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He was confused by Molly Hooper. He would never admit it, of course, but he was. It was obvious that she was interested in him but she never made an outright move. The day he met John was the first time she’d made a blatant move and it was to his internal embarrassment that he didn’t realize what her invitation to coffee really was until it was too late. If he had realized, he probably would have given her the same “married to his work” speech that he gave John the day after…wouldn’t he?

He noticed everything about her, which in and of itself wasn’t unusual, he was Sherlock Holmes after all. But his observations made him…feel things. For Molly. The rare times he slept, he found his new observations creeping into his dreams. One night, her new lipstick made an appearance. The next, she had her hair down.

And then one day, while he and John were at St. Bart’s examining a body, he noticed that she was wearing a rather low cut shirt. He quickly deduced that she didn’t have a date that day; she seemed self conscious about the blouse and if it had been a deliberate decision, she would have been more comfortable wearing it. She grinned softly at him as she brought in coffee for himself and John.

His friend spun in his chair to fully face Molly as she sat down across from them. “You look nice today, Molly. I’ve never seen that blouse before.” Sherlock resisted the urge to roll his eyes – leave it to John “Three Continents” Watson to take notice of Molly’s new low cut shirt.

Molly blushed and Sherlock shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Oh, I just really need to do some laundry. I don’t usually wear this…I bought it on a shopping trip with my sister but it doesn’t really…suit me. Bit low cut for work, I think.”

John smiled and Sherlock resisted the urge to grab his head and smack it against the counter. John was very lucky that Sherlock had gained a little bit of impulse control. “Nah, I think it looks nice,” he said, with a cheeky wink punctuating his statement.

Molly blushed against and shrugged, grinning happily at John. Her gaze darted over to Sherlock and he couldn’t help but notice, out of the corner of his eye, how she deflated a bit when she noticed he wasn’t looking. He didn’t need to look – he’d already committed that particular blouse to her room in his mind palace.

That night, he caught a few hours of sleep and that damned blouse had a starring role in his dreams.

One particular part of Molly’s body kept him particularly occupied - he found himself obsessed with Molly’s Hooper’s breasts. They were small, yes, and she kept them rather hidden away in bulky button ups and jumpers, but that simply made them more tantalizing. When he (quite cruelly, as John would let him know soon afterward) deduced Molly’s “boyfriend” Jim and her weight gain, he was actually quite proud that he suppressed the fact that the weight went only to her breasts. They were a bit larger than usual and made her cherry cardigan pull just a little bit and it made his mouth water.

The Christmas party was even worse. He let slip a comment about her breasts and he knew it came out as derogatory. Of course he didn’t intend it that way, but that dress had a rather primal effect on his thoughts – the mean spirited comment was a cover-up for the fact that he wanted nothing more than to throw her over his shoulder and carry her into his bedroom and have her all to himself.

After that night, even with the distraction that the Woman posed, he found his mind more and more on Molly’s breasts. He wondered if he could fit his mouth around an entire breast. He dreamed of his hands, so large in comparison to hers, covering her breasts fully, kneading them. He imagined nibbling at the slope of her breast, suckling on the pink nipples. She was so tiny in comparison to him and it ignited something absolutely primitive in him.

He never actually expected something to come of his little obsession. He thought that he had more control than that.

Apparently, he was wrong.

It all went to hell when they were alone in the lab together. John was gathering information from an ex-girlfriend of the victim and Sherlock was running samples, trying to determine where the victim had been before he was killed. Molly apparently needed to do laundry again because she was wearing that damned low-cut blouse again. With a push-up bra this time. He would have thought that she had a date that night, because she was also wearing lipstick, but her hair was up in her normal ponytail. Usually when she had a date, she braided her hair so that when she took it out, she had a head full of waves.

She leaned across Sherlock to grab something and her breasts brushed against his arm. Jumping back, Molly abandoned the item she was attempting to reach and began blushing madly. “Sorry, Sherlock. I was just trying to reach the Hopkins report over there…” she said, trying to explain herself and absolutely refusing to make eye contact. “Sorry.”

He turned so that he was fully facing her, his work neglected for now. “Likely story, Dr. Hooper.”

“Wh-what?” she stammered, her blush increasing. Her blouse revealed that her chest was flushing too and his imagination ran wild, imagining just how far that blush went.

He spread his legs and reached out to wrap an arm around her waist, dragging her into the space that he just created. The hand that wasn’t resting at the small of her back moved up to her collarbones and with his pointer finger, he traced from the base of her neck, straight down to where the material finally started. Right between her breasts.

“Sherlock?” she whispered. She’d undergone a complete 180 and instead of not being able to look at him, she couldn’t take her eyes off him. His eyes flicked up from where they had been focused wholly on his finger and her skin.

“Yes Molly?” he replied, as if talking about any ordinary, mundane thing and as if he did not have his finger brushing against her chest. His hand moved down further and his fingers worked the top button of the shirt, popping it open.

“What’re you doing? Have you gone mad?” Molly questioned frantically. Sherlock smirked and popped another button as he looked up at her. She half-heartedly batted at his hands, but he tightened his grip around her and pulled her just a little bit closer.

“Many would argue that I’m already mad. John says it quite often in fact. And I have to admit,” he said casually, popping another button on the shirt – nearly enough to expose her entire chest, “this shirt does make me feel a bit…out of control. Not mad, necessarily, just a bit…dangerous.” He glanced up at her and smiled sharply as his fingers popped another button and suddenly his other hand abandoned her back and came up to help push aside the fabric of her shirt, exposing her black push-up bra.

Molly gasped and looked over to the door instinctively. She looked back to him as he waited patiently for her for give him a sign that she was all right with what was transpiring. “So you’re saying…that…this shirt….is driving you mad?”

“You wearing that shirt drives me mad, Molly.”

She bit her lip and looked down and off to the side, closing in on herself a bit. “But…why? I mean…they’re not really much to look at.”

Sherlock leaned forward and nuzzled his cheek against one lace-clad breast, smiling wickedly as he heard Molly’s gasp. He turned his head and licked and then gently bit at the flesh that he had dreamed about for so long. Molly’s hands flew to his shoulders, her fingers digging into him as she leaned heavily against him. His hands came up and he cupped her breasts, his thumbs brushing over the mounds and making her shiver. Tilting his head back slightly, he looked at her. “They’re perfect, Molly. They suit you perfectly and you don’t need any idiotic bra to try and enhance them.”

“But…but at Christmas…you called them,” she swallowed thickly as he leaned forward again and rubbed his cheek against the breast that he had neglected before, his tongue flicking beneath the material of her bra. “You said they were too small.”

“I said no such thing. I said that you were compensating for the size of your mouth and breasts, but I never stated that I thought you had any need to.” His brow furrowed for a moment, his focus still completely on her chest, until his face suddenly lit up and his hands eagerly moved to the front of her bra. “Ah, front clasp! Delightful,” he said, before flicking open the clasp and pushing away the material covering her.

Molly’s eyes flew to the door again but soon slid shut, as Sherlock leaned forward and captured one of her nipples with his mouth. She moaned as one of his hands came up to cover the neglected breast and the other wrapped around her back, pulling her closer. Her arms draped over his shoulders as she leaned into his touch.

He switched sides briefly and then leaned back, his hands coming up to cover them fully and kneaded at them gently. “I love your breasts, Molly. Judging from your reactions tonight, I am fairly certain that you would be shocked to find out just how much time I’ve spent contemplating them. How my hands would cover them entirely,” he said, squeezing gently to illustrate his words. “How sensitive your nipples would be,” he murmured, leaning forward to give a quick suck and nip to each one that had Molly moaning softly and squirming. “How they’re nearly symmetrical, which is quite rare.” He leaned back slightly and met her gaze, which was hazy with desire. “I’ve dreamt of you, Molly,” he confessed honestly.

“You’ve…dreamt of…my breasts?” she questioned, her voice higher than usual and a bit incredulous.

Sherlock chuckled. “All of you. That childish cherry cardigan that you’re so fond of, the way you hum to yourself while you work, the messy braid that you put your hair in before you start an autopsy. Every inch, every quirk, every single part of you, Molly; that’s what I dream about.”

Her face immediately brightened with a wide smile and she leaned forward, her lips practically colliding with his. He could feel her soft breasts press against his chest and he suddenly wished that he could feel them against his bare skin. Her tongue flicked at the corner of his mouth and he smiled against her lips as he granted her entrance. The warm slide of her tongue was almost unbearably intimate for him and he couldn’t get enough.

They snogged quite thoroughly for another five minutes or so, until Molly finally broke away, with a giggle and a blush. “Sherlock, we’re still in the lab! We can’t do this right now!” She stepped out of his embrace and quickly fastened her bra, laughing as she caught sight of Sherlock’s childish pout. “I am not shagging you while I’m at work. I refuse.”

He sighed and folded his arms, clearly cross as she started to button up her blouse. He was about to attempt to distract her again when his phone beeped insistently and he rolled his eyes, grabbing it from the counter. Molly continued to do up her shirt and then moved on to fix her ponytail, as Sherlock quickly read over John’s text. “Hmm…apparently the girlfriend killed our victim. She attempted to attack John when he started poking holes in her story. His deductive reasoning has improved recently.” Molly gasped and Sherlock waved his hand casually. “He’s fine. Subdued her and called Lestrade. Case is closed.”

He finished his reply and set the phone down on the counter again, putting his full attention back on Molly. “And more importantly, John is going out on his third date with the new police sergeant and so I doubt he will be home tonight. The flat will be empty. And since your shift ended,” he glanced at his watch, “twenty minutes ago, I suggest that you accompany me back to 221b and we can finish what we started.”

Molly giggled and nodded. “I think that sounds like a very good idea, Mr. Holmes.” She leaned towards him and brushed her lips with his, smiling against his lips as he kissed her sweetly.