The Only Drug I Need (Chapter 11)
REEEEEEEMMMMIIIIIXXXX! (aka Once I Start I Cannot Help Myself mix)
For this prompt on shkinkmeme:
Molly discovers, through use of a word, that Sherlock used to be a sub. At first she doesn't know what that means, but then she starts to take advantage of it.
Bonus points if she does it while he's in the lab acting like an ass to her.
Disclaimers:
SO NOT MINE. I pray that Gatiss and Moffatt do not release the lawyers of war upon my ass. I am not part of the BDSM scene, but I got knowledge from the Internet and friends. Everything is unbeta'd, but it was edited by me. If you find errors, please let me know.
Definitely not safe for work. Not safe for children. Really, not safe period. If your computer starts on fire, it's not my fault.
If you're new, go check out Chapter 1
If people know what story I'm referencing in the case portion of this chapter, you get fresh-baked Internet cookies.
Comments are love and I am a hooooor.
Perhaps it was a bad idea to taunt Sherlock before his first session as Dom, Molly thought as the cab took her to Baker Street.
It had been purely accidental -- not long after their texting war, Sherlock notified her that he was heading to Glasgow to help on a matter. But he promised that when he returned, he was taking charge for one day and on no uncertain terms, she was to meet him on his turf.
Other than that exchange, that week was quiet. If it was any one else she had gotten involved with, Molly knew she would feel a bit of jealousy or fear. In this case, Molly felt a bit of relief. He was out of her hair for a bit, off on a case, and she could just enjoy a distraction-free week.
Upon his return, he flooded her inbox with e-mails and instructions on when he wanted to see her and how she was to present herself.
Come to Baker Street as soon as convenient. If inconvenient, come anyway, was the final missive from him.
Her heart was pounding as the cab pulled up to the flat and she rang the bell. Sherlock requested that she wear what she normally wore for the exterior, but sent her some lingerie -- black and lacy with a matching set of knickers -- thankfully not a thong. She wasn’t surprised that he knew her bra size, but it was impressive, given that sometimes she didn’t know her bra size.
John opened the door. “Molly!” he exclaimed when he saw her on the doorstep. “You’re the reason why Sherlock is booting Mrs. Hudson and I out?”
Molly could feel herself blush. “He’s kicking you out of the flat?”
The man’s face split into a grin. “Not without concessions,” he chuckled. “He’s sent Mrs. Hudson to go visit her friend and he offered to pay for a posh night out for Sarah and I, as long I don‘t come home tonight.”
“What did he tell you?” she suddenly had the urge to run off, embarrassed by the way John was grinning.
He motioned for her to come inside. “Just that he had an experiment that was probably going to go all night and be rather annoying for us,” she could hear John’s voice become a slight leer. “You’re assisting?”
Molly reddened at John’s jesting tone. “Yes,” she said, feeling her ears start to burn.
John burst out laughing. “I knew there was a reason why he was so even tempered between cases,” he said, leading her up the stairs. “On behalf of Mrs. Hudson, the wall and I, bless you woman.”
She couldn’t help but laugh as he led her upstairs to the flat.
Sherlock, wasn’t in the sitting room. “Molly?” he called from what she assumed was his bedroom.
“I’m here,” she said.
“I’ll be popping out soon,” John said.
“You’re still here?” both of them could hear the annoyance in Sherlock’s voice and they both exchanged grins at the sullen tone.
“Yes.” John huffed. “I just need to grab my bag and I’ll be gone. Relax. Your experiment --” the tone was definitely a leer, “can wait a bit.”
Molly giggled as John grabbed his bag and waved at Molly before heading down the stairs. Faintly she heard the door open and then shut. Then adrenaline started to course through her veins. She scanned the flat, which was cluttered with papers, books and random mugs strewn about. The wallpaper was a bit outdated and a smiley face was spray painted in on wall, adorned with bullet holes. Molly instantly understood why John said the wall thanked her for whatever this was.
Somehow, given the fastidiousness of Sherlock’s dress, she assumed the flat would be a tad neater. Obviously, that was not the case.
After a few minutes, she heard Sherlock call out, “Ms. Hooper?”
Molly stilled -- that was the pet name they had agreed on -- “Sir?” she called out, using his master title.
“Is he gone?”
“Yes.” Her hands began to shake in anticipation, but she closed them into fists to control herself.
“Please undress. Leave your underclothes on and sit on the couch, eyes downward,” his voice had a silky menace to it.
Molly did as he asked, waiting quietly for him. Her eyes darted furtively about trying to get more clues as to what he had planned, but no answers presented themselves.
Soon she heard his footsteps in the room. “Hullo Ms. Hooper,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “It’s been awhile since we saw each other.”
She nodded, noticing that he had bare feet and was wearing a pair of jeans.
“You may look up,” he said.
She looked up at him. He was shirtless and wearing skintight jeans. Molly’s eyes lit on faded bruises that dotted his torso. She wanted to open her mouth and ask him what was happened while he was gone, but knew better than to do so.
He had a riding crop in his had and he was Molly’s mind flashed back to her saying drunkenly I’d love to see you in skintight jeans and her body suddenly felt warm. Her hands itched to reach out and touch him, check his bruises and feel his skin against hers.
He must’ve noticed the slight twitch because Sherlock gently flicked the riding crop at her hands -- not enough to hurt, but enough to startle her.
“Ms. Hooper,” he said. “Apparently you have as hard of a time controlling your urges as I have in the past.”
Molly nodded.
“Stand please.”
She did so. She could see him circling her, inspecting her closely, the crop waving in the air like the tip of a cat’s tail.
“Lovely,” he said, sliding the crop down between the vee of her cleavage. Molly let out a gasp, feeling her back arch and her legs become shaky.
“You know,” he said softly. “When we first started this, I envisioned you as this mere wisp of a girl, not someone as solidly built as you are. Earthy in a way,” his head ducked over and he whispered in her ear. “Lovely and fleshy,” his tongue darted out to take a lick along her neck.
Molly shuddered.
“Now,” he said. “I wasn’t quite sure what to do today. I thought about how you left me hot and wanting in the supply closet last week, or how you figged me good and proper, those months ago, then forced me to clean your kitchen, only to boot me out unceremoniously and with a raging hard-on.”
“I never thought I’d hear you say ‘raging hard-on‘,” Molly said under her breath.
The riding crop lashed out and hit her across the backside. She let out a gasp. Clearly he wasn’t playing around.
“Did I say you could speak?” The tone was now icy.
She shook her head.
“In any case, it‘s my turn now,” Sherlock sat down on the sofa, fingertips pressed together and stared at her.
The silence was unnerving and his eyes seemed to stare through her. Molly exhaled softly, wondering what he had planned.
After what seemed to be forever, he stood and paced around her. “Now I know you take yoga and pilates,” he said.
How did you -- Molly’s eyebrows raised in an unspoken question.
“Ms. Hooper,” Sherlock huffed. “You doubt my talents? That was practically child‘s play. You leave your mat rolled up and in your umbrella stand and there’s a pilates DVD by your television. As for your flexibility --” he gave her a significant stare.
Molly felt her blush deepen a bit more.
“Now, I’m just curious to see how flexible you are,” he said. “Bend over, hands on the ground, also known as downward facing dog.”
Molly did as he asked. She could feel him pull her knickers down a bit and his hand slide between her legs, checking her. Her hips twitched involuntarily, following his touch, then his hands moved away.
“Two rules Ms. Hooper,” she could hear him say, along with the sound of a zipper being unzipped and a wrapper -- most likely a condom -- being opened. “You are not to come until I tell you to and you will be silent unless I ask you to speak. Do you understand?”
Molly nodded. She was feeling a little light-headed from the blood rushing to her head when suddenly she felt Sherlock’s prick in her, his hands gripping her hips roughly as he began fucking her hard. It was clear from his actions that he was concentrating more on his enjoyment than hers, but she didn’t mind at all. It was the sub’s role after all. Instead, she could feel her body begin to clench around him and the slow spiral of arousal wind up in her spine.
The only sound was the wet slapping of his body moving against hers and his heavy breathing. Molly was breathing deeply, doing her damnedest to keep from making any sounds at all, as the arousal pooled and churned in her belly. She began thinking of something -- anything other than the roughness of his jeans around her bottom, the slight bite of the zipper against her skin or the deep thrusts that she could swear she was feeling tickle the back of her throat.
She was staring to get light-headed when his thrusts became harder and more erratic. One of his hands slid forward to toy with a lace-clad nipple before he let out a long groan, his prick pulsing in her from his orgasm.
The silence was broken by his breathing. Then he pulled away and she could hear him fiddling around before zipping his pants. His hands moved to pull her panties back where they originally were.
“You may stand up,” he said, breathing heavily. “Take your time, I don’t want you to get dizzy.”
Molly slowly stood and turned around, feeling slightly dizzy and similar to being hit by a freight train. He was flush and his hair looked a little more wild than when she first entered.
“Follow me,” he said, turning around and stalking off towards the kitchen.
Molly knew exactly what was going on -- he was going to make her clean the kitchen. The question was whether it was with a toothbrush or not.
“Up on the table please,” he ordered.
Molly nodded, then did as he asked, attempting to ignore the fact that the table was festooned with lab gear and what she suspected was a jar of eyeballs. Sherlock sat down in front of her, pulling her hips close to the table.
Without any preamble, he buried his mouth in her. Molly arched her back and gasped as he tongued her through her panties. This in addition to the rough fucking of before made her realize that it wouldn’t take much to turn her into a writhing, screaming mess.
She closed her eyes as two fingers slid into her.
“You are so wanton,” she heard Sherlock say as he rubbed his cheek along her thigh. “You’ve been desiring this since I left, haven’t you? Please feel free to make those pretty noises.”
She arched her back and mewled incoherently in response. The waves of arousal slammed into her as his fingers stroked her mercilessly. She could feel the orgasm coming -- just one jerk of his fingers and she’d come, probably knocking over the jar and having eyeballs scatter all over the floor.
He pulled away. Molly lay on the table, gasping in shock as her hips twisted and writhed. She felt his hands on her hips, gentling her and heard a low, low chuckle.
“Now,” he said. “Clean my kitchen.”
Molly sat up, staring at him. His eyes were bright with amusement. She looked about the kitchen. Most of the items had been tidied, but there was a film of crud and she could see the soapy water in the sink and the stack of dishes.
A devilish thought overcame her and she headed over to wash the dishes. Feeling Sherlock’s eyes on her, Molly sauntered over to the sink and began washing the dishes. Conjuring up every terrible music video image in her head, Molly was a little sloppy in washing the dishes. She wiggled her hips as she scrubbed a frying pan caked with -- what exactly, she didn’t dare speculate -- and on occasion glanced back at him, with a coquettish expression.
Once the dishes were done, she tidied up the kitchen table and the counters, bending lower than she needed to so he could get a view straight down her cleavage. Even though he seemed calm on the exterior, a quick glance downward told her that she was definitely getting the reaction she wanted. His hands gripped the crop tightly and she could see he was breathing a bit more heavily than before.
Again, all of these things wouldn’t be noticeable to most people, but most people hadn’t shagged Sherlock Holmes rotten for the past months.
She stood in front of him, leaning down and stretching father than needed to wipe a corner of the kitchen table, then wiggled her bottom again.
There was a strangled groan from behind her and she grinned to herself. She felt the tap of the riding crop on her thigh and looked backwards, with a sweet smile.
“Ms. Hooper,” Sherlock said, with a slight smirk. “I do appreciate the show, but if you want to experience the rest of what I have planned, I suggest you get cracking.”
She nodded and continued cleaning the kitchen, a bit faster now, but with no less sensuality in her movements. Every now and then she snuck a furtive glance to see him squeezing himself under the jeans.
When it came to cleaning the floor, Molly got down on all fours and took the sponge and began scrubbing. Her breasts swung gently under the movement and she could hear his breathing coming out in ragged pants as he watched her scrub the floor.
She wondered if he would crack. Sherlock’s self-control was legendary. He could go for days with little sleep and food for a case, so denying him pleasures of the flesh should be simple.
Then she heard the soft sound of a zipper unzipping and a low, husky “Ms. Hooper. Come here. I need you.”
Molly turned around and crawled along the floor to him. His cock was already out and slick. His hand gripped himself tightly and she could see his pale skin flush and pinkish in color. His gaze was hungry and intense.
She laid her head in his lap with an angelic smile.
“Your mouth please,” he said sternly.
Molly’s smile grew bigger as she took him in her mouth. Looking up at him, she saw his head tilt back to face the ceiling. His fingers wound in her hair and tugged gently as she continued to take him in her mouth.
Her tongue swirled around him and she felt his hips buck underneath her. Following his signal, she sucked hard and began to move her head at an agonizing pace. It was short work before he bucked his hips in orgasm with a loud groan and calling his pet name for her.
Molly swallowed, then slowly released him from her mouth, sprinkling kisses along his thighs and flaccid cock. She could feel her arousal brewing yet again.
After a moment, Sherlock stood, tucked himself back in his jeans and then zipped them. “Please get back to work Ms. Hooper,” he said, his voice low and husky. “I’m going to the living room to send some e-mails and perhaps doze. This should be done by six and you should be showered and clean by then. I will tell you the next part of our evening then.”
Molly nodded, then crawled back to the bucket and sponge. Behind her, she heard Sherlock suck in a deep breath, before he headed to the living room.
~*~
“You know,” Sherlock mused. “If more meals were served like this, I suspect I’d eat more, instead of finding it a dull exercise in survival.”
Molly let out a chuckle as she slid a piece of sushi into his mouth, savoring the way his tongue licked and sucked on her fingers.
She was laying flat on the table, absolutely still and absolutely naked. Pieces of sushi, laying on banana leaves, dotted her body and a rosette of pickled ginger was nestled in her navel. Wasabi dotted her nipples, which tingled in a way that was mildly uncomfortable, but also arousing.
Molly had finished cleaning the kitchen and then showered to Sherlock’s satisfaction. Then he told her to lay down on the table. After which, the takeaway containers of sushi started appearing like a conjurer’s trick and she became a buffet for him and given her permission to speak freely.
He leaned over and picked up a succulent piece of tuna off of her torso and handed it to her. She opened her mouth and took the sushi in, licking his fingers. His eyes widened a bit and she could see his breath become a bit irregular.
“If I knew that this is what it took to make you eat, I’d cook naked,” she said.
“Bit messy and terribly unhygienic,” he replied, sipping his sake. “Tip your head up Ms. Hooper.”
She did so and he let her have a sip of tea.
“Deep frying would be hazardous,” Molly grinned. “But if Sir requested it, it would be done.”
There was another bright smile from him and he fed her another piece of sushi. She shivered, the heat of the arousal pooling in her stomach. But it never really left -- the heat, that heightened sense of his presence was always there, whispering darkly in her subconscious.
“May I ask something Sir?” she asked, after swallowing.
He arched an eyebrow and leaned back in his chair. “Yes,” he said slowly.
“What happened in Glasgow?” she asked.
Sherlock shrugged. “Kidnapping,” he said. “I was hired to help find the woman. John came along and it was good thing. We were accosted by some hoodlums and both of us had to dispose of them.”
Molly shivered. She had never seen this side of his work before. She knew it existed -- hell, she dated him and heard about the aftermath at the pool -- but seeing the fresh bruises and scrapes brought a certain gravity to the situation.
It was a reminder that no matter what, he courted danger. Sought it out and needed it -- for whatever reason, she didn’t dare speculate. The man had his addictions and this was one of them.
Oddly enough, it didn’t bother her as much as she thought.
“What happened?” she asked softly.
“We found the woman, still alive, but heavily guarded,” Sherlock said quickly. “John managed to dispatch some with his gun -- don’t tell Lestrade about that, he’ll be very much put out -- while I had to battle some of them.”
Molly blinked. It was clear that he didn’t want to linger on that too long. Obeying his silent wish, she looked down. “You don’t want more Sir?” she said softly as her fingers slid down to grab a piece of eel resting between her breasts. “The unagi is particularly good.”
Sherlock learned forward and took sushi from her fingertips, his hands gently stroking her forearm as his fingers sucked the sauce off of hers. She let out a soft sigh of bliss and shifted her hips slightly, trying to ease the growing heat in her spine.
She noticed an impish gleam in his eyes, just before his lips slid over her nipple, sucking off the wasabi. The arousal began to burn and her fingers wound through his hair and she began moaning his other name. His hands moved up and pinned her to the table, stilling her.
He pulled back up and kissed her collarbone, before finishing off his tea.
Molly gaped for air. “I can’t believe you ate all that wasabi Sir,” she panted.
“Definitely stimulating,” he replied, kissing her deeply. Molly could taste the wasabi on his tongue and it burned in her mouth. Her tongue licked past it, seeking his flavor, before she began sucking on his lower lip.
In the back of her mind, she hoped he would bring her some relief to the arousal she was feeling. Molly’s entire body was twitching madly and she didn’t know how long she could endure the delicious torture. It seemed like Sherlock was about to alleviate the situation as his hands slid down her body, knocking off the sushi and leaves.
Then his mobile jangled.
Sherlock‘s head shot up and he fumbled for his mobile. Molly sighed. Of course.
She saw him read over the message, his eyes lighting up with interest. He glanced over at her. “Terribly sorry,” he said, as he got a washrag and gently cleaned her. “Lestrade apparently needs my help on a case.”
Molly sat up, suppressing the urge to scream in frustration as she began tidying up the mess. Sherlock left the room, when he returned, he was buttoning up a dress shirt.
“Do you want to come with me?” he asked.
She looked surprised. “Pardon?”
“Come with me,” he said. “Just stand in the background, be unobtrusive and it shouldn’t take long.”
Molly smiled as she approached him, buttoning his shirt and tucking it into his trousers. “Are you sure I won’t lower the IQ of the street?”
“If Anderson’s there, it can’t go any lower,” Sherlock muttered.
Molly began giggling. “Do you want me there Sir?” she looked up at him.
“Yes Ms. Hooper,” he said, “I’ve found an extra pair of eyes to be helpful at times and since John is off with sa petite amie, you’ll have to do.”
Molly nodded.
“Get dressed Ms. Hooper,” Sherlock said, a smile tugging at his lips. “Are you ready for a game?”
~*~
Molly couldn’t stop shaking, Part of it was arousal -- Sherlock kept whispering dark, filthy scenarios into her ear about what he was going to do to her when they returned to the flat -- and some of it was nerves.
She couldn’t remember the last time she went to a crime scene. Instead, she dealt with the quiet aftermath of processing the body, writing reports and sometimes comforting those coming to claim a family member or loved friend.
But here she was -- at an incredibly odd situation -- with Sherlock. Sergeant Donovan let them in, cocking an eyebrow at Molly, but saying nothing. Shortly thereafter, Lestrade met up with Sherlock and led him further into the situation as Molly chose to stay behind.
It was a special trick her friends said was her superpower -- she could fade into the background and become almost invisible at will. It worked fantastically at parties when she didn’t want to deal with awkward situations. So far the only person invulnerable to it was Sherlock. Damn his brilliance.
“I don’t understand it,” she heard Anderson say to no one in particular. “Why would a bride get married then flee during the reception? Why not call it off beforehand?”
Molly recognized the groom -- a Lord Robert St. Simon -- one of the flashier members of the upper crust who was known for wining and dining several of London’s attractive female celebrities. Rumour had it Sienna Miller had a go with him before running back to Jude Law, but the upper crust, being the upper crust, managed to keep it rather quiet.
The bride was a Henrietta, or Hattie, Doran, an American hotel heiress. Molly remembered seeing pictures of the young woman, on the tabloid covers. It was one of those weddings full of taste, elegance and money at the Ritz. She would have felt out of place, except that there were gobs of members of the Yard there questioning people. They were all dressed about as well as her, so she fit in amongst the law enforcement.
She watched Sherlock question everyone in his brusque manner, taking everything in with his eyes, constantly calculating and analyzing, before demanding to see the bridal suite upstairs. “Ms. Hooper,” he called out. “Come with me please.”
Molly nodded, attempting to ignore the stares now focused on her, and scurried after him.
The ride up in the elevator was silent and she could see he was absorbing information and taking in data. Lestrade was with them, watching the two quietly.
“Where’s John?” he finally asked after a long silence.
“This case is so elementary I decided to be considerate and let him enjoy an evening with his lady friend,” Sherlock said. “I was with Ms. Hooper and she agreed to join me.”
Molly had the sudden wish that the elevator floor would swallow her as Lestrade’s gaze focused on her. Then there was the sympathetic smile. “He was tormenting you at the morgue eh?” Lestrade asked.
“He said a pair of extra eyes never hurt,” she said, perhaps a bit too brightly as relief washed over her. “I was just getting off when you called.”
Lestrade nodded. “Hopefully you can see something -- we‘ve got the press breathing down our necks. The sooner this is resolved, the better.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a quick smirk pass over Sherlock’s face just before the elevator doors opened at what was the bridal suite. It was enormous, shiny and sleek with red rose petals scattered and leaving a trail through the living room towards the bedroom. There was a wet bar, kitchenette and enormous flat screen TV. Two of Molly’s flats could have fit in the living room alone.
Sherlock strode about, examining different objects. On occasion, he dropped to the floor and stared at the carpet.
Lestrade and Molly stared at him. “What happened?” Molly asked.
“Odd one,” Lestrade said. “You know about Lord Robert right?”
Molly nodded. “I’ve seen the tabloid covers of the two.”
“Well, they got married tonight and had the reception here. The bride goes up here complaining of a migraine and says she’ll be down in a bit. She never came down. Lord Robert comes up wondering where his bride is and she‘s vanished.”
“Were they happy?”
“Apparently very so,” Lestrade said, with a bit of cynicism in his tone. “They all say that though.”
Molly nodded. “Anything taken?”
“Nothing of note. It’s like she just vanished.”
Molly nodded again. She wasn’t quite sure what to ask -- this is why she worked in the morgue. It was less messy and complicated than trying to figure out puzzles like this.
Sherlock glanced over at them from the bar, where he was inspecting some glassware. “If you don’t mind,” he said somewhat peevishly, “I need some quiet to think. Lestrade, can you wait elsewhere while we look about?”
Lestrade nodded. “I’ll be waiting in the lift,” he said, turning around and leaving the suite.
Molly began shivering, but not from a draft. He wouldn’t dare defile a crime scene she thought to herself. If Sherlock even attempted that, she knew she’d use the safe word and leave. Probably. Maybe. Definitely maybe.
“Ms. Hooper,” Sherlock’s voice had a silky menace to it. “Can you come with me to the bedroom? I need a woman’s eyes to see if anything odd is missing.”
Molly followed him along the trail of rose petals. Their fragrance filled her nostrils. The bedroom was enormous, with floor to ceiling windows and an amazing view of downtown London.
“What do you want of me Sir?” she asked softly.
“Look around,” he said, his eyes darting about. “Just take in what you see and tell me what you think.”
Molly wandered about the room, opening drawers and looking at the luxurious items. Her fingers ran over La Perla lingerie, designer clothing and other items. She examined the bathroom, with a bathtub that was bigger than her kitchen and clear glass shower doors. One thing bothered her, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
“What do you think happened?” she started at the sound of his voice.
Spinning around, she glanced at him. “It’s obviously odd,” she said.
He snorted. “Anderson could have figured that one out,” he replied.
She ignored his sarcasm. “No one leaves all of their items behind at a hotel without some reason,” Molly said thoughtfully. “But there’s no signs of struggle.”
“What do your instincts say?” he asked, circling her.
“Was there anything unusual at the reception? Any disruptions?” Molly asked.
“A few odd things,” Sherlock said as he began poking around in the bathroom. “A former friend of Lord Robert’s tried to gain entrance to the reception, but was denied,” he said.
“Would that be Fanny Millar?” Molly asked. “I remember seeing her on Dancing on Ice. She got her start on Big Brother you know -- very famous for her --” she could feel herself colouring a bit as she remembered the reality-star celeb who was known more for her magnificent pair of tits and outsized personality than her brains.
He nodded. “Also, a stranger stumbled into the reception, had a few words with the new Mrs. St. Simon,” he said. “People thought it was some gate-crasher and they escorted him out, but it was clear that he rattled her somehow, because that’s when she complained of the migraine and headed upstairs.
“The detectives are going through the surveillance footage with Lord Robert to see if he can find the man,” Sherlock added.
Molly stared at the sink area, piled with toiletries and other items. Turning around, she headed out of the bedroom and to the wet bar. There was one glass, half-filled with what appeared to be Scotch.
She squatted down and peered at it, studying the glass and then sniffing it and the room. There was something harsh and unpleasant under the floral scent. “I smell something odd,” she said.
“Marijuana?”
Molly shook her head. “That too,” she replied, hazy university memories flickering in her mind, “but something really unpleasant. Whoever smoked it tried to cover up the scent with the rose petals.”
“But you can smell it?”
Molly nodded. “It bothers me,” slowly an image began to form in her head. “Someone drugged her and took her. They probably gave her something laced in a marijuana cigarette.”
“What do you think happened next?” He was now barely touching her and she could feel his breath on her neck.
“She was rattled by something at the reception -- that man I suppose,” she said out loud, her mind humming with different ideas. “So she came up here to get her bearings. Someone she knows either is here or she lets them in. They smoke something and it’s drugged and she’s then taken away. I‘m not sure how though.”
Sherlock checked his mobile. “Interesting theory Ms. Hooper,” he said crisply. “I observed the same things also. In any case, I think I have all the data I need right now and you’ve also given me food for thought. In any case, I think we should be leaving.”
“But the case --” Molly started. There was a woman’s life at stake, she thought. Sex -- despite her bestial urges protesting -- could wait.
“I’ve figured it out, with a bit of help from you,” he said, grinning. “I’ll tease Lestrade with a few facts, and then tie it up in the morning. For now --” he ducked closer so she could feel his hot breath on her ear. “I think my little pet needs to be rewarded for all her efforts today.
“Things might be a bit curtailed, since I will need to hunt down these clues,” he nibbled on her earlobe and she leaned back, biting her lip to suppress the moan brewing in her. “But I suspect that if we prolong this any further, you might go up in flames.”
“Is that an order Sir?” she asked. “I don’t like the idea of not finding her immediately.”
“If it is what I think it is, they’ll be questioning people for hours,” Sherlock murmured. “Everything right now is circumstantial, nothing enough for a trial or conviction. More digging needs to be done. She has to be alive for their plan to work.”
He gently steered her towards the elevator and pressed the button. “It’s the groom,” Sherlock announced. “He’s drugged the bride and dragged her off. Possibly for ransom, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he plans to kill her for her inheritance.”
Lestrade blinked. “What makes you think --”
“Whoever was up here didn’t break into the suite -- there’s no marks of forced entry,” Sherlock began rattling off. “The elevator security system runs on cards and the ride up to the suite took ten seconds -- too short for a passkey hacking system to decode this on the fly. I suspect if you get the hotel key from the groom, you’ll see that the data matches. He kidnapped her or had someone else do the job.”
“All grand, but highly circumstantial,” Lestrade interrupted.
“If the data matches like I predict, it will not be circumstantial,” Sherlock interjected. “In any case, this is child’s play.”
“But the drugging?”
“The entire room reeks of marijuana and something else under the cloying roses,” Sherlock said as the doors opened. He stalked out of the elevator, with Lestrade and Molly following. “I have some things I need to tie up, but I suspect we’ll be able to find the bride by morning, at the latest. Come along Ms. Hooper -- we have a lead to follow.”
Molly glanced over at Lestrade and offered an apologetic smile as she hurried after Sherlock. They walked down to the corner, where Sherlock spoke with a homeless person asking for change. Molly watched in fascination as the two nodded, Sherlock wrote something down in a pad, handed it to him and then hailed a cab, opening the door for her, while barking out her flat’s address.
“It’s closer to here,” he whispered in her ear, and Molly shivered in anticipation. It was like her skin was oversensitive. He wasn’t even touching her and she could sense his presence, smell his cologne and it was getting overwhelming. If he didn’t do something soon, she was probably going to commit a felony against his person in the cab. Hopefully he wouldn’t press charges.
“Are you on fire?” he whispered low, so low that only she heard.
She nodded, swallowing.
“I know you want me,” he said slowly, steadily. “I know you like it when I touch you.”
Molly felt the smoldering arousal flare up yet again. This was him, pushing her limits and seeing what he could get away with and how much control she had. It was an experiment for him -- Let’s see how long I can push Molly before her knickers start on fire.
“I can practically smell you,” he continued to say, low and conversational. “You smell like sex and desire. You’ve always smelled like that to me -- even at work, surrounded by chemicals and the sterile lab environment. I know it’s because you’ve wanted me to fuck you ever since you met me.
“Can you imagine my cock in you?” he asked. “Maybe I’ll just take your mouth and leave you wanting, just to see how long you can tolerate this. After all, you’ve tolerated it for months. And you know why you tolerate it?”
Molly stared straight ahead, willing herself to not quaver when she answered, “Because I’m yours.”
And there, her heart clenched. She knew it was only play, that it was the line you say in this game, but there was weight to those words that frightened her. She glanced over at him. His expression was carefully neutral and blank. Thankfully she couldn’t read anything -- scorn, embarrassment, affection or indifference.
“That’s right,” he said, settling back into the seat. “You are mine. And I will take what I want of you.”
The rest of the ride was silent and much too long for her taste.
When they arrived at the flat, Sherlock tossed a few notes at the driver as Molly sprang out of the cab. The march up to her flat was silent, with her leading the way. She could feel his eyes on her body and she continued to control herself. She was so close to her reward that she didn’t want it to blow up in her face.
Once they were in her flat, he removed his coat and handed it to her. She put it away and then stood in the middle of the room, her hands at her sides, gaze down.
“Lovely Ms. Hooper,” Sherlock said, stalking up to her. He tipped her head up and kissed her. Instantly she was gone, whimpering and moaning as he nipped at her lips. The urge to press up against him was overwhelmingly strong.
He pulled away. “Undress please,” he said.
Molly quickly removed her clothes and resumed her original position.
“Bedroom,” he said. “You will get out two silk scarves and kneel on the bed, face down.”
Molly skipped into the bedroom, pulled out two white scarves and lay them on the nightstand. Then she got on the bed, kneeling down so her forehead touched the mattress. Her body thrummed in anticipation and she could feel herself getting wetter as she waited for Sherlock. She twitched her hips slightly, then wiggled her nose as it began to itch.
Soon she heard him enter the room.
“Very nice,” he purred, as a hand ran from her bottom up along her spine to her shoulders. “I approve of this greatly.”
Molly let out a soft sigh and wiggled her bottom.
“So eager,” he said. “You’ve been dying for this haven’t you?”
“Yes Sir,” she said.
“Very well,” he replied. “Arms out please.”
Molly extended her arms. Sherlock bound one wrist and secured it to the headboard before doing the same to the other arm.
“Comfortable?”
“Very,” Molly said.
“Good,” he replied, and the mattress dipped slightly as he got on. “You will tell me the minute you are uncomfortable, right?”
“Yes Sir,” she said.
She felt his hand around her hips and then a perverse thought flickered in her brain. Very deliberately, she closed her legs. If Sherlock could conduct experiments on her, she could do the same to him, Molly thought.
There was a long pause. To make her message absolutely clear, Molly waggled her bottom at Sherlock.
“Are you denying me what I want woman?” his voice was a growl.
“Yes,” Molly said, hoping is understood her. She hadn’t said the safe word yet. But just to emphasize her point she looked back at him and licked her lips.
With that, Sherlock snarled, “Where is the spreader bar Ms. Hooper?”
“Under the bed,” Molly replied, her body becoming hot. “You wouldn’t dare use it.”
“I will take what I want Ms. Hooper,” he said, getting off the bed and rummaging around a bit. She heard him pull it out from under the bed. The mattress dipped again and she felt Sherlock’s hands take her ankle firmly. She pretended to resist, but in the end both legs were cuffed to the bar.
Sherlock ran a hand down her flanks and chuckled. “You can’t deny you’ve been wanting this Ms. Hooper. I’ve been seeing the way you look at me today.” One hand dipped between her legs. “And you are clearly aroused.”
Coherent thought broke down and Molly let out a low moan as she felt him rub his cock up against her.
“Yes,” she groaned.
“I could just leave you here,” Sherlock mused. “Leave you begging and needy.”
“You wouldn’t,” she whined, attempting to rub her bottom against him.
“Say you want me,” he said.
“I want you,” she groaned. If the teasing kept up, she was certain she would make him pay later. If she had to, she’d strip him, fig him and force him to clean every flat in her building in retaliation.
“Beg for it,” he sounded amused as one hand slid around to toy with a nipple.
“Please Sir,” she moaned. “I need your cock in me now. I’ve been dying for this all day and I’ve been so good. Please --”
“You can come now,” he growled, before he thrust into her.
Molly nearly hit her head on the headboard from the force of his movements. He was fucking her hard, one hand toying with her clit. With all the pent up frustration, it was no surprise that her orgasm hit harder and faster than she anticipated. Molly screeched “Please,” over and over, her forehead grinding into the mattress as she fell over the edge, screaming incoherently.
His fingers dug into her as his pace quickened and she rode it out, thrashing and screaming the entire time as the only thing she felt was him and the orgasm. Her arms began to burn from pulling on the restraints and her body arched in rhythm to him. Coherent thought shut down as she slammed her hips back into him, writhing and moaning. She suspected she began speaking in tongues, but at that point, it didn’t matter much.
Faintly, distantly, she felt his fingers dig into her hips as came, groaning her play name. Molly’s body slumped forward and her mind was lost, floating somewhere else.
Soon she was freed from the spreader bar and then she felt him untie the scarves.
“Ms. Hooper?” Sherlock’s voice pierced through the fog.
She whimpered in reply.
He lay next to her, pulling the duvet over them. Long lanky limbs circled her and she felt his body press up against her. His lips sprinkled kisses along her ear and down her neck.
“Good?” he asked, pinching her skin.
Gradually her power of speech returned. “Yes,” she said. “That was amazing.”
“Subspace,” Sherlock’s voice was a low chuckle. “It’s a nice place to be sometimes. Very mind clearing.”
“The endorphins and the rush -- I can see why you enjoy this,” she said, yawning.
“Indeed,” he replied.
“Have I been able to do that to you?” she asked, her mind slipping and sliding around -- keeping focus on things was becoming difficult. Not to mention, she felt utterly boneless and blissful.
“Yes Ms. Hooper,” he said, rubbing her skin with his hands.
She giggled, then yawned. “I know you have to go Sir,” she said softly. “But may I may a request?”
“What is it Ms. Hooper?”
“Stay with me until I fall asleep?”
Another low chuckle. “You’ve been in subspace my dear,” Sherlock said, nestling closer. “What kind of master would I be to abandon you right now? You’re aboslutely helpless, like a newborn kitten.”
Molly chuckled, tilting her head slightly for a kiss before sleep overcame her.
Chapter 12
For this prompt on shkinkmeme:
Molly discovers, through use of a word, that Sherlock used to be a sub. At first she doesn't know what that means, but then she starts to take advantage of it.
Bonus points if she does it while he's in the lab acting like an ass to her.
Disclaimers:
SO NOT MINE. I pray that Gatiss and Moffatt do not release the lawyers of war upon my ass. I am not part of the BDSM scene, but I got knowledge from the Internet and friends. Everything is unbeta'd, but it was edited by me. If you find errors, please let me know.
Definitely not safe for work. Not safe for children. Really, not safe period. If your computer starts on fire, it's not my fault.
If you're new, go check out Chapter 1
If people know what story I'm referencing in the case portion of this chapter, you get fresh-baked Internet cookies.
Comments are love and I am a hooooor.
Perhaps it was a bad idea to taunt Sherlock before his first session as Dom, Molly thought as the cab took her to Baker Street.
It had been purely accidental -- not long after their texting war, Sherlock notified her that he was heading to Glasgow to help on a matter. But he promised that when he returned, he was taking charge for one day and on no uncertain terms, she was to meet him on his turf.
Other than that exchange, that week was quiet. If it was any one else she had gotten involved with, Molly knew she would feel a bit of jealousy or fear. In this case, Molly felt a bit of relief. He was out of her hair for a bit, off on a case, and she could just enjoy a distraction-free week.
Upon his return, he flooded her inbox with e-mails and instructions on when he wanted to see her and how she was to present herself.
Come to Baker Street as soon as convenient. If inconvenient, come anyway, was the final missive from him.
Her heart was pounding as the cab pulled up to the flat and she rang the bell. Sherlock requested that she wear what she normally wore for the exterior, but sent her some lingerie -- black and lacy with a matching set of knickers -- thankfully not a thong. She wasn’t surprised that he knew her bra size, but it was impressive, given that sometimes she didn’t know her bra size.
John opened the door. “Molly!” he exclaimed when he saw her on the doorstep. “You’re the reason why Sherlock is booting Mrs. Hudson and I out?”
Molly could feel herself blush. “He’s kicking you out of the flat?”
The man’s face split into a grin. “Not without concessions,” he chuckled. “He’s sent Mrs. Hudson to go visit her friend and he offered to pay for a posh night out for Sarah and I, as long I don‘t come home tonight.”
“What did he tell you?” she suddenly had the urge to run off, embarrassed by the way John was grinning.
He motioned for her to come inside. “Just that he had an experiment that was probably going to go all night and be rather annoying for us,” she could hear John’s voice become a slight leer. “You’re assisting?”
Molly reddened at John’s jesting tone. “Yes,” she said, feeling her ears start to burn.
John burst out laughing. “I knew there was a reason why he was so even tempered between cases,” he said, leading her up the stairs. “On behalf of Mrs. Hudson, the wall and I, bless you woman.”
She couldn’t help but laugh as he led her upstairs to the flat.
Sherlock, wasn’t in the sitting room. “Molly?” he called from what she assumed was his bedroom.
“I’m here,” she said.
“I’ll be popping out soon,” John said.
“You’re still here?” both of them could hear the annoyance in Sherlock’s voice and they both exchanged grins at the sullen tone.
“Yes.” John huffed. “I just need to grab my bag and I’ll be gone. Relax. Your experiment --” the tone was definitely a leer, “can wait a bit.”
Molly giggled as John grabbed his bag and waved at Molly before heading down the stairs. Faintly she heard the door open and then shut. Then adrenaline started to course through her veins. She scanned the flat, which was cluttered with papers, books and random mugs strewn about. The wallpaper was a bit outdated and a smiley face was spray painted in on wall, adorned with bullet holes. Molly instantly understood why John said the wall thanked her for whatever this was.
Somehow, given the fastidiousness of Sherlock’s dress, she assumed the flat would be a tad neater. Obviously, that was not the case.
After a few minutes, she heard Sherlock call out, “Ms. Hooper?”
Molly stilled -- that was the pet name they had agreed on -- “Sir?” she called out, using his master title.
“Is he gone?”
“Yes.” Her hands began to shake in anticipation, but she closed them into fists to control herself.
“Please undress. Leave your underclothes on and sit on the couch, eyes downward,” his voice had a silky menace to it.
Molly did as he asked, waiting quietly for him. Her eyes darted furtively about trying to get more clues as to what he had planned, but no answers presented themselves.
Soon she heard his footsteps in the room. “Hullo Ms. Hooper,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “It’s been awhile since we saw each other.”
She nodded, noticing that he had bare feet and was wearing a pair of jeans.
“You may look up,” he said.
She looked up at him. He was shirtless and wearing skintight jeans. Molly’s eyes lit on faded bruises that dotted his torso. She wanted to open her mouth and ask him what was happened while he was gone, but knew better than to do so.
He had a riding crop in his had and he was Molly’s mind flashed back to her saying drunkenly I’d love to see you in skintight jeans and her body suddenly felt warm. Her hands itched to reach out and touch him, check his bruises and feel his skin against hers.
He must’ve noticed the slight twitch because Sherlock gently flicked the riding crop at her hands -- not enough to hurt, but enough to startle her.
“Ms. Hooper,” he said. “Apparently you have as hard of a time controlling your urges as I have in the past.”
Molly nodded.
“Stand please.”
She did so. She could see him circling her, inspecting her closely, the crop waving in the air like the tip of a cat’s tail.
“Lovely,” he said, sliding the crop down between the vee of her cleavage. Molly let out a gasp, feeling her back arch and her legs become shaky.
“You know,” he said softly. “When we first started this, I envisioned you as this mere wisp of a girl, not someone as solidly built as you are. Earthy in a way,” his head ducked over and he whispered in her ear. “Lovely and fleshy,” his tongue darted out to take a lick along her neck.
Molly shuddered.
“Now,” he said. “I wasn’t quite sure what to do today. I thought about how you left me hot and wanting in the supply closet last week, or how you figged me good and proper, those months ago, then forced me to clean your kitchen, only to boot me out unceremoniously and with a raging hard-on.”
“I never thought I’d hear you say ‘raging hard-on‘,” Molly said under her breath.
The riding crop lashed out and hit her across the backside. She let out a gasp. Clearly he wasn’t playing around.
“Did I say you could speak?” The tone was now icy.
She shook her head.
“In any case, it‘s my turn now,” Sherlock sat down on the sofa, fingertips pressed together and stared at her.
The silence was unnerving and his eyes seemed to stare through her. Molly exhaled softly, wondering what he had planned.
After what seemed to be forever, he stood and paced around her. “Now I know you take yoga and pilates,” he said.
How did you -- Molly’s eyebrows raised in an unspoken question.
“Ms. Hooper,” Sherlock huffed. “You doubt my talents? That was practically child‘s play. You leave your mat rolled up and in your umbrella stand and there’s a pilates DVD by your television. As for your flexibility --” he gave her a significant stare.
Molly felt her blush deepen a bit more.
“Now, I’m just curious to see how flexible you are,” he said. “Bend over, hands on the ground, also known as downward facing dog.”
Molly did as he asked. She could feel him pull her knickers down a bit and his hand slide between her legs, checking her. Her hips twitched involuntarily, following his touch, then his hands moved away.
“Two rules Ms. Hooper,” she could hear him say, along with the sound of a zipper being unzipped and a wrapper -- most likely a condom -- being opened. “You are not to come until I tell you to and you will be silent unless I ask you to speak. Do you understand?”
Molly nodded. She was feeling a little light-headed from the blood rushing to her head when suddenly she felt Sherlock’s prick in her, his hands gripping her hips roughly as he began fucking her hard. It was clear from his actions that he was concentrating more on his enjoyment than hers, but she didn’t mind at all. It was the sub’s role after all. Instead, she could feel her body begin to clench around him and the slow spiral of arousal wind up in her spine.
The only sound was the wet slapping of his body moving against hers and his heavy breathing. Molly was breathing deeply, doing her damnedest to keep from making any sounds at all, as the arousal pooled and churned in her belly. She began thinking of something -- anything other than the roughness of his jeans around her bottom, the slight bite of the zipper against her skin or the deep thrusts that she could swear she was feeling tickle the back of her throat.
She was staring to get light-headed when his thrusts became harder and more erratic. One of his hands slid forward to toy with a lace-clad nipple before he let out a long groan, his prick pulsing in her from his orgasm.
The silence was broken by his breathing. Then he pulled away and she could hear him fiddling around before zipping his pants. His hands moved to pull her panties back where they originally were.
“You may stand up,” he said, breathing heavily. “Take your time, I don’t want you to get dizzy.”
Molly slowly stood and turned around, feeling slightly dizzy and similar to being hit by a freight train. He was flush and his hair looked a little more wild than when she first entered.
“Follow me,” he said, turning around and stalking off towards the kitchen.
Molly knew exactly what was going on -- he was going to make her clean the kitchen. The question was whether it was with a toothbrush or not.
“Up on the table please,” he ordered.
Molly nodded, then did as he asked, attempting to ignore the fact that the table was festooned with lab gear and what she suspected was a jar of eyeballs. Sherlock sat down in front of her, pulling her hips close to the table.
Without any preamble, he buried his mouth in her. Molly arched her back and gasped as he tongued her through her panties. This in addition to the rough fucking of before made her realize that it wouldn’t take much to turn her into a writhing, screaming mess.
She closed her eyes as two fingers slid into her.
“You are so wanton,” she heard Sherlock say as he rubbed his cheek along her thigh. “You’ve been desiring this since I left, haven’t you? Please feel free to make those pretty noises.”
She arched her back and mewled incoherently in response. The waves of arousal slammed into her as his fingers stroked her mercilessly. She could feel the orgasm coming -- just one jerk of his fingers and she’d come, probably knocking over the jar and having eyeballs scatter all over the floor.
He pulled away. Molly lay on the table, gasping in shock as her hips twisted and writhed. She felt his hands on her hips, gentling her and heard a low, low chuckle.
“Now,” he said. “Clean my kitchen.”
Molly sat up, staring at him. His eyes were bright with amusement. She looked about the kitchen. Most of the items had been tidied, but there was a film of crud and she could see the soapy water in the sink and the stack of dishes.
A devilish thought overcame her and she headed over to wash the dishes. Feeling Sherlock’s eyes on her, Molly sauntered over to the sink and began washing the dishes. Conjuring up every terrible music video image in her head, Molly was a little sloppy in washing the dishes. She wiggled her hips as she scrubbed a frying pan caked with -- what exactly, she didn’t dare speculate -- and on occasion glanced back at him, with a coquettish expression.
Once the dishes were done, she tidied up the kitchen table and the counters, bending lower than she needed to so he could get a view straight down her cleavage. Even though he seemed calm on the exterior, a quick glance downward told her that she was definitely getting the reaction she wanted. His hands gripped the crop tightly and she could see he was breathing a bit more heavily than before.
Again, all of these things wouldn’t be noticeable to most people, but most people hadn’t shagged Sherlock Holmes rotten for the past months.
She stood in front of him, leaning down and stretching father than needed to wipe a corner of the kitchen table, then wiggled her bottom again.
There was a strangled groan from behind her and she grinned to herself. She felt the tap of the riding crop on her thigh and looked backwards, with a sweet smile.
“Ms. Hooper,” Sherlock said, with a slight smirk. “I do appreciate the show, but if you want to experience the rest of what I have planned, I suggest you get cracking.”
She nodded and continued cleaning the kitchen, a bit faster now, but with no less sensuality in her movements. Every now and then she snuck a furtive glance to see him squeezing himself under the jeans.
When it came to cleaning the floor, Molly got down on all fours and took the sponge and began scrubbing. Her breasts swung gently under the movement and she could hear his breathing coming out in ragged pants as he watched her scrub the floor.
She wondered if he would crack. Sherlock’s self-control was legendary. He could go for days with little sleep and food for a case, so denying him pleasures of the flesh should be simple.
Then she heard the soft sound of a zipper unzipping and a low, husky “Ms. Hooper. Come here. I need you.”
Molly turned around and crawled along the floor to him. His cock was already out and slick. His hand gripped himself tightly and she could see his pale skin flush and pinkish in color. His gaze was hungry and intense.
She laid her head in his lap with an angelic smile.
“Your mouth please,” he said sternly.
Molly’s smile grew bigger as she took him in her mouth. Looking up at him, she saw his head tilt back to face the ceiling. His fingers wound in her hair and tugged gently as she continued to take him in her mouth.
Her tongue swirled around him and she felt his hips buck underneath her. Following his signal, she sucked hard and began to move her head at an agonizing pace. It was short work before he bucked his hips in orgasm with a loud groan and calling his pet name for her.
Molly swallowed, then slowly released him from her mouth, sprinkling kisses along his thighs and flaccid cock. She could feel her arousal brewing yet again.
After a moment, Sherlock stood, tucked himself back in his jeans and then zipped them. “Please get back to work Ms. Hooper,” he said, his voice low and husky. “I’m going to the living room to send some e-mails and perhaps doze. This should be done by six and you should be showered and clean by then. I will tell you the next part of our evening then.”
Molly nodded, then crawled back to the bucket and sponge. Behind her, she heard Sherlock suck in a deep breath, before he headed to the living room.
~*~
“You know,” Sherlock mused. “If more meals were served like this, I suspect I’d eat more, instead of finding it a dull exercise in survival.”
Molly let out a chuckle as she slid a piece of sushi into his mouth, savoring the way his tongue licked and sucked on her fingers.
She was laying flat on the table, absolutely still and absolutely naked. Pieces of sushi, laying on banana leaves, dotted her body and a rosette of pickled ginger was nestled in her navel. Wasabi dotted her nipples, which tingled in a way that was mildly uncomfortable, but also arousing.
Molly had finished cleaning the kitchen and then showered to Sherlock’s satisfaction. Then he told her to lay down on the table. After which, the takeaway containers of sushi started appearing like a conjurer’s trick and she became a buffet for him and given her permission to speak freely.
He leaned over and picked up a succulent piece of tuna off of her torso and handed it to her. She opened her mouth and took the sushi in, licking his fingers. His eyes widened a bit and she could see his breath become a bit irregular.
“If I knew that this is what it took to make you eat, I’d cook naked,” she said.
“Bit messy and terribly unhygienic,” he replied, sipping his sake. “Tip your head up Ms. Hooper.”
She did so and he let her have a sip of tea.
“Deep frying would be hazardous,” Molly grinned. “But if Sir requested it, it would be done.”
There was another bright smile from him and he fed her another piece of sushi. She shivered, the heat of the arousal pooling in her stomach. But it never really left -- the heat, that heightened sense of his presence was always there, whispering darkly in her subconscious.
“May I ask something Sir?” she asked, after swallowing.
He arched an eyebrow and leaned back in his chair. “Yes,” he said slowly.
“What happened in Glasgow?” she asked.
Sherlock shrugged. “Kidnapping,” he said. “I was hired to help find the woman. John came along and it was good thing. We were accosted by some hoodlums and both of us had to dispose of them.”
Molly shivered. She had never seen this side of his work before. She knew it existed -- hell, she dated him and heard about the aftermath at the pool -- but seeing the fresh bruises and scrapes brought a certain gravity to the situation.
It was a reminder that no matter what, he courted danger. Sought it out and needed it -- for whatever reason, she didn’t dare speculate. The man had his addictions and this was one of them.
Oddly enough, it didn’t bother her as much as she thought.
“What happened?” she asked softly.
“We found the woman, still alive, but heavily guarded,” Sherlock said quickly. “John managed to dispatch some with his gun -- don’t tell Lestrade about that, he’ll be very much put out -- while I had to battle some of them.”
Molly blinked. It was clear that he didn’t want to linger on that too long. Obeying his silent wish, she looked down. “You don’t want more Sir?” she said softly as her fingers slid down to grab a piece of eel resting between her breasts. “The unagi is particularly good.”
Sherlock learned forward and took sushi from her fingertips, his hands gently stroking her forearm as his fingers sucked the sauce off of hers. She let out a soft sigh of bliss and shifted her hips slightly, trying to ease the growing heat in her spine.
She noticed an impish gleam in his eyes, just before his lips slid over her nipple, sucking off the wasabi. The arousal began to burn and her fingers wound through his hair and she began moaning his other name. His hands moved up and pinned her to the table, stilling her.
He pulled back up and kissed her collarbone, before finishing off his tea.
Molly gaped for air. “I can’t believe you ate all that wasabi Sir,” she panted.
“Definitely stimulating,” he replied, kissing her deeply. Molly could taste the wasabi on his tongue and it burned in her mouth. Her tongue licked past it, seeking his flavor, before she began sucking on his lower lip.
In the back of her mind, she hoped he would bring her some relief to the arousal she was feeling. Molly’s entire body was twitching madly and she didn’t know how long she could endure the delicious torture. It seemed like Sherlock was about to alleviate the situation as his hands slid down her body, knocking off the sushi and leaves.
Then his mobile jangled.
Sherlock‘s head shot up and he fumbled for his mobile. Molly sighed. Of course.
She saw him read over the message, his eyes lighting up with interest. He glanced over at her. “Terribly sorry,” he said, as he got a washrag and gently cleaned her. “Lestrade apparently needs my help on a case.”
Molly sat up, suppressing the urge to scream in frustration as she began tidying up the mess. Sherlock left the room, when he returned, he was buttoning up a dress shirt.
“Do you want to come with me?” he asked.
She looked surprised. “Pardon?”
“Come with me,” he said. “Just stand in the background, be unobtrusive and it shouldn’t take long.”
Molly smiled as she approached him, buttoning his shirt and tucking it into his trousers. “Are you sure I won’t lower the IQ of the street?”
“If Anderson’s there, it can’t go any lower,” Sherlock muttered.
Molly began giggling. “Do you want me there Sir?” she looked up at him.
“Yes Ms. Hooper,” he said, “I’ve found an extra pair of eyes to be helpful at times and since John is off with sa petite amie, you’ll have to do.”
Molly nodded.
“Get dressed Ms. Hooper,” Sherlock said, a smile tugging at his lips. “Are you ready for a game?”
~*~
Molly couldn’t stop shaking, Part of it was arousal -- Sherlock kept whispering dark, filthy scenarios into her ear about what he was going to do to her when they returned to the flat -- and some of it was nerves.
She couldn’t remember the last time she went to a crime scene. Instead, she dealt with the quiet aftermath of processing the body, writing reports and sometimes comforting those coming to claim a family member or loved friend.
But here she was -- at an incredibly odd situation -- with Sherlock. Sergeant Donovan let them in, cocking an eyebrow at Molly, but saying nothing. Shortly thereafter, Lestrade met up with Sherlock and led him further into the situation as Molly chose to stay behind.
It was a special trick her friends said was her superpower -- she could fade into the background and become almost invisible at will. It worked fantastically at parties when she didn’t want to deal with awkward situations. So far the only person invulnerable to it was Sherlock. Damn his brilliance.
“I don’t understand it,” she heard Anderson say to no one in particular. “Why would a bride get married then flee during the reception? Why not call it off beforehand?”
Molly recognized the groom -- a Lord Robert St. Simon -- one of the flashier members of the upper crust who was known for wining and dining several of London’s attractive female celebrities. Rumour had it Sienna Miller had a go with him before running back to Jude Law, but the upper crust, being the upper crust, managed to keep it rather quiet.
The bride was a Henrietta, or Hattie, Doran, an American hotel heiress. Molly remembered seeing pictures of the young woman, on the tabloid covers. It was one of those weddings full of taste, elegance and money at the Ritz. She would have felt out of place, except that there were gobs of members of the Yard there questioning people. They were all dressed about as well as her, so she fit in amongst the law enforcement.
She watched Sherlock question everyone in his brusque manner, taking everything in with his eyes, constantly calculating and analyzing, before demanding to see the bridal suite upstairs. “Ms. Hooper,” he called out. “Come with me please.”
Molly nodded, attempting to ignore the stares now focused on her, and scurried after him.
The ride up in the elevator was silent and she could see he was absorbing information and taking in data. Lestrade was with them, watching the two quietly.
“Where’s John?” he finally asked after a long silence.
“This case is so elementary I decided to be considerate and let him enjoy an evening with his lady friend,” Sherlock said. “I was with Ms. Hooper and she agreed to join me.”
Molly had the sudden wish that the elevator floor would swallow her as Lestrade’s gaze focused on her. Then there was the sympathetic smile. “He was tormenting you at the morgue eh?” Lestrade asked.
“He said a pair of extra eyes never hurt,” she said, perhaps a bit too brightly as relief washed over her. “I was just getting off when you called.”
Lestrade nodded. “Hopefully you can see something -- we‘ve got the press breathing down our necks. The sooner this is resolved, the better.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a quick smirk pass over Sherlock’s face just before the elevator doors opened at what was the bridal suite. It was enormous, shiny and sleek with red rose petals scattered and leaving a trail through the living room towards the bedroom. There was a wet bar, kitchenette and enormous flat screen TV. Two of Molly’s flats could have fit in the living room alone.
Sherlock strode about, examining different objects. On occasion, he dropped to the floor and stared at the carpet.
Lestrade and Molly stared at him. “What happened?” Molly asked.
“Odd one,” Lestrade said. “You know about Lord Robert right?”
Molly nodded. “I’ve seen the tabloid covers of the two.”
“Well, they got married tonight and had the reception here. The bride goes up here complaining of a migraine and says she’ll be down in a bit. She never came down. Lord Robert comes up wondering where his bride is and she‘s vanished.”
“Were they happy?”
“Apparently very so,” Lestrade said, with a bit of cynicism in his tone. “They all say that though.”
Molly nodded. “Anything taken?”
“Nothing of note. It’s like she just vanished.”
Molly nodded again. She wasn’t quite sure what to ask -- this is why she worked in the morgue. It was less messy and complicated than trying to figure out puzzles like this.
Sherlock glanced over at them from the bar, where he was inspecting some glassware. “If you don’t mind,” he said somewhat peevishly, “I need some quiet to think. Lestrade, can you wait elsewhere while we look about?”
Lestrade nodded. “I’ll be waiting in the lift,” he said, turning around and leaving the suite.
Molly began shivering, but not from a draft. He wouldn’t dare defile a crime scene she thought to herself. If Sherlock even attempted that, she knew she’d use the safe word and leave. Probably. Maybe. Definitely maybe.
“Ms. Hooper,” Sherlock’s voice had a silky menace to it. “Can you come with me to the bedroom? I need a woman’s eyes to see if anything odd is missing.”
Molly followed him along the trail of rose petals. Their fragrance filled her nostrils. The bedroom was enormous, with floor to ceiling windows and an amazing view of downtown London.
“What do you want of me Sir?” she asked softly.
“Look around,” he said, his eyes darting about. “Just take in what you see and tell me what you think.”
Molly wandered about the room, opening drawers and looking at the luxurious items. Her fingers ran over La Perla lingerie, designer clothing and other items. She examined the bathroom, with a bathtub that was bigger than her kitchen and clear glass shower doors. One thing bothered her, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
“What do you think happened?” she started at the sound of his voice.
Spinning around, she glanced at him. “It’s obviously odd,” she said.
He snorted. “Anderson could have figured that one out,” he replied.
She ignored his sarcasm. “No one leaves all of their items behind at a hotel without some reason,” Molly said thoughtfully. “But there’s no signs of struggle.”
“What do your instincts say?” he asked, circling her.
“Was there anything unusual at the reception? Any disruptions?” Molly asked.
“A few odd things,” Sherlock said as he began poking around in the bathroom. “A former friend of Lord Robert’s tried to gain entrance to the reception, but was denied,” he said.
“Would that be Fanny Millar?” Molly asked. “I remember seeing her on Dancing on Ice. She got her start on Big Brother you know -- very famous for her --” she could feel herself colouring a bit as she remembered the reality-star celeb who was known more for her magnificent pair of tits and outsized personality than her brains.
He nodded. “Also, a stranger stumbled into the reception, had a few words with the new Mrs. St. Simon,” he said. “People thought it was some gate-crasher and they escorted him out, but it was clear that he rattled her somehow, because that’s when she complained of the migraine and headed upstairs.
“The detectives are going through the surveillance footage with Lord Robert to see if he can find the man,” Sherlock added.
Molly stared at the sink area, piled with toiletries and other items. Turning around, she headed out of the bedroom and to the wet bar. There was one glass, half-filled with what appeared to be Scotch.
She squatted down and peered at it, studying the glass and then sniffing it and the room. There was something harsh and unpleasant under the floral scent. “I smell something odd,” she said.
“Marijuana?”
Molly shook her head. “That too,” she replied, hazy university memories flickering in her mind, “but something really unpleasant. Whoever smoked it tried to cover up the scent with the rose petals.”
“But you can smell it?”
Molly nodded. “It bothers me,” slowly an image began to form in her head. “Someone drugged her and took her. They probably gave her something laced in a marijuana cigarette.”
“What do you think happened next?” He was now barely touching her and she could feel his breath on her neck.
“She was rattled by something at the reception -- that man I suppose,” she said out loud, her mind humming with different ideas. “So she came up here to get her bearings. Someone she knows either is here or she lets them in. They smoke something and it’s drugged and she’s then taken away. I‘m not sure how though.”
Sherlock checked his mobile. “Interesting theory Ms. Hooper,” he said crisply. “I observed the same things also. In any case, I think I have all the data I need right now and you’ve also given me food for thought. In any case, I think we should be leaving.”
“But the case --” Molly started. There was a woman’s life at stake, she thought. Sex -- despite her bestial urges protesting -- could wait.
“I’ve figured it out, with a bit of help from you,” he said, grinning. “I’ll tease Lestrade with a few facts, and then tie it up in the morning. For now --” he ducked closer so she could feel his hot breath on her ear. “I think my little pet needs to be rewarded for all her efforts today.
“Things might be a bit curtailed, since I will need to hunt down these clues,” he nibbled on her earlobe and she leaned back, biting her lip to suppress the moan brewing in her. “But I suspect that if we prolong this any further, you might go up in flames.”
“Is that an order Sir?” she asked. “I don’t like the idea of not finding her immediately.”
“If it is what I think it is, they’ll be questioning people for hours,” Sherlock murmured. “Everything right now is circumstantial, nothing enough for a trial or conviction. More digging needs to be done. She has to be alive for their plan to work.”
He gently steered her towards the elevator and pressed the button. “It’s the groom,” Sherlock announced. “He’s drugged the bride and dragged her off. Possibly for ransom, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he plans to kill her for her inheritance.”
Lestrade blinked. “What makes you think --”
“Whoever was up here didn’t break into the suite -- there’s no marks of forced entry,” Sherlock began rattling off. “The elevator security system runs on cards and the ride up to the suite took ten seconds -- too short for a passkey hacking system to decode this on the fly. I suspect if you get the hotel key from the groom, you’ll see that the data matches. He kidnapped her or had someone else do the job.”
“All grand, but highly circumstantial,” Lestrade interrupted.
“If the data matches like I predict, it will not be circumstantial,” Sherlock interjected. “In any case, this is child’s play.”
“But the drugging?”
“The entire room reeks of marijuana and something else under the cloying roses,” Sherlock said as the doors opened. He stalked out of the elevator, with Lestrade and Molly following. “I have some things I need to tie up, but I suspect we’ll be able to find the bride by morning, at the latest. Come along Ms. Hooper -- we have a lead to follow.”
Molly glanced over at Lestrade and offered an apologetic smile as she hurried after Sherlock. They walked down to the corner, where Sherlock spoke with a homeless person asking for change. Molly watched in fascination as the two nodded, Sherlock wrote something down in a pad, handed it to him and then hailed a cab, opening the door for her, while barking out her flat’s address.
“It’s closer to here,” he whispered in her ear, and Molly shivered in anticipation. It was like her skin was oversensitive. He wasn’t even touching her and she could sense his presence, smell his cologne and it was getting overwhelming. If he didn’t do something soon, she was probably going to commit a felony against his person in the cab. Hopefully he wouldn’t press charges.
“Are you on fire?” he whispered low, so low that only she heard.
She nodded, swallowing.
“I know you want me,” he said slowly, steadily. “I know you like it when I touch you.”
Molly felt the smoldering arousal flare up yet again. This was him, pushing her limits and seeing what he could get away with and how much control she had. It was an experiment for him -- Let’s see how long I can push Molly before her knickers start on fire.
“I can practically smell you,” he continued to say, low and conversational. “You smell like sex and desire. You’ve always smelled like that to me -- even at work, surrounded by chemicals and the sterile lab environment. I know it’s because you’ve wanted me to fuck you ever since you met me.
“Can you imagine my cock in you?” he asked. “Maybe I’ll just take your mouth and leave you wanting, just to see how long you can tolerate this. After all, you’ve tolerated it for months. And you know why you tolerate it?”
Molly stared straight ahead, willing herself to not quaver when she answered, “Because I’m yours.”
And there, her heart clenched. She knew it was only play, that it was the line you say in this game, but there was weight to those words that frightened her. She glanced over at him. His expression was carefully neutral and blank. Thankfully she couldn’t read anything -- scorn, embarrassment, affection or indifference.
“That’s right,” he said, settling back into the seat. “You are mine. And I will take what I want of you.”
The rest of the ride was silent and much too long for her taste.
When they arrived at the flat, Sherlock tossed a few notes at the driver as Molly sprang out of the cab. The march up to her flat was silent, with her leading the way. She could feel his eyes on her body and she continued to control herself. She was so close to her reward that she didn’t want it to blow up in her face.
Once they were in her flat, he removed his coat and handed it to her. She put it away and then stood in the middle of the room, her hands at her sides, gaze down.
“Lovely Ms. Hooper,” Sherlock said, stalking up to her. He tipped her head up and kissed her. Instantly she was gone, whimpering and moaning as he nipped at her lips. The urge to press up against him was overwhelmingly strong.
He pulled away. “Undress please,” he said.
Molly quickly removed her clothes and resumed her original position.
“Bedroom,” he said. “You will get out two silk scarves and kneel on the bed, face down.”
Molly skipped into the bedroom, pulled out two white scarves and lay them on the nightstand. Then she got on the bed, kneeling down so her forehead touched the mattress. Her body thrummed in anticipation and she could feel herself getting wetter as she waited for Sherlock. She twitched her hips slightly, then wiggled her nose as it began to itch.
Soon she heard him enter the room.
“Very nice,” he purred, as a hand ran from her bottom up along her spine to her shoulders. “I approve of this greatly.”
Molly let out a soft sigh and wiggled her bottom.
“So eager,” he said. “You’ve been dying for this haven’t you?”
“Yes Sir,” she said.
“Very well,” he replied. “Arms out please.”
Molly extended her arms. Sherlock bound one wrist and secured it to the headboard before doing the same to the other arm.
“Comfortable?”
“Very,” Molly said.
“Good,” he replied, and the mattress dipped slightly as he got on. “You will tell me the minute you are uncomfortable, right?”
“Yes Sir,” she said.
She felt his hand around her hips and then a perverse thought flickered in her brain. Very deliberately, she closed her legs. If Sherlock could conduct experiments on her, she could do the same to him, Molly thought.
There was a long pause. To make her message absolutely clear, Molly waggled her bottom at Sherlock.
“Are you denying me what I want woman?” his voice was a growl.
“Yes,” Molly said, hoping is understood her. She hadn’t said the safe word yet. But just to emphasize her point she looked back at him and licked her lips.
With that, Sherlock snarled, “Where is the spreader bar Ms. Hooper?”
“Under the bed,” Molly replied, her body becoming hot. “You wouldn’t dare use it.”
“I will take what I want Ms. Hooper,” he said, getting off the bed and rummaging around a bit. She heard him pull it out from under the bed. The mattress dipped again and she felt Sherlock’s hands take her ankle firmly. She pretended to resist, but in the end both legs were cuffed to the bar.
Sherlock ran a hand down her flanks and chuckled. “You can’t deny you’ve been wanting this Ms. Hooper. I’ve been seeing the way you look at me today.” One hand dipped between her legs. “And you are clearly aroused.”
Coherent thought broke down and Molly let out a low moan as she felt him rub his cock up against her.
“Yes,” she groaned.
“I could just leave you here,” Sherlock mused. “Leave you begging and needy.”
“You wouldn’t,” she whined, attempting to rub her bottom against him.
“Say you want me,” he said.
“I want you,” she groaned. If the teasing kept up, she was certain she would make him pay later. If she had to, she’d strip him, fig him and force him to clean every flat in her building in retaliation.
“Beg for it,” he sounded amused as one hand slid around to toy with a nipple.
“Please Sir,” she moaned. “I need your cock in me now. I’ve been dying for this all day and I’ve been so good. Please --”
“You can come now,” he growled, before he thrust into her.
Molly nearly hit her head on the headboard from the force of his movements. He was fucking her hard, one hand toying with her clit. With all the pent up frustration, it was no surprise that her orgasm hit harder and faster than she anticipated. Molly screeched “Please,” over and over, her forehead grinding into the mattress as she fell over the edge, screaming incoherently.
His fingers dug into her as his pace quickened and she rode it out, thrashing and screaming the entire time as the only thing she felt was him and the orgasm. Her arms began to burn from pulling on the restraints and her body arched in rhythm to him. Coherent thought shut down as she slammed her hips back into him, writhing and moaning. She suspected she began speaking in tongues, but at that point, it didn’t matter much.
Faintly, distantly, she felt his fingers dig into her hips as came, groaning her play name. Molly’s body slumped forward and her mind was lost, floating somewhere else.
Soon she was freed from the spreader bar and then she felt him untie the scarves.
“Ms. Hooper?” Sherlock’s voice pierced through the fog.
She whimpered in reply.
He lay next to her, pulling the duvet over them. Long lanky limbs circled her and she felt his body press up against her. His lips sprinkled kisses along her ear and down her neck.
“Good?” he asked, pinching her skin.
Gradually her power of speech returned. “Yes,” she said. “That was amazing.”
“Subspace,” Sherlock’s voice was a low chuckle. “It’s a nice place to be sometimes. Very mind clearing.”
“The endorphins and the rush -- I can see why you enjoy this,” she said, yawning.
“Indeed,” he replied.
“Have I been able to do that to you?” she asked, her mind slipping and sliding around -- keeping focus on things was becoming difficult. Not to mention, she felt utterly boneless and blissful.
“Yes Ms. Hooper,” he said, rubbing her skin with his hands.
She giggled, then yawned. “I know you have to go Sir,” she said softly. “But may I may a request?”
“What is it Ms. Hooper?”
“Stay with me until I fall asleep?”
Another low chuckle. “You’ve been in subspace my dear,” Sherlock said, nestling closer. “What kind of master would I be to abandon you right now? You’re aboslutely helpless, like a newborn kitten.”
Molly chuckled, tilting her head slightly for a kiss before sleep overcame her.
Chapter 12