A/N: OK, folks, here is the final chapter of this silly saga. The two winners will receive their one shots as soon as I can wrap my heads around their requests and perhaps finish one or two of my other outstanding stories. Enjoy and thanks to all for reading!

Molly was out of her clothes and under the spray faster than Sherlock could finish removing his clothing, which would have gone faster if he'd done as she had and just let them drop to the floor as soon as he removed them. But no, he had to fold them and hang them and tuck his socks into his shoes, which meant Molly was already done shampooing her hair and rinsing it off by the time he joined her.

She should have been used to seeing him naked by now, but no, it still sent butterflies fluttering in her stomach and sped up her heart and dried out her mouth as he stepped into the bath with her. When he turned to reach for her scrubber, however, Molly couldn't help the giggle that escaped her lips at the sight of his ink-bedecked (firm and lovely) backside. "Missed me again, Mikie," she read aloud, and Sherlock huffed and straightened himself.

He craned his neck around with a scowl to try and get a better look at his desecrated arse. "It wouldn't come off," he said, sounding more than a bit put out. "Bloody Mycroft and his exes. She's the reason he kept telling me caring wasn't an advantage, you know. Supposedly to keep me from making the same mistakes he'd made." He pulled a sour face. "Not my fault he attracts all the crazy ones," he muttered, leaning down to sniff appreciatively at Molly's hair, changing the subject with his next words. "If they'd had your brand of shampoo and conditioner at the compound, I'd have known it was you as soon as you entered the room."

"That's, um, good to know," Molly said faintly. It took her a minute to realize she was just standing there, hogging the hot water and staring at Sherlock as he smirked down at her, instead of cleaning herself off or conditioning her hair. She was never going to get any of it done, either, if he kept looking at her like that, his eyes dark with desire and lips curled and the water dripping off his cheekbones and... "Oh, sod it," she muttered, dropping the soap and throwing her arms around his neck. She had to raise herself on the tips of her toes, but met his lips for a very satisfying kiss while the water continued to pour down her body.

Sherlock was the one who broke the kiss, tutting at her as he knelt to pick up the soap. Molly's indrawn breath alerted him to the rather provocative position that put him in, and he smiled knowingly at her, his head at just the right level to... "I deduced that you wished to ask me to do something to you, something very specific, Molly, while we were still prisoners," he said in his deepest, most sensuous purr. "Would you care to ask me now?"

As he spoke his free hand trailed up her right thigh, stopping at her hip. His fingers were only centimeters away from her sex, and suddenly it wasn't just the water that was making her so very, very wet. Molly licked her lips, tried to speak, licked them again when nothing came out, then reached down and once again grabbed for the soap. "Sherlock," she squeaked, closing her eyes tightly shut and trying to remember to breathe, "would you give me just five minutes? Please? Or else I'm likely to drown you. Not on purpose, of course!" she added hastily, knowing she was babbling but unable to stop herself. "It's just...the spray," she gestured vaguely at the shower head. "And you, down there, and um, the angle would be...Oh!"

The last word was startled out of her as Sherlock reached up, grabbed her by the waist and somehow managed to turn the two of them so that suddenly the spray was hitting his back and she was up against the far end of the shower, the cold tile against her backside, the bar of soap sliding out of her suddenly lax fingers to slip to the bottom of the tub. "Is this better?"

She nodded dumbly as he studied her body. She was braced with her hands against the tile, both legs as far apart as they could get in the narrow confines of the tub, and he frowned as he glanced first at her feet, then at the rim of the tub. The frown turned into a grin as he grabbed her right foot by the ankle and wordlessly urged her to rest her foot on the rim. "Much better!" he exclaimed, sounding ridiculously pleased with himself. "Now to see if John's extensive porn collection had any actual instructional value – do be sure to tell me if I'm doing anything wrong, Molly, won't you?"

Without waiting for a response – as if she could make one with her brain turned completely to oatmeal – he reached for her legs, running his fingers up her thighs until his thumbs were brushing across her opening. Molly found herself arching her back a bit, eyes fluttering closed and her right foot raising itself to rest heel up, in order to give Sherlock more room to maneuver.

He hummed his approval of her movement as he continued to study her 'lady parts' as if he'd never seen anything so fascinating – or as if he were attempting to puzzle out how best to proceed. Just as Molly was going to make a few suggestions – just to get him started, of course – he leaned his head forward, thumbed her open a bit wider, and swiped his tongue across her labia.

"Oh!" Molly couldn't help the exclamation that burst from her lips. Nor could she help the way her eyes snapped shut or her hands suddenly dug themselves into Sherlock's wet locks, or the tremors that passed over her legs as she attempted to keep herself upright while his tongue continued to explore her ever-dampening folds. Since she was no longer directly under the spray her natural lubrication wasn't washing away, which was good good good so fucking good...

Whoops. She'd moaned that last part out loud; she opened one eye and looked down at Sherlock, who'd paused in his ministrations, to find him looking back up at her with a furrowed brow. She opened the other eye and gave him a weak smile, started to stammer out an apology, when his brow cleared, his eyes sparkled with what she would definitely have to call 'glee'...and he immediately lowered his mouth back where it had been, this time licking and sucking her clit while first one, then two of his long, elegant fingers thrust into her.

She had to tell him to ease up a bit when he started getting too enthusiastic, but once he curled his fingers inside her and slowed his rhythmic movements another gasp escaped her lips, followed swiftly by another spate of swear words she never recalled using before. But then again, she'd never had Sherlock Holmes go down on her before, so today was a day for first of all kinds.

Apparently he enjoyed her potty mouth, because his lips and tongue and fingers went into a bit of a frenzy as soon as the filthy words left her mouth. Or was it that he liked the way she was tugging on his hair, her fingers digging into his scalp? If he didn't like it, she thought hazily, he'd have told her to stop by now, right? Right. So clearly he liked hair-pulling, good to know. Good, good, good to know...ooooohhhhh God!

Where her thoughts went, so went her voice. "Oh, God, Sherlock, yes, right there, please, oh God, oh God, ohgodohgodohgodohgod..."

Molly's attempts at speech sputtered into incoherent shrieks and moans of pure, unadulterated pleasure as Sherlock's abundantly talented mouth brought her over the precipice, pulling an orgasm from her she hadn't quite expected. Well, not this soon, anyway. Certainly not this powerful.

Still, she thought as Sherlock rose to his feet, a very self-satisfied smirk on his face, his hands on her hips pretty much the only thing keeping her from collapsing into a puddle, it was just as well, since the hot water couldn't last much longer.

She remained lost in a haze of pleasure as Sherlock turned her back around so that she was once again under the spray. Then he was soaping her, scrubbing her with her loofah with an intense look in his eyes that turned a simple tool for cleaning herself into one of the most erotic things she'd ever felt touching her body.

As he shut the water off – after thoroughly inspecting her for any signs of remaining soap – Sherlock brushed his lips against Molly's ear and purred, "So, Doctor Hooper, how would you rate my first attempt at orally administered sexual contact?"

"A-adequate," she stuttered out, then smirked at the scowl that instantly formed on his face. "It was your first try, after all, and not everyone can be good at every...um...oohh," she moaned, whatever she'd been attempting to say completely lost from her mind as he lowered his still-scowling lips to her neck and began nipping and sucking at the skin in a very sensitive spot. Right below the ear he'd been whispering so seductively into, as a matter of fact.

"Adequate?" he murmured before running his tongue along the shell of her ear, eliciting another moan from her throat. Her hands were on his shoulders, digging in as she held on for dear life, legs once again threatening to give out on her. "You rate that experience as merely 'adequate'?"

Some stubborn little devil kept her from babbling out that it was the best 'orally administered sexual contact' she'd ever experienced. Instead she simply said, "You heard me. So what are you going to do about it, Mr. Holmes?"

God, who knew using their surnames so formally could be such a turn on? It was interesting to discover another kink Molly had never known she had, but she nearly came a second time when Sherlock growled in her ear, "Well, Doctor Hooper, I suppose I shall just have to put in some practice, then, won't I. To improve my standing."

Molly giggled. "Or your kneeling. Whatever position works for you!"

Sherlock glowered but made no further response, other than to open the shower curtain and toss a towel at her. He selected a fresh one from the shelf over the toilet for himself, dried himself off, waited impatiently for Molly to do the same, then tugged her by the hand into her bedroom.

A blissful half-hour later, Molly conceded that perhaps she'd been a bit harsh in her initial assessment of his skills, that he was a fast learner, that the Earth revolved around the sun, and anything else he thought to question her about. She'd already had more sex with Sherlock in the past twelve hours than she'd had with anyone else in the past three years, but every time she thought, well, this is all I can handle...he looked at her a certain way, pupils blown back so there was very little of the blue-green of his irises showing, and she thought, fuck it and continued to allow him to explore his newly awakened sexuality any way he pleased.

Luckily for her, 'any way he pleased' pleased her, too. Very, very much.

The sun was rising – or very possibly setting again – when she finally begged off. "God, Sherlock, I haven't slept in...how long has it been since we left the compound? Since before then. Don't get me wrong, I'm really pleased that we've...that you've...all this," she ended incoherently as she waved one hand to indicate the two of them (now reclining beneath the covers in her bed).

They'd made love twice since leaving the shower and her body was delightfully sore. She'd never had so many orgasms in so short an amount of time – hell, if she thought back over her entire sexual existence, she doubted she'd had this many orgasms, period. Certainly not given to her by one partner.

But right now she was exhausted, tender, and ready to curl up in bed, preferably wrapped in the embrace of a certain, no longer virginal Consulting Detective, and sleep for, oh, about a week.

Luckily for her, he was willing to concede that sleep wouldn't be a bad thing at the moment, and Molly did, indeed, find herself with Sherlock's lanky form wrapped around hers, asleep almost before she finished adjusting her pillow.

She smiled to herself as she settled into his embrace. There was going to be some Very Serious Discussions about their future, and soon, but not today. Sherlock Holmes was sleeping in Molly Hooper's bed, and she had no intentions of wasting a single second of their time together worrying about what Sherlock might do next.

"With any luck, it'll be me," she murmured to herself with a small giggle. Then sleep claimed her, and she was out for the next eight and a half hours, to be awakened by the feel of Sherlock's lips on her neck and his hands teasing her nipples while his erection pressed against her backside.

All in all, Molly Hooper decided as she turned to offer him a kiss – and better access to her breasts – it was the most pleasant way she'd woken up in a long time.

And as Sherlock informed her after they'd made love, it was the way he intended to wake her up every day for the rest of their lives, barring any important cases on his part or double shifts on her part.

Which was, fate would have it, exactly as it turned out.

The. End.