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darnedchild) wrote2021-03-10 10:09 am
darnedchild) wrote2021-03-10 10:09 am
Let's Start With the Riding Crop
Summary: Sherlock leaves his riding crop in the morgue, and Molly finds it.
Rating: T
A/N - Written for Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2021 - Day 1
Prompt - "Let's start with the riding crop!"
Have a 200 word drabble that's only *mumblemumble* days late. Yay.
Let's Start With the Riding Crop
Molly picked up the riding crop that Sherlock had left on the exam table next to the body. She felt the weight in her hands, gently bent the shaft to test its flexibility. A sharp flick of her wrist brought the tip of the instrument down on the edge of the table; making her jumping at resulting crack even though she’d been half-expecting it.
She cautiously tapped the tongue of the crop against her palm. Then licked her dry lips and did it again with more force. Molly shivered at the pleasurable snap of leather against her skin.
Would it sting as sweetly elsewhere?
She pictured herself bent over an exam table, inexplicably naked, while Sherlock threatened—promised—to redden her arse.
Let’s start with the riding crop.
At the sound of the morgue door swinging open, she dropped the crop onto the table and stepped back as if she were facing down a snake about to strike.
Sherlock strode in as if he owned the place and she felt another shiver of excitement run through her body. Surely, someday, she’d be able to control her visceral reaction to him?
“Ah, Molly, you’re here. Have you checked the bruising yet?”
Rating: T
A/N - Written for Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2021 - Day 1
Prompt - "Let's start with the riding crop!"
Have a 200 word drabble that's only *mumblemumble* days late. Yay.
Let's Start With the Riding Crop
Molly picked up the riding crop that Sherlock had left on the exam table next to the body. She felt the weight in her hands, gently bent the shaft to test its flexibility. A sharp flick of her wrist brought the tip of the instrument down on the edge of the table; making her jumping at resulting crack even though she’d been half-expecting it.
She cautiously tapped the tongue of the crop against her palm. Then licked her dry lips and did it again with more force. Molly shivered at the pleasurable snap of leather against her skin.
Would it sting as sweetly elsewhere?
She pictured herself bent over an exam table, inexplicably naked, while Sherlock threatened—promised—to redden her arse.
Let’s start with the riding crop.
At the sound of the morgue door swinging open, she dropped the crop onto the table and stepped back as if she were facing down a snake about to strike.
Sherlock strode in as if he owned the place and she felt another shiver of excitement run through her body. Surely, someday, she’d be able to control her visceral reaction to him?
“Ah, Molly, you’re here. Have you checked the bruising yet?”