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"Pull up your skirt for me, Molly," Sherlock said, his voice almost conversational. He didn't look at her as he spoke, casually glancing around the park just as he had been since they'd sat down ten minutes before. For all intent and purpose, he simply seemed to be enjoying the warm summer early evening and nothing more.

Molly was sure that she'd misheard him. As she studied his profile, she tried to figure out what he could have possibly meant. She came up with nothing.

Slowly turning his head until he was staring back, he cocked his head to the side. "You heard me correctly." His arm - which had been resting on the back of the bench - was suddenly wrapped around her shoulders, his fingertips gently touching the bare skin of her upper arm. He leant forward just a bit. "Go ahead, Molly. Pull it up for me."

She was dumbstruck. When he'd asked her to assist him the day before, she hadn't hesitated. Of course she'd help him; she always did. But she had no idea that her 'help' would involve hiking up her skirt in a park in broad daylight. Okay, it was nearly dusk, but nevertheless…

Suddenly the strappy sundress felt too flimsy, made her feel too exposed. They were alone in the secluded area... Or they weren't if things were going as planned.

They were supposed to be tempting a suspect who had already killed three other couples. Serial killers always got Sherlock's juices flowing; today was no exception. If the prospect of being in such close proximity hadn't been nerve-wracking enough, Sherlock had told her to dress 'provocatively'. Her options were limited. Molly didn't often dress provocatively - she'd learnt that lesson long ago - but she did have the dress she was currently wearing. Mary had encouraged her to buy it the month before. She did it more to indulge her friend than anything else.

"I'm sorry, did you say…" she started.

"Just a bit. It will simply seem like you're sunning your legs."

"The sun's going down..."

Sherlock pulled her into him, ducking his head until his lips touched her ear. "He's here. I have a plan, but first you need to pull up your damn skirt." When he finished, he lightly kissed her throat.

She had known on some level that this was coming but she'd told herself that no, they wouldn't have to behave like lovers. Two of the three couples had been seen making out at some point prior to their deaths. Sherlock had a theory that the man killed out of jealousy, or perhaps spite - that he couldn't stand seeing happy, cuddly couples - and it drove him into a homicidal rage to witness such a tender, loving displays. Somehow, she'd convinced herself that he wouldn't have to touch her to entice the murderer out to play.

She was wrong.

The hand on her shoulder tightened, pulling her even closer. "Don't be shy, love," he said playfully, then nipped at the skin of her jaw. "It's just a little skin."

Molly's pulse raced. The combination of his voice, his touch, his lips and the fact that they were, apparently, just a few metres from a vicious killer sent her anxiety through the roof. Taking a deep breath, she smiled at him, remembering her role, and pulled up the skirt of her dress a few inches.

"A little more," he quietly instructed.

Though she felt somewhat humiliated, Molly complied. It's just a few inches, for God's sake...

"Above the knees," Sherlock whispered, kissing her neck, before leaning back to his original position, his eyes locked onto her legs as if he were fascinated.

You bastard. Something told her that this was completely unnecessary, nevertheless… Three more inches and her knees were bared. He shifted, turning slightly towards her and placed his hand on her right leg.

"My naughty little temptress."

She averted her eyes and shivered as she felt goosebumps break out on her skin.

"Are you cold, love?"

She didn't respond, just bit her lip to stifle the moan that threatened.

"Let's see if we can warm you up," he said in the fake voice he'd been using since he'd arrived at her flat two hours earlier. His hand traveled over her knee and disappeared under her skirt. He leaned close once again. "I'm going to distract him and you are going to reach into my inside pocket and get my mobile. After that, just follow my lead." His lips brushed her ear every few words.

Molly managed to do what he asked. Despite the arousal pulsing through her, she reached in and pulled out his phone, looking at him expectantly.

"Really?" he said with a raised eyebrow as his hand inched higher. "You still don't trust me?"

She didn't respond; she had no idea where he was going with this.

"I've not sent her a single text since our argument. You can check." He jerked his head toward her hands and his mobile.

Molly hit the button, causing the phone to light up, more than a bit shocked that there was no password required to access the home screen. Oh, you ninny! He disabled it!

"Go ahead, check. You can trust me, Molly."

She was focused on the phone, as she assumed she was supposed to be when she felt Sherlock's lips on her throat once again. "Pull up Lestrade's number and type: three o'clock, hit send, then look at me and smile."

Following his instructions, Molly sent the message then looked up and smiled her sweetest smile.

"I deleted her. Happy?" he asked as his hand crept further up her thigh. Any second he was going to…

Nothing could have stopped the squeak that followed as he touched the crotch of her knickers.

When his thumb brushed across the damp satin he smirked and his eyes glittered. "Oh, it seems that you are. Quite happy, apparently."

Lovely, now he knew that she got wet from simply sitting next to him and listening to him whisper instructions.

His thumb stroked back and forth across the damp fabric as he lowered his head again, this time taking her earlobe between his teeth before speaking. "You really like detective work, Molly. I had no idea you were this enthusiastic about upholding the law."

She tried to pull away, but he held her close.

"Just a few more minutes and they'll have him. Endure it." He pulled back, his eyes boring into hers. "Is it really that bad?"

Molly bit the inside of her cheek so hard she wasn't the least bit surprised when she felt the taste of iron flooding her mouth. Her eyes started to burn as he stared at her, still lightly stroking.

"Pl-please don't," she begged softly. She couldn't stand much more. Anger was winning out over arousal and if they weren't in a life or death situation, she would tell him exactly where he could stick that hand!

His eyes narrowed in confusion. Why couldn't he see that she didn't want this to happen, not like this, not when he was pretending to be someone else?

"But you're enjoying it." He almost sounded like himself, but the hint of facade was still in place.

His finger became more firm, causing arousal to fight back to the surface. Closing her eyes, she tried to focus her mind. She couldn't blow this for him, or for Greg. Taking a deep breath, she cupped the back of his head and pulled him closer. "Where are they?" she asked desperately.

"Minutes away. No more than four," he answered. "Kiss me."

Her breath hitched. She could have this if nothing else. The memory of a moment. It wouldn't be real but it could be enough…

No! It would just be another lie. No better than Jim. Memories of their night together still turned her stomach. Somehow, she knew that this would be so much worse. Molly shook her head. "Not that. Please." She buried her face in his chest as he held her close and tears began to fall.

Finally, he allowed his hand to leave the crotch of her knickers. It didn't go far though. He gripped her thigh, tightly. "Two minutes," he whispered into her hair as he gently rubbed her shoulder with his other hand.

Tears continued to fall, wetting Sherlock's shirt. Once the gates had been opened, Molly was helpless to close them. It was all too much. Too intimate. Too real and fake at the same time.

Before she knew it, Sherlock was practically picking her up and rushing her off to the right behind a copse of trees. He sat her down on something, she wasn't sure what it was, her head spun with a mixture of humiliation, arousal and anger.

"You okay?" he asked, bending down so that he was eye level with her. His thumbs gently wiped tears from her face.

Molly nodded.

"I didn't think you'd… I wasn't going to let anything happen to you, Molly."

He thought that she was scared, of course. Well, better that than turned on to the point of pain and desperately trying to protect herself. Oh, and murderous, mustn't forget that. For those last few minutes, she'd completely forgotten about the criminal.

"I'm good," she managed as she stood, looking back at the tree stump she'd been sitting on.

Blue lights lit up the darkening park as Molly found her way to a bench away from the hordes of police and, most importantly, the consulting detective who was currently belittling a sergeant. She needed to clear her head and come back to reality. Helping Sherlock was always gratifying; though she felt much more comfortable in the lab or morgue, Molly understood why he'd asked for her assistance this time. Mary might have been better, but she couldn't imagine Sherlock groping John's wife, even if it was all a ruse.

Next time, however, she'd definitely think twice before agreeing to be his fake lover slash bait. As a matter of fact, perhaps it was time to start limiting her exposure to the man altogether. She certainly wasn't getting over her crush… No, not a crush. She was in love with him, hopelessly in love to the point of idiocy.

"Hey, Molls," Greg said, pulling her from her thoughts.

"Greg," she said as she stood up, hoping that he was finished with her and she could finally go home. "I assume you got him?"

He looked around nervously. "Yeah, you ah, sort of missed the excitement."

She laughed awkwardly. Just then she heard Sherlock's voice; he was a few feet away ranting on about the 'bumbling fools' he was having to work with. His deep baritone caused Molly to cringe involuntarily.

Greg stepped closer. "You're cold," he said.

She had, evidently, wrapped her arms around herself at some point. The sun had set and there was a chill in the air, but the weather wasn't the cause of her discomfort.

"I can get you a blanket," the Detective Inspector said. "Or… oh, sod it." He started taking off his suit jacket but was interrupted by an annoyed Sherlock Holmes.

"Never mind that, Garett," he said, as he removed his own jacket and draped it over Molly's shoulders.

"Oi! You done berating my team?"

"For the time being," Sherlock replied. "I'm taking Molly home."

"No one asked you to stay, you know," Greg replied with a smirk.

Sherlock ignored him, pulling her away from the cops and… Oh, great the press is here now, Molly observed. The detective just barreled through them as if they weren't even there. Questions flew towards the pair: 'Did you catch him, Mr. Holmes? Who's the woman? Does she work with you now? Did you replace Dr. Watson? Is she your lover?' He ignored them all.

When they reached the main road, Sherlock held up a hand, hailing a cab. Not a minute later, one stopped and he ushered her into the back, sitting next to her and barking her address.

They rode in silence until Sherlock looked at her and said, "You're still cold."

"No- no, I'm fine."

"Can you turn the heat on for us?" he directed to the driver; the man complied.

When the cab stopped in front of Molly's building, she removed Sherlock's jacket, tossing it onto the seat and quickly got out, not speaking, not saying goodbye. All she wanted was to get inside without anymore uncomfortable situations.

That simply wasn't meant to be.

As she put her key into the lock, she felt a hand on her back. Whipping around, she saw the detective standing there looking as innocent as a lamb. "I'm home now, Sherlock. No need to…"

"I believe we have some unfinished business, Molly," he said firmly.

"We don't, actually."

He smirked. "You are so very wrong. I'm coming inside, so if you'll just..."

"I didn't invite you," she said, turning away from him and focusing on the key once again. "Goodnight, Sherlock." The door now unlocked, she started to walk forward. Her steps faltered when she saw his hand on the painted wood.

She turned again, this time putting her hands on his chest and nudging him back. Or at least that's what she intended to do; it was like trying to move a wall.

He stood his ground. "As I said, I'm coming inside, Molly. No use in fighting it."

Heaving a great sigh, Molly turned and quickly walked down the short hall to her door. This time, Sherlock snatched her keys out of her hand, unlocking the door, he walked in ahead of her. By the time she had entered the flat, he had removed his jacket and was tossing it on the settee.

Molly dropped her clutch on the sideboard as she asked, "What's all this about, then?"

Sherlock wandered around her front room, looking at her photos and tchotchkes. What the hell's he doing? she wondered. It's not like he's never been here before.

Picking up a small mouse figurine, he looked at her. "It's… fascinating, you know, how you can see something a hundred times - nearly every day, as a matter of fact - then suddenly you see it from a different angle and it looks… new."

Good God… Molly barely managed not to roll her eyes. "Okay." She folded her arms across her chest. "My mouse looks new to you?"

He chuckled as he sat the figurine back on the bookshelf. "No, Molly, not the mouse. Though I admit that I'd never noticed it before. I didn't know that you had an interest in taxidermy..."

"Sherlock, I'm tired and I want to get out of this dress. Could you work on getting to the point?" She was frustrated, embarrassed and very uncomfortable. He needed to leave.

Stepping closer, he said, "You wouldn't kiss me."

No... just no! She wasn't going there with him. Once upon a time Molly Hooper would have smiled and blushed, maybe even stuttered, but not now. Hell, Old Molly would have just snogged him in the park, but that woman was dead. "I didn't want to kiss you, Sherlock. I made that clear."

He looked at her like she'd just said the stupidest thing he'd ever heard. "Do you actually think I believe that? Of course you wanted to kiss me. Still do, as a matter of fact." His eyes changed, suddenly dancing with curiosity. "So the question is: why didn't you?"

"I think it's time for you to leave."

"But I haven't got what I came for… yet."

Steeling herself, she asked, "And what is that?"

Slowly, oh, so slowly, he walked toward her, it was more like he prowled. The man could move like a panther. Molly didn't like the look in his eyes, so she turned and started toward her bedroom.

He caught her in the hall, pushing her up against the wall; his body flush with hers. "I want a kiss. It's a simple enough request."

She was mortified when she realised that her eyes were, once again, stinging with tears. "How could you do this to me?" she asked in a rough whisper.

"What? Kiss you?" He loosened his hold, but only a fraction. "We both know that you've always wanted a kiss from me, Molly. Why are you so reluctant?"

Her anger spiked and she pushed against his chest with all her might. Caught off guard, Sherlock stumbled away several feet.

"Why am I so reluctant?" she asked, her voice mocking. "Because you're just fucking with me, that's why!"

He didn't advance and she didn't retreat, knowing she had to make herself clear and that this might be her only chance.

"You don't want me, not that way, and I'll be damned if I'll let you kiss me just to soothe your ego!"

"Do you truly think I'd use you in such a way?"

He stalked forward and Molly realised her folly of not taking the opportunity of barricading herself in her bedroom when she had the chance.

"Do you actually believe that I'd deliberately hurt you, Molly?" he asked.

Her answer tumbled out before she could stop it. "Yes, I do," she hissed then opened her mouth to share her comparison of him to Jim, but the look in his eyes rendered her mute.

They were alive! Not cold, not calculating, not fake.

Cocking his head to the side, he studied her for several moments before speaking. When he did, his words cut through her like shards of glass. "Moriarty? Really, Molly? How could you, of all people, ever compare me to him?" he asked, his voice very nearly a growl. The look on his face had changed yet again. He actually looked hurt for a fraction of a second. "I'm being very upfront with what I want. Not minulpating you. Not faking to get close to someone else."

She had no answer. Sherlock wasn't Jim, of course he wasn't. But the situation… there were similarities. Finally, she found her voice, "I'd like to go to bed, Sherlock."

"So would I," he said flatly, moving his arms to his sides.

"Well, then…" Molly inched toward her bedroom door. "Please lock up when…"

Her mistake was taking her eyes off of him to reach for the door knob. When she did, he grabbed her other hand, pulling her to him. Their bodies collided and he wrapped one hand around her neck the other sliding to her lower back. Holding her tightly, he said, "Look me in the eyes and say you don't want me."

Bastard! Molly looked up and tried to muster the courage to lie to Sherlock Holmes' face. Once again, she was stopped by the fire in his eyes. She could have compared his expression to the one he wore during a case when he was deeply entrenched in calculations and deductions, but that too would have been a lie. She knew this look - had seen it on her past lover's faces, though his was, admittedly, more intense - he wanted her. He was masking nothing. Or this is the mask, she told herself.

Molly had the ability to read Sherlock even when others failed, but this evening, his words, his sudden and aggressively obvious sexuality had her completely thrown. If he was playing with her, she couldn't tell. Still, she had to protect herself at all cost. Even if he did feel passion, attraction for her, he did not feel what she did for him. That much she knew. Though she couldn't lie, he'd know if she did, she could kill this right here and right now with brutal honesty.

"I do want you, Sherlock, I always have. But I know how you feel about me and, more importantly, how you don't feel." His hold loosened, but did not release. "Whatever this is, will be over in moments. A kiss… a touch… and you'll move on to the next fascinating puzzle - because…" As she spoke, it dawned on her what had sparked his sudden interest. "... that's what I am at the moment, a puzzle to solve. Why wouldn't Molly accept my kiss? Must solve and collect data." A cocky smile formed on her lips. "Look me in the eyes and tell me I'm wrong." She couldn't help but feel proud of herself for figuring it out while stressed, exhausted and aroused, no less.

Her pride wouldn't last long, however.

Sherlock's eyes never left hers as he said, "You are so fucking wrong," just before his mouth crashed into hers violently. For several seconds he was still, their lips mashed artlessly together.

Then he moved.

Oh, how he moved. Never before had Molly experienced such intensity from a closed-mouthed kiss. Though far from chaste, there was a reverence in each subtle movement - each angle was precise as his hand guided her head to move with his.

The bruising kiss softened fractionally as his tongue stroked the seam of her lips and she opened without thought. How or when her hands had moved to his chest, she didn't know, but she found herself gripping his shirt desperately as if to anchor herself to something solid. The kiss continued, weakening her knees and her resolve by the second. Distantly, Molly wondered how someone who, for all intent purposes, seemed completely ambivalent towards sex and other human beings, for that matter, could kiss with such passion and skill. As Sherlock's tongue parried with hers, she realised that she was kissing him back, wholly participating in the moment without hesitation.

Then, before she could castigate herself for weakness, it was over.

"Breathe, Molly," he said as he pulled away and she did, not because he had instructed her to do so, but because he had stolen all the air from her lungs.

Inhaling a deep almost gasping breath, she looked up. The man in front of her was not unaffected. His cheeks were pink, his lips red and puffy and his breathing, too, was laboured.

He seemed to be thinking, processing. His data collected, now he would be filing it into the appropriate compartment in his brain. She wondered how he would label it… Molly Hooper's Lips, perhaps? A piece of paper appeared in her mind, her name at the heading. Under that bullet points read: -slightly chapped -still too small, but appear larger after mauling -tongue movements could use work. Or did he already have a room for wanton kisses tucked somewhere in that massive brain of his? Was her name simply added to a growing list of individuals he had kissed in order to make some sort of hypothesis? Were kisses replacing his ash study?

She had looked away while her mind wandered, Sherlock, however, had not and when her eyes found his again they had somehow become even more intense. Whatever she saw, she did not like it one bit. "There, you have your kiss," she said as a means of dismissal.

"I do."

"Will you finally allow me to enter my bedroom?"

"Of course," he said, taking a step back.

Molly huffed as she turned and walked into her room on slightly shaky legs. Though outwardly she was focused on her retreat, inwardly she was at war. That kiss had been everything she had ever imagined and a thousand times more. How was she supposed to forget it and just… At that moment she realised that she was still not alone. He was right behind her.


She stopped walking, though she didn't face him, and said, "Leave, Sherlock."

His hands were suddenly on her hips, his body pressed against hers. "No," he whispered. "You don't really want to be alone right now, Molly."

"Yes, I do," she argued, trying to step away, but he held her tight.

"I know the truth, of course…"

"Right, because you know everything. Bully for you. Now go home." She was shaking. Was it arousal? Fear? A combination of both? God, how long had it been since she'd been kissed like that? You know the answer to that, Moll Doll, a menacing voice answered.

His right hand snaked around to her belly, pulling her closer until she was flush with his body once again; his left brushed her hair off of her shoulder.

"I know the truth about… him." He kissed her neck. "I know you let him kiss you… touch you." His left hand returned to her body, first to her hip, then sliding up, just under her breast, not touching it, but the threat was clear. "Did he touch you here?"

Ah, so this was about Moriarty. She should have known because it couldn't actually be about her. "That is absolutely none of your business,' she spit.

"I think you'll find that it is my business, Molly. You made it my business when you mentally compared us, darling. Besides, I have held onto my restraint for as long as humanly possible."

"What the hell are you talking about, Sherlock?" She tried, pointlessly, to pull out of his hold, but it was no use. He was too fucking strong.

He didn't answer, just ground his erection into her lower back and arse. Molly couldn't hold back her moan which, of course, earned a triumphant chuckle from her captor.

"This is the opposite of funny, you arse!"

Suddenly, his teeth were pinching the skin of her throat, gently at first, then harsher. It quickly became painful as he simply held her there, his teeth buried in her flesh. Molly's mind conjured the image of two dogs locked together; the alpha's muzzle clamped down on the weaker female's neck. Fuck! Was Sherlock attempting to assert his dominance? It shouldn't have surprised her, not really. In all things, he was a dominating bastard.

She might have succumbed, her body was certainly begging her to, but she wouldn't let him have this one last part of her.

Though small, Molly Hooper was no damp rag. Her experience with James Moriarty had scared the shit out of her and she had immediately signed up for self-defense classes. Excelling quickly, she had moved on to the advanced instruction. Two months ago she'd started taking Krav Maga.

And she was really fucking good.

Centering herself, Molly took a deep breath. As she expelled the air from her lungs, she pulled her left arm forward, then jerked it back three times in quick session, catching Sherlock in the ribs completely unawares. Unfortunately, her first blow caused him to bite down harder; she was certain that he drew blood, but she couldn't worry about that at the moment. A split second after the sharp pain exploded in her throat, he gasped, releasing her neck at which point she brought her right hand up over her shoulder and blindly backhanded the shocked man in the mouth. Or at least that's what it felt like to her.

He staggered away, but Molly wasn't finished. How fucking dare he?! Besides, adrenalin was rushing through her and it had to go somewhere.

She whipped around to see him dabbing blood at the corner of his mouth and smirking. Is that mine or his? she wondered. She reached to grab a handful of hair, but he blocked her easily. Instead, Molly dropped low, crouching near his knees. The chuckle she heard only increased her ire as she put her right hand on the heel of his left foot, and wrapped her left arm around the knee of the same leg. Holding tight, she pressed her shoulder forward, causing him to lose his balance and fall flat on his arse.

Get out of there, Hooper, the voice of her instructor urged Molly to do as she'd been trained. But her pride told her to stay and savour her victory. The look on his face was far too tempting. The man was shocked, to say the least. He stared up at her from the floor, eyes wide, blood trickling out of his perfect mouth.

Dropping to her knees, she straddled his waist and pinned his arms above his head. "What part of no don't you understand, Sherlock?" she asked, heaving sharp breaths between the words.

He didn't speak, just stared at her, shocked out of his brilliant mind.

Hovering over him she asked, "Cat got your tongue?" She flicked her hair back as best as she could in her position. "I don't think I've ever seen you at a loss for words."

His tongue flicked out, moistening his lips and catching a bit of blood in the process - somehow, even given their fight, the action caused her body to respond. Her nipples hardened, her core tightened - as he studied her face for several seconds. Finally he said, "I'm so fucking hard right now, Molly."

She sighed as she released his hands and sat back, preparing to get up. He still didn't get it and he never would. Especially with her on top of him. Her progress was stopped, however, when Sherlock flipped them, switching their positions.

Molly's collision with her bedroom floor nearly knocked the breath out of her; Sherlock's lips finished the job. This kiss was different, though. It was desperate and primal.

Now she could taste his blood, blood she had caused him to shed. Her resistance was fading with each sweep of his tongue; her adrenalin receding as her arousal spiked even higher. Sherlock flattened himself on top of her, grinding his hard cock into her stomach as he moaned into her mouth.

He moved his lips to her neck and gently kissed the bite mark he'd left. "I didn't mean to break the skin. I'm sure if you hadn't elbowed me I wouldn't have." He licked her throat and she knew he was lapping up her blood.

God! How is this sexy? she questioned, suddenly wondering if she had some latent vampire kink. Her hands had moved to his head as her mind wandered. She was holding him in place now, no longer trying to halt his actions, but encouraging them. A long desperate moan escaped her as his hand enveloped her right breast and Molly bucked up, wantonly crushing their hips together.

"Stop that, love! I'm holding on by a thread, as is!" he growled in her ear before leaning up.

Seeing him fully once again caused an unhealthy dose of reality to crash down on her, it was beyond jarring. It must have shown on her face because Sherlock took both of her wrists and pulled them over her head then transferred them to one of his large hands.

"Oh, no! We're not going there again. As much as I enjoyed tussling with you, Molly, I'll not risk having you injure any of my more important bits. I plan on using them very soon."

She started to ask what exactly he had planned when his free hand moved to her thigh, rucking her skirt up until he exposed her knickers. His eyes were focused on her cunt, so she took the moment to try to escape his hold.

Her pointless thrashing pulled his attention away from her centre. "What's your problem?" he growled.

She considered telling him that she didn't want him, but that was an obvious lie as he'd just witnessed the wet spot on her pants, besides she'd been fully participating just moments before. "We're on my floor, Sherlock. Not to mention sweaty and both bleeding."

He smirked, moving his hand to her belly. "Don't act like all of those elements aren't turning you on even more." His thumb raking just under the edge of her pants.

"Please, Sherlock…" She didn't know if she was begging for him to stop or get on with it.

"Tell me you want me, Molly," he demanded.

"Fuck you!"

"You will. But first, say the words. I want to hear them."


He released her wrists, moving his hand to her lacy knickers, he violently ripped them in two. She was so taken aback by the action she didn't have a chance to adjust his new position as he insinuated his legs in between hers. One hand moved behind her head and the other slid up under her dress, finding her left breast.

"I love that your tits are small enough to forgo a bra." He swiftly kissed her lips before continuing, "It was my biggest complaint with that damn Christmas dress. You didn't need a fucking bra, let alone one that John and Lestrade could fucking see!" Pinching her nipple hard, he ground against her core again, causing Molly to buck up into him.

She dug her nails into his back and moaned. The friction was driving her mad, turning her anger into lust - it was a short trip, frankly - she was damn near ready to give up.

"That's it, Molly. Now you've got it," he purred as he rucked her dress up even higher, exposing her breasts. "Just look at these lovely little things…" Ducking his head, he took her right nipple in his mouth. He hummed as he sucked, then bit onto the bud.

"Fuck!" Molly shouted, cupping the back of his head, she held him to her chest.

Releasing her nipple, he gently kissed the abused nub. "Look at me, Molly."

She did, though it was a mistake, jolting doubt rocked through her. "This is wrong," she whispered.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes as he leant up on his hands. She could have fought - should have, really, but all her fight was gone. "This is perfect and you know it! You think you're over me...?" He smiled down at her, it wasn't a smirk or a sneer. It was a beautiful smile. "You love me, Molly. You've always loved me. When everything else goes to shit…" He softly trailed his fingers down her cheek. "You're all I have."

Pushing down the swell of emotions his gentle touch and sweet words caused in her heart, she steeled herself. She wasn't a damn security blanket! "I'm your back-up plan, then? That's beyond insulting! This is my life we're talking about, Sherlock! My heart..."

He shook his head. "You still don't get it…" Cupping her cheek, he rubbed her lip with his thumb. "No one else sees me, Molly. Do you know why?" She didn't even attempt to answer. "Because I don't let them. That's only for you." Bending down, he placed a chased kiss on her lips. "It's my secret indulgence." Another kiss. "My greatest sin." Kiss. "My darkest fantasy."

"Dark… darkest?" Why she focused on that word out of all he'd just said, she didn't quite know. Perhaps it was the sinister meaning behind it. Perhaps because she too had fantasies about the man; many, if she was honest. Some of which made her feel dirty and ashamed.

"Oh, so very dark," he replied. "I don't want to hurt you, it's not about that, so much as…" Licking his lips, he shifted, letting his hips rest against hers. His erection hadn't waned one bit. He closed his eyes and lowered his head until their foreheads met.

It seemed like he was reticent to share, but Molly suddenly wanted to know more. Everything. "What, then?" she asked. "What is it about?"

Her hands moving (almost) involuntarily up the back of his shirt - when did it come untucked? - earned a hiss and a buck of his hips that quickly turned into a rhythm. Sherlock rocked against her naked cunt as his mouth slid down her face until he reached her neck.

He didn't kiss her this time nor did he bite; instead he spoke, "It's about keeping you… all to myself, Molly Hooper. If I only had a dungeon - a cellar in which to lock you away. Perhaps a high tower that only I could access." With a dark chuckle, he licked her throat. "Then, my dear woman, you'd be mine… All mine."

Whether it was his tender actions or fanciful words, Molly didn't know, but at that moment she broke. Her last ounce of resolve failed her and she pushed him up just enough to reach for the button on his trousers.

The look of shock on his face was precious, as she unzipped him, shoved the trousers down his hips and grabbed his hard cock in a matter of seconds. He must have thought she was going to struggle once again, but she was done fighting.

Gripping him tightly, she stroked him once, twice. "If you wanted me, Sherlock, you might've tried asking," she said, still angry, still hurt but so very ready for him.

Besides, he was right. She loved the prick.

Speaking of pricks…

"Sherlock, enough foreplay. You said something about fucking, didn't you?"

He snapped out of his shock and right into smug satisfaction. "Actually, you did; I just agreed." Closing his hand around hers, they moved together, pumping him. "My way, though."

"What…?" Molly started, but was stopped as he wrenched her hand from his cock and drove into her with brutal force, stealing her breath in the process. She couldn't react, not vocally at least, so she settled on digging her nails into his back and holding on for dear life.

His pace was furious, alarmingly so and for several seconds Molly was concerned that she wouldn't get anything other than extreme soreness and rug burn out of their coupling. He wasn't pushing her to completion so much as fucking her into the floor. Her back was going to hurt like a mother tomorrow.

Suddenly, he stopped and pulled out. Panting like a marathon runner, he said, "Need a… Just a moment, I think…" before moving down her body and resting his forehead on her mound. A minute later, he cupped her bottom and cut her a sly smile as he buried his face in her folds.

Oh! Oh! "OH!" This was much better.

He dipped his tongue into her centre, fucking her with it as his nose nudged her clit. Oh, he was so very good at everything he did!

"That's… God, that's good!" She gripped his curls, tugging a little more than was strictly necessary (but she was still cross with him, even if he was eating her pussy like a pro). "Fuck, yes!" When he moved higher, sucking her clit into his hot mouth, however, any and all anger instantly fled.

Molly's orgasm took her by surprise and her hands tightened in his hair. She called out his name over and over, shameless in her pleasure. She bloody well deserved it!

Her eyes were still closed when she felt him move back on top of her. "I'll try to be gentler this time." He kissed her lips, his tongue heavy with the taste of her sex. "And in the future, as well."

Future? What the...?

Oh, but she couldn't ask him what he meant because he was back inside her. Fuck! Her now swollen passage made each stroke an even tighter fit. She tried to participate, but he'd given her no time to recover. He didn't seem to mind penetrating her boneless body over and over. She wasn't normally a dead fish, but after the fight and orgasm, Molly didn't have much left.

Sherlock changed their position after a few minutes. Hooking her knees over his shoulders, he bent her practically in two, before reentering her yet again. "Fuck!" he grunted as he bottomed out then stilled, staring down at her.

"Sh-Sherlock?" Molly said after an almost uncomfortable amount of time. "Move!"

And he did. Pulling out completely, he slowly slid back in, then out, never taking his eyes from hers. Again and again he drove into her body, whispering words of praise as he moved.

Much quicker than she had thought possible, Molly's strength returned. As did her arousal. Or perhaps her strength returned because of her arousal? Who cares! "Harder," she pled, tightening her internal muscles around his shaft to encourage him.

Her action caused his hips to stutter, messing up his rhythm. "Fucking hell, Molly!" he cried, his eyes shut tight.

When he opened them, he dropped her legs from his shoulders and she hoped he wasn't planning on anything too acrobatic. Though she was feeling better, she certainly wasn't up for anything daring after their wrestling match. But he simply settled on top of her - covering her completely - one arm scooped under her back, the other gently stroking her cheek.

"Molly," he whispered reverently as he started slowly pumping into her. "I… I need…"

When he didn't finish, Molly reached up, threading her fingers through his hair and searching his eyes for the rest of his words. Oh… she thought when she realised what he wanted. "Come for me, Sherlock." She pulled him down until their lips met and whispered, "Come for me," against his panting lips.

His hips sped up, thrusting hard and fast but not as brutal as the beginning. No, this was perfect. She held him close, kissing him as she felt him swell and pulse inside her. He growled his release against her lips and she reveled in the idea that she'd caused him to lose control. Her, Molly Hooper! The knowledge alone was enough to trigger her orgasm. Her body shuddered and shook as she came around him.

They lay, bodies intertwined, sweat soaked, still slightly bloody as they caught their breath.

With a groan, Sherlock rolled off onto his back beside her. "God, Molly."

"Mmhmm," was her only response.

"That… I mean..."

"I agree."

There were no more words and after several minutes they stood (with much effort), making the slow trek to the bathroom.

The shower was hot… and long… and not very productive (except for Sherlock's gentle cleansing of the bite mark on Molly's neck). They never spoke, though their mouths were quite busy, as were their hands.

Forty-five minutes later, they fell into her bed. Molly was as exhausted as she was confused. Though she was loath to do it, they had to talk. She was debating on starting the conversation now or in the morning... You're assuming that he'll be here in the morning, a voice in her mind interrupted.

"Why aren't you relaxing?" Sherlock asked from the other side of the bed. "I know for a fact you're tired." He shifted, pressing up against her back, his hand found her hip and he drew her into his chest. "Do you need some paracetamol?"

She did; a mild pain reliever sounded heavenly. "No. I'm fine." Her body tensed automatically as his arm snaked around her belly and she wondered why everything had suddenly changed. The shower had been wonderful. What was causing her anxiety to sky rocket?

"Is this… Do you want me to leave?"

Silence once again descended as she tried to figure out what to say. Was she still angry? Physically frightened of him? He had... pushed, forced himself, really and absolutely not respected her when she said no. Her mind told her that it was wrong, everything about it was… just not okay. Well, not everything, perhaps. Her heart, though, that was another matter altogether. God, I love him. She felt… disappointed - in herself? in him? she wasn't sure.

As she opened her mouth to speak, Sherlock nudged her onto her back and looked down at her with big watery eyes. This was yet another new look for the man. If he kept this up, she'd have to start a mind palace of her own just to catalogue his ever-changing emotions.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I lost control. I shouldn't have…" Pausing, he drew a deep breath and smiled sadly. "I've ruined it, haven't I? We… we can't…" He shook his head. "Not after… You'll never trust…"

"What do you want?" Molly asked flatly, still unsure about… everything.

He studied her for long moments before answering, "To lock you away from the world and keep you all to myself." A single tear escaped. She followed it's trek from the corner of his eye, to the bridge of his nose. It finally fell, landing on her chin. "To be loved."

Oh, Hooper. You're gonna do it, aren't you? a voice said accusingly. She ignored it.

Reaching up, she cupped his cheek and wiped away the moisture with her thumb. "What makes you think that I won't lock you away, Sherlock?"

He grinned. "Will you be there?"

"Sometime… I suppose. You know, to spar and whatnot."

"I see."

"Mmhmm. I did kick your arse, after all."

"That you did. How long have you been taking Krav Maga?" he asked, though Molly had a feeling that he already knew.

"Couple of months."

He nodded then shifted lower, laying his head on her stomach, arms and legs wrapped around her like a clinging vine. They lay like that for maybe ten or fifteen minutes, Molly carding her fingers through his damp hair. It'd be a mess in the morning. Sherlock idly stroked her thigh, her hip, anywhere he could reach.

Finally, after a while, he stopped moving; Molly thought he'd fallen asleep, but then he said, "I love you, in case I didn't make that clear."

Somehow she managed not to gasp, possibly because he had, but it was nice to hear the words. "That's good to know," she said. "Because I plan on keeping you, Sherlock Holmes."

He chuckled as he kissed her naked belly. "Where exactly?"

"In the highest tower, of course."