Molly's heart was in her mouth as she saw him swing her way, black coat swishing around him like a cape. I understand that you've got a taste for the dramatic, Sherlock, she thought furiously, but really-,

The glass shattered in a thousand pieces as he smashed through, and landed safely on his feet, flicking off the hook on his back easily, as if he jumped from rooftops and smashed into windows every day.

She was just about to ask if he was alright when he ruffled up his hair, giving her a smoldering look all the while and then his lips were on hers.

Well fuck.

His hands came up to cup her face and dear god, his mouth. She kissed him back just as furiously, her own hands trailing a path up his elegant neck and burying themselves into his dark curls. His fingers trailed lower, pushing her lab coat off of her shoulders, and Molly pulled him closer, trying to eliminate every inch of space left between them.

They collided against a table, ignoring the shards of glass crunching underneath their feet. Sherlock lifted her up onto the table and she welcomed him into the cradle of her thighs, gasping out his name when she felt him hard against her hip. She let him lay her back on the table, his arm sweeping over it, throwing delicate instruments to the already messy floor; she bit her lip to keep from moaning out loud (mustn't draw attention, mustn't draw attention, there were people still in the building, the plan was still in motion) as he nipped his way down her throat and rucked up her blouse up to her armpits.

She freed his shirt from his pants, but gave up on his shirt buttons and simply slid her hands up under it, feeling the toned muscles of his abdomen shiver underneath them. He tugged down her bra and bit hard at a nipple, hard enough for her to exhale loudly. "Sherlock," she admonished and he breathed her name against her lips before taking her into a bruising, dizzying kiss.

It wasn't enough, she needed more, and she needed more now.
"Off, off, off now," she hissed when Sherlock let her go for air, panting, staring at her lips while his large, slender hands cupped her small breasts. He looked confused for a second, but she began tugging on his the button of his pants, unzipping him.

He pushed her hands away and ripped off her khaki trousers with breakneck speed. "Keep the coat on," he rasped hoarsely in her ear. She looked him in the eye, staring at the lust clouded irises. "Only if you keep yours," she whispered back, reaching into his pants and fishing out his elegant cock, her slender fingers curling around it and making him-

"'-elegant cock, her slender fingers curling-,' is this what you've been these two years, Philip?"

Philip Anderson jumped a mile high, squealed like a ten year old girl (he would later edit out that bit in his mind) and flung his hands over his computer screen. "What the fuck are you doing here, Sherlock?"
"Oh nothing," Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. "You on the other hand, are very busy indeed."

"Also, the bungee cord and flesh mask? Very Bond of you," Sherlock said, snorting at the computer screen before walking out of the small office Anderson had been assigned to.
"Hell of a lot better than your stupid theory." Philip shot at the detective's retreating back.


Msg received : 6: 50 pm

He knows.