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HOLMES' SECRET LOVER SPILLS ALL

She laughs gaily,  her eyes glittering as she brushes her dark thick hair away from her face. I know she 's  about to tell me more. It's obvious from the way she leans forward on the table,  or the way her voice turns lower, eyes turning briefly to others in the café.

"He really is amazing – an incredibly attentive lover and his-," (her words make me blush and my pen halts entirely).

"Afraid we can't print that," I say with a barely supressed giggle.

She grins widely in return, her expression almost bordering on salacious.

"I suppose you can't," she said. "But it's very impressive, nonetheless."

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"He does it seven times a night apparently."

"Don't think that's exactly a good thing Shannon."

"Oh come on - the man's clearly got stamina!"

"So?"

"And he's got technique! Oh my God - the amount of detail in the interview – you wouldn't bloody believe it – you'd almost think it was some dirty little sto -," The second she walked past them they quietened down, hushing each other loudly while sneaking glances at her, but she could still discern their laughter, loud and grating.

Molly didn't linger very long in the canteen, opting to drink her coffee in her office without having to overhear another conversation about how good 'Sherlock Holmes' was in bed.

When she'd smacked the door to her office shut she'd laughed out loud for a minute, shaking her head as she took another large sip of her coffee. It had been two weeks, but people still kept opening their gob. There had been less chatter going about when Janine had exposed Sherlock's supposedly insatiable sex-crazed appetites.

Somehow she suspected it had met a broader audience this time or possibly a second opinion had been needed to make any of it authentic. This second opinion was of course 'an anonymous female' who went into really vulgar detail, only omitting that which they could not print without offending. Molly had briefly skimmed the piece, her eyebrows disappearing into her hair until she could barely contain her laughter.

Of course that was because she knew that, when it came to sex – Sherlock Holmes was not interested.

It just wasn't his area.

And this woman, whoever she was, was clearly overdoing it for some petty cash. But it certainly didn't help that the article had dug up pictures of him on his way to Buckingham Palace in just a sheet, a thing she'd only heard of though she'd never seen. The pictures just elevated everyone's interest, since most had only ever seen him in the deerstalker, and that didn't exactly make anyone properly intrigued (except the few weird ones).

When she had read some of the piece she'd briefly considered if it actually had some truth to it, except when she thought of all of the times she'd mentioned sex in his presence (overlooking the sex of a dead corpse) he looked flabbergasted, shutting up entirely, promptly ignoring her little intentional outburst like it had never taken place.

And what was he doing to fend off this publicity?He was doing everything in his power to pretend like the rag had never been published, and the female staff weren't staring at him wantonly when he strode about the corridors of St Bart's, his dark coat billowing behind him.

She'd warned him of course, but he hadn't listened assuming that he could do as he pleased (just like him), occasionally throwing a scathing retort to some hare-brained nurse or doctor who prowled after him, asking questions about his sex life or if he was available for 'private deductions'.

She and John had both found it amusing at the start, except both of them were soon in the line of fire, questioned about their 'dubious relations' with the man, as if either of them had some secret on-going relationship with the consulting detective.

She'd been clever enough not to mention his bolthole, especially when colleagues interrogated her about his sexual prowess, while John just pointed at his wedding ring (with one very specific finger) walking off muttering curses under his breath. The fact that Sherlock didn't shoot down the article or retaliate in any way - even with an irritated post on his blog - frustrated her, as he was clearly loathing all of the idiotic attention.

Molly knew he loved attention if it was deserved, which was probably why he was having trouble coping since this wasn't some 'revenge' plot or anything of the kind like Janine. Whoever had done this had no particular reason, but she knew it was clearly untrue.

She'd pointed that out to him and he'd merrily ignored her comment, briefly smiling at him not wanting to confess its lack of authenticity, perhaps there was some pride over the matter. Any sane man wouldn't refute such an article anyway, and even Sherlock seemed unable to say he was in fact a virgin (according to a handful). In some ways she found it strange that he didn't want to admit it to her, since she didn't feel he was a worse person for not being experienced, and it wouldn't affect her in any way if he were.

She liked that he wasn't.

Not that she

No, she wasn't keen on…

No, she just thought it was just like him.

It was like him to be engrossed by his work and not into bodily pursuits (if one ignored her supplies that was). However, despite all of the knowledge she'd gained from knowing him, from years of understanding him – she'd still been bewildered the second he'd stormed into her office, slammed the door behind him, leaned his palms on her desk and said with gritted teeth - "I – need – you – to – teach – me."


Two rather large glasses of red wine, and none of it helped with her nerves. He was going to be in her flat in less than two minutes and she was already cracking from the pressure.

"Why – why me?"

"You've had lots of sex, haven't you?"

"Umm but-,"

"With Timothy – no – Thomas – no – 'meat-dagger' (he said the word like she'd named Tom that herself, scoffing loudly) – didn't you?" he said his eyes flashing towards her, while she leaned back into her chair slightly unnerved by his unwavering stare.

She had almost not believed him, alternating between gaping and staring at him like he was joking, even more so when he, with a flourish, presented 'the list'.

From his coat pocket he unfurled a piece of paper, dropping it on her paperwork, and she leaned forwards curiously reading the numerated list, redness seeping into her cheeks as her eyes widened at the sight.

"I Googled it," he spat.

She didn't know what to say, her eyes reluctantly meeting his and immediately she began cracking a joke to defuse the tension. "But you could just watch-," Obviously he knew what she was thinking - cutting her short before she'd even managed to say 'porn'.

"Hardly realistic, Molly. I think you'd agree."

Her giggles bordered on hysterical, though they came swiftly to an end at the serious expression on his face - the slight crinkle between his eyebrows, the disgruntled turn of his mouth. It was then she knew he was utterly serious in his proposal (of sorts).

"You actually want me to teach you how to-," she said turning her brown eyes to her desk, her fingers drumming on her coffee cup for support.

"We don't need to (clearing his throat soundly)-," he faltered pocketing his hands, furrowed brows and eyes fixed on the polished floor.

"Is it for a case?" she asked trying to find a logical explanation, trying to find any explanation really.

He rolled his eyes. "No-,"

"No? Then why are we-,"

"It's purely scientific," he said pacing in front of her desk. She couldn't tell if it was a lie or if he was nervous or if it was both.

One minute left or so the watch on her wrist told her. She drank a large sip of her wine (half of the contents emptied) hoping he'd be late, but she knew from experience that he'd be on time like usual. It was hard to resist taking another gander at the paper resting on her coffee table, and she didn't try to resist, picking it up with a frown.

1. Kissing

2. Second base

3. 'Jobs' (handjob, blowjob)

4. Dry-humping

5. Cunilingus

6. Foreplay

7. Sex

She'd made plenty of to-do-lists; her notebooks and papers were littered with little assignments she'd made for herself, but this she'd never made. This was something her fourteen-year-old-self would have scribbled laughing a ridiculous amount with some of her schoolmates, ending their night on a high-note by watching 'Dirty Dancing' and pausing at the bits where Patrick Swayze was seen with his shirt off (okay maybe the latter was something the much older than fourteen-year-old Molly did on occasion).

Suddenly there was a knock.

Her minute was up.

"Oh God," she squeaked dropping the paper back on the table, hurriedly guzzling down the rest of her glass before she rushed to the door.

"You want to have sex?" she said. "With me?"

"No!" he said hurriedly like she was mad.

She raised her eyebrows.

"I just want realistic descriptions of every point on this particular list," he said quickly recovering.

"But John-,"

"Is a terrible teacher," said Sherlock with a sigh, running his hand through his dark curls, soon staring at her beseechingly. "Molly - you only need to explain the essentials."

"But why-,"

Pursing his lips he seemed to be steeling himself. "Because I need to be able to answer if questioned."

"You want people to think you're good in bed?" she said with her eyebrows still ridiculously high on her forehead.

A pin could drop, that was how quiet it felt.

"No," he said slowly, though he wasn't looking at her.

She blinked at him for a few seconds until she brought her coffee to her lips, which was of course cold by now. Reluctantly she said, "Okay…I'll teach you but I still think you'd get more help from a video or something."

"I tried that. Boring!" he said evidently cheered by her acceptance of his absolutely insane request.

"Do we need wine?" he asked the minute he'd stepped in her flat, as he'd obviously caught sight of the wine bottle and her empty glass, not that she'd concealed them.

"No," she said with a giggle. I need it.

For a few seconds they stood by the coat tree, her eyeing him with her hands on her hips and him looking at her immovably in return. This was of course a brilliant start at her teaching him. Frankly he should have added conversation to the top, though she knew it was her fault really for not saying anything.

She collected herself and walked off to the settee taking a seat, soon gesturing him to do the same. Sherlock of course choose the chair opposite her with the coffee table in between – still wearing his coat, scarf and gloves. Yet another terrible start really, as he looked ready to bolt.

Molly generously poured herself another glass of wine. This is going to be a long night, I can tell, she thought. Scraping together a bit of courage from the wine she cleared her throat, slightly perturbed that Sherlock had barely blinked as his blue eyes were fixed on her.

"So – kissing?" she said airily waving her hand for some reason, copying the motions of any teacher she'd had in her adolescence. By the way he continued to stare she half-expected him to bring up a notebook and start writing down transcripts of their conversation. "Have you-," she jerked her head toward him, the wine almost sloshing out of the glass.

Brilliant, she thought, I'm a bit tipsy.

He rolled his eyes briefly. "Fives times."

She was a bit surprised that it was five considering his fake relationship, though she suspected he didn't count the fake kisses.

"Okay," she said sighing. "Why is it on the list then?"

Sherlock blinked in response, his hands suddenly rubbing over his thighs like some subconscious nervous-tick. Tilting her head she tried to give him time, except the silence pushed on far too long for her taste. "Are you counting the times you've kissed me?" she said carefully.

Twice on the cheek were hardly kisses.

He knitted his brows. "Yes."

"They don't count-," she said without a hint of unease.

"No?"

"No," she said with a shake of her head, pursing her lips as she pressed on. "Okay…so the others kisses – were they ones you liked?"

He looked thoughtful for a second, his eyes drifting above her head, before they flicked to her. "No."

"Okay," she said biting her lip, before putting her glass of wine down on the coffee table. "So – you've technically - not – kissed then- right?"

"Of course I've kissed!" he said almost sullenly, like she was being dense.

"Sherlock - it's not – kissing is -," she felt like groaning, but she kept her mouth shut, especially when he turned quiet with a curious gleam in his eyes, as she gestured wildly into the air as if to demonstrate, though hardly knowing where to begin.

"Then tell me," he said in a surprisingly quiet voice.

She stared at him soon bringing her flailing hands to her lap, almost thinking out loud before she began. "My first kiss was terrible," she glanced at him expecting him to roll his eyes, or say some condescending remark that would make her throw him out of her flat, but he kept his mouth shut. "Really – really – bad – but because it was someone I liked it helped. We weren't kissing because he was saying sorry or thank you (his hand resting on his thigh twitched). My second wasn't any better either and for a while I just thought I was rubbish at it."

There was no comment while she drew for a breath rubbing at her thighs, stopping when she realized she was copying him. "I sort of knew why it was bad since the blokes I'd liked were only really snogging me because they wanted one thing."

He raised a brow like he was clearly at a loss at what that thing was.

She smiled unable to help herself. "It was never really about the kissing – it was always about getting a hand under my skirt or blouse-," she paused when she saw his jaw clench, blinking confusedly before continuing, "- until I met someone called Peter. He was really – really – good, and he wasn't trying to get into my knickers – he was just kissing me and it was lovely."

Sherlock frowned. "What?" she said with knitted brows.

He looked like he had just been caught doing something wrong, swallowing slightly before he said. "Are you saying that if I like (his frown turned deeper) someone I won't care if they're terrible?"

Molly snorted. "No, that's not what I meant."

"Oh," he said looking puzzled.

"I just mean…that when you like someone your main goal shouldn't be – sex," she said with a small shrug, almost testing the waters to see if he'd act like he regularly would when she threw the word out there.

She was not disappointed to find his eyes distant and his face almost pale, but she was surprised to see him look calmly at her again. "So – I should only be focusing on that very moment with no regard to whatever might take place?" he said slowly.

"Yes," she said with a slightly more shaky voice than intended, slowly losing grip on what she'd meant herself. Molly didn't want to sound breathless. Neither did she want her cheeks to heat up, but they had. She blamed the wine, almost cursing under her breath for not having the conversation completely sober. "The other stuff…it'll sort of come to you especially the – umm – touching – but it's not really the goal."

He nodded. "Fine – what about these jobs?"

"Umm – can't really help you there," she said giggling a bit, relaxing more into the settee. If they continued like this she would live and she might not even need to have another glass of wine.

"So I'd have to experience them first hand?"

She hesitated wondering if he'd made a joke, but the fact that he looked at her expectantly made it clear he thought it was an innocent question. Nodding in return seemed easier than saying something out loud without laughing so she did.

"Noted," he said coolly, his eyes staring above her head briefly until they fixed themselves on her face again. "I am aware that I previously stated that this was going to be done orally-," She almost blanched – "- but I might need some experience surpassing the ones you say aren't actual kisses."

"Oh," she said in a whisper. "So you want us to-,"

"You don't mind?" he said.

She cleared her throat. "No, umm, I suppose that would be okay." A part of her knew it was better than okay really.


Kissing

"Umm – so – should I or do you want to come over here?" she said eyeing the settee she was sat on, again rubbing at her thighs, but that felt only natural now.

His eyes widened a tiny bit and she almost wondered if he thought it could all be done with no physical contact.

"I can-," she said beginning to stand up, but he swept out of his chair soon sitting on the settee, but with a sizable gap between them.

Suddenly she felt nervous not because she wasn't good at kissing, but because it was him. He might not have any understanding about other people's boundaries and need of space, but she understood that he didn't like to feel his own trespassed on. They'd clearly have to move forward with slow steps so she directed her attention to the other elephant in the room. "Maybe you should take off your coat?" she said eyeing him trying hard not to laugh.

"Ah," he said after a few seconds, rising up and slipping off his gloves, scarf and then coat, before letting them tentatively rest on the settee's arm.

When he'd sat down again she said. "You're not nervous, are you?" Obviously she shouldn't have said that, probably making him more nervous, though it was too late to take it back.

"No," he said too quickly validating her suspicion.

"It's okay," she said with a small smile. "It's normal to be nervous."

"Can we begin then?" he said sounding irritated.

She almost snapped in return, having long since gotten over that general problem when working with him, but she kept her tongue when she saw his face. His usual calm mask wasn't at all present, instead a slightly pale man sat besides her, his hands twitching on his thighs and his back rigid.

"Right," she breathed softly out, almost lunging for her wine, swiftly deciding against it. She didn't want him to experience some sloppy attempt either, or one that tasted entirely of alcohol. Those were things she'd experienced herself and they weren't nice. "I think it's best if I sit on your lap maybe?" she said trying a business-like tone, and his head whipped towards her.

"My lap?" he parroted with furrowed brows.

She bit down her smile. "Yeah… if you don't mind that is?"

"No, it's fine," he said in a low voice, eyes briefly on her before they returned to the wall.

Molly was reluctant to move since she knew he was looking at all of this from a scientific point of view – while she – she sort of knew she wasn't (trying hard to do so though).

"I don't want to force you," she said in a small voice. "If you don't want to 'it's okay…just say so. I won't be offended."

"Molly, it's fine," he said turning to look at her, a small smile grazing his lips, as he finally swept his eyes away from the wall.

And then finally she moved slowly, almost unsurely onto her feet before she eased herself onto his lap before grabbing hold of the back to the settee. She marvelled over how small she felt on his rather taller and much broader frame. This was the closest she had ever been to him, nearer than him standing besides her in the lab, closer than them working together and it was definitely nice, but unfamiliar.

Clearing her throat she looked properly into those blue depths of his, as she'd been avoiding looking at him too intently not wanting to add any discomfort to the situation (for either of them really). His eyes were immovable on hers before slowly sliding down her face, clearly taking in the beginning of wrinkles and spots until they landed on her lips, quickly returning to her eyes.

She had never stared so directly into his eyes before, it was a bit unnerving to look at them this closely, to see the different shades of colour and to be able to count his lashes or watch the upturn of his mouth.

Molly became aware she had the right frame of mind, and for once she allowed herself to continue with it when she noticed his arms were dormant at his sides.

"You should – umm - hold me?" she said, her mouth twitching as she took control of the situation.

"Oh," he said and his hands rested on her hips awkwardly, touching the soft fabric of her grey trousers so delicately she was not certain he was before she looked down, to see his large hands actually perched there.

She licked her lips and returned her scrutiny to his face, breathing in and out trying to calm herself, trying to think of it logically. Her mind wandered again as he was warmer than she was expecting; somehow she always imagined he'd be cooler beneath her touch or - clothes, since she hadn't touched him quite yet. She only felt the heat of him underneath her thighs and her – don't go there.

She began to lean forward slightly, staring fixedly at his lips before searchingly looking up in his eyes, trying to find permission in them. And she was surprised to find in those blue-green hues that his pupils were - dilated. Instead of wavering any longer she leaned forward, resting her hands on his warm solid chest, sweeping a kiss on his lips that lingered on his soft mouth. Molly drew back quickly, annoyed that her mouth tingled a great amount at the short and brief contact, her insides churning, betraying her feelings in the simple action.

"That's – that's a chaste kiss," she said releasing a breath, quickly pursing her lips to not give away how she was feeling. It was only a simple kiss, barely a kiss, yet, that was the same thing she'd said to herself when he'd kissed her cheek years ago.

His expression was one she could not figure out, but his hands were still on her hips, the grip firmer than previously.

"Chaste," he murmured against her mouth with the tiniest of nods.

She pulled back smiling briefly, her cheeks reddening. "Should I-," she begun eyeing his lips again.

"Yes," he said.

When she leaned forward she was surprised to find him moving against her as well, gently returning the soft brush on her lips, her hands automatically sliding up from his torso to rest on his shoulders, until they were on the back of his smooth neck, feeling the dark curly tendrils there.

Drawing him nearer, she applied a bit more pressure on his lips, which he returned; tentative closed-mouthed kisses, which unfortunately made her insides jump. Quickly she drew back tasting her lips, very aware that his fingertips had somehow wound up underneath her blouse, gingerly touching her lower back, but they were still now, pressing into her skin.

"You've got that then-," she began almost rising out of his lap this time, thinking better of continuing the lesson.

"What about French kissing?" he said slowly with his eyes on her lips.

"Okay," she said with a husky voice. "Are you okay with that?"

His mouth quirked up briefly, as he lifted his eyes to hers. "Yes."

She leaned forward again, but he did not return the action, clearly waiting for her to initiate. Meeting his mouth, she swept her tongue slowly against his lower lip, her head buzzing the instant he opened his mouth and his tongue tentatively met hers with a brief stroke.

It was then her hands tangled themselves up in his hair and his grip on her became tighter, his hands almost clawing into her skin, as the kiss got deeper, longer and less slow. Molly had not intended to moan into his mouth when he drew her even closer, their teeth almost clashing. Neither seeming to care until reality hit her and she withdrew with enflamed cheeks.

"Umm-," she began looking down, but he cut her short to her amazement, lifting her face up with his nose that brushed softly against her cheek, sweeping his tongue against her lower lip mimicking her previous action, drawing her closer with his hands and mouth.

She could hardly breathe against his mouth, her body heating up as he nipped and stole more kisses from her – soft and firm and ever so distracting. Her mind reeled even more when she felt – she felt – withdrawing again she stared.

"Sherlock?" she said startled.

His pupils were fully blown and his breath came in short bursts, almost ragged, as he blinked furiously, looking rather uncomfortable.

"Maybe we should-," he said stopping short.

Carefully without looking at her he let his hands slip away from scrunching up the back of her blouse and she slid off trying not to look down at his lap, sitting back down on the other end of the settee.

"That was – that was…good," she said not meeting his eye.

"Umm – yes," he said.

"You know what you're doing - so that's… that's nice."

"I should-," he said standing up from the settee hurriedly grabbing his things, bundling them up in his arms in pure haste.

"Yeah," she said weakly as the door to her flat shut with a bang.