into oblivion? She had always been such a good girl to him and he had confidence in his power of persuasion.
One step at a time. The beast warned him. The beast was no fun.
"I want a body, fresh, white, female, average height, between twenty to forty years old, non-alcoholic."
"You are in luck!" Molly over-cheerfully introduced him to the morgue, partly because of her guilt of losing Sherlock's experiment.
Sherlock zipped down the body bag and scrutinized the corpse.
"Yes. She will do just fine." Sherlock turned back to look for his tools.
"Sherlock, about your experiment…" Sherlock turned to her and interrupted Molly's mumbling with a whip in the air.
That was an order.
Molly eyed the whip in Sherlock's right hand, and swallowed.
"Unless…Of course, if you would like to participate." Sherlock said it as if he was inviting Molly to look into the microscope for him.
"I'll be waiting outside." Molly blushed more and ran away immediately while Sherlock torn the bag away.
Molly swallowed hard when she saw Sherlock rolling up his sleeves through the window. She couldn't help but gasp when Sherlock's first whip fell on the poor body. The whip left a long bruise over the corpse's abdomen. Molly touched hers as if she was the one lying on the table.
Sherlock turned to her with a wicked grin as if he could hear her thought. He looked at her like a hunter aiming his rifle at a moose, focused and determined. Any moment could be the end of her. His fingers grasped the whip tightly. Without any indication, he lashed one more time while maintaining eye contact with her alluringly. The sight of him whipping and sweating made her flesh creep.
This was wrong. She shouldn't find the scene magnetic and intense. This was disturbing. This was sick. Molly ran to her desk and sat down. She told herself not to be bothered. The third one was weak and the fourth one was cruel. She closed her eyes, trying to clear her mind of the image of Sherlock being rough and controlling. Instead, she was drawn into her imagination.
She was lying on her back on the metal bench, arms on her breasts, desperately saving her last dignity. She understood perfectly that right now she was under his mercy.
At the door stood Sherlock. He crossed his arms in front of her chest and seemed amused at her pathetic and useless attempt. With a small movement of his wrist, the whip directed towards her.
She dodged but another whip hit right on her left hip. "Ouch!" She cried out loud, raised her left side to the air and touched where the whip had landed. Even under her own touch, she winced. It hurt like hell.
Sherlock didn't wait before lashing out again and again.
Tears were full of her eyes. She was fed up and jumped off the table.
Moving as fast as a furious lion, Sherlock crushed her hard. "Where do you think you are going, Pet?" Her whole burning body was pinned up against the ice-cold wall. She hadn't had time to relax under the cooling effect before Sherlock spoke in a husky whisper. "How dare you disobey me."
"Please, Sherlock." She begged. "Please let me go."
Furious at her even thinking about leaving him, he ran his hands over her breasts, squeezing her nipples until they became hard little stones between her fingers.
"It's not right." She had trouble to inhale under him, "I can't…"
A yelp escaped her lips when Sherlock sucked on her breasts. Molly shifted, trying to get free, but was held still by Sherlock's hands on her waist.
"If you don't want me, Pet…" Sherlock's hands slowly moved up along her body curve until they were set on her jaw and forced her to look right into his eyes, "All you need to do…" He sucked the last bit of oxygen out of her, "…is to ask."
She bit her lips in haze, way too lost in the soothing effect of the wall and the deadly seduction of Sherlock. He turned her to face the wall and pushed her up. His left arm hooked her from chest to shoulder and his right hand locked her bottom right on his erection.
"So?" He asked softly.
"Don't." She couldn't even speak coherently.
"Don't stop." She gritted her teeth.
"Molly." She heard Sherlock murmured her name along with the sound of metal belt untying. Within seconds, Sherlock stroke his long and ready dick into her from behind. She banged on the wall so hard that she doubted that she might have a concussion.
"Molly." Sherlock grabbed her tightly while they rocked in synchrony.
"Molly!" Sherlock shouted her name.
She suddenly woke up from her fantasy. "Yes. What can I help you, Sherlock?" She was way too shameful to raise her head and look at him.
Sherlock kneeled down in front of her. "Open your legs."
Molly blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Open your legs for me." She watched Sherlock's lips spitting out every word in that sentence. His shirt was damp from sweating and his chest was moving up and down as he breathed heavily.
Instinctively, she obeyed. She was all wet under her knickers. Even she can smell her clit in such exposing position. She was sure as hell that Sherlock would smell it too.
Then slowly, Sherlock bent down.
Molly held her breathe.
Sherlock picked up a pen under her chair.
She took the long and thick pen from him, feeling very lost and baffled.
He nearly laughed in front of her.
Oh. He wished that she could see her face! He had expected that while he was busy "exercising", little Miss Perfection would unconsciously fold her legs in shame and desire. He hadn't seen that she would be so ready and enthusiastic. And the frustration on her face when she took the pen was priceless!
He enjoyed playing with his little plaything very, very much.
"I would be back in an hour for the results." He pretended that he didn't notice just how much she craved for him. He would like herself to admit to the truth. He would like to see her begging on the floor for his attention and affection. He would love to hear her eventually calling him "Master".
Until then, she was still in need of suffering, a lot.
"But my shift ended fifteen minutes ago." Molly protested, "I have to go."
Sherlock narrowed his eyes on her. He had been too invested in his game that he didn't even notice the clues until now. After several second's deduction, he fought with the urge to drag her to lie on her back and spank her harshly for her betrayal and stupidity.
How could she? He thought he made it clear ages ago. For the sake of law and order, she was stuck with him and would always be. Could she be so dumb that she refused to see the best option in front of her?
Bad Molly. Naughty Molly.
He was furious. And furious Sherlock was not the one any person would like to mess up with.
"Sure. Good luck with your date!"
He should have won the Oscar for best acting.