The Decoy Wife - Part 4
Jan. 23rd, 2017 08:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
darnedchildSummary: Sherlock needs a decoy wife for a case; and Molly is more willing to help than she wants to admit. It might have something to do with his chosen disguise.
Rating: M
A/N - I don't even know.
The Decoy Wife
Part Four
The moment they got back to their room, Sherlock shut himself in the bathroom. She heard the shower come on almost immediately.
“And here we go again,” Molly sighed. She was torn between storming the bathroom and asking—no, demanding—just what was going on between them, and acting as if there was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary about Sherlock Holmes snogging her breathless.
Screw it, Molly thought; finally coming to a decision after several minutes. There was no way she’d be able to sleep next to him in that bed if they didn’t discuss what happened.
Even if he said it was an aberration, never to be repeated, it would still tell her where she stood with him. Yes, it would be a bit harder to work with him in the lab, now that she knew exactly what she’d be missing; but she’d become an old hand at keeping the occasional lust filled thought at bay when he was in the room. Mostly.
However, she was absolutely positive the sight of Sherlock Holmes standing in the loo doorway wearing a fluffy white towel wrapped around his waist, his hair still damp from his shower, was going to distract her at the most inconvenient times for the rest of her life.
“Jesus, Sherlock. Warn a girl.”
He frowned, clearly confused. “Warn you of what?”
“That.” She waved her hand in his general direction. “With the wet and the towel and the glasses . . . Why are you wearing the glasses?”
“Because Simon said he would be sending someone up with food, and they should be arriving right about-“ Sherlock paused and tilted his head toward the door to the room just as someone knocked. “Now.”
Molly shook her head as she moved to answer the door. “Could you be any more smug?”
Sherlock looked toward the ceiling, lips pursed as he considered it. “Possibly, but not by much.”
She was still grinning when she pulled open the door; although her smile dropped when she recognized ‘Any time, day or night’ Jenny standing there.
“Hi, Mrs Hooper. Simon said you were feeling peckish. Should I bring it in?” Jenny pushed her way into the room before Molly could say anything. She deposited the tray on the small table next to a pair of chairs near the fireplace then turned to smile brightly at Sherlock. “Nice to see you again, Mr Hooper.”
He nodded, not looking the least bit embarrassed about standing around in just a towel. “Hello, Jenny. What have you brought us?”
“I had the kitchen put together some fruit and cheese for you, and Simon sent up a bottle of his favourite red.” Jenny beamed at Sherlock, and Molly couldn’t help but feel as if she had somehow turned invisible.
“Sounds delicious. Doesn’t it, Molly?”
“Delightful.” Molly held the door open wider and titled her head toward it. “Well, I’m sure you’ve got plenty of things to do and we wouldn’t want to keep you from them, Jessie.”
The other woman frowned, but started to make her way to the door. “It’s Jenny.”
“Is it? Huh.” Molly swept the door shut behind the other woman and took a deep breath before turning to find Sherlock inspecting the wine bottle.
“I very much doubt this is Simon’s favourite anything. I could have picked up better at a petrol station.” He set the bottle back on the tray and looked up at her. “That was uncharacteristically rude of you, Molly.”
She sighed, although she knew he was right. “I get why you’re wearing the glasses, but why couldn’t you have put on some clothes before she showed up?”
“No time.”
“You could have waited to shower until after-“
“No, I couldn’t,” Sherlock interrupted her. “The pool was over chlorinated, I needed to scrub it off.”
“Okay.” He had a wild-eyed, slightly panicked look on his face and Molly thought it best not to point out that he was obviously lying. “Well, I should probably go wash off the chlorine myself.”
His shoulders slumped in relief that she wasn’t pressing him for a more believable answer. “Good idea. Go ahead, the bathroom’s all yours.”
She grabbed her pyjamas (soft cotton and not a single kitten or bright fruit in sight, she’d made sure of that) and shut herself in the loo.
Pulling the clingy swimsuit from her body took some effort, but soon enough she was able to step into the shower cubicle. The walls were still wet, as if she needed the reminder that Sherlock had already been there. Naked under the water, hands sliding across his slick skin.
“Oh, God,” Molly whimpered. If she wasn’t careful, he was going to read every inappropriate thought she had in her expression the moment she stepped out of the bathroom.
“Right. Quickly then. Save the fantasies for when I get back home.”
Fifteen minutes later she padded barefoot into the bedroom, comb in hand. Sherlock was sitting in front of the fire, staring at the flames as if he were hypnotized. He’d changed into a tee and a pair of lounge pants, but no sign of one of his usual dressing gowns. Perhaps Sherlock had decided that Scott the accountant wasn’t the kind of man who bothered with a dressing gown. The glasses, thankfully, were nowhere in sight.
Molly plopped down in the chair next to him, and snagged a piece of cheese before she settled down to the business of combing the tangles out of her wet hair.
“Is the wine drinkable?” she asked, finally noticing that he had a half-full glass in one hand.
“Not as horrible as I expected.” He set his glass aside for a moment to pour one for her.
She didn’t think there was anything wrong with it, but then she wasn’t a wine snob. Molly ate a slice of apple before returning to her hair.
Her glass had been topped off and more than half the fruit and cheese eaten before either of them spoke again.
“Sherlock?”
“Hmm?” He took a final sip of his wine and set his empty glass on the table.
“Are we still not talking about—you know—earlier, when you-“
“Yep.” He cut her off, obnoxiously popping the ‘p’. “Not talking about it.”
“It’s just erection,” Molly tried to reassure him. “Men get them all the time.”
He jerked, turning his head to glare at her. “I don’t.”
Molly stared at him in disbelief. “Never?”
“Obviously not ‘never’.” Sherlock rolled his eyes and slumped down in the chair. “I may not cater to my body’s every whim, but there are some things even I cannot control.” He picked up the wine bottle as if he were considering a refill, then discarded it with a look of distaste. “The last several years, however, I have tried to keep that sort of thing confined to a few minutes in the shower when . . .” Sherlock trailed off, searching for the right words.
“When you get horny?” Molly offered before biting her lower lip to keep a goofy grin from spreading across her face.
Sherlock glared at her. “And that is exactly why we’re not talking about it.”
“Sorry. Sorry.” She held up her hand placatingly. “Aroused. Is that better?”
“Not particularly.” He dropped his head back against the chair, obviously uncomfortable. “Go to bed, Molly.”
“Are you coming?”
He narrowed his eyes at her, as if trying to deduce if she had been attempting to make a joke or not.
She winced. “To sleep, I mean.”
“No. I need to think.” He closed his eyes and steepled his fingers against his chin, a clear Sherlock code for ‘go away’.
Molly hesitated, unsure if she should try to say or do something to try to make things less awkward. When nothing came to her after a long moment, she did as he asked. She turned off the lights, quietly reminded him to tend to the fire before he fell asleep (if he fell asleep), and crawled into the bed.
As soon as she was settled in—pillows properly fluffed, duvet pulled up to her shoulders—she heard Sherlock’s soft and a bit apologetic, “Goodnight, Molly.”
“Night, Sherlock.”
She had no idea how long she lay there, staring up at the heavily shadowed ceiling, her hands clenched together on her stomach in an effort to still the urge to fidget. Her mind raced with thoughts only to come back to the same one, over and over.
“For God’s sake, whatever it is, just say it.” Molly jerked at the sound of his voice, and lifted her head to see him leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “I can hear you thinking from all the way over here.”
She briefly considered lying, but he’d know and she would still be plagued with that insidious thought that would not go away. She sat up, carefully tucking the duvet around her waist as the warmth of the fire wasn’t quite enough to keep the chill out of the air on her side of the room.
“So.” Molly paused to take a deep breath, not quite believing she was about to say the words on the tip of her tongue. “You masturbate in the shower?”
Sherlock huffed in annoyance. “Really? That’s what you’ve been fussing over for the last ten minutes?”
“Noooo.” She shook her head. “Well, yes.”
“Is that a problem? Yes, I have—on occasion—brought myself to orgasm in the shower. You said yourself that sort of thing is perfectly normal.”
“Oh, it is! It’s just, that’s not really the sort of information I’m used to hearing about you. Or from you. I mean, I don’t really talk about that with any guy, usually. I’ve never thought about—for instance—John’s preferred wanking routine; so, this is sort of stuck in my head. Sorry.” She wasn’t sure why she was apologizing, honestly. He was the one who got into details in the first place, it really wasn’t her fault.
“In the morning before he got out of bed, if his time at Baker Street was an accurate example. He may have changed things up once he moved in with Mary.”
“Ugh!” Molly grimaced. “Why would you tell me that? Now I won’t be able to look him in the face the next time you bring him to the lab.”
He went as still as a statue for a long moment. “That wasn’t—You didn’t react that way when you heard about my, erm, habits.”
“Well, that was different, wasn’t it.” She picked at the duvet cover. “That was John and you are . . . You.”
“Why should it be any different? Because you’re attracted to me?”
Molly shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe?”
She got the impression that he was straining to see her face in the darkened room, that he wanted to read her expression, deduce something important to him. She continued to fidget under his scrutiny. “What is it now?”
“I didn’t say anything!”
Molly thought he rolled his eyes, but she couldn’t be certain in the poor lighting. “You didn’t have to.”
“I’m sorry. I’m trying to think of something else, I swear; but . . .”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, and she fought the urge to give in to a fit of nervous giggling. “What embarrassingly personal information do you want now? What brand of body wash I use for lubricant?”
Now that he brought it up . . . She snorted at the poor phrasing her mind had chosen. Besides, if she were really curious—and she might be now, not that she was going to admit it to him—she could just take a quick peek behind his shower curtain the next time she was visiting Baker Street.
“Fine, since you keep pestering me to tell you. How often do you do it? Is it just once a year, every other week, once a day?”
Sherlock sighed, almost resigned, as if he realized she really would be wondering about it all night if he didn’t answer. “It used to be once a month, on average. I didn’t exactly schedule it into my calendar.”
“Used to be?” She’d picked up on that quickly enough.
There was a long, awkward silence before he spoke again. This time he was so quiet she had to strain to hear him. “I may have begun to indulge a bit more often over the last year or so.”
“Any, uhm, any reason in particular?”
Sherlock growled her name in a warning. “Why are we still talking about this? How would you feel if I asked you the same sort of questions?”
Obviously, he expected her to blush and issue some sort of maidenly squeak as she hid under the covers or stuttered an indignant “How dare you?” Wasn’t he in for a surprise.
Although, in all fairness, she did blush. Molly couldn’t help but be a little thankful that the bed was covered in shadows as it felt like her cheeks were burning.
“I’ve got nothing to hide. I’ve done it in the bath. You know, if it’s been a long or stressful day and I need to relax. Usually, though, I prefer the bed. So I can stretch out. Get comfortable. Don’t have to worry about falling asleep after, if I’m already in bed.” She hoped he didn’t notice the way she pressed her thighs together, more than a little turned on.
“The bed. Your bed. Where I sleep when I stay over. That bed?” He reached for the bottle of wine and poured a hefty amount into his glass.
“You’re the one who insists on taking my room every time, so you can’t blame that on me. Where did you think I did it?”
Sherlock tilted the wine glass to his lips and drained it in one go, then carefully set it back on the table. “I-I hadn’t really given the matter any thought. Until now.”
“Well, now you know,” Molly huffed. “Good luck getting that out of your head next time you need a bolthole. Just like I’ll never be able to use the bathroom at Baker Street without picturing . . . You know what, I’m suddenly very sleepy. Night!” She flopped back against her pillows and pulled the duvet as high as it would go, hoping—no, praying—that Sherlock would just let it go.
Unfortunately, she’d been telling the truth. Every time she visited him from now on, she’d wonder if he’d recently ‘indulged’; and what could have possibly driven him to it, if he had. In the last few hours she had discovered that he was attracted to her, enough to get aroused on two separate occasions in one day! Did that mean there was a possibility that he might have thought about her once or twice while he was ‘indulging’ himself?
Molly squirmed, and tried not to whimper.
Heaven knew she’d thought of him plenty of times. Pictured him between her legs. Imagined him thrusting into her over and over. Saying her name in that deep, gorgeous voice of his as he came.
“Molly.”
Oh God, just like that. Her own voice was a bit unsteady and husky as she replied. “Yeah?”
“Are you aware that your respiratory rate has increased?”
How could he even tell from all the way over there, unless he’d been completely focused on her. That made her shiver. “Yeah.”
He shifted toward her, nearly perching on the edge of the chair. “You’re restless. I can hear you shifting around under the duvet.”
It wasn’t a question, but she answered anyway. “Yeah. I am aware of that, too. Very aware.”
“Those are-“ He paused to clear his throat. “Those are signs that you are either uncomfortable with the current topic of discussion or aroused.”
“Definitely one of those two, yes.” As if he didn’t already know.
She propped herself up on her elbows so that she could see him more clearly. “What about you? Are you . . .?”
Sherlock drove both hands into his hair, messing up his curls. Finally, he shook his head and laughed, quick and almost angry. “If I was half as intelligent as I claim to be, I would tell you no and go take a walk outside to cool off.”
“But you’re not,” Molly whispered. She didn’t expect him to answer. She wasn’t even sure he’d been able to hear her.
“No, I’m not. I’m not even sure what I’m doing right now, this is not-this is a minefield to me, Molly. I know I need to tread carefully, but I haven’t a clue which way to turn. All I know is that I . . . want.”
The crackle and snaps of the fire seemed unnaturally loud in the room as they both considered the situation. Molly knew the easiest option would be to lay back down and try to sleep, to wait until they were home to discuss it again; but she didn’t want to wait. She wanted Sherlock, there was no point in even trying to deny that; but she wasn’t sure she ready to have sex with him, regardless of the many and varied fantasies she had had about him over the years.
Was she?
Perhaps, though, there were other things they could do that would ease the warm ache growing in her core.
Molly sat up and took a deep breath. “Have you ever done it with someone else in the room?”
“Masturbate?” She nodded. “I have, but it was never-” She got the feeling he was searching for the right words. “It was perfunctory and not particularly erotic, simply a means to an end. To do what needed to be done so I could concentrate on other things. You?”
“A few times. It was different for me. Like foreplay. You know, a preview of what was to come eventually.”
“Just so there’s no misunderstanding on my part, you brought this up because . . .?”
She rolled her eyes and dropped back against the pillows behind her. “Because you’ve got me all hot and bothered, and I’m at the point where I would really like to have an orgasm, and it just seemed rude not to ask if you’d like to join me. If you’re not interested, just say you’re not interested and I’ll go have a bath or something!”
“I’m interested!” Sherlock sprung up from his chair. “I’m very interested. Should I stay here or would you prefer I come over there? Over there would probably be better, don’t you think?”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather do it in the shower?” Molly joked, suddenly nervous even though this encounter, for want of a better word, had been her suggestion.
He paused long enough that she realized he was actually considering it. “I imagine that would require a larger shower stall than we’ve got here. The tub, however, seems to be built with two people in mind. Perhaps next time?”
Somehow, hearing him say that sent a wave of warmth through her that had nothing to do with arousal. Part of her had honestly thought this moment of insanity might have been a onetime thing, something that happened at Happy Hearts and was never spoken of again. If Sherlock was already thinking ahead to ‘next time’, surely that was a good sign?
“You’re right, no need to get complicated the first time.” She bit her lip and clutched at the duvet as he crossed the small room. He was backlit by the fire as he sat on the edge of the bed, and Molly felt her heart begin to race. “This is just the first time, right? I mean, we are going to, again? I mean, not necessarily this specifically, but something similar. With orgasms and-and will there be a second time?”
God, she sounded like an insecure idiot. She ducked her head and closed her eyes, embarrassed beyond words.
She felt the bed dip as he leaned closer to touch her jaw and gently lift her head so she could see his face in the dim light from the fireplace. “Unless something goes tragically wrong, I’m hoping it will be the first of many. In case I haven’t made it clear, I do care for you, Molly. Far more than just friends.”
He brushed his thumb across her lower lip and ducked his head a bit so he could look her in the eye. “I would hope from your question, that you are also interested in something more than a quick fumble? I’m afraid I’m not the sort of man who enters into these things lightly. Not anymore.” His eyes seemed to darken for a moment.
Molly pressed a soft kiss to the pad of his thumb, wanting him to come back from wherever his memories had taken him.
“Obviously, I’m not demanding a declaration of love and a proposal of marriage before I let you get my trousers off.” He waited for her to finish giggling to continue. “But if you can’t see the potential for a future—however odd and unconventional—between us, then now would be a good time to-to let me down gently, as they say. Before we pass beyond the point of no return and ruin our friendship.”
“I don’t want to let you down,” Molly whispered, not quite believing this was really happening. That Sherlock was saying he wanted a relationship. With her. Molly Hooper.
He closed the short distance between them and brushed his lips against hers. She could feel his smile in the soft movement. Molly put her hands on his shoulders and pulled him closer still. It wasn’t long before their kisses become longer. Firmer. Wetter.
Sherlock pushed the bedding out of the way, shoving it toward the bottom of the bed. She hummed her appreciation for his initiative against his neck. Her teeth grazed his throat, and he gasped. Soon enough, he pressed her back against the bed and followed her down.
Molly tugged at the back of his tee, raking the material upward until her fingers found his skin. He groaned against her lips, nipping at the bottom one. Sherlock braced himself above her with his forearm tucked against her. His free hand found the hem of her vest and dipped beneath the soft material. Her skin tingled as his fingers slid upward until they ghosted against the underside of her breast. Her body arched toward him when his palm grazed her nipple.
She scratched her nails against back. Sherlock’s hips surged forward and she felt his firm erection against her thigh.
“How-how do you want to do this?” he panted against her ear before drawing the lobe between his teeth.
Hard and fast, was her first thought, but she bit it back. That wasn’t what they’d agreed to; although she nearly second guessed herself when he circled her nipple with his thumb. At this rate, she’d be begging him to fuck her before the morning. “Naked?”
“Naked is good,” Sherlock quickly agreed. He sat up and pulled his tee over his head. Her mouth went dry at the sight of his bare chest, then it positively watered when he reached for the drawstring of his lounge pants. His hands stilled before he could push the waistband down, and she nearly protested. He frowned, doubt creeping into his voice. “You’re not getting undressed. Why aren’t you getting undressed?”
Molly blinked and lifted her hips to wiggled her pyjamas down her legs before kicking them the rest of the way off. She wasn’t quite ready to remove her vest, the unwelcome echo of hurtful words from so long ago teased at the back of her mind. Even though he’d had his hand up her shirt and seemed satisfied with what he found there, she hesitated at taking that last step.
Unsurprisingly, he seemed to know what she was thinking. Sherlock’s hand found one of hers, tightly wrapped around a fistful of the pale-yellow cotton. “It’s okay. Another time.”
He stood up and finished pulling his lounge pants off. Molly ached to touch him.
“My God, you are beautiful.”
Sherlock laughed, rather smugly she thought. “Shouldn’t that be my line?” He crawled back into bed and reached for her.
It took everything she had to hold him at arm’s length, her palms pressed against his chest. “Oh no, you stay where you are. If you come over here and kiss me again, and I’m afraid I’m going to forget myself and jump you.”
Sherlock froze. She could practically hear the thoughts racing through his mind, analysing pros and cons and probabilities. Almost thirty seconds later, he finally blinked. “Is that such a bad thing?”
She was tempted. So tempted. And judging from the way his cock seemed to grow even harder, so was he.
“No?”
He grinned and reached for her again, but Molly’s hands continued to hold him back. “Do you have any protection?”
Most of him deflated—but not his erection, she was pleased to see—and he sat back on his heels. “I don’t suppose you’re on birth control?”
Molly lowered her arms and nodded. “I am, but better safe than sorry.”
“Fair enough. All right, so we wait. In the meantime, I believe you had a brilliant idea for us to try?”
“Brilliant, is it?” Molly tilted her head and smiled coyly.
“Oh yes.” Sherlock plumped up the pillows on his side of the bed and shifted until he was leaning back against them, his long legs stretched out in front of him. “Shall we begin? Show me what you like, Molly. Show me how to make you come.”
The things his voice could do to her.
Slowly, she parted her thighs and bunched her vest up around her waist, exposing the small patch of curls above her cleft. Sherlock drew in a sharp breath as her fingers danced along her thighs, briefly dipping between them before continuing on. Her other hand moved up to cup her breast, capturing her nipple between two fingers and gently pinching.
“What do you like? What do you do in the shower? What do you think about?” Molly asked her breath hitching as she increased the pressure on her nipple.
It was as if he couldn’t decide what to focus on, his gaze kept alternating from her breasts to the hand between her thighs.
“Sherlock?”
His own hand wrapped around his cock and pulled upward in one long stroke. She saw his eyelids flutter briefly at the sensation. “I used to I try to get it over with as quickly as possible; but ever since—oh God—I’ve wanted to-needed to make it last.”
Molly caressed her clit; slow, circular motions that made her toes curl. “Since what?”
His eyes flicked up to hers as he continued to stroke himself. “Since you broke up with your fiancé and started letting me sleep in your bed.”
Her breath caught. Images of an aroused and naked Sherlock laying in between her mint green sheets immediately flooded her mind.
“After a night at your place I’d hurry home, the memory of your scent surrounding me, already hard before I had a chance to walk through the door. Sometimes I’d stand under the cold water and will the urge away; but sometimes, sometimes I didn’t have the willpower to deny myself, and I would come so hard my knees threatened to buckle.”
She wasn’t surprised at how wet she was when she finally let her fingers slip lower, teasing her entrance with the lightest of touches. “I’ve imagined you standing in the doorway to my bedroom, watching me do this. I’d pretend to be embarrassed at getting caught, but we’d both know I wanted you to find me.”
Sherlock groaned and gripped his cock harder, moved his hand faster as he gathered drops of precum when he passed his thumb over the head. “I wouldn’t have been able to just watch. I would have joined you on the bed, made you scream my name when you came.” His free hand slid across the space between them until he just barely brushed against her hip. “I want to touch you, Molly.”
Her thighs parted even more as she silently reached for his hand and guided it into place. The angle was awkward, but the first glide of his fingertips across her sensitive flesh made her tremble. She urged his hand lower, showing him how to touch her, how to make her gasp. First one, then two of his fingers slid inside her, and Molly nearly came off the bed.
He abandoned his eager cock and used his free hand to caress her waist. He hesitated before burrowing his hand under her vest. Sherlock silently asked permission with his extraordinary blue eyes, and she nodded her consent. The two fingers sought out her nipple at the same time two more began to thrust in and out of her soaking channel. Somehow, his thumb began circling her clit in a delicious counterpoint; and if she could have strung to thoughts together, Molly would have marvelled at his ability to multitask.
As he drove her closer and closer to her peak, she could feel him rocking against her hip; his erection hot and insistent. He moaned her name when she slipped a hand between their bodies and wrapped her fingers around his cock. Sherlock shuddered and leaned over to mouth her breast through her vest. His teeth gently closed around her nipple, then not so gently, and Molly saw stars as she came.
He kept sucking on her breast and working her clit until she physically pushed his hand from between her thighs. She heard him make a noise—almost a whine from the back of his throat—and realized that she’d stopped stroking him while she’d been distracted by one of the best orgasms she’d had in months, if not longer.
Molly rolled to her side and endeavoured to make up for neglecting him. Her free hand reached between his thighs to cradle his scrotum while the other teased over the head of his cock. Sherlock’s head fell back against the pillows. He wrapped his hand around hers and begged her to grip him tighter, stroke him faster.
“Close, fuck, I’m close-“ She felt his balls tighten seconds before he pulsed in her hand and he came growling her name.
Sherlock sprawled back against the bed and tried to catch his breath. He finally managed to turn his head and grin at her. “Beautiful and brilliant.”
“You or me?” Molly asked, a bit out of breath herself. She knew his stomach had to be wet and sticky, but he didn’t seem to care at the moment.
“You. Always you.”
Part 1 / Part 5
Rating: M
A/N - I don't even know.
The Decoy Wife
Part Four
The moment they got back to their room, Sherlock shut himself in the bathroom. She heard the shower come on almost immediately.
“And here we go again,” Molly sighed. She was torn between storming the bathroom and asking—no, demanding—just what was going on between them, and acting as if there was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary about Sherlock Holmes snogging her breathless.
Screw it, Molly thought; finally coming to a decision after several minutes. There was no way she’d be able to sleep next to him in that bed if they didn’t discuss what happened.
Even if he said it was an aberration, never to be repeated, it would still tell her where she stood with him. Yes, it would be a bit harder to work with him in the lab, now that she knew exactly what she’d be missing; but she’d become an old hand at keeping the occasional lust filled thought at bay when he was in the room. Mostly.
However, she was absolutely positive the sight of Sherlock Holmes standing in the loo doorway wearing a fluffy white towel wrapped around his waist, his hair still damp from his shower, was going to distract her at the most inconvenient times for the rest of her life.
“Jesus, Sherlock. Warn a girl.”
He frowned, clearly confused. “Warn you of what?”
“That.” She waved her hand in his general direction. “With the wet and the towel and the glasses . . . Why are you wearing the glasses?”
“Because Simon said he would be sending someone up with food, and they should be arriving right about-“ Sherlock paused and tilted his head toward the door to the room just as someone knocked. “Now.”
Molly shook her head as she moved to answer the door. “Could you be any more smug?”
Sherlock looked toward the ceiling, lips pursed as he considered it. “Possibly, but not by much.”
She was still grinning when she pulled open the door; although her smile dropped when she recognized ‘Any time, day or night’ Jenny standing there.
“Hi, Mrs Hooper. Simon said you were feeling peckish. Should I bring it in?” Jenny pushed her way into the room before Molly could say anything. She deposited the tray on the small table next to a pair of chairs near the fireplace then turned to smile brightly at Sherlock. “Nice to see you again, Mr Hooper.”
He nodded, not looking the least bit embarrassed about standing around in just a towel. “Hello, Jenny. What have you brought us?”
“I had the kitchen put together some fruit and cheese for you, and Simon sent up a bottle of his favourite red.” Jenny beamed at Sherlock, and Molly couldn’t help but feel as if she had somehow turned invisible.
“Sounds delicious. Doesn’t it, Molly?”
“Delightful.” Molly held the door open wider and titled her head toward it. “Well, I’m sure you’ve got plenty of things to do and we wouldn’t want to keep you from them, Jessie.”
The other woman frowned, but started to make her way to the door. “It’s Jenny.”
“Is it? Huh.” Molly swept the door shut behind the other woman and took a deep breath before turning to find Sherlock inspecting the wine bottle.
“I very much doubt this is Simon’s favourite anything. I could have picked up better at a petrol station.” He set the bottle back on the tray and looked up at her. “That was uncharacteristically rude of you, Molly.”
She sighed, although she knew he was right. “I get why you’re wearing the glasses, but why couldn’t you have put on some clothes before she showed up?”
“No time.”
“You could have waited to shower until after-“
“No, I couldn’t,” Sherlock interrupted her. “The pool was over chlorinated, I needed to scrub it off.”
“Okay.” He had a wild-eyed, slightly panicked look on his face and Molly thought it best not to point out that he was obviously lying. “Well, I should probably go wash off the chlorine myself.”
His shoulders slumped in relief that she wasn’t pressing him for a more believable answer. “Good idea. Go ahead, the bathroom’s all yours.”
She grabbed her pyjamas (soft cotton and not a single kitten or bright fruit in sight, she’d made sure of that) and shut herself in the loo.
Pulling the clingy swimsuit from her body took some effort, but soon enough she was able to step into the shower cubicle. The walls were still wet, as if she needed the reminder that Sherlock had already been there. Naked under the water, hands sliding across his slick skin.
“Oh, God,” Molly whimpered. If she wasn’t careful, he was going to read every inappropriate thought she had in her expression the moment she stepped out of the bathroom.
“Right. Quickly then. Save the fantasies for when I get back home.”
Fifteen minutes later she padded barefoot into the bedroom, comb in hand. Sherlock was sitting in front of the fire, staring at the flames as if he were hypnotized. He’d changed into a tee and a pair of lounge pants, but no sign of one of his usual dressing gowns. Perhaps Sherlock had decided that Scott the accountant wasn’t the kind of man who bothered with a dressing gown. The glasses, thankfully, were nowhere in sight.
Molly plopped down in the chair next to him, and snagged a piece of cheese before she settled down to the business of combing the tangles out of her wet hair.
“Is the wine drinkable?” she asked, finally noticing that he had a half-full glass in one hand.
“Not as horrible as I expected.” He set his glass aside for a moment to pour one for her.
She didn’t think there was anything wrong with it, but then she wasn’t a wine snob. Molly ate a slice of apple before returning to her hair.
Her glass had been topped off and more than half the fruit and cheese eaten before either of them spoke again.
“Sherlock?”
“Hmm?” He took a final sip of his wine and set his empty glass on the table.
“Are we still not talking about—you know—earlier, when you-“
“Yep.” He cut her off, obnoxiously popping the ‘p’. “Not talking about it.”
“It’s just erection,” Molly tried to reassure him. “Men get them all the time.”
He jerked, turning his head to glare at her. “I don’t.”
Molly stared at him in disbelief. “Never?”
“Obviously not ‘never’.” Sherlock rolled his eyes and slumped down in the chair. “I may not cater to my body’s every whim, but there are some things even I cannot control.” He picked up the wine bottle as if he were considering a refill, then discarded it with a look of distaste. “The last several years, however, I have tried to keep that sort of thing confined to a few minutes in the shower when . . .” Sherlock trailed off, searching for the right words.
“When you get horny?” Molly offered before biting her lower lip to keep a goofy grin from spreading across her face.
Sherlock glared at her. “And that is exactly why we’re not talking about it.”
“Sorry. Sorry.” She held up her hand placatingly. “Aroused. Is that better?”
“Not particularly.” He dropped his head back against the chair, obviously uncomfortable. “Go to bed, Molly.”
“Are you coming?”
He narrowed his eyes at her, as if trying to deduce if she had been attempting to make a joke or not.
She winced. “To sleep, I mean.”
“No. I need to think.” He closed his eyes and steepled his fingers against his chin, a clear Sherlock code for ‘go away’.
Molly hesitated, unsure if she should try to say or do something to try to make things less awkward. When nothing came to her after a long moment, she did as he asked. She turned off the lights, quietly reminded him to tend to the fire before he fell asleep (if he fell asleep), and crawled into the bed.
As soon as she was settled in—pillows properly fluffed, duvet pulled up to her shoulders—she heard Sherlock’s soft and a bit apologetic, “Goodnight, Molly.”
“Night, Sherlock.”
She had no idea how long she lay there, staring up at the heavily shadowed ceiling, her hands clenched together on her stomach in an effort to still the urge to fidget. Her mind raced with thoughts only to come back to the same one, over and over.
“For God’s sake, whatever it is, just say it.” Molly jerked at the sound of his voice, and lifted her head to see him leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “I can hear you thinking from all the way over here.”
She briefly considered lying, but he’d know and she would still be plagued with that insidious thought that would not go away. She sat up, carefully tucking the duvet around her waist as the warmth of the fire wasn’t quite enough to keep the chill out of the air on her side of the room.
“So.” Molly paused to take a deep breath, not quite believing she was about to say the words on the tip of her tongue. “You masturbate in the shower?”
Sherlock huffed in annoyance. “Really? That’s what you’ve been fussing over for the last ten minutes?”
“Noooo.” She shook her head. “Well, yes.”
“Is that a problem? Yes, I have—on occasion—brought myself to orgasm in the shower. You said yourself that sort of thing is perfectly normal.”
“Oh, it is! It’s just, that’s not really the sort of information I’m used to hearing about you. Or from you. I mean, I don’t really talk about that with any guy, usually. I’ve never thought about—for instance—John’s preferred wanking routine; so, this is sort of stuck in my head. Sorry.” She wasn’t sure why she was apologizing, honestly. He was the one who got into details in the first place, it really wasn’t her fault.
“In the morning before he got out of bed, if his time at Baker Street was an accurate example. He may have changed things up once he moved in with Mary.”
“Ugh!” Molly grimaced. “Why would you tell me that? Now I won’t be able to look him in the face the next time you bring him to the lab.”
He went as still as a statue for a long moment. “That wasn’t—You didn’t react that way when you heard about my, erm, habits.”
“Well, that was different, wasn’t it.” She picked at the duvet cover. “That was John and you are . . . You.”
“Why should it be any different? Because you’re attracted to me?”
Molly shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe?”
She got the impression that he was straining to see her face in the darkened room, that he wanted to read her expression, deduce something important to him. She continued to fidget under his scrutiny. “What is it now?”
“I didn’t say anything!”
Molly thought he rolled his eyes, but she couldn’t be certain in the poor lighting. “You didn’t have to.”
“I’m sorry. I’m trying to think of something else, I swear; but . . .”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, and she fought the urge to give in to a fit of nervous giggling. “What embarrassingly personal information do you want now? What brand of body wash I use for lubricant?”
Now that he brought it up . . . She snorted at the poor phrasing her mind had chosen. Besides, if she were really curious—and she might be now, not that she was going to admit it to him—she could just take a quick peek behind his shower curtain the next time she was visiting Baker Street.
“Fine, since you keep pestering me to tell you. How often do you do it? Is it just once a year, every other week, once a day?”
Sherlock sighed, almost resigned, as if he realized she really would be wondering about it all night if he didn’t answer. “It used to be once a month, on average. I didn’t exactly schedule it into my calendar.”
“Used to be?” She’d picked up on that quickly enough.
There was a long, awkward silence before he spoke again. This time he was so quiet she had to strain to hear him. “I may have begun to indulge a bit more often over the last year or so.”
“Any, uhm, any reason in particular?”
Sherlock growled her name in a warning. “Why are we still talking about this? How would you feel if I asked you the same sort of questions?”
Obviously, he expected her to blush and issue some sort of maidenly squeak as she hid under the covers or stuttered an indignant “How dare you?” Wasn’t he in for a surprise.
Although, in all fairness, she did blush. Molly couldn’t help but be a little thankful that the bed was covered in shadows as it felt like her cheeks were burning.
“I’ve got nothing to hide. I’ve done it in the bath. You know, if it’s been a long or stressful day and I need to relax. Usually, though, I prefer the bed. So I can stretch out. Get comfortable. Don’t have to worry about falling asleep after, if I’m already in bed.” She hoped he didn’t notice the way she pressed her thighs together, more than a little turned on.
“The bed. Your bed. Where I sleep when I stay over. That bed?” He reached for the bottle of wine and poured a hefty amount into his glass.
“You’re the one who insists on taking my room every time, so you can’t blame that on me. Where did you think I did it?”
Sherlock tilted the wine glass to his lips and drained it in one go, then carefully set it back on the table. “I-I hadn’t really given the matter any thought. Until now.”
“Well, now you know,” Molly huffed. “Good luck getting that out of your head next time you need a bolthole. Just like I’ll never be able to use the bathroom at Baker Street without picturing . . . You know what, I’m suddenly very sleepy. Night!” She flopped back against her pillows and pulled the duvet as high as it would go, hoping—no, praying—that Sherlock would just let it go.
Unfortunately, she’d been telling the truth. Every time she visited him from now on, she’d wonder if he’d recently ‘indulged’; and what could have possibly driven him to it, if he had. In the last few hours she had discovered that he was attracted to her, enough to get aroused on two separate occasions in one day! Did that mean there was a possibility that he might have thought about her once or twice while he was ‘indulging’ himself?
Molly squirmed, and tried not to whimper.
Heaven knew she’d thought of him plenty of times. Pictured him between her legs. Imagined him thrusting into her over and over. Saying her name in that deep, gorgeous voice of his as he came.
“Molly.”
Oh God, just like that. Her own voice was a bit unsteady and husky as she replied. “Yeah?”
“Are you aware that your respiratory rate has increased?”
How could he even tell from all the way over there, unless he’d been completely focused on her. That made her shiver. “Yeah.”
He shifted toward her, nearly perching on the edge of the chair. “You’re restless. I can hear you shifting around under the duvet.”
It wasn’t a question, but she answered anyway. “Yeah. I am aware of that, too. Very aware.”
“Those are-“ He paused to clear his throat. “Those are signs that you are either uncomfortable with the current topic of discussion or aroused.”
“Definitely one of those two, yes.” As if he didn’t already know.
She propped herself up on her elbows so that she could see him more clearly. “What about you? Are you . . .?”
Sherlock drove both hands into his hair, messing up his curls. Finally, he shook his head and laughed, quick and almost angry. “If I was half as intelligent as I claim to be, I would tell you no and go take a walk outside to cool off.”
“But you’re not,” Molly whispered. She didn’t expect him to answer. She wasn’t even sure he’d been able to hear her.
“No, I’m not. I’m not even sure what I’m doing right now, this is not-this is a minefield to me, Molly. I know I need to tread carefully, but I haven’t a clue which way to turn. All I know is that I . . . want.”
The crackle and snaps of the fire seemed unnaturally loud in the room as they both considered the situation. Molly knew the easiest option would be to lay back down and try to sleep, to wait until they were home to discuss it again; but she didn’t want to wait. She wanted Sherlock, there was no point in even trying to deny that; but she wasn’t sure she ready to have sex with him, regardless of the many and varied fantasies she had had about him over the years.
Was she?
Perhaps, though, there were other things they could do that would ease the warm ache growing in her core.
Molly sat up and took a deep breath. “Have you ever done it with someone else in the room?”
“Masturbate?” She nodded. “I have, but it was never-” She got the feeling he was searching for the right words. “It was perfunctory and not particularly erotic, simply a means to an end. To do what needed to be done so I could concentrate on other things. You?”
“A few times. It was different for me. Like foreplay. You know, a preview of what was to come eventually.”
“Just so there’s no misunderstanding on my part, you brought this up because . . .?”
She rolled her eyes and dropped back against the pillows behind her. “Because you’ve got me all hot and bothered, and I’m at the point where I would really like to have an orgasm, and it just seemed rude not to ask if you’d like to join me. If you’re not interested, just say you’re not interested and I’ll go have a bath or something!”
“I’m interested!” Sherlock sprung up from his chair. “I’m very interested. Should I stay here or would you prefer I come over there? Over there would probably be better, don’t you think?”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather do it in the shower?” Molly joked, suddenly nervous even though this encounter, for want of a better word, had been her suggestion.
He paused long enough that she realized he was actually considering it. “I imagine that would require a larger shower stall than we’ve got here. The tub, however, seems to be built with two people in mind. Perhaps next time?”
Somehow, hearing him say that sent a wave of warmth through her that had nothing to do with arousal. Part of her had honestly thought this moment of insanity might have been a onetime thing, something that happened at Happy Hearts and was never spoken of again. If Sherlock was already thinking ahead to ‘next time’, surely that was a good sign?
“You’re right, no need to get complicated the first time.” She bit her lip and clutched at the duvet as he crossed the small room. He was backlit by the fire as he sat on the edge of the bed, and Molly felt her heart begin to race. “This is just the first time, right? I mean, we are going to, again? I mean, not necessarily this specifically, but something similar. With orgasms and-and will there be a second time?”
God, she sounded like an insecure idiot. She ducked her head and closed her eyes, embarrassed beyond words.
She felt the bed dip as he leaned closer to touch her jaw and gently lift her head so she could see his face in the dim light from the fireplace. “Unless something goes tragically wrong, I’m hoping it will be the first of many. In case I haven’t made it clear, I do care for you, Molly. Far more than just friends.”
He brushed his thumb across her lower lip and ducked his head a bit so he could look her in the eye. “I would hope from your question, that you are also interested in something more than a quick fumble? I’m afraid I’m not the sort of man who enters into these things lightly. Not anymore.” His eyes seemed to darken for a moment.
Molly pressed a soft kiss to the pad of his thumb, wanting him to come back from wherever his memories had taken him.
“Obviously, I’m not demanding a declaration of love and a proposal of marriage before I let you get my trousers off.” He waited for her to finish giggling to continue. “But if you can’t see the potential for a future—however odd and unconventional—between us, then now would be a good time to-to let me down gently, as they say. Before we pass beyond the point of no return and ruin our friendship.”
“I don’t want to let you down,” Molly whispered, not quite believing this was really happening. That Sherlock was saying he wanted a relationship. With her. Molly Hooper.
He closed the short distance between them and brushed his lips against hers. She could feel his smile in the soft movement. Molly put her hands on his shoulders and pulled him closer still. It wasn’t long before their kisses become longer. Firmer. Wetter.
Sherlock pushed the bedding out of the way, shoving it toward the bottom of the bed. She hummed her appreciation for his initiative against his neck. Her teeth grazed his throat, and he gasped. Soon enough, he pressed her back against the bed and followed her down.
Molly tugged at the back of his tee, raking the material upward until her fingers found his skin. He groaned against her lips, nipping at the bottom one. Sherlock braced himself above her with his forearm tucked against her. His free hand found the hem of her vest and dipped beneath the soft material. Her skin tingled as his fingers slid upward until they ghosted against the underside of her breast. Her body arched toward him when his palm grazed her nipple.
She scratched her nails against back. Sherlock’s hips surged forward and she felt his firm erection against her thigh.
“How-how do you want to do this?” he panted against her ear before drawing the lobe between his teeth.
Hard and fast, was her first thought, but she bit it back. That wasn’t what they’d agreed to; although she nearly second guessed herself when he circled her nipple with his thumb. At this rate, she’d be begging him to fuck her before the morning. “Naked?”
“Naked is good,” Sherlock quickly agreed. He sat up and pulled his tee over his head. Her mouth went dry at the sight of his bare chest, then it positively watered when he reached for the drawstring of his lounge pants. His hands stilled before he could push the waistband down, and she nearly protested. He frowned, doubt creeping into his voice. “You’re not getting undressed. Why aren’t you getting undressed?”
Molly blinked and lifted her hips to wiggled her pyjamas down her legs before kicking them the rest of the way off. She wasn’t quite ready to remove her vest, the unwelcome echo of hurtful words from so long ago teased at the back of her mind. Even though he’d had his hand up her shirt and seemed satisfied with what he found there, she hesitated at taking that last step.
Unsurprisingly, he seemed to know what she was thinking. Sherlock’s hand found one of hers, tightly wrapped around a fistful of the pale-yellow cotton. “It’s okay. Another time.”
He stood up and finished pulling his lounge pants off. Molly ached to touch him.
“My God, you are beautiful.”
Sherlock laughed, rather smugly she thought. “Shouldn’t that be my line?” He crawled back into bed and reached for her.
It took everything she had to hold him at arm’s length, her palms pressed against his chest. “Oh no, you stay where you are. If you come over here and kiss me again, and I’m afraid I’m going to forget myself and jump you.”
Sherlock froze. She could practically hear the thoughts racing through his mind, analysing pros and cons and probabilities. Almost thirty seconds later, he finally blinked. “Is that such a bad thing?”
She was tempted. So tempted. And judging from the way his cock seemed to grow even harder, so was he.
“No?”
He grinned and reached for her again, but Molly’s hands continued to hold him back. “Do you have any protection?”
Most of him deflated—but not his erection, she was pleased to see—and he sat back on his heels. “I don’t suppose you’re on birth control?”
Molly lowered her arms and nodded. “I am, but better safe than sorry.”
“Fair enough. All right, so we wait. In the meantime, I believe you had a brilliant idea for us to try?”
“Brilliant, is it?” Molly tilted her head and smiled coyly.
“Oh yes.” Sherlock plumped up the pillows on his side of the bed and shifted until he was leaning back against them, his long legs stretched out in front of him. “Shall we begin? Show me what you like, Molly. Show me how to make you come.”
The things his voice could do to her.
Slowly, she parted her thighs and bunched her vest up around her waist, exposing the small patch of curls above her cleft. Sherlock drew in a sharp breath as her fingers danced along her thighs, briefly dipping between them before continuing on. Her other hand moved up to cup her breast, capturing her nipple between two fingers and gently pinching.
“What do you like? What do you do in the shower? What do you think about?” Molly asked her breath hitching as she increased the pressure on her nipple.
It was as if he couldn’t decide what to focus on, his gaze kept alternating from her breasts to the hand between her thighs.
“Sherlock?”
His own hand wrapped around his cock and pulled upward in one long stroke. She saw his eyelids flutter briefly at the sensation. “I used to I try to get it over with as quickly as possible; but ever since—oh God—I’ve wanted to-needed to make it last.”
Molly caressed her clit; slow, circular motions that made her toes curl. “Since what?”
His eyes flicked up to hers as he continued to stroke himself. “Since you broke up with your fiancé and started letting me sleep in your bed.”
Her breath caught. Images of an aroused and naked Sherlock laying in between her mint green sheets immediately flooded her mind.
“After a night at your place I’d hurry home, the memory of your scent surrounding me, already hard before I had a chance to walk through the door. Sometimes I’d stand under the cold water and will the urge away; but sometimes, sometimes I didn’t have the willpower to deny myself, and I would come so hard my knees threatened to buckle.”
She wasn’t surprised at how wet she was when she finally let her fingers slip lower, teasing her entrance with the lightest of touches. “I’ve imagined you standing in the doorway to my bedroom, watching me do this. I’d pretend to be embarrassed at getting caught, but we’d both know I wanted you to find me.”
Sherlock groaned and gripped his cock harder, moved his hand faster as he gathered drops of precum when he passed his thumb over the head. “I wouldn’t have been able to just watch. I would have joined you on the bed, made you scream my name when you came.” His free hand slid across the space between them until he just barely brushed against her hip. “I want to touch you, Molly.”
Her thighs parted even more as she silently reached for his hand and guided it into place. The angle was awkward, but the first glide of his fingertips across her sensitive flesh made her tremble. She urged his hand lower, showing him how to touch her, how to make her gasp. First one, then two of his fingers slid inside her, and Molly nearly came off the bed.
He abandoned his eager cock and used his free hand to caress her waist. He hesitated before burrowing his hand under her vest. Sherlock silently asked permission with his extraordinary blue eyes, and she nodded her consent. The two fingers sought out her nipple at the same time two more began to thrust in and out of her soaking channel. Somehow, his thumb began circling her clit in a delicious counterpoint; and if she could have strung to thoughts together, Molly would have marvelled at his ability to multitask.
As he drove her closer and closer to her peak, she could feel him rocking against her hip; his erection hot and insistent. He moaned her name when she slipped a hand between their bodies and wrapped her fingers around his cock. Sherlock shuddered and leaned over to mouth her breast through her vest. His teeth gently closed around her nipple, then not so gently, and Molly saw stars as she came.
He kept sucking on her breast and working her clit until she physically pushed his hand from between her thighs. She heard him make a noise—almost a whine from the back of his throat—and realized that she’d stopped stroking him while she’d been distracted by one of the best orgasms she’d had in months, if not longer.
Molly rolled to her side and endeavoured to make up for neglecting him. Her free hand reached between his thighs to cradle his scrotum while the other teased over the head of his cock. Sherlock’s head fell back against the pillows. He wrapped his hand around hers and begged her to grip him tighter, stroke him faster.
“Close, fuck, I’m close-“ She felt his balls tighten seconds before he pulsed in her hand and he came growling her name.
Sherlock sprawled back against the bed and tried to catch his breath. He finally managed to turn his head and grin at her. “Beautiful and brilliant.”
“You or me?” Molly asked, a bit out of breath herself. She knew his stomach had to be wet and sticky, but he didn’t seem to care at the moment.
“You. Always you.”
Part 1 / Part 5