Molly was amazed at the number of people mourning this man. Actively mourning. Bringing flowers, shedding tears, leaving notes that read I Believe in Sherlock Holmes. Some were obscenely rich as evidenced by their attire; others looked as though they hadn’t eaten in days.
The rain following Sherlock’s funeral only added to Molly’s guilt; like the sky was mourning him as well.
“Well, he isn’t dead!” she wanted to shout.
She was being silly, and she knew it. It was London; it always rained. Sherlock’s death had no effect on the weather. But, god was it painful. All of the NSY was there, even Anderson. Dimmock was teary. Brought flowers even. And Greg. Greg looked positively broken.
How had this man affected so many people, earned their affections and yet been such an absolutely arse?
Her eyes burnt as guilt overwhelmed her. As she entered the church with the swarming masses, John patted her shoulder kindly, though it was clearly a half-hearted notion. His eyes were red with exhaustion, but no tears were visible. He looked almost vacant. She was a terrible person. How could she have assisted Sherlock in faking his own death?! How could she take part in breaking the hearts of all these people? Especially poor John. He’d had so much tragedy in his life already...and now to lose his best friend...
She was a heartless bitch, lying to her loved ones because someone with beautiful eyes asked her to.
It’s important, she reminded herself.
She suffered through the service, hugging Mrs. Hudson tightly while she wept, trying not to stare as Anderson sobbed on Sally’s shoulder. Somewhere in the back row of the church was Mycroft with his head hung low. He said nothing during the service. In fact, Molly was almost certain he hadn’t even viewed the body. He was gone before she could offer her condolences.
She stood outside of the church looking for him, cursing herself for forgetting her umbrella. Truthfully, Sherlock was driving her crazy, and she wanted to go to his funeral quickly just to get some peace, so she’d just left it. (Thank God the maniac would be gone tonight. She couldn’t deal with another night of him stalking Toby under the guise of “research”.) She lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the rain and wind in search of Mycroft. Or John.
Suddenly the rain stopped. She blinked and looked up to see a black umbrella hovering above her. Beside her was Gregory Lestrade, offering a sad smile. Molly smiled back, guilt tugging at her heart again. “Um, hi,” she breathed. “I was just, erm, looking for John or--or Mycroft.”
“Well, I dunno about Mycroft, but I know John’s headed off with Mrs. Hudson. Probably to say one more goodbye. Fewer people at the site. You okay?” he asked, his brown eyes so full of sympathy it made her want to cry. “I know you had a--I know you two were close.”
“I’m--I’m fine, thanks.” She nodded, as though trying to convince herself. “I’m good. Thanks for the um,” she pointed upwards to the umbrella, “that.”
“A few of us are going for a drink. Stamford and Anderson and Donovan. John might come up later, just depending, I suppose. Would you like to come? Might help take your mind off of it. After my dad died, we all sat around talking about him. Helped, I think, just remembering him, you know, collectively. Suppose that’s the opposite of ‘taking your mind off of it’,” he smiles again, but it still doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
Molly shook her head. “Erm, no, I...I don’t think Sally likes me very much.”
Greg snorted softly. “I don’t think she likes much of anyone. She’s really just going because Anderson’s having a hard time of it. He needs a shoulder to cry on.”
Molly could feel her physically relax as soon as he stepped closer. Normally she got all goopy and tongue-tied around people, especially attractive men, but Greg always seemed to calm her. He wasn’t threatening in anyway, and he was always kind. Gentle. A true gentle man. Not posh and aristocratic, but truly a good guy.
Having a tendency to over-analyze things, Molly was constantly worried about the deeper meanings behind what people said to her, if they secretly found her annoying, if they were subtly telling her to piss off, or if she was boring them. But she never felt that way around Greg. He was easy to talk to, and he didn’t seem like the type of guy with ulterior motives.
She could tell him. She could tell him about Sherlock, and then someone would know and she would have someone to share in the guilt!
No. Not Greg. Not anyone. Ever. Sherlock had made her promise. And he trusted her. It was rare that someone trusted her with something important. Probably because she didn’t inspire confidence in most people. She wouldn’t let him down.
She jerked to attention. “Hm? Oh, sorry, I’m sorry, I was just...thinking. Maybe for a little while, I suppose. Nothing better to do than change a litter box when I get home.” She tried to laugh but only embarrassed herself. “Sorry, sorry, I’m...I’m grieving. And spastic.”
Greg’s laugh was soft and deep. Something about his little chuckles (when they were sincere) reminded her of a big thick quilt being wrapped around her after a bath. It wasn’t smooth and velvety, maybe even a bit rough, but it was warm and heavy, keeping her anchored. “I’m sure Toby won’t mind. Cats are kind of solitary aren’t they?”
“Toby’s fussy. Pretty high maintenance, actually. Fuzzy little tart...”
Greg laughed a little louder. “What?”
“Just...he rolls over for anyone who so much as looks at him. He loves attention. Is it appropriate to talk about my cat at a funeral?”
“I don’t see why not. Maybe not during the eulogy...”
Molly laughed. “I...I think I will go, if it’s ok. I mean, I don’t want to intrude.”
“You won’t be. Stamford’s got a bit of a thing for you.” He winked, making her blush and giggle awkwardly. “Don’t giggle, we’re at a funeral,” he nudges her teasingly.
“You’re giggling!” she hisses.
“Yeah but I’m hysterical. My wife just left, my entire career is ‘up for review’, and my...colleague, I suppose you’d call him, is dead.” He offers a cheeky grin.
“Stop, you’re going to get us in trouble.”
He led her back to his car, opening the door for her. Normally, she found it chauvinistic when her dates did that, but somehow with Greg it just seemed normal, like he would do it for anyone. They didn’t say much en route but it was a comfortable silence. Molly tried to warm her feet near the vent, and Greg fussed with the windshield as it continually fogged up.
They joined the others at the pub. Stamford seemed to have invited several of Sherlock’s “homeless network” and Donovan was eying them suspiciously. Anderson stared at his coffee, occasionally muttering to her.
“Oh! Lestrade! Molly, please, come sit.” Stamford pulled up a few more chairs. “These are some of Sherlock’s friends. This is Angie, Lyle, and this one isn’t sure of his name, so we’ve been calling him Thor because of the blond hair.”
It was surprisingly pleasant, aside from Dimmock getting absolutely sloshed and telling Lestrade that he reminded him of his father. Everyone swapped stories about Sherlock, about how he’d always been a total prat, but how he always came through. He may not have intended to help people, but he did. He’d helped Stamford solve the mystery of which students were cheating, and which colleague was stealing his pens. He’d informed Anderson of his brother’s illness, leading to a massive familial reconciliation. Thor told some truly horrific stories that had nothing to do with Sherlock and were likely the concoctions of untreated mental illness.
The guilt was steamrolling Molly. She couldn’t stop the tears. This was all her fault. She had the ability to ease the pain of every single person at the table and yet she said nothing. She couldn’t.
It’s a secret. It’s important. She repeated this over and over again to herself, hugging herself as her lip trembled.
Suddenly an arm wrapped around her shoulders. “Hey, Molly.” It was Greg. “What about you? What’s your Sherlock story?”
“I--I can’t,” she stumbled, her voice breaking.
Greg pulled her closer. “‘S’all right,” he murmured. “I’ve got one. ‘S’about Mrs. Hudson’s ‘herbal soothers’ as she likes to call ‘em. I’d only known Sherlock about a year, and he was trying really hard not to relapse. So, I get this call, I’m just a sergeant of course, about this boy breaking into some old woman’s house. So I go to check it out, of course, and it’s fucking Sherlock, of course, and I ask him what the hell he’s doing, and he tells me he’s just looking. That was the most relaxed I’ve ever seen him. I mean, it was like talking to a normal person. But his eyes were blood shot, so I take him in and it turns out he broke into this woman’s house, turned out to be Martha Hudson’s, to steal cannabis. She didn’t press charges, of course, but...” He laughed warmly. Molly could feel it, her shoulder resting against his chest. It was such a welcome vibration. So...natural.
Donovan rolled her eyes. Dimmock slurringly announced, “Yerjus’ mad ‘cos he dint fink you were all that hot.”
If looks could kill, Dimmock would’ve been in the morgue.
The herd thinned, leaving just Lestrade, Dimmock and Molly. It was almost midnight when Dimmock leaned against Greg, either passed out or asleep. “Poor idiot,” Greg chuckled under his breath. “I should probably take him home. And you’ve gotta cat to feed.” He winked at her jokingly.
Once they walked outside to Lestrade’s automobile, Dimmock was an absolutely disaster on legs. The older DI was essentially carrying him to the car, propping him up against the car as he opened the door.
Molly felt warm again. “Yeah, erm...is he...is he gonna be ok?”
“Yeah, he does this a lot. Tryna show up the other detectives at after hours meetings, that sort of thing. Poor lad, can’t hold his liquor. Keeps tryna show Sally...” Greg shook his head. “He’s gotta thing for her.” He shoved the younger man inside, minding his feet as he shut the door.
Molly laughed awkwardly. “Really? Is that...why? Why Sally?”
“I dunno. Apparently he went down on her at the Christmas party last year. Obviously, that stays between us, but you get the idea. He’s been tryna bed her ever since. Anderson keeps getting in the way.”
Molly licked her lips, wanting to know more and feeling a bit more jealous than she cared to admit. “Are you serious?”
Greg was startled by the bite in her voice. “Sorry?”
She covered her mouth, giving him an apologetic look. “No, I’m--I’m sorry, I’m crazy. I...Just...God, why does everyone want Sally, who is mean and scary, and I spend so much energy trying not to offend people, trying to appease everyone and...I get nothing for it.” Except everyone crying because I helped Sherlock fake his death. More guilt. She wanted to vomit. She climbed into the car quickly, too embarrassed to face him. “Sorry, sorry, God, Greg, I am so sorry, it just sort of...fell out of my mouth. I didn’t mean it...I’m sure Sally’s very nice and pleasant. I’m just...” she said as he slid into the driver’s seat beside her.
His laughter soothed her. “No, no, she is scary. Don’t...don’t worry, though, about being like her. Bare in mind that you broke up with James Moriarty, the most dangerous man in all of Europe.” For a brief moment, his hand rested on her shoulder.
She shivered at his touch. “What? No, no, Moriarty wasn’t--”
“I know, I know. Just don’t buy it, though. Sherlock’s too ADD to come up with this...and to keep it up for so long.” He shook his head. “Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is you’re just as desirable as Sally, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
She didn’t know why but those words made the tsunami of emotions she was holding back spill over. Her eyes burned, and before she could stop them, hot tears were rolling down her cheeks. “Then why--God, just Jim. I haven’t dated since college, and even then...oh my God, Greg, I’ve never even--” She stopped, covering her mouth again. A loud sob caused Dimmock to stir, but he was down moments later.
His hand covers hers, concern painted on his face. “Hey, hey, Molly,” he said, his tone very evidently trying to calm her.
Her head was pounding now, all of her worries ebbing away at her rational thought. “I’m--I’m so sorry...”
“No, no, shh, listen, Dimmock’s flat’s right around the corner. I’m gonna get him settled in, then I’ll be right back, and we’ll talk, yeah?” He waited for her to answer, his warm chocolate eyes fixed on hers. When she agreed, he started the car and drove to a rather impressive series of condominiums where Dimmock resided.
No wonder he was so good with victims, she thought. When he spoke to you, it was like you were the only person in the world. She watched as he ushered Dimmock into the complex, trying not to sob. “Dammit, Molly,” she hissed to herself. “Get a hold of yourself. You can’t just tell people things like that.”
She took deep breaths, in through her nose and out through her mouth, but the silence was creeping up on her, dragging her back under. All those people crying. Everyone wants Sally. I have to lie to John. Sherlock was a surprisingly good man. No one wants me. No one’s asked me for drinks in years. Sherlock...god, he’s in my flat and he won’t sleep with me. What’s wrong with me?! Why am I lying to all these people? How can I look at John? God, Anderson even. He was a bloody wreck...
Greg getting back in the car brought her back to the moment. She caught sight of herself in the rearview mirror, mascara bleeding out of her eyes. Had she really put that much on? Was she really actually crying now?
Greg smiled at her, gentle but not condescending. “It’s a lot, isn’t it?”
Molly nodded, pulling a tissue out of her pocket to wipe her nose and face. “I’m so sorry. Just another hysterical woman you have to deal with.” She managed a small laugh.
“No, not at all.” He waited again, his willing silence pulling at her, making her want to open up. When she managed to stay quiet, he pressed gently, “What were you gonna say?”
Her face burned red. “What do you mean?”
“You said you’ve never even...what?”
She covered her face. I actually want to tell him. “It’s nothing, really. Too personal. Not something you should be sharing with a married--OH GOD! I’m so sorry.”
He laughed again, his hand on hers. “You can tell me, Molly.”
“Every guy I’ve ever been with just said I was frigid or that there was just something wrong...” Just saying it was painful. Her whole body burned with embarrassment. Humiliation. Even shame. And it was not mixing well with the insane amount of guilt she was already feeling. She covered her face. “Greg,” she sobbed softly.
“It’s okay, whatever it is, it’s okay.”
“No, it isn’t. There’s just...so much. It’s all my fault. I should’ve done more to help. Then we wouldn’t be in this mess...having to go to the damn funeral. Dimmock passing out...just...”
Greg narrowed his eyes. “That’s not what you were going to tell me. Molly, if you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to. But I think you might feel better if you do.”
“I’ve never...” she nibbled on her lower lip, “...had a proper...there’s no way to say this delicately.” She straightened her back and looked straight ahead. Medical presentation Molly appeared. “I’ve never achieved orgasm.”
Greg blinked, but didn’t seem too uncomfortable. Molly was blood red. “Stop me if this makes you feel uncomfortable,” he said, his tone very diplomatic (he probably had to have awkward conversations all the time in his line of work), “but what about that bothers you? Specifically?”
She covered her face. “Erm, well, it...it makes me feel like there is something wrong with me. Like I’m...defective. What if that’s the whole reason I can’t maintain a relationship? Because there’s inherently something wrong with me?”
“What methods have you tried?”
Her eyes widened. “I...I have actually had sex; I’m not that undesirable, I’d hope,” she muttered the last part to herself.
“But you’ve never masturbated?” Again, his tone was comfortable. He was clearly not as embarrassed as she was. God, she thought, he should be a sex therapist.
“No!” she hissed.
“Maybe you should,” he said gently.
Molly reddened further. “It just seems...weird...and lonely.” She swallowed thickly, still stunned she was having this conversation in the car of one DI Lestrade. “Like...like, I should be some 60-year-old woman with forty cats.”
Greg snorted, trying not to laugh and failing miserably. “Sorry,” he said, covering his mouth. “Sorry, I don’t mean to laugh. Sorry. No...I mean, you went to medical school; didn’t you ever talk about that?”
“Gregory! I studied forensic pathology!”
Scrubbing at his face, he laughed resignedly. “Sorry, Molly, I’m just surprised is all. It just seems so...natural. It’s like finding out you kept all your baby teeth.”
She shut her eyes, shame causing tears to cascade down her cheeks. “There’s just...something wrong with me, then.”
Greg’s face softened considerably. “No, no, no, not at all. I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant. There’s nothing wrong with you. You just...need to experiment. If you want to. Learn what you like. Teach your body how to respond.”
“The guys I’ve...been with always told me there was something wrong with me. That their other girlfriends always came,” she said with a mixture of mockery and bitterness.
Greg took her hand again. “Can I ask you one more thing?”
She sniffled and nodded.
“Did any of them ever perform oral sex on you? Tried just massaging the area? Or even used toys?”
Surprisingly, she didn’t feel ashamed. Maybe she was running out. “No. Just penetration.”
He lowered his head to meet her eyes. “Hey, nothing’s wrong with you. What’s wrong is thinking that slamming your dick into someone over and over again is gonna make them come. They were liars. Or their girlfriends were. But there’s nothing wrong with you.”
Molly licked her lips. “Do people actually do oral sex? I thought it was just in the movies.”
Greg laughed again. “Um, yeah, actually. Pretty often I’d say. You’d be amazed how many blokes I’d arrest when I was a constable, all of them paying to perform oral on someone.”
“Did I what? Pay?” Another easy chuckle. “No.”
“No, I mean, did you ever...go down on your wife?”
“Yeah. Lots. She was a bit of a nympho, and after dealing with Sherlock all day, I barely had the energy to get in my pyjamas, much less go at it for an hour. It was easier to go down than to get it up sometimes.”
Her heart ached. “I’m so sorry about that. About her. She was an absolutely twat.”
“She was also a lesbian,” Greg countered, grinning. “I mean, she thought maybe she was bisexual but by the end...there was no doubting it. She’s happier now. She gets to be herself.”
“It hurt. I loved her. A lot. But clearly I wasn’t doing it for her. And she had needs that had to be met. I was mad that she cheated...but eventually I realized that she wasn’t purposely trying to punish me for being a bad husband. I just didn’t have the right equipment.”
Greg smiled sadly, giving her hand another gentle squeeze. “But there’s nothing wrong with you. You just need to find someone worth your time. Stop chasing these lads that blow up people,” he teased.
She rolled her eyes and grinned as he switched gears and started heading for her house. They drove in silence, Molly wanting very badly to hold his hand again, to have his firm grasp weighing her down.
She’d never told anyone that before. Ever. Sherlock had deduced it, of course, the first time he met her, but she had never admitted it to anyone.
And now she had. It was someone else’s to share with her. She felt a little bit better, her headache ebbing away. How much had harboring that secret affected her? How much would harboring Sherlock’s secret affect her?
“Do you--do you want to come inside?” she blurted into the silence. “With me. For tea. Or coffee.”
Greg gave her a sidewise glance. “Molly, you don’t have to do that--”
“And by tea or coffee I mean sex.”
Greg nearly slammed on the brakes. “What?”
She was red again, the blush spreading to her neck and shoulders. “Please?”
“Molly, I’m flattered, but I think you’ve probably had a bit much to drink and we’re all still coping from...well, from what’s happened. It’s probably not the best idea.”
“But you said there was nothing wrong with me!” Molly’s voice was infinitely louder than she meant for it to be.
A warm hand rested on her shoulder. “There isn’t. At all. You’re so smart, and you’re just gorgeous. Any man would be lucky to be your boyfriend. But I’m not, and you don’t seem the type to bed someone after a funeral.”
The remainder of the ride was silent, Molly wishing she could fade into the upholstery. “Please?” she asked softly when they arrived at her complex.
He didn’t answer. Instead he got out of the car and walked over to her door. He opened it and leaned in. “I’ll make a deal with you. Compromise.”
She looked up to meet his warm eyes.
“Not tonight. But after we’ve had some time to think on it, yeah? So, next Friday, if it still seems like a good idea, I’ll meet you here. We’ll have a proper date and everything. And then, after all that, once things have settled a bit, we can decide then.” He offered her his hand.
“You’re just placating me.”
“Is it working?”
“Do you promise?” She rose to her full height, giving him a meaningful look. Don’t toy with me, Lestrade."
His answer wasn’t immediate. After a pause, he nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”
Molly and Greg's pre-date jitters are discussed. Also mentions of Molly's previous sexual encounters.
Be warned: Molly's ex-boyfriends are all douchebags. I don't wanna say it's rape or even dubcon, but she just has very selfish lovers, which I guess might be triggering? I don't know, read with caution.
Molly's neuroses pretty much reflect my own, right down to the masturbation bit. So, yeah, she may seem a bit inexperienced for someone her age, but we've all got our hang ups, right? Don't judge her. Or me.
Also, guys, seriously, I'm upset with my style. It's like I'm going back and forth with my styling. Again, I'm posting this before it's really ready, because for whatever reason it motivates me. So, while the wording may not be ideal, I hope you enjoy the basic plot.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
“Harold!” Molly hissed into the disposable phone. “Give me back my cat!”
It was Wednesday morning. Apparently between the time she went to bed at half-past ten and breakfast, Sherlock (going by Harold for the next 4 days until his flight to South America) had stolen Toby.
“I will! Just not now!” he said in a ridiculously high-pitched voice.
“Toby doesn’t like you!”
“I need him for an experiment!”
“No, you don’t! Now please give me back my--” She was stopped by a knock on her door. “Give me back my cat!” she whispered before closing the phone. “Sorry, sorry, the door’s open!” She quickly unlocked it, revealing Sally Donovan. Molly immediately was overwhelmed by her feelings of ineptitude. “Erm, good morning, Sally. What can I do for you?”
“I had to interview a victim here, so Anderson asked me to pick up some test results from you.”
“Oh right, yes, sorry, they’re, uh, they’re right here.” Shuffling back to her desk, she retrieved the sealed envelope. “Right, so, erm, how’s...how’s Anderson?”
Sally rolled her eyes. “Shameful, honestly. Been crying like a bitch since the funeral.”
More guilt. Anderson had always been exceptionally nice to Molly, trying to make her feel like she was apart of the forensics team even though technically she wasn’t. “Oh, I’m--I’m sorry to hear that. Tell him that if he needs anything...” she trailed off, having expected Sally to be gone by now.
But Sally stood there, smirking, making her feel awkward.
Molly swallowed thickly. “Is there...is there something else?”
“Heard you might have a little date with Lestrade,” Sally teased. She looked surprisingly girlish right then, not at all imposing or frightening. Somehow, that terrified Molly even more.
God, it was humiliating. Molly had propositioned the Detective Inspector because he had shown her kindness, and it had haunted her all week. She assumed he had only been trying to let her down gently by not agreeing then and postponing any sort of physical activity.
“Um, yeah, maybe...he...has was supposed to check back with me, but he hasn’t...so I just assumed he forgot...Or didn’t want to.”
“Well, apparently he’s keepin’ his schedule cleared just for you.”
Molly’s stomach flipped. “Really?” Her entire being felt lighter. Brighter, even. “Are you...how do you know?”
“John came to the Met. Asked if Greg wanted to go out for drinks Friday. Said he’d have to hear back from you first.”
Molly covered her face, feeling simultaneously thrilled and peccant. “Oh, I didn’t...He should probably be with John...John needs him more than I do.”
Sally laughed knowingly. “Lemme know how it goes, yeah? Gotta keep an eye on the old boy. Hate for his heart to get broken again.” She winked before leaving Molly standing there all agog like a dead fish.
I think John needs you more than I do. *Molly*
Greg frowned at the phone. Where had that come from? He shook his head. If you don’t want to go out, that’s fine, but don’t hide behind John. GL
No, he thought, no that’s not what I want to say. He added a winky face to make it appear less firm.
Well, if that didn’t make him feel like a teenager, nothing would.
He continued shuffling through the paperwork, wishing that he had kept better records of his cases. The ones where Sherlock assisted him never required any sort of consultation fee or anything of that sort, which meant Greg rarely had to file paperwork with the accounting offices, which also meant that no one was twisting his arm to stay organized. Damn his laziness.
I’m not! I’m just...I just don’t want to waste your time when John needs you. *Molly*
I would really like to take you to dinner. GL
If that’s okay. GL
Molly spent the remainder of that Wednesday walking on cloud nine, and that giddiness led her to do a few things that normally would have never even crossed her mind.
First, she ordered “Harold” to return Toby that night or she would have him arrested. Sherlock was resistant but the edge in Molly’s voice convinced him to obey. Of course, when they met up outside of London, he made mention of Molly’s confident demeanor, taking less than three seconds to deduce that she was somehow involved in a romantic relationship. In seven, he realized who the other person was. In ten, Molly had grabbed her cat and strode to her taxi, barking back at Sherlock to be safe and keep in touch.
Second, she bought a bottle of wine, planning to spend the rest of the night taking Greg’s advice and experimenting, figuring out what she liked. It was largely fruitless; Molly didn’t really know where to begin.
Lying nude on her bed, she dredged through the memories of her previous sexual encounters (totalling a whopping number of three), but reminiscing made her feel a little...sick for lack of a better word.
Alan, a boy she’d met over the summer before college, had considered himself to be God’s gift to women. His confidence was what attracted Molly to him; he had a dancer’s physique, lithe but powerful and the jawline of a Greek statue. She hadn’t told him it was her first time; she didn’t want to let him know how much of an outcast she was. At a secluded property beside a lake, they made love for the first time.
It had hurt from the beginning. He liked to bite, biting her nipples and her neck, but she didn’t say anything. She just wanted to fit in, to be accepted. When he entered her, she wasn’t ready. She was too nervous, her muscles clamping down, trying to force him out. Alan went at a rapid pace, muttering things like, “You like this, don’tcha? Say my name.”
And when he had finished, she felt dirty, gross even. Why had she let this boy touch her? When she mentioned that she hadn’t orgasmed, he got defensive, saying that it was her fault, that she needed to “get your vag checked.” She had smacked him and vowed never to see him again.
During her second year at university, her friend Carly set her up on a blind date with a bloke named Frank. Frank was done as soon as he penetrated her, and she had had to comfort him as he cried. She didn’t even count that as an official experience. The second time he had tried to bed her, he just jabbed his cock between her legs, refusing to let her guide him in. Finally, he was successful; but he hadn’t taken his time to warm her up, so it was a dry entry, burning with the stretch and friction of dry skin on dry skin. Neither of them had achieved orgasm. Frank blamed her, saying she was a selfish lover, that she wasn’t putting in any effort and that she didn’t appreciate his efforts. Molly had wept for days afterwards.
Finally, her last lover had been a professor. They were together for nearly a year before he invited her to his bed. She had hoped that an educated man would understand, that he would be gentle and kind. Instead, he’d retrieved handcuffs, which immediately had her nervous. He’d pressed too hard on her clitoris, treating it like some sort of lubrication dispenser, and when he’d kissed her, he bit her lips and tongue. Molly left unsatisfied, but she loved him enough to stick around until he tried to bend her over his knee. Then she was done. He’d called her “repressed” and vanilla when she broke up with him.
If one thing could be said about Molly, it was that she had enough self-respect to say no. She may not have been overly confident, but she wouldn’t stay in a relationship that made her miserable.
Ok, she thought, none of those things are good.
She shut her eyes again. A dream she’d had a year or so ago popped into her head. It had been centered around Jim, but the Jim she knew, not the criminal mastermind. He’d kissed her neck slowly, all the while humming as he made his way down to her breasts. In her dream, she’d had a larger bust, with perky, rose colored nipples, which Jim had worshipped with his tongue (no teeth, she had noted in the dream).
Bringing a hand up to her chest, she lightly teased the nipple and areola. To her relief, her body responded, a warm feeling pooling in her core. She continued to touch and caress until the area between her legs ached.
She probed her entrance, but immediately self-doubt crept into her mind. Normal people have boyfriends to do this, Molly. Why don’t you ever attract kind men? Who actually care about your pleasure? What if I’m just bad at it? What if I’m not a sexual creature? What if I just don’t give off the right pheromones?
She tried to push these thoughts away, tried to focus on the work at hand, but found that she was no longer aroused. In fact, she was a little disgusted with herself. How had she come to this? Only creepy men with massive porn collections masturbated, she thought. How had she stooped to that lovely of loneliness?
Natural. That was how Greg had described it. Natural. In the grand scheme of things, she concede that it was natural. Humans experimented with numerous other pleasures, whether it was eating, or drinking, or painting or making music; why wouldn’t masturbation be natural?
Now beneath the sheets, Molly wondered if, in her attempts to fit in, she had missed a milestone. Here she was in her 30s, masturbating for the first time (at least actively masturbating, she reminded herself. Fetuses have been known to masturbate as well.), hoping that she was still capable of one day have a fulfilling sexual relationship.
I need a therapist.
She tried to return to her fantasy, but her thoughts continually came back to shame and worry. After an hour of unsatisfying self-exploration, Molly finished off the bottle of cheap wine, fed Toby and curled up on the sofa. She just couldn’t sleep in her bed for now. At least, she hoped it was just for now.
She dreamt of Greg that night and the next. The dreams weren’t overtly sexual in the beginning, always starting with ice cream at a shop she had frequented as a teenager. Greg then led her to a motorbike, and they were magically transported to a cabin in the woods. Greg removed his clothes, and invited her to bed. When Molly removed her clothes, she was mortified to discover she had no genitalia, like everything below her waist belonged to a Barbie. She started to cry, but Greg took her hand and guided her to the bed. He laid her down on her back before he crawled between her legs, licking at the smooth skin until her vulva resurfaced.
“Oh thank you, Greg,” she would say, “I’ve been looking everywhere for this!”
In the mornings, she tried to scrub them from her memory, but they lingered in her mind until she arrived at work. Dead bodies were a surefire way to repress erotic dreams (if that term was even applicable).
It was mid-morning when Molly finally heard from him.
Are we still on for tonight? GL
Yes please. *Molly*
When do you get off? GL
17:30. Is that ok? *Molly*
Absolutely. I’ll see you around 7, yeah? GL
How should I dress? *Molly*
I mean, I want to be dressed appropriately. Formal, casual, what should I wear? *Molly*
Reading her texts, the DI cursed loudly. “Donovan!” he shouted from his office.
“Yes sir?” she shouted back.
“D’ippolito’s? Good place for a semi-date?”
“That Greek place?”
Sally appeared at the door, her brow furrowed. “C’mon, Greg, it’s not exactly romantic.”
“It is romantic!”
“Oh my God, I’m not taking her to McDonald’s! Cut me a break, half my paycheck is going to my ex!”
“You asked my opinion.”
“Where would you go?”
Greg motioned her away from the door. “Get out, you’re not helping.”
Sally laughed, just a touch of darkness in her eyes before disappearing back to her desk.
Molly was actually thrilled that Greg had picked a casual fish-and-chips shop. She could focus on him and their date, not which fork was appropriate or what wine to order. She was even more relieved when he arrived at her door, wearing jeans, trainers and a simple gray shirt. Even better was the boyish grin on his face.
“Hi,” he said when she opened the door. “I, erm, I got you flowers.” He hands a bouquet of pink and yellow daisies. “Because I’ve not actually been out on a date in twenty years, and honestly that’s all I remember.” Even in his self-deprecation he exuded confidence.
Molly accepted them with ease, the gesture feeling sincere, not a ploy to impress or seduce her. Greg would bring anyone flowers. “Thank you. Erm, would you like to come in? Or...we can just go...or...”
“Yeah, no, we should probably get going so they don’t give our table away,” he teased, taking a step forward. He didn’t enter, though, until she stepped aside. Toby, still traumatized by his time with Sherlock, hissed at Greg and dashed under the sofa. “Oi, did I upset him? Sorry...guess I’m more of a dog person.”
“No, he’s, uh, he’s in a mood. He normally loves guests. Do you have pets?”
“Not currently. First time in years I haven’t had one, but the landlord is strict about no dogs.”
Toby! she thought angrily. Why can’t you be nice to our guests?!
“I’m sorry.” She ran her fingers nervously through her hair, remembering suddenly her hair was soaking wet. “Oh! I’m sorry! I have to, um, I have to go dry my hair. I’m sorry! I completely forgot.”
Greg laughed. “Don’t apologize. I probably should’ve showered before hand myself. Probably reek of toner and whatever chemical Anderson was using today. May I?” He jutted his jaw in the direction of the armchair, not wanting to further aggravate the cat by sitting on top of it.
“Of course, yeah, please. Make yourself at home. I’ll--I’ll be right back.” She started towards her room, but quickly returned, looking apologetic. “I’m so sorry, would you like some tea? I should’ve had it ready--”
Greg gave her an easy smile. “I’m fine, thanks.” He pulled a toy mouse out from under him, giving it a little shake. “I’ve got this little guy if I need anything.”
Out of the blue, Toby shot out from beneath the sofa, squawking like a parrot in pain. Before Molly was fully aware of what was happening, the cat was clinging to Greg’s legs, one paw reaching for the mouse protectively. Greg hissed out an obscenity.
“Toby!” Molly called, rushing over to the chair. “God, you stupid cat, why do you have to ruin everything!?” She took the toy from Greg and hurled it across the room, Toby immediately on its trail. “Are you okay? God, I am so sorry!”
“I don’t think Toby likes me very much.”
No, it’s not you. It’s fucking Sherlock, she thinks bitterly. “No, no it’s...he’s had a rough couple of days. Vet exam and all that.”
“Maybe he’s protective.”
“No, he’s...he’s an idiot. I love him, but...I can’t believe I found a cat as neurotic as I am.”
Greg’s laughter put her at ease again. She was aware of her shoulders relaxing, her neck loosening. “I’ll be right back. I’ll grab some peroxide.”
While Greg dressed his wounds, Molly dried her hair and styled it in a side braid before deciding that was too juvenile for someone actively trying to get laid tonight. She tried a more mature hairstyle but it fell flat. “Whatever.”
She returned to the living room, feeling less than beautiful, to find Toby in Greg’s lap, his eyes as wide as Greg’s. Greg looked up at her, just a bit panicked. “He just jumped up on my lap. His heart is beating like mad.”
Molly clenched her jaw tightly. If Sherlock had poisoned her cat, she would hunt him down and kill him herself. “He’s fine,” she said sternly. “He’s fine, let’s go.”
She headed towards the door, feeling Greg’s hand on her shoulders. “Hey, are you ok? We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. No pressure, yeah? Hell, we could take Toby to the vet.”
“No.” She shook her head. “No, he’s fine. I want to go. I’ve been looking forward to this, and I want to go. Oh God the flowers!” She’d laid them on the coffee table. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I really do appreciate them. Just let me go put them in some water. I don’t know if I even own a vase...”
Jim had brought her flowers in an expensive vase, but once she discovered who he was and what he was capable of, she threw it away. After shattering it into a thousand pieces. She scampered around her kitchen for a container until she settled on a pitcher she never used.
“You’re supposed to cut the bottoms off.”
She looked up. “What?”
“The bottom of the flowers. You’re supposed to cut them off. They keep longer or something. I don’t really know why, I just know you’re supposed to.”
“Oh.” She stepped back to let Greg examine the flowers. “Yeah, now that you said that I remember that. Tells you how often I get flowers.”
“Do you have scissors?” As she brought them to him, he explained, “I used to work as a delivery boy for a flower shop as a kid.”
Molly was happy to watch him work. It fit so well, this man with a subtle handsomeness setting up a nice little still life in her kitchen. She wanted this. She wanted him to be in her kitchen, in her living room, in her bed. She wanted it so badly. It fit. Her arms ached to wrap around his waist, her head yearning to rest on his shoulder.
She cleared her throat when he caught her staring. “Sorry, sorry, I’m...I have no control over how creepy I allow myself to be.”
“As Good As It Gets?”
Molly nodded. “I’m a sucker for romantic comedies.”
“My mum was a Jack Nicholson fan. After my dad died, the only way I could get her out of the house was to take her to the cinema to see Jack Nicholson films.”
Her heart ached with the sweetness and sincerity of the statement. “You’re so kind.”
Greg was taken aback. “Not really. Keep in mind, we’re going to a fish-and-chip joint. Sorry. I just couldn’t...I was originally planning to go to that Greek restaurant by the Met, but Sally said that was cheap, and when I tried to get a same day reservation at L'Autre Pied, they laughed at me. So I panicked.”
His honesty made her feel even better. “I hate French food,” she admits. “And I get anxious at fancy restaurants. I was relieved when you mentioned Fishes’n’Sandwiches.”
He chuckled, his eyes focused on hers. “Every woman’s dream, right?”
“Of course.” His gaze...seemed so intimate. It made her knees weak. She looked at the floor. “We should, um, we should go.”
How am I going to take off my clothes for this man when I can’t even look him in the eye? Her stomach was flipping and flopping. Take it slow. Greg won’t do anything that you aren’t comfortable with.
But I just want to be normal. And normal women my age have sex. Satisfying sex. I will have satisfying sex tonight, she told herself. No excuses, no substitutions.
Please don't judge me. I've never posted fics before this, and I've always been especially reserved about my smut fics. Plus there's that part of me that's like is my sex life normal? Like, if I write this is everyone going to be like, "Um, that's weird..." And then I'll feel weird because it's something I do in intimate situations, you know?
Basically, I'm just asking you to be kind so that I don't become even more neurotic.
Also, they will end up fucking in the next chapter. Pardon the fluff until then.
Molly and Greg discuss previous encounters...again.
So, I know I said that there would be smut in this chapter...but I've been on vacation, and I didn't update at all, and I'm afraid everyone's going to forget me, so this is sort of my emergency bridge chapter.
Also, I'm really not kink-shaming...which will make sense when you read this chapter...so, um, just go read it, ok?
Greg Lestrade was the most sincere man Molly had ever met in her entire life. She never questioned his motives, never worried that he expected more from her than she was willing to give, and when he smiled, his entire face lit up. Throughout her life, Molly was uncomfortable maintaining eye contact for any length of time, but with the DI... His eyes were so warm and bright, still shimmering with a boyishness that made her heart melt.
Everything about him was a warm day at the beach, a heavy quilt on a rainy evening, snow falling just before Christmas...every small, simple joy she’d taken pleasure in--they reminded her of Gregory Lestrade.
On their date, Molly realized she could possibly love this man. Maybe not now, but she could slowly fall in love with him, boring herself into him and him into her, until something deep bound them together. It wasn’t an immediate wave of magnetic love or romance as her relationships always seemed to start, it was more like a current, slowly dragging her away until she realized that maybe she had always liked this man. Maybe she had always harbored some secret crush, but because those feelings weren’t loud, weren’t abrasive, she hadn’t realized they were there.
He was sweet but not saccharine, caring but not doting.
She wanted him. Molly wanted Greg so badly. She wanted to feel his skin against her skin, to hold his hand, to kiss his lips, and it was overwhelming, almost suffocating.
They were walking by a pond after dinner when she stopped dead in her tracks, Greg turning to look at her. She licked her lips, then leaned in for a short, chaste kiss. Her eyes locked with his, and she beamed. “You taste like vinegar,” she admitted.
“I get that alot, actually,” he answers, a grin splitting across his face.
That one kiss seemed to slake her urgency, and her confidence shrank just a tiny bit.
The walk back to the car was simultaneously comfortable and nerve-wracking. Molly wanted Greg to stay the night, even if he couldn’t help her “condition”, even if there was something wrong with her, she wanted to share that intimacy with him. She longed for that sort of intimacy.
But...God, when was the last time she had been nude around anyone? Her last gynecological exam probably...but that had drained her, the anxiety of being bare in front of another human being just zapped her, left her feeling humiliated. Hell, she had just reached a point that she was comfortable wearing a towel in the same room as her cat.
Panic set in when she remembered she hadn’t shaved or waxed the area between her legs--she’d completely forgotten. What if it put him off? What if she got naked and he decided she wasn’t attractive enough, her breasts were too tiny, or her nipples looked funny or her little pudge of a belly wasn’t all that “little” (she’d been trying to lose it, but the vending machine down the hall always seemed to call out to her around 3:00 in the afternoon).
Without realizing it, she groaned, causing Greg to stop in his tracks. “Everything all right?”
She nodded, lips pressed tightly together.
“You can tell me if it’s not,” he added, flashing her a reassuring smile.
“It’s fine; I’m fine.”
His smile faded. This time Molly tried to maintain eye contact but his eyes were focused on his feet.
Fuck! she thought. Fuck, fuck, fuck!
“Can I hold your hand?” he asked once they resumed their stroll.
Molly’s voice caught in her throat. “What?” she croaked.
“Can I hold your hand?” That damnably delicious boyish grin. “Or may I hold your hand? I know you doctorate types like everything to be just so.”
Molly’s hand slid easily into his. She marvelled at the warmth of his palm, at how a texture so rough could be so comforting. She reminded herself, Greg won’t do anything to hurt you; he won’t do anything you aren’t comfortable with.
But what will he do? What if the date is just to placate me? What if he has no intention of spending the night? What if he’s tired? What if--
“Greg?” she blurted, interrupting her own thoughts.
“I just...I need to know because not knowing is killing me. And you can say no, of course, I mean, obviously, but I just...I just need to know, okay? Are you going to have sex with me tonight?”
Greg hesitated before replying. He licked his lips. “Before I answer that, there’s just a few things I’d like to clarify, yeah?”
“Is that a no?”
“No, but I don’t wanna do something that you’ll regret or hate me for later. And I don’t wanna do something that I’ll look back at and think ‘Fuck, Lestrade, that was a bad idea.’”
“And we can be candid, right? Well,” he looked around at the other people in the park, “actually, let’s go back to the car.”
Molly let herself be led to the automobile, her cheeks burning and her tummy in knots. Once in the car, she pulled her knees to her chin, dreading what he would say next.
“All right?” The DI asked again.
“Ok, what are you expecting exactly?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’m just not sure what you want. You told me you’ve never orgasmed. Are you expecting me to ‘fix’ that?”
Molly bit her lip. And then everything burst out, like a dam breaking. She told him about her first sexual encounter, how badly it had hurt, how the following experiences were painful, sloppy...unsatisfying, verging on creepy. As she spoke, Greg’s knuckles got whiter and whiter and his jaw clenched tighter and tighter. She told him how she felt there was something inherently wrong with her, how, since their last discussion on the topic of sex, she had worried that she missed some major sexual milestone.
“And...you’re gentle and kind. And I just think if someone was...good to me, helped me, maybe I could get better, you know? I want to know if it’s something I’m even capable of. I suppose...I’m expecting your assistance. Because I trust you. You’re not mean or callous or selfish, and you don’t strike me as the S and M type--or are you?”
He laughed again, managing to wipe away nearly half of her anxiety. “We’re being candid, yeah?” She nodded. “I like sex. Period. Hot and heavy, slow and romantic, kinky and ridiculous, you name it, I’m a fan. I suppose I’m a bit desperate.” His self-deprecating grin put her at ease. “Well, that’s not entirely true. I’ve caught hookers doing things that could just never do it for me.”
“Oh yeah? Like what?”
He frowned. “Bathroom things.” There was a mischeivous glint in his eye, like a little boy saying “poo” to a gang of overprotected friends.
Molly couldn’t help but laugh. “Not your cup of tea, then?”
“Yeah, so if you’re expecting me to shit on you, let’s be clear, I’m afraid I’m gonna hafta disappoint you.”
As he laughed and she laughed, the tension completely evaporated. “Damn,” she shook her head in feigned defeat, “and I’d so hoped...”
She felt his eyes on her again. The shy girl from the morgue looked up to meet his gaze. Those expressive brown eyes twinkled in the night’s lights, soft and sweet and maybe just a little bit sad. Her stomach flipped again, but it was a great deal more pleasant this time. Her heart raced and the feeling of arousal and excitement verged on too much, but she forced herself to keep her eyes locked on his.
He leaned in, crossing over onto her side of the car. “Come here,” he murmured, brushing her hair back behind her ear.
No, I’m scared. No you’re not, you can do this. No, I can’t, I’m just a little girl. You’re thirty-three years old! You are not a little girl! Stop thinking like that! You need this! You need to know if this really can be fun and pleasurable or if you need to focus your energies elsewhere!
She closed the space between them, her lips touching his. She expected his mouth to open, for his tongue to push at her lips, but instead she heard a faint chuckle. Her eyes met his for a brief moment before he placed another gentle kiss on her lips.
No, no, wait, this is not how kisses play out. I read the wikihow article! What’s he doing?
“Just relax,” he smiled against her mouth. His breath was faintly fishy and he seemed to smell it. “God, I should probably get a toothbrush while we’re out.” Molly imagined her breath wasn’t any better and laughed. Quickly, he placed a real kiss on her lips, his tongue playing against hers for just a second, their mouths touching, passing warmth back and forth.
When he pulled back, Molly was pleasantly surprised that the first word that came to her mind was not ‘pleasurable’ or ‘romantic’ or even ‘skillful’ (though those words accurately described the kiss), but at the forefront of her mind was ‘fun’.
She laughed again, her lips tingling and arousal vibrating down her spine. “Probably some mints for me as well. Not exactly romantic, is it, brushing your teeth before bed?”
“Yes!” he said with exaggerated adamancy. “Yes it is and I’ll tell you why!” His smile played just below his serious facade. “Once when I was young and stupid, me and this girl went out for curry, yeah? We’re young and in love and drunk as hell, so we order the spiciest thing available. Ten minutes later, we start snogging and decide, ‘hey, let’s have some fun’. We get to her car and try out the sixty-nine position because we’d seen it at the cinema or something.”
Molly covered her face, laughing again. “No...”
“My dick was on fire,” he said without a trace of shame. "Not only did I have a skin allergy to curry, but the acid from the peppers had irritated the foreskin to the point that I thought I was going to have to have an emergency circumcision. And, God, the pain she was in! The A and E doctors were not amused, needless to say. So, the moral of the story is: brushing your teeth before bed is sexy as hell!”
Finally, Molly gets laid.
I'm sorta sappy, and Greg is just, like, super playful. This is completely angst free. And maybe even silly. But I like to think that that playfulness would help her relax.
And this is sorta for me. I thought my life was progressing rapidly and I was trying to keep up with it and then I hit a wall. Nothing went according to plan this week. -_-'
Molly laid on the bed, stiff as a board, acutely aware of every negative thing about her body. She looked down. Oh my god, is one nipple larger than the other?! I should get under the covers, I look silly just lying here naked. At least your breath is minty fresh, that’s got to count for something, right?
Greg was still in the bathroom washing up. She wondered if she should have spent her time in the bathroom shaving. Toby hopped up on the bed, scaring Molly half to death. She shouted, resisting the urge to shove the cat as far away as possible.
“Not now, Toby, I’m busy.” She got up and set him outside her door, closing it quickly. He started to cry. Molly closed her eyes in defeat. “Please, please just be quiet long enough for me to have a proper lay. Please.”
When she opened them again Greg was standing before her, still sporting his trousers. She yelped, instinctively covering herself. “No, sorry, I was--I was supposed to be on the bed.” Scurrying to the bed, she resumed her position on her back, anxiety returning with a vengeance.
Greg beamed stupidly. “I’d be crying too if you shoved me out of your room.”
Molly blushed, covering her face with a pillow. “No, no, sorry, sorry, I can do this. I can. This is what normal people do--”
She was stopped by his weight settling across the bed, right next to her but not touching. Her mouth felt dry. Rolling over to face him, she warned herself not to start crying under any circumstances. It would put the DI off, and if it didn’t, well, then she didn’t want to be with him anyway.
His thumb ghosted over her bare shoulder, goose flesh breaking out across her body. She gasped. “Hey,” he said with a sweet smile.
“You still have your trousers on...should I still have mine on? Did I move too fast?”
He shook his head. “No, I just didn’t want you to feel like you were trapped into something.” He propped his head up on his elbow. “So, I’ve been thinking about this, quite a bit actually, as single men are bound to do, and I want to try oral sex with you first.”
Her cheeks burnt. Do NOT pick up that pillow and cover your face again, Molly Hooper! “Um, is that...I don’t know how. I’ve never done it before...so I may be a bit--”
Shaking his head, Greg cut her off. “No, not like that. I’m going to go down on you.” Yet another smile. He stroked her arm. “Molly, you’re tense.”
“I’m scared. What if I can’t? What if I’m bad at this? What if I’m damaged? I want to be a normal healthy woman who comes and has satisfying sex!”
A kiss interrupted her rant. It was another gentle chaste kiss, like the first one in the car, but it calmed her immediately. His eyes bore into hers, leaving her feeling even more exposed. “Hey,” he whispered, soothingly. “It’s just sex. Lighten up. It’s supposed to be fun. Don’t focus on the end, just enjoy the feeling of it, yeah?”
“I forgot to shave,” she whined. Her eyes clamped shut. “I need to lose weight. My breasts are misshapen. My nipples are the most unappealing color imaginable. What if my vagina really is messed up? Did you see the movie Teeth? How...how does this play out? What do I do?”
Greg sat up and positioned himself so that he was hovering over her. “I’m gonna kiss you,” he smiled. “I’m gonna kiss you for real, and I’m gonna kiss down your neck, down your shoulders to your breasts...and I’ll probably linger there for a bit, because you have magnificent breasts, sorry to say, and then your tummy, your body, down until I get where I really wanna be. Look at me, Molly,” he added. Molly had covered her face with her pillow, but Greg was easing it away. “But I won’t do anything you don’t like. Give me a chance, but as soon as you say stop, I’ll stop. Don’t...don’t let this be stressful, Molly. It can be really fun if you let it. So, what I need you to do is tell me what feels good and what doesn’t. Sound good?”
She nodded, stiffening again when his face grew closer to hers. “May I?” he asked. When she nodded again, he kissed her, really kissed her. It was the kind of kiss that she’d only read about, with warmth quickly spreading from her mouth to her chest to her spine, shooting and sparking across her body until she felt as though she would light up.
Gregory Lestrade was a fantastic kisser. In the past, Molly’s partners had always either felt like a dead slug in her mouth, their tongues just laying on hers, or they danced around like mice being electrocuted. But this kiss...it was fun. And hot.
Molly felt that same spike of arousal in her core, making her want more of his lips, his mouth, his tongue. He pulled back for just a moment to whisper, “I like your brand of toothpaste.”
“Shut up and kiss me,” she giggled.
He obeyed. Another knee-weakening kiss and Molly’s shoulders loosened, her joints relaxing. Her fingers became entwined in his hair before she knew it, and he moaned into her mouth. That sound pushed her just a little bit, gave her a tiny bit of confidence. Her hands roamed across his shoulders, his skin tanned and still warm as though he’d just come in from the sun. Taking this as silent permission, Greg settled his weight onto her, instead of just hovering above her like a mosquito.
He caressed her neck and ran his fingers through her hair, like he was playing a harp. In return, Molly wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling his hips flush against hers. He moaned again, sending another shiver to dash down her spine. When they broke for breath, his name slipped off of her lips before she could stop it.
He beamed down at her, making her chuckle. “Thank God, a smile! I was starting to think I would have to tickle you.”
“That’s not very sexy,” Molly purred, feeling very confident.
“No, but you looked so dour.”
Greg was surprised when Molly pulled him down for another kiss, this one less controlled, more desperate. “God, yes,” Molly murmured. His lips traveled south, to her neck, kissing and sucking lightly at the skin, his hands sliding up and down her sides. “Greg, that feels...really nice.”
She felt his smile against her skin. That smile could melt an iceberg. Everything about being with him was contrary to how she had always pictured sex. He was smiling, for God’s sake. It wasn’t worshipful, it wasn’t degrading or controlling. It just...felt really good. She didn’t feel any sort of immediate need to be fucked, though she couldn’t deny the increasingly empty feeling between her legs.
He kissed each of her nipples, looking up at her with sparkling eyes before he gently sucked one into his mouth, rolling it with his tongue. This made her arch against him. “Oh, god, sorry, I’ll be still.”
“I don’t want you to be still,” he answered, returning to her mouth for another kiss. “I want you to tell me what feels good.”
“What about you? What feels good to you?”
He gave her a “really?” look. “Molly, there’s nothing about this that I don’t like.”
She laughed. “Shut up, I’ll kick you off of my bed if you can’t be serious.”
He snuggled against her chest. “Oh, I’m so serious,” he replied with a wicked grin before generously laving her other nipple while he massaged her other breast.
“That...that feels really good, to be honest....” She was a bit startled to hear her voice breaking into soft pants.
He switched the activities of his mouth and hand, a moan building in her throat. To her surprise, he beat her to it. He was moaning around her breast...her hand was caught up in his hair again, and she resisted the urge to tug it. Maybe another time...
While the DI worked, arousal was smouldering in her center, her body becoming more and more ready. Molly could feel the wetness forming between her legs. Thank God! she thought. Maybe I can do this after all!
“Greg,” she breathed.
He looked up at her lazily. “Good?”
“Still with me?”
Another kiss, this one even sloppier, but somehow it made her even hotter. She arched against him again, and was pleased to feel an impressive hardness between his legs. “You don’t have to...go down there if you don’t want to...I think I could take you....” Despite her best efforts, her doubts were evident in her voice.
Greg took her hand and kissed it. “Molly, love, you don’t have to accommodate me. I’m going to do my best to please you. So let me.”
Now he was at her stomach. “You asked me to do this for you. So I am. You don’t have to make a concession.” He peppered the expanse of skin with kisses and licks, nipping playfully just below the belly button.
She jolted up a little. “No!” she shouted. She covered her mouth. “No, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Sh, it’s ok. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.” He kissed the area his teeth had touched. “You ok?”
“Just...teeth. I don’t know if I can…”
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
The concern painted on his face nearly broke her heart. He looked like a confused puppy, unsure of what he had done wrong.
“No, not at all.” She moved to cover her face but his hand caught her by the wrist, still ever so gentle. He hoisted himself back up.
“It’s all right. You don’t have to explain anything,” he purred. Stroking her face, he smiled down at her, looking very cheeky. “Shall I start over then? Like it’s Mario...I mess up and I have to start from the beginning.”
Molly blushed again. “Do you take anything seriously?” she chided.
He kissed her. “You’re on the pill?”
Another kiss. “I’ve got condoms in my wallet.”
“There’s nothing serious about this, then. ‘s why they give it such vulgar names like boinking and fucking and banging. It’s absurd, isn’t it? ‘S’like a child came up with them.” He kissed her again. “Why? Because it’s s’posed to be fun.”
Molly licked her lips, feeling shy under his gaze. Nevertheless, a smile was tugging at her lips. She liked the feeling of him pressed against her. Not suffocating, not claustrophobic, just his bare chest against hers, little chest hairs tickling his breasts. “So,” she started, feeling bolder, “it’s fun to perform oral sex on hysterical women because they begged you to at their friends’ funerals?”
He winced at the word funeral but regained his composure quickly. “No, see, I’m a civil servant. This is like...helping an old lady across the street.” Greg’s eyes were full of mischief.
Molly shoved him off the bed (or he let himself be shoved). “Get out,” she laughed, “I’ve no time for shit like that.”
He presented puppy dog eyes. “Please? I had to buy a toothbrush just for this…” Without waiting to be invited, he crawled back up against her, and again she basked in the warmth of his body. He was a bit soft around the middle as well, but there were still hints of a young lithe body.
She ran her hands down his chest. “You’re so beautiful. Is that okay to say? That you’re beautiful?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Miss Hooper, are you coming onto me?”
She nodded. “A little bit. I was afraid you weren’t getting the hint when I asked you into my flat for tea and sex.”
He leaned in close as she spoke, his mouth hovering just above hers in a way that seemed almost painfully intimate. She didn’t bother to resist the urge to run her fingers over his lips softly. “I’ve never been very good at reading between the lines.”
This time she kissed him. She closed the distance between them, her lips meeting his, her tongue dancing against his, her hands skimming across his skin. He responded with fervor, apparently pleased with her interaction. He broke away from the kiss, licking and sucking his way across her chest, teasing her nipples and massaging her breasts, until he reached her opening. He stopped, eyes meeting hers. When she didn’t say anything, he placed long, soft kisses to her thighs, working his way up to the lips of her labia.
Oh my God, what if it’s too long? What if the lips are too long? What if it puts him off? What if it smells? Oh my Gosh, what does it taste like? What if I have some disease and he gets it because he put his mouth--
Greg’s voice interrupted her spiral into panic. “Molly?”
“Yep?” she tried to sound unbothered.
His hands rested on her thighs, thumbs rubbing small circles against the skin, making it more difficult to concentrate. He nodded. “What’s wrong?”
“Does everything...look all right down there?”
He nodded again, this time very lazily. “It does.” He kissed the very tip of the hood of the clit, and she shivered. “Do you want me to go on?”
She gulped. “Yes...please.”
To say that Greg kissed her opening would be incorrect, it was more of his lips skimmed over the skin, like mist settling back into the water. The sensation coupled with the sight of this gorgeous man between her legs exponentially increased her arousal.
A groan vibrated against her thigh as his tongue flicked across the skin, tasting her for the first time. She gasped at the feeling of his tongue there, somewhere so intimate. He traced the lines of her labia with his tongue, her body starting to feel...tight. Her back arched when his tongue wiggled its way inside her. Again, the painlessness fascinated Molly, and then she realized it felt good. Not scream-and-throw-pillows good, but pleasurable. And intimate.
A tremor passed through her legs and one of her hands tangled in his hair, almost as if she was afraid that he would leave in the middle of the act. He didn’t stay still for long, though. Broad strokes of his tongue pressed against her, licking her from the bottom of her lips to her clit, sending little sparks through her body, and the sparks seemed to grow the more he worked. He established a steady rhythm, slow and soft, causing her arousal to smoulder, and gradually built. Back and forth, up and down, his tongue shallowly slipping inside on every upward stroke.
She watched him, head bobbing slightly as he worked, making quiet little noises of pleasure that egged her on. Her fingers erratically stroked his silver hair, gripping and grasping at each new jolt of pleasure that shot through her. Her hips bucked of their own accord against his face, but Greg seemed too far gone to mind.
Molly’s own soft sounds met his muffled ones as she felt little tremors become part of something more, something looming. A little part of her was afraid, but the fear was mostly silenced by desire. She closed her eyes, knowing that another glance at the silver fox now sucking on the clit quickly before starting a new stroke would push her over the edge.
“Ah, Gregory,” she panted, her voice breaking. “God, please, yes...that...you’re so good…”
His hands squeezed her thighs in response, and she could feel him smile against her. Another gasp and Molly bit her lip to stop the babble that threatened to escape her mouth. “Fas-faster, Greg…”
He didn’t. He stroked the inside of her thighs soothingly, but maintained that same slow, sensual pace.
And then it was there, just like wave breaking across her, her body tightened and then relaxed, her vaginal muscles spasming against him and around him as he worked her through it, prolonging the experience until she pulled his head away. “Too much,” she murmured, before collapsing, her limbs still vibrating. Aftershocks continued to wash over as Gregory Lestrade hoisted himself up to kiss her belly, between her breasts and then her neck. She was relieved when he didn’t try to kiss her lips; she wasn’t sure that she was ready to taste herself.
Absently, she ran her fingers through his hair while she caught her breath. It hadn’t been earth-shattering like women always seemed to have in films, but it was nice...so...pleasant. She felt like she’d had a very thorough massage, her body relaxed and boneless. Greg nuzzled her neck, still smiling. “How was that?” he asked as he threw the comforter over the two of them. “Can I stay?”
She blinked, still hazy. “I’d kiss you but I know where your mouth’s been.”
“Well, how do you like that for a thank you?” he teased.
Molly pulled him to her bosom. “Mm, thank you, you wonderful, wonderful sweet man. That was...fantastic.”
I did it, she thought. It’s not me; it was them. And Greg…
“You fixed me,” she murmured.
He shook his head. “No I didn’t. There was nothing wrong with you. You went after what you wanted and you let yourself enjoy it. That’s all you have to do. I think your next move should either be buying a vibrator. Or a removable showerhead.”
“Not a vibrator...it just seems so...pervy.”
“Showerhead then,” he said softly, running his hand down her arm.
“Will you show me how to use it?” she teased, stroking his face.
Greg smirked. “Hell, I’ll install it for you.”
Penetration abounds! Don't hate me. I'm sure they both probably finish too fast, but there comes a point where it's pretty boring to write "thrust thrust thrust for 20 minutes".
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Molly dozed, very briefly, if it could even be called that. It would be more accurate to say that she basked in her sense of relief and the tingly feelings sparking across her body, making her lose track of time. “Mm, Greg?” she murmured, as she came back to her senses.
Oh. So that’s what brought her back to reality. The motion of Gregory Lestrade adjusting himself in his trousers. Molly gulped nervously. “Do you, um, do you need some help? I could…”
Greg chuckled, that boyish grin easing her back into that post coital calm. “Do you want to?”
“Um, sure. Yeah.”
“‘s’not very convincing, is it?”
“I just...I’ve never performed oral sex before. And it just seems kind of weird.” She started to blush as her treacherous brain reminded her of the time she tried to deepthroat a banana at the office, only to be caught by an intern.
He rested a thick hand on her face. Not slender, like Sherlock’s. Or Jim’s. Very sturdy. “I feel like I should tell you something because clearly no one has told you before, and it’s something that you need to know.”
Molly wrinkled her nose, bracing herself. “Ok, what is it?”
“If you’re not comfortable doing it, you don’t have to do it.”
“I think you’ve been hinting at that.”
“Yeah, but you’re just not getting it. And as a member of law enforcement, that bothers me. If you don’t want to do it, don’t do it, yeah? You don’t owe anyone anything. You don’t owe me anything.”
A smile broke across her face. She turned her head to kiss Greg’s palm. “We could, um, we could try actual penetration if you’d like.”
Greg tried not to grin too broadly. “Is that something you want to do?”
She paused to think it over. She wanted intimacy, and she wanted it without pain. And from the looks of that generous bulge in Greg’s trousers, she had a willing participant in her bed. And it was Greg. Sweet, gentle, possible-love-interest Greg. “Yeah,” she smiled back. “I do, actually. Really.”
“Can I kiss you or should I go brush my teeth again?” he teased, now easing on top of her.
She laughed in response, worrying her lip between her teeth. “I think a kiss would be ok.”
This kiss was calm, like the first few kisses, shallowly probing her tongue with his before licking at her bottom lip. “Lemme grab a condom.” Another kiss. “Do you have any lubricant?” he asked as he slipped off of the bed, reaching for his wallet that he had laid on the nightstand.
“Uh, no, no, I don’t. Do we...do we need it?” Oh my God, does he think...does he think this has progressed to anal sex? Oh my God, what have I done?
To her relief, he shook his head. “You can never have enough lubrication, though.”
“Huh. I always just assumed, you know, that there would just be...enough, I suppose. Like organically.”
Greg snorted. “No, sorry, sorry. I mean, sometimes, yeah, there’s no need. But sometimes, for like quickies in the loo, you don’t have time for foreplay.”
“How often are you having sex in the toilets?”
“My wife and I had a bloody great sex life. Well, great for me. Not so much for her.” He looked down at his trousers. “So...I suppose I should take these off.”
“Are you shy?” Molly teased, spying the blush spreading across his neck and face.
“You’ve never seen me naked before,” he grinned. “You’ve been with all these young bucks; I’m not sure I can compete.”
“You’ve already blown them out of the water.”
“No pun intended, right?”
Molly covered her face, giggling lightly. “No, and I don’t have any lubricant. I hope that’s...ok?”
A nod assured it was, and he buckled his jeans, letting them slide off of his hips to the floor. Molly couldn’t help but stare at the tent formation between his legs. It’ll fit. She had to remind herself. They all fit...just not comfortably.
“So, um,” Greg hesitated, tugging at his pants, “there’s something I’d like to try. But you can say no if you like. I think it may be a bit easier.”
“I’d like to go at it from behind.”
Molly’s mouth bobbed up and down like a goldfish before she could ask, “What do you mean?” She didn’t want some violent thrusting while she was bent over her own bed. Her heart started to sink.
After the condom was on snugly, he returned to the bed. “Lay on your side with your back to me. I just wanna show you, I won’t do anything until you gimme the go-ahead.”
Molly obeyed, nervousness sinking in again. Stop it. I just had a very nice experience, and I’m not going to let my fears get in the way of having another one.
Greg’s hot (somewhat hairy) chest pressed against her back, one arm draping around her waist. “This’ll actually work pretty great for me too, because if I look at you, I might not last very long,” he said softly, his breath ghosting across her shoulder.
Molly blushed at the compliment, and goosebumps spread across her skin at the caress of his breath. “That’s...sweet of you to say.”
He laughed, resting his chin against her shoulder so that he could make eye contact with her. “What do you think?”
“Can you explain how it would work logistically? It seems a bit, erm, shut off down there.”
His chuckle rumbled against her back. She was acutely aware of how close he was...how he’d situated his hips so that his erection wasn’t pressing against her in anyway. Molly snuggled into him, pleased with how warm his skin was, how she could feel his heart beating as she pushed against him. “So, it’s not exactly sexy, but um,” he stopped as his hand trailed down to her thigh, “god, you’ve got amazing legs--you can lift this leg,” he gently taps the top one, “and rest it on mine, if you like, or I can hold it up.”
Molly couldn’t stop her smile. “What’s in it for you? Doesn’t seem like you’d get a lot of, erm, coverage.”
Another laugh. The small vibrations made her feel empty. And, if she was completely honest, wet. Or maybe that was just leftovers from ten minutes ago. She scrunched up her nose at the thought of old vaginal lubrication. “It’s lower intensity, so, with a little luck, I’ll last a while.” His lips barely touched her shoulder. “Plus, I’ll have better access to your clit. And your breasts. Which I really like.”
Molly playfully slapped at his face. “Grow up!”
“I don’t think we’re quite there yet that I’m gonna let you slap me in bed, Miss Molly,” he grumbled, one hand coming around to tickle her belly.
Immediately she grabbed his hand, and warned him, “No. Do not tickle me because I will panic and kick you in the crotch.”
He gave her a thoughtful look, as though contemplating his options. “Do I get a safe word?”
“Gregory! Stop making me laugh!”
“But I love your laugh.” He nuzzled against her shoulder.
Something about that statement just...hurt. Not a bad hurt, but it was...intimate. The way he said it, the way his beautiful brown eyes focused solely on her...it was a new intensity, and it hurt.
“Can I kiss you?” he asked again.
She barely managed a “yeah” because she was grinning so stupidly.
Jesus, he is such an amazing kisser, she thought as he nibbled at her bottom lip. He trailed the kiss to a soft place behind her ear, making her shiver. “Can I, Molly?” he asked, his tone solemn. Then he cracked a smile. “Can I make love to you?”
Molly playfully shrugged him off. “If you’re not going to take this seriously, no, you can’t.”
She could feel his shoulders fall exaggeratedly. She looked over her shoulder to see a faux pout and puppy dog eyes silently begging. Molly trailed her fingers across his face, a sincere grin forming on his lips. He leaned into her touch.
“You can.” She burned when the words came out of her mouth.
“You’re not gonna help out?” he teased.
“Gregory Lestrade, I’m going to punch you.”
“You’re an incredibly violent person. My god, Hooper.”
Molly whined. “Greg, just...do it!”
“Seriously though, Molly. Sex isn’t something that’s done to you. It’s a partnership. I don’t want you to think of me as the bloke that plowed you one night. I want you to think of me as the bloke that you had a good time with.”
“I’m having a great time,” she answered, stroking his bottom lip with her thumb. “And I want my first not-painful time to be with you.” He licked her thumb. “But you keep dragging it out!”
“Why?!” Molly demanded, her panic feeding off of his.
“Because! What if I’m just dreadful?!”
Molly couldn’t help but laugh. “Gregory!”
“Molly!” he mimicked.
“You couldn’t possibly be dreadful. You’re...lovely. You’re just lovely.”
His face morphs into full seriousness. “You’ve put quite a lot of pressure on me. I don’t want to disappoint you.”
Oh. The idea that Greg wasn’t some sex god with mystical healing sexual powers had not actually occurred to Molly. The idea that her expectations of him were too high had never entered her mind. Oh no. No, no, no.
“Please, no, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to stress you out! I’m so sorry! Please don’t leave.”
Greg laughed, hiding his face in her neck. “I’m not leaving. God, I’m hard as a rock; I’m not walking to my car like this.”
“Greg, I’m so sorry.”
“I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want sex to have that stigma for you.”
“You’re obscenely sweet,” whispered Molly, running her fingers through his hair. He seemed to purr at her touch. “And--and I’m so glad that you’re here, in my bed. You feel good against me. Even if you were ‘dreadful’, this has been significantly better than any other romp I’ve ever had.”
Their eyes were locked for a long moment before Greg snorted, repeating the word “romp”. Before she could berate him, he grazed his lips against hers. Instinctually, Molly lifted her leg to rest her thigh on Greg’s, silently giving him permission.
He didn’t accept immediately; instead, he cupped her breasts with both hands, forefingers barely teasing at the edges of her nipples while he kissed her neck. Molly shivered at the growing need in her core. She gasped his name, but quickly shut her mouth when she realized how cliched she sounded. Greg’s erection pressed against her upper thigh. Molly felt very proud knowing that he was hard for her. She’d brought him into her bed, and that aroused him. Because I’m desirable. Greg thinks I’m desirable. I am not defective. I am a functional adult female.
She smiled to herself just as one of his hands left her chest to tease the edges of her clit. The thought of penetration didn’t terrify her anymore. This is why most people waited until they knew someone really well before they slept with them; so much of sex relied on trust. Those stupid wankers she had slept with before hadn’t been trustworthy. This realization hit her as Greg gently caressed her clit. They were immature. They weren’t reliable or thoughtful, and I didn’t require them to be.
Molly arched against him as the feeling of emptiness grew inside her. She growled in frustration. In response, Greg easily slipped a finger inside of her, gently massaging at her walls. “Mm, Greg,” she breathed, shuddering.
Another moan sounded, but it wasn’t her own. It was Greg. “Molly, fuck, I’m--you feel so good.” His hips bucked against her involuntarily. “Sorry, sorry,” he murmured. “Christ!”
Looking over her shoulder, she teased, “Randy, are you?”
“Oh my god, yes.” His kisses sloppily down her shoulder, his composure starting to ebb away. He slips in a second finger, reaching further inside and sending a jolt of pleasure through her body. “Molly, I don’t know if I’ll last long in--inside you.” He started thumbing lightly at her clit, his fingers gliding in and out at a steady pace. His voice was getting huskier.
Pushing her back flush against him, she could feel his heart pounding faster in his chest, his torso expand and contract with each breath, the stiffness of his cock. Feeling the most powerful she had in years (possibly ever), Molly reached around to grasp his erection. It felt so hot, so thick in her in palm. He grunted at her touch, arching into her, cursing.
With some difficulty, she guided him inside her, her breath evaporating at the sensation. It didn’t hurt, not even a little. It felt...natural. And good. Again, not some mind-blowing feeling that made her want to shout from the mountaintops, but good. She sighed contentedly.
Greg, on the other hand, was sweating profusely, his fingers now more fidgeting at her breasts than teasing them. “Molly, dammit, this feels so good,” he groaned in her ear. “Jesus Christ.” He tried to kiss her shoulder, but it was more his mouth sliding sloppily over her skin. His lost composure only served to arouse her further.
She arched her back to take more of him in as he started to rock his hips back and forth, one hand still toying with her clit. “I know,” Molly panted back. She could feel her body wrapping around his manhood, contracting with arousal at every helpless grunt he made.
“Good pace?” he managed.
“None. Feels, ungh, feels great. I like this position.” Her own hips threatened to buck backwards, but she steadied them. “Wish I could--that is a very good angle-- see you though...kiss you.”
Greg fumbled his way over her shoulder to kiss her, careful not to fall out. By this point, his kisses were frantic. Still gentle, but a new urgency was woven into them. “Molly,” he panted, “Molly, I’m trying...god, I’m trying.” His eyes were blazing, glazed over with want.
“You’re doing--you’re perfect.” Molly’s body temperature was increasing rapidly, arousal burning through her spine and scattering from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.
His thrusts became more erratic, and Molly found herself rocking back to meet them. The arousal built slowly, like a wave approaching the shore, but somehow that wasn’t the important. Molly was enjoying herself, enjoying the sensation of Greg’s cock sliding in and out of her slowly, the sounds of his helpless grunts reverberating through her back from his chest, the jolts of pleasure from his finger rubbing across her clit.
Her toes curled inward as her thighs started to tremble, orgasm looming overhead, just out of reach. “Kiss me,” she ordered, her voice barely more than a breath. His lips crashed against hers, his tongue fumbling for hers, desperate. His groan met hers in their joined mouths, and she arched against him once more until her walls were contracting against him, and for the second time that night, her nerves seemed to pleasantly vibrate below her skin.
Greg growled once more as he thrust one final time into her. She could feel the warmth infiltrating the condom, as well as his cock pulsating as he emptied himself. Again, Molly took a moment to pride herself on her accomplishments. So far today, she’d kissed a gorgeous man, bedded the gorgeous man, discovered that she was, in fact, not anorgasmic (twice!), and made the gorgeous man come.
He slipped slowly out of her, and Molly turned onto her other side to face him. He looked even more perfect spent like this, with his lips slightly swollen from her kisses. Stroking his face soothingly, she asked, “So, tea or coffee?”
His eyes widened. “Bloody hell, how can you be so cheeky after sex? God, I can barely form words...even my tongue feels heavy.” Molly laughed, kissing him and snuggling up against his chest. With some effort, he draped his arm around her waist. “Or was that a euphemism for a round two?”
That's it, that's the end. I hope you enjoyed it. I'll probably write a coupla' one chapter sequels...just, you know, if you're interested.