So I had wanted to write Molly/Irene for some time now, but I didn't know what to write, and then one day I was watching the Hysterical Literature videos ( / ) (go check them out, they're very sexy and also clever), and inspiration struck. The poem I used is "Goblin Market", by Christina Rosetti. ( poem/174262) Take the time to read it, it's gorgeous and deliciously decadent.

All my thanks to the ever wonderful Pasiphile ( /users/pasiphile) for the stellar betaing and the brilliant poem recommendation, I'm eternally grateful ^^

"Molly, I'm going to need to stay later to examine the body, there are a few extra experiments I need to do." Sherlock said as he pricked a needle in the corpse's toes and jotted down a few notes. "The blood doesn't reach the extremities, but it seems unnaturally diluted, which should have made its travel through the body easier, not harder. This possibly indicates the use of two different drugs, one that diluted the blood and another that made the heart's pumping less efficient. This seems really contradictory and frankly pointless and I really need to run a blood analysis to make sure that that is actually what happened."

"Sorry, Sherlock, not today." Molly answered. "I really need to leave at 6, and it's my responsibility to close the morgue. You can come back tomorrow." Irene had promised to pick her up after work, and she was looking forward to spending the evening with her way too much to let Sherlock spoil it, important experiments or not.

Startled, Sherlock looked up at her. Though she had started to stand up to him more frequently, he was still not used to her relatively rare refusals. He took her in with one sweeping glance and tilted his head pensively. "Hmmm. You're wearing lipstick, earrings, and there are high heels in your bag, unusual accessories for you. You've got a date tonight. It will probably end badly. Is an awkward dinner with some boring prematurely balding imbecile, maybe followed by disappointing sex, really worth making me lose precious time?"

"Sherlock!" John chided from where he was leaning over the corpse's sternum, trying to determine if the bruises there had been caused pre- or post-mortem.

Molly unbuttoned her lab coat and hung it over the coat hanger by the door. "If you ever actually paid attention to me, you'd know that I've been in a stable relationship for some time, that dinner is not on the program tonight, and that the sex is quite spectacular, thank you very much."

John coughed, half-awkward, half-amused.

"Also," Molly continued, "it would surprise me to no end if my very exciting and highly intelligent girlfriend was affected by any kind of hair loss, but I'll check if it worries you."

Sherlock's head, which he had bent over his work again, snapped up at her words. "Stable relationship? Girlfriend?" Then, scrutinising her more closely, "Of course, obvious, I'm an idiot. You dressed up, but didn't put as much effort in it as you would have for a first date. Your shoes seem too high and uncomfortable to wear for any substantial amount of time, especially since you're not used to wearing high heels, so you're planning on taking them off quite quickly, which means no dinner, and also that you're already intimate with the person in question; most people don't like to take off their shoes in the presence of strangers. Your lipstick actually suits you, and it's more expensive than your usual brand, so someone gave it to you as a gift. Someone successful, given the price, and, indeed, a woman, as the colour is attractive but understated, a concept most men can't seem to grasp. Also, you cut your nails."

John looked slightly puzzled: "What do her nails have to do with anything?"

Molly blushed furiously and Sherlock smirked: "John, I'm sure you can imagine that long nails can render certain sexual activities very unpleasant. This is typically not a problem in-"

"Yes, fine, Sherlock, I get it!" John interrupted him, a flush creeping up his neck. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "So, uhm, I never knew you liked girls?"

Grateful for the obvious change of subject, Molly said: "Well, I distinctly remember you spending a substantial amount of time adamantly stating that "you were not gay" and that you and Sherlock were "not a couple". Guess sexuality isn't as static as most people would like it to be, is it?"

"Touché." John laughed. "So, who's the lucky girl?"

"Well, you actually know her already, and I think you will be happy to hear she's off the market, John." she winked. "I believe you weren't very impressed by the interest she expressed in Sherlock."

Sherlock stared at her in undisguised astonishment. "The Woman." he breathed, and Molly giggled. "Irene Adler, yes."

John was the first to gather his wits again. "Yes, it kinda makes sense." he mused.

"What do you mean?" Molly asked, curious, as she took the black leather pumps out of her bag. She set them down on the floor and slid her feet into them, wobbling slightly.

"Well, in as far as I can judge, she seems to be your type. Dark hair, high cheekbones, bit of a genius, and arguably slightly insane. It fits."

Molly blushed again. "Well she's not a dangerous psychopath, and she's much nicer than Sherlock ever was."

"To you, yes." John smiled warmly at Sherlock, and Molly didn't miss the way the corner of the Sherlock's mouth quirked up a bit in response.

"Well, anyway, I want the two of you gone in five minutes. Irene could be here any minute and I will not make her wait." Molly said, crossing her arms.

"Ah, yes, she's quite... domineering, isn't she?" Sherlock smirked , and Molly blushed furiously, managing to stutter an indignant "That's rich, coming from you!"

"Oh, he's not half as domineering as he'd have you believe." John said, and Sherlock looked up sharply, his expression somewhere between scandalised, shocked, amused, and... was that arousal?

"Did I hear that right?" said a voice from by the door, and everyone looked up. Irene was leaning against the doorframe, smirking slightly, a perfectly manicured finger resting against her plush, red lower lip. She was wearing her hair down, the way Molly liked it best, and a black silk dress clung to every curve of her gorgeous body. Her stilettos clicked on the tiled floor as she walked into the room to place a kiss on Molly's mouth. "Hello, love. You look positively radiant."

"So do you." Molly smiled, grabbing Irene's hand and entangling their fingers.

, Irene turned back to Sherlock. She appraised him with a thorough look and raised an eyebrow: "Yes, I did hear that right. That's definitely a serious love bite peeking out from under your shirt collar, there's a chafing mark on your wrist, and you're not exactly sitting comfortably on that chair, are you? Heavy session last night?"

Molly stared in astonishment as John stepped over to stand next to Sherlock, chin raised, arms crossed on his chest, posture radiating defence and protectiveness.

"Oh, please, Doctor Watson," Irene scoffed, "I'd be the last to disapprove. I did think you weren't exactly indifferent to my practices, Sherlock. You just needed the right person, didn't you?"

"Evidently." Sherlock answered, leaning a bit closer to John.

"Well, excellent, then. Doctor Watson, if you ever want to have a chat, advice, supplies, you know where to find me."

"Thank you, but I think I can manage." was the rather stern answer.

Irene looked at him approvingly: "Yes, indeed, I think you can."

Molly was more than a bit surprised. She wouldn't have expected Sherlock and John to be in that kind of relationship, and she certainly wouldn't have pegged Sherlock as the submissive type. Then again, he'd always seemed more pliant around John, and she intimately understood the need of someone who was always so utterly in control to finally let go. She had always been self-sufficient, and she had never gone easy on herself about anything, though she wasn't as much of a control freak as Sherlock. As such, she really loved it when she could hand over that control to someone else, and fully trust them not to take advantage of it. She could imagine Sherlock felt the same need. And John himself was indeed quietly commanding, never letting Sherlock go too far, and he was a caregiver, which Irene claimed was the most important quality in a Dom. Yes, it made sense after all.

She and Irene had only been dating for a few weeks, and they were taking that particular aspect of their relationship quite slow but Molly had found she enjoyed it a lot. Irene was usually in control, as expected, but they had switched roles once, and Molly had liked it that way too. It made her feel strong, powerful, and above all else, trusted. She loved that Irene, who was always so dominant and even more in control than Sherlock, trusted her enough to let go, to let Molly take care of her.

Irene had said that, with Molly gaining confidence, their relationship would probably evolve into switching, rather than fixed roles. However, it seemed that tonight Irene would be in charge, if the possessive hand splayed on Molly's lower back was anything to go by.

"Now, gentlemen," Irene said pleasantly, "it would be much appreciated if you could please vacate the premises so I can finally take my girlfriend home, as I've been looking forward to it all day." The hand on Molly's back shifted to her hip as Irene tugged her closer, and Molly leaned into her embrace. John looked at them, then at Sherlock. He nodded imperceptibly, and John smiled.

"Of course, we're going, enjoy your evening. Molly, see you tomorrow. Ms. Adler-"

"Call me Irene, please." she interrupted.

"Irene, then, it was a pleasure."

"Likewise, Doctor Watson."

"John, please."

"Likewise, John." Irene smiled.

Sherlock was already at the door, tapping his feet impatiently to express his exasperation at such banalities. As John came to stand next to him, he nodded at the two women, then strode out the door, his lover on his heels.

"Well that was enlightening." Irene murmured, rubbing her cheek softly against Molly's,

"I was a bit surprised at first," Molly said, "but it actually makes a lot of sense, doesn't it?"

"Yes it does. But for now, let's stop talking about the creative sex the detective is having with his blogger, and concentrate on the creative sex I want to have with you." Irene's smile was positively feral, and Molly's heart picked up speed as excitement, nerves, anticipation and arousal battled in her veins.

She quickly closed off the morgue, and soon they were both sitting in the back seat of Irene's sleek black car, headed for Eaton Square. Molly was squirming with impatience and anticipation as the driver weaved in and out of traffic. Irene noticed and put her hand on Molly's leg, thumb soothingly stroking back and forth over her knee.

When they arrived at Irene's house, Molly found herself promptly tugged up the stairs to the salon. Before she could catch her breath, Irene was already pulling her close and kissing her so passionately it made Molly feel slightly dizzy. She clutched at her lover's shoulders, moaning breathlessly into her mouth. After what seemed like a short eternity, Irene broke the kiss with one last nip at Molly's lower lip. She rested her forehead against her girlfriend's and whispered: "I missed you today, love."

"Me too." Molly answered, still panting slightly. "I've wanted to do this all day. Touch you, hold you, kiss you... And-" she bit her lip and blushed, "I believe you said something about creative sex?"

Irene chuckled. "You remembered that part, didn't you? I thought you would." She let her hand slide to Molly's bum and gave it a squeeze before kissing her nose, murmuring: "Give me a second, I'll be back."

Molly couldn't help but stare as her lover sashayed to the bookshelf, hips swaying tantalisingly. She picked out a book, then opened the small chest in which Molly knew she kept a few of her toys.
As she walked back to Molly, she kept her hands behind her back, hiding whatever she was holding in them from Molly's view.
She circled Molly to come stand behind her, and whispered in her ear: "I want you to take your clothes off. Keep the shoes on, though, I like them."

Molly complied as quickly as possible, fumbling with the buttons of her blouse in her haste, and stumbling a bit as she wiggled out of her knickers, nearly tearing them on the heel of her left shoe.

When she was completely naked, Irene wrapped an arm around her waist and guided her backwards to the couch, pulling her into her lap as she sat down. Molly could feel luxurious silk and sharp hipbones against the curve of her arse, and she shivered at Irene's warm breath against her neck. "I have a book for you, and a vibrator. I want you to read a poem out loud for me, while I use the vibe on you. You're not allowed to come until I tell you to. Is that okay?"

Arousal pooled between Molly's legs and she bit her lip to hold back a small moan before answering: "Oh yes, more than okay."

Irene handed her the book: "Do you know Christina Rosetti?"

"No, never heard of her." Molly had never been big on literature. She enjoyed reading, but usually stuck to best-sellers. Besides, even if she had ever heard of her, now would probably not be the time she would remember that, as her mind was very much otherwise occupied.

"She was a Victorian poetess, one of the best of her generation. A great woman, and quite the looker too. I want you to read her most famous poem, Goblin Market. It can be seen as innocent, but it's also emphatically not so; a bit like you, actually, which is why I picked that one. Now, spread those legs for me, love." Irene whispered in a sultry voice. Molly complied, her bare legs parted on both sides of Irene's silk-clad ones, and her breath hitched as Irene placed her hand between her thighs, holding a smooth silver vibrator.

The page was bookmarked, so Molly had no trouble finding the right poem. She took a deep, trembling breath, and started reading.
"Morning and evening
Maids heard the goblins cry:
"Come buy our orchard fruits,
Come buy, come buy"

She managed to keep her composure at the first touch of the vibrator to her clit, barely hissing in a breath. She kept on reading, concentrating on the words, doing her best to ignore the jolts of pleasure that shot through her body whenever Irene pressed the vibrator just a tad bit harder against her clit.

Irene's left hand came around to cup Molly's breast, thumb stroking lightly over a nipple, and Molly shifted a bit on her lap, moaning lightly. How could anyone ever have seen this poem as anything else than blatantly erotic, she wondered, as she read about Laura eating the goblins' fruit, voice catching slightly as Irene's fingers grew more insistent on her body.

"Then sucked their fruit globes fair or red:
Sweeter than -ah!- honey from the rock,
Stronger than man-rejoicing wine,
Clearer than w-water flowed that juice;
She never -oooh- tasted such before,
How should it c-cloy with length of use?
She sucked and sucked and -god!- sucked the more
Fruits which th-that unknown orchard bore,
She sucked until her lips were sore"

"You have a beautiful voice, love." Irene whispered in her ear, as she turned up the setting on the vibrator. An aborted cry escaped Molly's lips at the sensation, but she bravely kept on reading. Irene removed her fingers for a second, and when she put them back on Molly's chest, they were wet and slick with saliva. She alternated between her nipples, teasing, caressing, rolling them between her fingertips, sometimes pinching them, and her ministrations sent little shivers of pleasure down Molly's spine.

"Hugged her and kissed her; Squeezed and caressed her," Molly read, and Irene did just that, one arm locked around her waist, fingers stroking the soft skin of her stomach, lips hot against the nape of her neck.

The vibrator buzzed a little faster, a little louder, as Irene turned it up once more, and Molly's breath became laboured, her moans more frequent. Her neck swayed and stretched as Irene planted her pearly teeth into its yielding flesh, kissing, licking, sucking at it, nibbling along the bumps of her spine.

She stumbled over the next sentence, her voice a full octave higher than usual:
"Did- Did you m-miss me ?
Come and -oh!- kiss me.
Never- never mind my bruises,
Hug me, kiss me, suck my -ah- juices"
She threw her head back and her thighs trembled uncontrollably as Irene put the vibrator on the next setting, the highest one.
"Eat me, drink me, love me;
Laura, make much of me." she nearly shouted , and Irene bit down on her shoulder, hard, hissing: "Don't you dare come yet, I want you to make it to the end."
Molly moaned in dismay; there was more than an entire page left of the poem! How was she expected to last until then?

Mercifully, Irene turned the setting down one notch, and Molly took a few deep breaths to compose herself before resuming her reading.

She was dripping wet by now, her juices seeping through the fabric of her lover's dress. Her cheeks were flushed, her heels tapping arrhythmically on the wooden floor as her legs trembled and shook, and she was gripping the book so tightly she feared she might rip its pages out. Somehow, she made it through the remaining verses, though her words were rushed and by moments nearly unintelligible as she fought to restrain herself.

Irene's hand was soothingly caressing her sides, and the kisses on her neck and shoulders had turned gentle and loving. "Come on, love, read those last sentences for me and then I'll let you come." she murmured as she turned the toy back to the highest setting.

"In calm or stormy weather," Molly panted, nodding in agreement and relief,
"To -ah!- cheer one on the tedious way,
To fetch one if -nnggghhh- one goes astray,
To lift one if -oooooh- one totters down,
To strengthen -oh my god Irene!- whilst one stands."
Those last words were nearly a scream, as Irene had shoved two fingers inside Molly, pressed the vibrator harder against her clit, and bit down at the nape of her neck, growling, "Come for me, now."
Molly arched her back, throwing her head back against Irene's shoulder. Her hips bucked uncontrollably as she rode out her orgasm, moans and shouts spilling from her parted lips.

When she finally came down from the high, she slumped back into Irene's embrace. "Oh my god," she breathed, "that was amazing."

Irene kissed her cheek gently: "It was beautiful to watch and listen to. You did so well, love, I'm very proud of you."

Molly twisted her neck to nuzzle her nose into Irene's fragrant hair, and rested her hands on top of her lover's, which she had entangled on Molly's lower stomach. "Thank you." she murmured softly in her lover's ear, and Irene smiled lovingly in response.

"It was entirely my pleasure, love."

Leave me a review?

Also, I am thinking of writing this into a series. There will most likely be a Johnlock one, and maybe a MorMor if I ever get over my nerves about writing those two, but I am looking for more pairings (and maybe a threesome so hey). I would like separate pairings though, i.e. pairings with no characters I've already (planned on) writing about (except maybe for the threesome). So if you have any suggestions, shoot!