The Decoy Husband

[darnedchild]

Summary: A one shot sequel to "The Decoy Wife". Checking in on Molly and Sherlock nearly a year after the events at the Happy Heart Retreat.

Rating: M

A/N - For a prompt request from Hobbitsdoitbetter – “Maybe something where Sherlock plays up the whole gorgeously nerdy, glasses-wearing alter-ego from The Decoy Wife that gets Molly all hot and bothered? Rating etc up to you.” I hope this works.


The Decoy Husband



For a prompt request from Hobbitsdoitbetter – “Maybe something where Sherlock plays up the whole gorgeously nerdy, glasses-wearing alter-ego from The Decoy Wife that gets Molly all hot and bothered? Rating etc up to you.” I hope this works.

The Decoy Husband
Molly studied the menu in front of her, although she hadn’t a clue why she was bothering. She’d dined at Angelo’s with Sherlock often enough to know which dishes were her favourites. Mostly she was looking at the menu to waste time while she waited for Sherlock to arrive. He had sent a text to let her know he was running late, something he’d been making an effort to remember to do ever since their visit to the Happy Hearts Retreat nearly a year ago.

Thinking about that weekend never failed to bring a smile to her lips, and a warm flush to her skin.

She was so lost in thought, she didn’t notice someone walking up to her table until he cleared his throat and spoke her name. “Doctor Hooper?”

“Yes?” she replied automatically before her brain caught up with her mouth and told her she recognized that voice, even if it was uncharacteristically hesitant and unsure. Molly slowly raised her head to look at Sherlock; taking in the looser than normal dark grey suit, plain white button down, boring navy blue tie, carefully combed back hair, and the familiar pair of dark rimmed glasses that had her biting her lip to keep from making the sort of noise what was entirely inappropriate in a family restaurant. She suspected there would never come a day where the sight of Sherlock in those glasses failed to make her imagine the naughtiest things.

“Hi, I’m Scott.” Sherlock stuck his hand out. She took it, curious as to what Sherlock was up to. “We exchanged emails.” He leaned closer and spoke, sotto voice, “The on-line dating site. You liked my profile. We were supposed to meet for dinner?” His voice rose at the end, as if he wasn’t sure she remembered.

Which she obviously hadn’t since she hadn’t been on a dating website since before Tom—and even if she had, she’d never encountered anyone who looked like Sherlock. Or even Sherlock when he was pretending to be Scott the Accountant from Ipswich. However, she was willing to play along for the moment. “Right, sorry, I just wasn’t expecting . . . you.” He released her hand and took a step back, somehow managing to look as if she’d hurt his feelings. Molly hurried to reassure him even though she felt more than a little silly. “I mean, your profile picture didn’t do you justice. At all.”

Sherlock shyly smiled, and she marvelled yet again at how easily he seemed to slip into a role when he was undercover. Molly glanced around with a frown. Surely, he wasn’t on a case here, at Angelo’s. Molly hoped there was nothing amiss at the restaurant. She liked Angelo and his wife, and was particularly fond of the cannoli.

She turned back to see that Sherlock had reached for the chair opposite her. “May I?”

“Oh, yeah. Please, be my guest.”

He sat and studied her face long enough that Molly began to wonder if she had something on her nose. Sherlock/Scott blinked and shook his head as if clearing his thoughts. “Sorry. I just—I can’t believe how lucky I am that you chose me.”

Her lips parted and she felt as if she were melting under the heat in his gaze. He meant it; it wasn’t just a line being playacted as Scott. Sherlock had never said it in so many words before. He’d told her in the way he held her close in the middle of the night. The way his expression softened for just a moment when he looked at her. The way he reverently whispered ‘I love you’ as if he was still not quite sure he was allowed.

Lord knew she felt the same. “I think we’re both very lucky.”

He ducked his head, but she could still see the wide smile on his lips. Angelo came to take their order, telling Molly she looked especially lovely that evening, and asking if she and her date would like to share a bottle of wine. He didn’t bat an eye at Sherlock’s appearance or call Sherlock by name, but he also didn’t seem alarmed to see Sherlock’s girlfriend having dinner with a strange man, so he clearly recognized the Consulting Detective.

“So, Scott. What is it you do again? An accountant?” If he wanted to pretend they were on a first date, she would ask him the usual first date ‘getting to know you’ questions.

He nodded. “Yes. Forensics accounting, actually. When things don’t quite add up, they call me in.” Sherlock laughed, and pushed his glasses back up his nose. Molly couldn’t help giggling in return. It was exactly the sort of joke she would have told if she’d gone into finance instead of medicine.

“What about you?” he asked. “You said you were a doctor. Do you specialize in anything?”

Normally this early in a new relationship she would be hesitant to discuss her job in detail. Experience told her that some men where scared off by a woman who cut up corpses for a living. Of course, that wouldn’t be an issue this time.

“Pathology. Mostly it’s routine ‘establishing a cause of death’ sort of stuff, but sometimes something really interesting comes in.” Molly leaned forward with an eager grin, already knowing the answer to the question she was about to ask. “I had a unique one today, if you’d like to hear about it?”

As expected, he quickly agreed and asked the typical Sherlock questions as she told the story, deducing the cause of death and smirking when she confirmed he was correct.

Over dessert he said he couldn’t understand how she was single, surely someone had been smart enough to appreciate how intelligent and beautiful she was.

Molly thought he was laying it on a bit thick. “Well, there was a guy I was really interested in for a while; but he never seemed to notice, even though I thought I was being quite obvious. I even asked him out once, and he thought I was offering to fetch him coffee! I can only assume he was being deliberately obtuse.”

Sherlock scowled.

“And then there was the Christmas party.”

His scowl deepened. “Molly.”

“In front of all of our mutual friends, he insulted the size of my mouth and b-“

“Molly!” Sherlock interrupted her, breaking character. “I was jealous, which does not make it in any way acceptable, but I-“

She reached across the table to touch the back of his hand. “I’m teasing. You know I forgave you for acting like an arse a long time ago.”

He flipped his hand over so that they were palm to palm and squeezed her fingers.

Several heartbeats later, he cleared his throat and suddenly he was Scott again. “Would you like to go get a drink? I know a place not far from here. We could walk there and-“

“I’d love to,” Molly interrupted.

“Really?” He grinned and released her so that he could ran a hand down his tie to make sure it was straight. “I’ll just settle the bill, then.”

Molly had never been to the bar he’d brought her to. She vaguely remembered the name from the list that Sherlock had shown her when he asked for her help calculating the ideal alcohol intake for John’s stag night. She still maintained that the calculations were sound, and it wasn’t her fault the men had ended up in the drunk tank. Not that he would admit to whatever he’d done, but she had seen John’s guilty look when the subject came up at the wedding.

It was a nice place, lots of dark polished wood and soft lighting. The music seemed to be mostly classic rock, and just loud enough to encourage intimate conversation rather than heated discussions about the latest footie match with your mate several seats away.

Sherlock led her to a booth near the back, far away from the larger crowd up front. He asked what she wanted to drink, as if he didn’t already know her preference, and excused himself to head toward the bar.

She saw another couple nursing drinks and talking at one of the tables nearby, heads bent toward each other. The woman laughed at something the man said, then pressed a lingering kiss to his lips. Molly quickly looked away, feeling like she were intruding on a private moment.

Sherlock eventually reappeared with a pint for himself and a glass of red wine for her. She was surprised when he slid onto the bench seat next to her instead of the one across the table.

They talked about their favourite places in London; some of which Molly was absolutely certain an accountant from Ipswich would have never managed to set foot in. While Sherlock/Scott described the area behind Big Ben’s clock face, he put his arm along the back of the seat and half-turned so that he was facing her, leaning into her space so that they didn’t have to raise their voices to be heard over the ambient noise of the bar.

Molly found herself becoming hyper aware of him. She wanted to close the small distance between them, to kiss him; but the knowledge that they were in a public place kept her from acting on that urge. Sherlock, however, had no such qualms.

The arm that had been resting behind her shifted so that she could just feel the touch light touch of his fingers against her shoulder. “Molly, I’ve never done this before—not on a first date, I mean—but I would really like to kiss you.”

Oh thank God. If he was up for it, then why shouldn’t she?

Instead of replying, she lifted her chin in silent invitation.

Unlike their normal kisses, this one started out with a brief, hesitant brush of his mouth against hers. The shape and taste of his lips were both undeniably Sherlock, but the tentative pressure and uncertain movements were all Scott.

She parted her lips and flicked the tip of her tongue against his, and he drew back with a gasp. Molly opened her eyes—actually intent on apologizing for moving too fast, which was utterly silly considering their relationship—just in time to see his pupils expand. Then he surged forward and took her mouth, and that passion was undeniably Sherlock Holmes.

He curled around her; the arm that had been on the back of the seat tightly pulling her into his chest. He pushed the fingers of his other hand through her hair so that he could cradle the nape of her neck, tilting her head back with the force of his kiss.

Molly moaned and burrowed her hands under his jacket to clutch at his back.

Who knew how long they would have continued like that if the loud burst of laughter from one of the large parties at the front of the bar hadn’t reminded them that they weren’t alone.

Molly leaned back just enough to smooth down his jacket and rumpled tie. She bit her lower lip as she tried to concentrate on what she was doing, although she was very aware of him withdrawing his hand from her hair. He kept his other arm around her shoulder, not quite ready to let her go completely.

She finally looked up with a shy, embarrassed smile that she didn’t have to fake. “That got a bit away from us, didn’t it?”

“A little,” Sherlock/Scott agreed. He reached for her hand, still straightening his tie, and caressed her palm with his thumb. “I liked it, though.”

“I did, too.” She caught his thumb in her fist, and tugged his entire hand around to flatten it against her waist. She held it there while she leaned up to briefly kiss him.

“Enough to do it again?” he asked rather hopefully. He tried to tempt her by sliding his hand up her side, only letting the barest tips of his fingers skim along the outer curve of her breast as he continued upward to her collar bone.

“I don’t know, Scott. We’ve only just met and this is our first date.” His face fell in disappointment, causing Molly to duck her head and coyly looked up at him through her lashes. “I guess you’ll just have to convince me.”

She fully expected him to kiss her again, even darted her tongue out to wet her lips in anticipation; but he simply smiled as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.

The fingers on her clavicle wandered along the neckline of her dress, the sensation just this side of tickling. She felt her skin tingle with goosepimples, and her deep breaths were less about needing oxygen and more about encouraging his touch.

Sherlock dipped his fingers under the fabric, then retreated when she inhaled sharply. He was killing her, she was going to die from frustration right there in the booth of some random pub.

“No, you won’t,” he whispered, his voice low and rough. “I’ll give you what you want soon enough.”

He was barely touching her and she was already squirming. Sherlock lowered his head to nuzzle his nose against her ear. “If I touch you, Molly, if I cup your breast and feel your nipple pebble against my palm, what will you do for me? Hmm?”

Dozens of possibilities paraded through her mind. Some of them would undoubtedly end in an arrest for public indecency if they weren’t careful. But they all were tempting. “What do you want?”

“I’m sure I could come up with a long, long list; but I wouldn’t want you to think Scott is a sure thing this early in our ‘relationship’. Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do on a first date, play coy?” She felt his warm breath against the shell of her ear as he whispered, “But we both know that won’t last. It doesn’t matter if I’m Scott or Sherlock or anyone else, the second you look at me with desire in your eyes, all I can think about is touching you. The taste of you. That delicious little noise you make when you’re aroused.” He flicked his tongue against her ear. “I want to hear it, Molly.”

She was unable to hold back a gasp at his words.

“Almost,” he breathed against her ear, more of a vibration than a sound. She held her breath as he twisted his hand. The backs of his fingers brushed against her skin as they slipped into the cup of her bra. He grazed the peak of her breast and she shuddered. He did it again, and she couldn’t contain a soft moan. “There it is. I’ll never get enough of that sound, Molly. Never.”

Sherlock reluctantly removed his hand and reached up to slide a lock of her hair through his fingers. “I love your hair,” he said with wonder in his voice. “I, uh, I apologize for being so forward just now.”

She blinked, her mind still caught up in what they’d been doing a moment before; and it took her a few seconds to focus on what he was saying. “Don’t. Don’t apologize. I-I enjoyed it, Sher-Scott. I meant Scott.”

His lips quirked up as she almost said the wrong name. He was clearly pleased that she was willing to continue playing along. “It’s getting late. I hope you’ll let me escort you home?”

Molly pretended to seriously consider it, as if there was a chance she was going to say no, then nodded. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

He slid out of the booth and offered his hand to help her do the same. Once outside, Sherlock quickly flagged down a taxi with his nearly supernatural ability to summon transport at the drop of a hat (the one that she and John both envied). Even though she caught him looking at her mouth several times, he refrained from leaning in to steal a kiss during the ride to her home, but he did reach out to take her hand.

She noticed that he paid the driver when they arrived, and sent the taxi on its way. Clearly, he intended to stay for a while. Which was perfectly acceptable to her.

Molly slipped her key into the lock and turned to face him with her hand still on the doorknob in the traditional ‘saying goodnight on the doorstep’ pose. “I had a lovely time tonight, Scott. I’m not quite ready for the evening to end. Would you like to come in for a nightcap, or a cup of coffee?”

“I’d like that.”

She let him in and dropped her keys on the table next to the door, before starting to lead him toward the kitchen as if he weren’t already familiar with the layout of her home. Sherlock reached out and grabbed her hand, halting her before she’d taken more than two steps. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

This time when his hand skimmed up her side, he didn’t hesitate to cover her breast. She moaned and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling herself up onto her tiptoes to get even closer. He sucked her lower lip between his teeth and soothed the slight sting with his tongue. Molly scratched her nails against his scalp, messing his carefully smoothed hair beyond simple repair. Sherlock groaned and rocked his erection against her stomach. He slid both hands down to her arse and began to ruck up the hem of her dress bit by bit while his kisses grew more and more heated. Moments later, he cursed under his breath when his fingers encountered her thick tights. She might have laughed if she wasn’t just as desperate to get her hands on his bare skin.

Molly reached between them and yanked the buttons of his dress shirt free. “No more playing, Sherlock. I need you.”

He nodded in agreement as he slipped off the horrid tie and shrugged out of the suit jacket. Molly helped him pull his shirt free from his trousers; but when she reached for his belt, Sherlock grabbed her hands and shook his head. “No.”

Right, obviously he wouldn’t want to get naked in the front hall. “Bedroom?” Or, her thoughts helpfully supplied, there was the sofa in the sitting room which was much closer. She was just about to suggest it when he nudged her backward until her bum hit the table next to the door.

“Not yet,” Sherlock panted against her lips. After one more mind-blowing kiss, he dropped to his knees at her feet. With the utmost care that was at odds to his frantic movements of a moment before, he lifted her foot, slipped off her flat, and set it aside. He did the same with her other shoe.

Sherlock slowly ran his hands up the outside of her legs, from ankle to her waist. He waited until she was literally trembling in anticipation to continue, hooking his fingers into the waistband of her tights and knickers to inch them over her hips and lower. He paused to press a pair of soft kisses against her thighs, then finished helping her step out of her clothes.

Her heart fluttered in her chest as she looked at him. He was always gorgeous, but seeing him dishevelled at her feet, looking up at her with that devilish grin . . . Molly was in real danger of having her knees buckle. She reached back and braced her hands on the table for support.

“That’s the right idea, love,” Sherlock growled. He shifted closer and kissed her thigh again, this time open mouthed with just a hint of teeth against her skin. “Hop up and we’ll see just how sturdy that table is.”

“I can’t!” she protested, although it was weak at best. “It will break.”

“Then I’ll replace it.” He pulled his glasses off and tossed them toward the pile of discarded clothes on the floor. “You can have one from Baker Street. I’ll buy you a new one.” Sherlock met her eyes and lowered his voice. “You asked what I wanted earlier, and I want to taste you. I want to make you come with my fingers and my tongue, and then I want to bury my cock as deeply inside you as possible. Get on the table, Molly.”

She got on the table.

He nudged her legs apart and lifted one of them over his shoulder, giving him better access to her centre. “Oh, fuck, you’re already wet.” She’d thought about telling him she’d been that way since their kisses at the pub; but he nipped at the inside of her thigh, so frustratingly close to where she needed him—the sting just sharp enough to make her muscles clench and her toes curl—and then buried his face in her cunt and her ability to form words abandoned her.

Molly’s head fell back, and her fingers dug into the table top hard enough that she suspected there would be nail marks in the wood finish. There was no slow build up, no playful teasing. He fucked her with his tongue, then moved to lick and suck on her clit. She felt two of his fingers slip inside her channel; they curled until he found what he was looking for, and she nearly fell off the table as he rubbed her g-spot. Molly knew it wouldn’t be long before she came at his current pace. She curled her body over him, one hand still braced on the table and the other clutching his sweat dampened hair. She held him close and rocked her hips, grinding her centre against his face as her climax overwhelmed her.

Molly sobbed his name as he continued to work her through the aftershocks of her orgasm. Once she stilled and slumped against the wall, Sherlock slid her leg off his shoulder and sat back on his heels.

She didn’t have it in her to roll her eyes at how incredibly smug he looked. He’d earned that one.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Oh yeah.” Molly shook her head to try to clear out the pleasurable fog and sat up straight. Her legs dangled off the edge of the table, toes barely touching the ground, and she had the silliest urge to swing them back and forth like a giddy child. “I don’t know what brought that on, but I whole heartedly approve.”

He continued to look at her for a long moment, heavy-lidded and flushed. Impossibly, she began to feel the first stirrings of want again.

She briefly thought about suggesting moving to the bedroom again, but he shook his head as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.

Sherlock gracefully rose to his feet. The front of his trousers were tented with his arousal. Even after nearly a year of being intimate, Molly still felt a flush of hot-blooded pleasure knowing that he wanted her.

With slow, deliberate movements, he opened his fly and pushed his trousers and boxers down just far enough to release his erection. He stepped between her legs and kissed her hard, placing both of his hands on other side of her on the table. They both groaned when his cock teased against the wet heat between her legs. Sherlock pressed his forehead against hers and rasped, “I don’t think I’m going to last very long this time.”

“Won’t take much for me, either,” Molly assured him. “I want you inside me when I come again.”

His erection twitched against her centre, and she moaned at the sensation. She put her hands on his shoulders and brought her knees up to bracket his waist, encouraging him to do as she’d ask.

He kissed her, hard and desperate; licking and biting at her lower lip like a man who was close to losing control. Sherlock reached between them to position himself. Then he slowly entered her, wanting to take the time to make sure her earlier fears about the stability of the table were unfounded. Each consecutive thrust grew more forceful, more passionate.

Sherlock slammed one hand against the wall for leverage as the table rocked and creaked, but thankfully held. His voice in her ear, pleading with her to come for him, and the feel of him filling her so completely was almost enough to send her over the edge for a second time. Molly held on to his shoulder with one hand as she leaned back to push the hem of her dress out of the way so that she could touch herself. The new angle and her fingers against her clit as he continued to thrust into her were exactly what she needed, and Molly came moaning his name.

His thrusts lost their rhythm and grew erratic before he climaxed moments later.

They spent a few minutes catching their breath, sharing soft kisses and softer words of affection and love, before Sherlock pulled away and helped Molly down.

“Why don’t you take a shower? I’ll clean up in the guest bath and meet you in bed.” Sherlock gestured down the hall toward her bedroom. “I’m feeling a bit peckish. Biscuits?”

“Sounds perfect.” Molly leaned up to give him one more quick peck on the lips, then she bent down to pick up her tights and knickers and hurried to the bathroom for that shower.

When she came out of the bathroom fifteen minutes later, with wet hair and wearing nothing but a bathrobe, she found him already in bed.

Sherlock set his mobile aside on the table next to his side of the bed and reached for a plate of biscuits he’d left sitting there. He held it toward her, wiggling it enticingly as if to try to lure her to join him on the bed.

Silly man. Surely he knew that his presence alone was all the enticement she needed.

She tossed her robe across the foot of the bed and crawled under the duvet to snuggle up against his side. Sherlock offered her the plate once more. She hadn’t noticed the small box before, hidden as it was beneath a mound of her favourite chocolate biscuits.

“What’s this?” Her fingers hovered over the plate, almost but not quite touching what looked suspiciously like a ring box.

“What do you think it is, Molly?” Sherlock plucked the box out of the biscuits and set the plate to the side. “Open it.”

Her hand trembled as she took it. She took a deep breath and held it while she lifted the hinged lid. The ring inside was beautiful; a modest diamond set in a thin yellow gold band etched with delicate scrollwork.

She was silent long enough for Sherlock to begin to fidget. “It belonged to my grandmother.” His fingers drummed against the duvet for a moment, before he reached for the ring box. “If you don’t like it, I could-“

Molly jerked it out of his reach. “Don’t you dare.”

“Is it-I didn’t misread this, did I?” She hadn’t seen him look so unsure of himself in ages. “I know we haven’t explicitly discussed marriage, but I thought-“

“Yes.”

He blinked. “Yes?”

Molly didn’t think she’d ever stop smiling. “God, yes.”

Sherlock visibly relaxed. This time when he reached for the ring, she let him take it. She held out her hand and he slid it onto her finger.

Molly was still admiring it when he leaned back against the headboard. “Well, now that we’ve got that settled, biscuit?”