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Molly was used to it by now. The odd hours woken up to bumps and noises. Toby meowing in the sitting room for attention from her visitor. Yes, Sherlock Holmes, alive, though to say he is well would be a stretch. Molly cannot be sure, she never gets even a glimpse of him on some days.
Most nights she stays painfully still, just in case he checks on her she wants to feign that he has not affected her life. But he would notice the tension if he looked closer. She stays that way until she hears him settle on the couch, knowing he is safe and sound in her flat at least.Sometimes she hears him fumble his way into a shower, knocking shampoo bottles around, cursing.
The arrangement wasn’t clear. Is she supposed to acknowledge him? Ask about his day? Rules were never set and silence seems his preference. Why she lets him have that is beyond even her. The power he has over her she regrets and relishes at the same time.
Each day goes by, he stumbles, pets her cat, drinks her tea, sleeps on her couch, uses her laptop, and is gone before she wakes. It has happened enough now she assumes, this is the rule. This is the arrangement. He’s alive at night, lost by day. She holds her breath until he comes back and dreads the nights he doesn’t, not sleeping at all.
Dammit Molly, she chides herself, why must you feel anything about him ? But she does and to deny it would be an untruth she cannot bear. She became content in his presence alone. But tonight was different.
It started the same, stumbles and small sounds in the kitchen, tiny meows for attention. She was laying in her bed more to one side, the side where she could see through the door crack even as she had her back to it. Subconsciously she thought maybe it feigned disinterest if he happened to check on her. At least that is what she told herself.
Her body, though curled in a fetal position, is stiff with tension. It took all of her mental strength not to jump as the door creaked open more. She spied under false sleep eyelids the silhouette of Sherlock entering the room like a cat, soft and stealthy. He stands for a moment facing her back, so still and silent she barely notices at first as he pulls back the duvet.
Maybe he is cold or just wants to sleep somewhere more comfortable. Oh my God Sherlock Holmes is in your bed under your duvet with you. Just keep breathing, she tells herself, trying in vain to slow her raising heartbeat.
She knows he senses her rigidness; that she is faking sleep. No way he is missing that, she speculates but is this it? She feels him settle his head on the pillow next to hers, settling.This lasts at least a minute or two that she can guess. She feels tension leave her body slowly, relaxing, even enjoying the idea of having him close to her at night. Maybe this is the new arrangement, she hopes as she smiles a little. She lets her arm fall from her side to behind her as she often sleeps, feeling the unease release slowly from her body.
Then she feels him stir, his arm sliding in search of something he soon finds. Her hand, God that strong warm hand is around her wrist and bloody hell there is no way he is not figuring out how fast her heart is now suddenly beating, she reminds herself. At the very least, he’ll know she is feigning sleep.
Oh God, well, I know he knows that anyway, but the heart racing might be news, she tells herself.
She waits to see if he reacts, somehow still trying to will her heart to slow. She squeezes her eyes tighter. Her cheeks are warm now and she wishes she had not put on flannel pjs because she is feeling very toasty. He holds her wrist still, reading her pulse at first then he is slowly running his finger along her radial artery, reading what else he can. If she were in a mood she would bat his hand away, but tonight she is relishing every inch of skin touching.
Can he read that?, she wonders to herself.
Sherlock seems satisfied with the information he gathered, she assumes, because he releases her wrist. A moment passes before he surprises her once again. He places his back of hand against the inside of hers, slowly entwining his fingers in hers. Molly allows her face to relax smiling to herself suddenly. She is contemplating saying something, but words escape her. She knows he knows she is awake with a raised beating heart.
Give him a signal, Molly prods herself.
She pauses in that thought then acts in the best way she knows how. She rubs his fingers with hers ever so slightly, just in case he is falling asleep. She knows he is exhausted; he always is. Maybe he just needed the comfort of a friend? I am that, right? She argues to herself.
But then he shift his whole body over, so close she can feel the heat off him and his breath is ever so lightly at the back of her neck, sending tingles down her spine. Her pulse quickens again and she is tense once more.
Oh my God! Maybe he just wants to cuddle? She tries to convince herself. But Molly knows she is kidding herself to even consider it. Sherlock, cuddle? Though her mind goes to something else. She questions herself , No. No way he wants that. Is he even capable of that? He is not like other men…right? She knows the answer though and knows he is a man still and has physical needs.
But Sherlock is not the only one who can deduce things. Molly can tell by his breathing he is relaxed but not sleeping at all. He is waiting. Waiting for her response like he has asked a question. He caresses each of her fingers with his one by one, like he is spelling out the word, please.
Answer him Molly, this isn’t a dream. Try something anything. If it’s wrong, he’ll let you know.
Molly takes a deep breath, takes his hand up and lays it across her hip and waist. God, its so hot just laying there. Burning a hole through her pyjama bottoms. For a moment she wished she had something sexier on, but no time to think because he gets the hint. His fingers slip under the band, run gingerly across her hip bone, tracing the curve achingly slow and across her lower belly, sending a shiver through her whole body. He wraps his arm across her stomach gripping her side and gently pulls her into a spoon with him.
God I could die happy like this, Molly muses. It's so loud in her head she is afraid for a moment she said it out loud but he doesn’t saying anything, just the smallest of sighs escapes his lips.
She feels his breath hot against her neck now, his lips so close they, are they touching she asks herself.. It’s so subtle and provoking at this point. She feels heat between her legs start to rise.
Lean into this, she logics out, Just try it, Oh God! He is brushing his lower lip on the back of my neck.Treat it like its a dream, like it's the dream you have had before, she commands herself.
She sighs contently, and arches her hips into him. He gives a small grunt and Molly knows now from what her back side has rubbed against that she had deduced correctly.
So he does have that response and need, she deduces. She knows that she needs this too, That the tension had to release itself sometime. And she doesn’t care at that moment what else happens as she turns her neck for him to kiss close to her jawline. He gladly obliges, running a trail of kisses on the side of her neck, achingly slow and she lets out a small whimper. His hand is back on her hip and he begins to massage it urgently. He slides his hand once again across her lower stomach under the bottoms, this time dipping dangerously lower.
I hope he can feel what he is doing to me the bastard.
Sadly, he does not go lower, as she realizes she want, but back to her hip to burn holes in it again.She arches her hips back again slightly to coax his hand but he has other plans it seems. His teeth scrape lightly across her ear lobe, progressively getting tighter in their nibbles and tightening his grip on her hip, so tight and near pain but right at the edge. She lets a small moan escape to show she approves. She finds herself grinding instinctually against his hardness straining against his trousers.
He allows his hands to do a small crawl up under her pyjama top, teasing and then back down to the buttons where he begins his delicate work. Molly finds herself glad for that moment she did not have a shirt that had to be taken off over her head. Because then she would have missed the delightful tease of him undoing each button with one hand. How is he so deft at this? But she pushes any distracting thoughts away. He started at the bottom, finding cleavage as he moves up, brushing skin so lightly it send shivers through her once again.
Before the physical reactions completely cloud her mind, she contemplates what is happening, feeling as if she is floating above it. He hasn’t said a word, nothing. It makes her heart ache for something, for a moment, her name or something confirming. She wants other words but even then she feels like she is asking too much. Though in her more rational thoughts later she knows he is saying it right now, with hands, with his hips, lips, everything as he reacts to her touch.
He helps her slip the top off, tosses it away from the bed, and proceeds to hold each breast firmly and then wrapping her up in his arms.
She could not stand it anymore, feeling his lips at her neck but not tasting them. She turns in his arms, facing him and presses her body urgently against him.
He smells like her shampoo, her soap, London cabs, tobacco, and him. That indescribable scent that her baser instincts react to. Every time she has been close to him in the lab at Barts, when he told her that she is what he needed. She recalls those memories. She finds his bottom lip as she turns her head and he matches her intensity, rushing to taste each other’s kiss for a moment. But for her fervor he counters it and slows again down the pace much to her enjoyment and frustration at the same time, not even letting her tongue in his mouth now. She bites on his bottom lip but he does not relent or answer her.
Dammit Sherlock I do want to make love, but I want to come as much I am sure you do, she appraises.
Molly reaches into the dark, grabbing his shirt, and immediately goes to the buttons. She is much less elegant than he is in this art, but she gets the job done and he lets her. He arches up and slips off the shirt, tossing it likes hers. Molly finds her fingers at first lightly caressing his chest, but as he reaches around, grabbing her bum firmly, she can’t help digging her nails in his pectorals. He makes another grunt answering her gasp. Molly grabs his cock suddenly.
We have to get this moving along or I am going to come before we even get started dammit,” she considers.
Sherlock bucks at her hard grab, but he take her hand away from it, placing it on his back. Blessedly he finds her mouth again, his tongue finding hers and stroking the roof of her mouth. His scruff is prickly and she knows her mouth and face will be raw in moments but she doesn’t care as they both fight for dominance in the kiss.
Molly’s thoughts are lost in sensation now as they rock their bodies against other, both reaching a point of necessity. As his lower hand is squeezing her bum and hip she misses how the other starts to unbutton and unzip his trousers, until she notices his wriggling to get them off. Molly smiles to herself. She still has hers on and speculates, I have the advantage here. He just manages to get them off when she starts on him.
Molly kisses his neck, pausing at his Adam’s apple so she can delight in the gulp she evokes, licks the hollow at his collar bone and starts kissing his chest, trailing down. She feels him freeze up, but she does not stop. No , she ponders. You do not get all the control Sherlock Holmes. She feels him trying to regain it.. She can’t read his mind but somehow she still knows its workings. She knows he is deducing and calculating even in this. But now she wants more than anything for feeling and lust to wash over him. Like it washes over her, Dammit Sherlock I will make you feel a tiny bit of that discomposure if it’s the last thing I do.
Sherlock grabs at the side of her head, fingers lacing in her hair and Molly suspects he is trying to guide her face back up, away from the trail she is going down. But she does not relent. Quickly as she can, she slips her hand down to his pants which are still on, grabs the band and frees him of the burden of hiding that erection anymore. She can’t quite see, its still so dark in her room, but she finds his balls, cupping them with one hand and his cock with her mouth. As she takes him into her mouth, she feels him straining to keep curb the desire to thrust and buck against her. But as quickly she does that she trails kisses again, this time on his hips from one side to the other.
He massages her neck and shoulder tightly and she slows and lightens the kisses the harder he pressed his fingertips into her. You don’t win this she resolves to herself, You don’t get to be the one who does all the work. Tonight you find out what I can be. She grins, perhaps giving away the game as she kisses up his stomach, finding a nipple she sucks lightly and scrapes her teeth across. He moans now, not at all too quietly. Despite her best efforts she aches for his lips and finds her way to them again. The desperation, yes, even the sloppiness of his kissing now, lets her deduce she’s had the effect she wanted to have on him. She lets him grab both her bottoms and knickers at the same time, yanking them down as she helps guide them the rest of the way off.
His mouth is covering her neck now under her chin nipping it with his teeth and she considers for a moment, I hope I don’t have something I have to cover up tomorrow with makeup.
Though they have been laying on their sides, Molly lays back some to allow him to take over. He answers it, laying her fully back, and on top of her, taking one of her arms and pining it above her head as he uses his other hand to grab her arse. God he feels fantastic on top of me , Molly screams to herself, letting only a small moan escape her mouth as he turns his attention to her nipples.
He plants kisses down her stomach, riding the waves of her heavier breathing. He pauses at her hips, kissing them tenderly as his hand releases her arm, caressing down her arm as it finds a breast to massage, lightly brushing her nipple. Molly can’t help but arch her back in response it feels so heavenly and he uses that as an advantage. He dips his head and finds her clitoris with his lips.With her arms free, Molly reaches down to rake both her hands through those magnificent curls as he lightly massages her clit with his lips and then his tongue Oh my God Sherlock, Molly screams in her head. But this just becomes a strained moan as she feels herself enjoying this all too much too fast. He spends time exploring with his lips and tongue painfully slow.
Get him off of there, you are going to come. Not yet, she entreats herself.
She grabs him by his hair, pulling him up to her. She feels him resist to a point that it must hurt, but he relents as she brings him back for a sloppy kiss again. He lays his cock down against her slit, rubbing just enough to make her match his rhythm with her own hips. He moves his hips back and she seizes that opportunity to take him inside her. She reacts for a moment at the tightness but his sudden grunt lets her know he is affected more. She smirks again against his mouth, clenching around him.
All thoughts leave her head as she gives into the pleasure. Rhythm is something he is quite good at. Just the right pace, not too slow or fast. Deep but not painful. She feels him checking her response and adjusting. She gives the information to him willingly. Molly wraps her legs around his waist, drawing him in more, scratching her fingers across his back with each push.
She is determined that he will come first. It would be something he considered out of his restraint and she wants to win that battle. She rocks her hips more and he moans loudly as she looks intently in his eyes. He tries to match her stare, but she can see his eyes close in pleasure.
There it is, she comprehends, and she intensifies the movement, tightening around him. It works for both of them, but not quite like it does for him. He buries his face in her pillow and then into her neck as he squeezes her arse intensely.
With another hard rock and tightening from her, he cries out as he comes. She feels him bucking inside her for a moment and then he relaxes. She sighs happily.
He quickly recovers, leaning up above her on his hands, and his stomach and base of his penis are rubbing her clit in a blinding way. She was so close anyway that very soon he accomplishes his goal. She feels the world go white as she gasps out, coming hard around him, bucking her hips once more.
Both lay languishing in the after burn as he collapses on her. Breathing still heavy, arms wrapped tight. She feels him rise above her a bit, then he leans down for one more lingering kiss before pulling away from her to lay beside her, his hand across her stomach.
No words have been said so far, why start now she resolves. She feels his exhaustion return, his head sinking deep into the pillow as he moves his hand away from her stomach. She places a hand on his face, feeling his cheekbones, tracing them with her nails lightly. They lift and she sees something like a soft smile in the dark. She then feels his face fall into relaxation as his breath slows again.
Molly slips the duvet off her feet, covers him with it and pads softly down the hall to the restroom. She thought about turning on the light but thought better of that. Her eyes were used to the dark and she did not want to wake her brain up. The haze that still lingers was too lovely. She finds herself pausing at the door once she is done and listening, fearing what she might hear or when she opened what she would return down the hall to? Would he still be there? She thought he had fallen asleep but could she be sure? And God what hour was it anyway.?
“Face it,” Molly says out loud, eyes clenched tight for a moment like in prayer.
She opened the door upon not hearing any noise, and shuffled down the hall back to her room, and her heart sighs happily at seeing his shape still in her bed. She slid back gently under the duvet. The weight of the day and this night start to seep into her bones and she feels tired. She lays down with her back to him. Should I have gotten dressed again? she asks herself but she feels too tired to bother with it now. She settles her head into her pillow and then blessedly he seeks her one more time, this time he draws her into a soft spoon, holding her close. The heat from their bodies warm again, but in comfort instead of passion. In that cocoon she slips off into fevered dreams and dead sleep.
Between her dreamless sleep, vivid visions of Sherlock speaking haunt her. Saying words of regret, sorrow and…love. He tells her he loves her. She cannot answer back. It hurts her so much as he tells her his heart. Did he just say he wants her to move on? Damn dreams. She sleeps fitfully the rest of the night.
It is morning light that wakes her, she wishes she had not dreamed such things. She reaches out to find the place next to her empty and cold.
He is gone, she tells herself. If he was here? Did I dream it this as well?
But she is still naked and there is evidence he left of his presence. His smells remains on the pillow and she does not know what to do, but hug it to her. She has no hope he will return except what has been his routine. Maybe the arrangement has changed. Maybe it hasn’t. No words said, with no hope of any in the future. She feels a lump in her throat, she swallows it back, wiping her eyes.
“Dammit, Sherlock,” Molly says out loud, pushing small tears back. She breathes deeply, trying to calm herself. Toby wanders into the room, meowing and jumping on the bed and settles in the space of Sherlock’s absence. Molly absently pets his side.
If he doesn’t make it out alive, I had this at least, she rationalizes to herself, half laughing at the bittersweetness of it.
Her phone buzzes next to her on the nightstand and Molly half screams and jumps. Toby leaps off the bed and runs away. Molly grabs her phone but doesn’t look right away.
It’s probably work, she tells herself.
But she warily decides to glance at the phone, and she sees the notification.
I fed Toby, don’t let him fool you into a second feeding. Kettle should still be warm.-SH
Molly sits staring at the phone, every emotion running across her brain. This is what you text me?! and yet its such domestic thing as well she cannot deny. These are the first words in a month, Sherlock.
But the thought of a warm kettle and tea is reassuring for some reason. She grabs a robe out of the cupboard, surrounding herself in fuzzy warmth. She feels a bit more herself with every step as she heads toward the kitchen.
“I am not giving you the satisfaction, Sherlock Holmes” she says, sniffing back what tears that were left. “That anything that happened is hurting me.“
Molly pours herself a cup of hot water, dropping the tea bag in to steep and leans back against the counter as she bring her phone back up. Her heart stops for a moment.
… -SH
Is he typing something else? She hopes to herself, bringing her fingers to mouth, rubbing her lips instinctively.
But then the moving dots disappear.
Her heart sinks again and she types only this:
Thanks-MH
That’s enough. Enough of that, she sighs to herself, tossing the phone back on the counter, grabbing her tea and heads to get a shower to start her day.