Just Because - Part 11
Sort of fill for 
sherlockbbc_fic prompt Molly/Sherlock, One More Night
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10
Turns out that I can post a little earlier than expected!
Sherlock gets a phone call and a clue and finally gets it. Even if he doesn't really want to.
Mistakes are my own and to the lovely people who are still following this - mini TOBLERONE!!!
Onward to the thing!
___
It hides a nasty stain that's lyin' there
It was almost five in the afternoon on Saturday when he finally made it back to his flat.
Molly had a dinner with her parents to get to and he’d been a little disappointed that she hadn’t passively-aggressively suggested that he could join her. But then felt stupid for feeling disappointed.
This was an arrangement, not a relationship. It not being a relationship was the main term of the arrangement they’d agreed upon sometime between six and seven that morning.
John greeted him with “I’m assuming by that smug look on your face the date went well?”
“Or has there been a new case I’m not aware of?” he added, when Sherlock settled wordlessly on the couch.
He was tired but the good sort of tired. Physical exertion sort of tired. A lot of sex sort of tired.
His system was flooded with all kinds of things at the moment and he was enjoying the high he was experiencing. He flexed his fingers and rubbed his index and thumb together and the sense-memory of Molly’s skin, of Molly’s mouth sucking on his thumb as he sucked on her clit, it was almost enough to get him hard again.
She’d lost a few pounds since he’d last slept with her, but that was understandable. She’d been under a lot of stress lately, particularly in the last few weeks. He didn’t like it though, the knowledge that she hadn’t been taking care of herself.
There had been a brief panic about finding condoms, before he’d admitted that he’d brought some himself. Later he found out that the condoms that had gone missing from the box in her night stand were in her overnight toiletries case. All three of them, still unused. He’d felt unhealthily glad about that revelation.
She’d looked reluctant about going to dinner with her family. He’d sensed that her relationship with her parents had never been an easy one. He’d almost volunteered to go with her but then stopped himself from saying anything stupid.
This protective streak wasn’t new, but this need to...this need to what?
There was no need. No. No need at all. It was sex. Just sex. His body wasn’t used to this much sex and therefore it was acting foolish again.
She’d been right about using their heads in this. It was a sex arrangement. Pure and simple. Nothing pure about it...especially when she did...how did she know how...where had she learned...
“Didn’t know that shagging could make you so agreeable,” John’s voice interrupted his train of thought.
“It makes you unbearably pleased with yourself,” he shot back.
John merely grinned.
And for whatever reason - he suspected the sex - he grinned back.
This was not going to be simple at all.
§
“Molly?”
“Hm?”
“Are you asleep?”
“Obviously not.”
“Right.”
“Sherlock, your hands are cold.”
“It’s cold outside.”
“Ahh...what are you doing?”
“Warming my hands.”
“On my breasts?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You found her, then?”
“Yes.”
“And...”
“They’re being arrested, at this very moment, probably.”
“So, Lestrade’s still working, while you’re...”
“Molly?”
“Yes, Sherlock?”
“Let’s not involve Lestrade in this.”
“I don’t know...I kinda...”
“Molly?”
“Yes?”
“I’d rather have your undivided attention.”
“I can feel that.”
“Good. Can you feel this?”
“Yeeeesss...”
“And this?”
“Uh-huh...hmmm! Can you feel this?”
“Oh yes...”
“And this?”
“Oh god...”
“Nope, just Molly.”
“Christ, woman, do you know what you’re doing?...Huh...of course you do...not fair...”
“Sherlock? What?...huh...hah...oh...oh...oh...well, your hands are definitely not cold anymore.”
“Neither is my cock.”
“Sherlock?”
“Yes?”
“Shut-up.”
He found the perfect way to occupy his mouth.
§
The sex part of the arrangement was easy.
The arrangement part required a bit of scheduling. Well, scheduling wasn’t involved at all. While Molly’s work hours and free time were more or less fixed, a sudden influx of crime - interesting crime - had him busier than usual. Which meant that everything - and by everything their schedule for having sex, if one could call it a schedule - depended on how the case was going.
On a case, his mind was focused on just that. Piecing the seemingly unrelated information together to get to the truth of the matter required his full attention and therefore anything else - even sex arrangements - were put in a small cupboard in the back of his mind, to be retrieved only when all details had been neatly fit together to form a verdict.
Okay, so there might have been once or twice - thrice, if they counted the time he kissed her in the lab - when he had initiated sex with her during a case, so he could distract his brain long enough to keep it from chasing a dead end trail of clues.
It had made him feel less bad about using sex to solve a case, when Molly had texted him to be at her flat after work and then had ridden him with such abandon that he thought they might break her bed. She’d apologised afterwards for taking her frustration out on him, but if that was how she preferred to deal with work trouble...
There were a few meals that they managed to arrange, meals that didn’t involve crying at all or too much of him saying unwittingly insulting things. Meals where they had pleasant conversations about a variety of topics.
More startling than liking sex with Molly was liking her.
He’d thought about this one night as he stared at her sleeping form, her back to him - if he didn’t actually respect her, she’d have been dismissed from his life a long time ago. And yet, there he was, lying next to her, tempted to wake her but instead, running a finger down her spine, careful not to disturb her.
Like John, she’d become a part of his daily life. And like John, it felt less like an intrusion and more like something he could be accused of taking for granted.
Being him used to be so much easier before John came into his life.
Now he was required to think of others, to feel for others.
It worried him that it wasn’t entirely tedious.
§
He was waiting for her in a coffee shop near Barts. They were going to see an exhibition later.
Sipping his coffee, he felt that the situation was too domestic. At times, the arrangement they had seemed way too much like dating. Though Molly shied away from any labels like that.
In fact, Molly seemed very determined to keep it platonic. And she seemed very good at keeping it like that.
Any fear of her turning into a clingy, demanding girlfr...friend...were shattered by the fact that she didn’t seem to demand anything from him.
She was never angry when he dashed off after sex or when he let himself into her flat in the middle of the night and woke her up. When he brought his research over to hers - including John, on occasion - and abused her tendency to offer coffee and biscuits to John. When he came over to lounge on her couch, Toby on his lap, both of them ignoring her.
She’d complained about him using her refrigerator as an extra storage unit but then provided space at Barts.
Except for the parts where he insinuated himself into her life, she didn’t seem to have any use for him. Apart from the sex.
And if he thought about this, he felt...he felt used. No, not used. Definitely not used. Because he was enjoying the being used bit.
But hurt. He felt hurt. Why did he feel hurt?
His phone rang.
“Sherlock Holmes.”
“Hiya,” greeted a voice with a distinctively Irish lilt , “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
“Moriarty,” he greeted back.
“How’s John? Back to the old boring jumpers he prefers?”
His fingers briefly clenched around his phone, “What do you want?”
“Still a bit angry about that, eh? I should be angry, you ruined a beautiful Westwood!”
“Where are you?”
“Oh, Sherlock, come on. Really? You know how I love seeing you dance around.”
“I’d love to chit-chat, Jim, but I’ve got things on.”
Moriarty chuckled, “Ah yes. She’s running a bit late, isn’t she? She tends to do that.”
Sherlock’s insides clenched.
“That new hair style makes her look far more sophisticated than the side ponytail I made her wear. Didn’t know that was possible.”
That feeling he had at the pool, when he realised that John was wearing the vest of semtex, overcame him.
“You leave her out of this,” he growled. He was angry. He was amazingly angry.
Moriarty chuckled again, “I wish I could...but she’s always been a part of this.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, not meaning to reveal the confusion he felt.
“You know, for a genius, you’re appallingly slow sometimes.”
He didn’t say anything, his mind racing a mile a second.
“You know I am really going to burn the heart right out of you. Literally.”
“You leave her alone.”
“Can’t. Won’t. Me thinks the penny has dropped? Has it, Sherlock? It’s kind of disappointing, though, knowing that you’re not invulnerable. But good for me, of course, because I’ll win.”
“I won’t let you.”
“We’ll see about that. Anyway, expect something from me in the post, in a few days. Call me, when you get it. Say hi to Molly from me. Ciao, Sherlock.”
The line went dead.
He called John, then Molly.
Then he went to see Mycroft.
§
“I was wondering how long it would take you to realize this,” Mycroft drawled from behind his desk.
His brother had always had the knack of being even more relaxed when Sherlock was at his most frantic. Not that he was frantic. This wasn’t frantic. This was concerned. Just concerned.
“Then I can assume you’ve been keeping an eye on her?” he asked. He hadn’t noticed.
“Naturally.”
“How long?”
“I’m sure you’ll figure that one out yourself.”
“Since the pool?”
“Well, again, after the pool.”
“Again?”
“I’m curious, what made you realize it?”
“Realize what?”
“Come now, Sherlock. This isn’t a time for games.”
Mycroft had gained a bit of weight. The world had been going through a few things, so it was no surprise that Mycroft had been taking solace in a few éclairs now and again.
As long as Sherlock could remember, Mycroft’s only true weakness had been pastry. In everything else, he seemed, even when provoked, serene and in control. Probably why it was such a fun challenge trying to provoke him.
“I suppose the choice could have been worse,” Mycroft added.
He had to bite down the anger he felt, “Don’t you dare say anything about...”
Mycroft chuckled, “You misunderstand, little brother, I was referring to her choice of you. In respect to her last boyfriend, you are, admittedly, an improvement.”
“I’m not her boyfriend,” he ground out, annoyed. Why he was feeling annoyed? Ah yes, of course.
“Only because you refuse to address the situation...”
“It’s an arrangement, Mycroft, not a situation.”
“Semantics. Considering your feelings...”
“There are no feelings.”
“And yet you’re here and we’re having this conversation.”
Older brothers really were a bother.
“Will you help?” Sherlock asked and fought to keep the begging out of his voice.
“You’re my brother, Sherlock. Despite your stubborn belief otherwise, I do care about you.”
Part 12
sherlockbbc_fic prompt Molly/Sherlock, One More Night
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10
Turns out that I can post a little earlier than expected!
Sherlock gets a phone call and a clue and finally gets it. Even if he doesn't really want to.
Mistakes are my own and to the lovely people who are still following this - mini TOBLERONE!!!
Onward to the thing!
___
It hides a nasty stain that's lyin' there
It was almost five in the afternoon on Saturday when he finally made it back to his flat.
Molly had a dinner with her parents to get to and he’d been a little disappointed that she hadn’t passively-aggressively suggested that he could join her. But then felt stupid for feeling disappointed.
This was an arrangement, not a relationship. It not being a relationship was the main term of the arrangement they’d agreed upon sometime between six and seven that morning.
John greeted him with “I’m assuming by that smug look on your face the date went well?”
“Or has there been a new case I’m not aware of?” he added, when Sherlock settled wordlessly on the couch.
He was tired but the good sort of tired. Physical exertion sort of tired. A lot of sex sort of tired.
His system was flooded with all kinds of things at the moment and he was enjoying the high he was experiencing. He flexed his fingers and rubbed his index and thumb together and the sense-memory of Molly’s skin, of Molly’s mouth sucking on his thumb as he sucked on her clit, it was almost enough to get him hard again.
She’d lost a few pounds since he’d last slept with her, but that was understandable. She’d been under a lot of stress lately, particularly in the last few weeks. He didn’t like it though, the knowledge that she hadn’t been taking care of herself.
There had been a brief panic about finding condoms, before he’d admitted that he’d brought some himself. Later he found out that the condoms that had gone missing from the box in her night stand were in her overnight toiletries case. All three of them, still unused. He’d felt unhealthily glad about that revelation.
She’d looked reluctant about going to dinner with her family. He’d sensed that her relationship with her parents had never been an easy one. He’d almost volunteered to go with her but then stopped himself from saying anything stupid.
This protective streak wasn’t new, but this need to...this need to what?
There was no need. No. No need at all. It was sex. Just sex. His body wasn’t used to this much sex and therefore it was acting foolish again.
She’d been right about using their heads in this. It was a sex arrangement. Pure and simple. Nothing pure about it...especially when she did...how did she know how...where had she learned...
“Didn’t know that shagging could make you so agreeable,” John’s voice interrupted his train of thought.
“It makes you unbearably pleased with yourself,” he shot back.
John merely grinned.
And for whatever reason - he suspected the sex - he grinned back.
This was not going to be simple at all.
§
“Molly?”
“Hm?”
“Are you asleep?”
“Obviously not.”
“Right.”
“Sherlock, your hands are cold.”
“It’s cold outside.”
“Ahh...what are you doing?”
“Warming my hands.”
“On my breasts?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You found her, then?”
“Yes.”
“And...”
“They’re being arrested, at this very moment, probably.”
“So, Lestrade’s still working, while you’re...”
“Molly?”
“Yes, Sherlock?”
“Let’s not involve Lestrade in this.”
“I don’t know...I kinda...”
“Molly?”
“Yes?”
“I’d rather have your undivided attention.”
“I can feel that.”
“Good. Can you feel this?”
“Yeeeesss...”
“And this?”
“Uh-huh...hmmm! Can you feel this?”
“Oh yes...”
“And this?”
“Oh god...”
“Nope, just Molly.”
“Christ, woman, do you know what you’re doing?...Huh...of course you do...not fair...”
“Sherlock? What?...huh...hah...oh...oh...oh...well, your hands are definitely not cold anymore.”
“Neither is my cock.”
“Sherlock?”
“Yes?”
“Shut-up.”
He found the perfect way to occupy his mouth.
§
The sex part of the arrangement was easy.
The arrangement part required a bit of scheduling. Well, scheduling wasn’t involved at all. While Molly’s work hours and free time were more or less fixed, a sudden influx of crime - interesting crime - had him busier than usual. Which meant that everything - and by everything their schedule for having sex, if one could call it a schedule - depended on how the case was going.
On a case, his mind was focused on just that. Piecing the seemingly unrelated information together to get to the truth of the matter required his full attention and therefore anything else - even sex arrangements - were put in a small cupboard in the back of his mind, to be retrieved only when all details had been neatly fit together to form a verdict.
Okay, so there might have been once or twice - thrice, if they counted the time he kissed her in the lab - when he had initiated sex with her during a case, so he could distract his brain long enough to keep it from chasing a dead end trail of clues.
It had made him feel less bad about using sex to solve a case, when Molly had texted him to be at her flat after work and then had ridden him with such abandon that he thought they might break her bed. She’d apologised afterwards for taking her frustration out on him, but if that was how she preferred to deal with work trouble...
There were a few meals that they managed to arrange, meals that didn’t involve crying at all or too much of him saying unwittingly insulting things. Meals where they had pleasant conversations about a variety of topics.
More startling than liking sex with Molly was liking her.
He’d thought about this one night as he stared at her sleeping form, her back to him - if he didn’t actually respect her, she’d have been dismissed from his life a long time ago. And yet, there he was, lying next to her, tempted to wake her but instead, running a finger down her spine, careful not to disturb her.
Like John, she’d become a part of his daily life. And like John, it felt less like an intrusion and more like something he could be accused of taking for granted.
Being him used to be so much easier before John came into his life.
Now he was required to think of others, to feel for others.
It worried him that it wasn’t entirely tedious.
§
He was waiting for her in a coffee shop near Barts. They were going to see an exhibition later.
Sipping his coffee, he felt that the situation was too domestic. At times, the arrangement they had seemed way too much like dating. Though Molly shied away from any labels like that.
In fact, Molly seemed very determined to keep it platonic. And she seemed very good at keeping it like that.
Any fear of her turning into a clingy, demanding girlfr...friend...were shattered by the fact that she didn’t seem to demand anything from him.
She was never angry when he dashed off after sex or when he let himself into her flat in the middle of the night and woke her up. When he brought his research over to hers - including John, on occasion - and abused her tendency to offer coffee and biscuits to John. When he came over to lounge on her couch, Toby on his lap, both of them ignoring her.
She’d complained about him using her refrigerator as an extra storage unit but then provided space at Barts.
Except for the parts where he insinuated himself into her life, she didn’t seem to have any use for him. Apart from the sex.
And if he thought about this, he felt...he felt used. No, not used. Definitely not used. Because he was enjoying the being used bit.
But hurt. He felt hurt. Why did he feel hurt?
His phone rang.
“Sherlock Holmes.”
“Hiya,” greeted a voice with a distinctively Irish lilt , “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
“Moriarty,” he greeted back.
“How’s John? Back to the old boring jumpers he prefers?”
His fingers briefly clenched around his phone, “What do you want?”
“Still a bit angry about that, eh? I should be angry, you ruined a beautiful Westwood!”
“Where are you?”
“Oh, Sherlock, come on. Really? You know how I love seeing you dance around.”
“I’d love to chit-chat, Jim, but I’ve got things on.”
Moriarty chuckled, “Ah yes. She’s running a bit late, isn’t she? She tends to do that.”
Sherlock’s insides clenched.
“That new hair style makes her look far more sophisticated than the side ponytail I made her wear. Didn’t know that was possible.”
That feeling he had at the pool, when he realised that John was wearing the vest of semtex, overcame him.
“You leave her out of this,” he growled. He was angry. He was amazingly angry.
Moriarty chuckled again, “I wish I could...but she’s always been a part of this.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, not meaning to reveal the confusion he felt.
“You know, for a genius, you’re appallingly slow sometimes.”
He didn’t say anything, his mind racing a mile a second.
“You know I am really going to burn the heart right out of you. Literally.”
“You leave her alone.”
“Can’t. Won’t. Me thinks the penny has dropped? Has it, Sherlock? It’s kind of disappointing, though, knowing that you’re not invulnerable. But good for me, of course, because I’ll win.”
“I won’t let you.”
“We’ll see about that. Anyway, expect something from me in the post, in a few days. Call me, when you get it. Say hi to Molly from me. Ciao, Sherlock.”
The line went dead.
He called John, then Molly.
Then he went to see Mycroft.
§
“I was wondering how long it would take you to realize this,” Mycroft drawled from behind his desk.
His brother had always had the knack of being even more relaxed when Sherlock was at his most frantic. Not that he was frantic. This wasn’t frantic. This was concerned. Just concerned.
“Then I can assume you’ve been keeping an eye on her?” he asked. He hadn’t noticed.
“Naturally.”
“How long?”
“I’m sure you’ll figure that one out yourself.”
“Since the pool?”
“Well, again, after the pool.”
“Again?”
“I’m curious, what made you realize it?”
“Realize what?”
“Come now, Sherlock. This isn’t a time for games.”
Mycroft had gained a bit of weight. The world had been going through a few things, so it was no surprise that Mycroft had been taking solace in a few éclairs now and again.
As long as Sherlock could remember, Mycroft’s only true weakness had been pastry. In everything else, he seemed, even when provoked, serene and in control. Probably why it was such a fun challenge trying to provoke him.
“I suppose the choice could have been worse,” Mycroft added.
He had to bite down the anger he felt, “Don’t you dare say anything about...”
Mycroft chuckled, “You misunderstand, little brother, I was referring to her choice of you. In respect to her last boyfriend, you are, admittedly, an improvement.”
“I’m not her boyfriend,” he ground out, annoyed. Why he was feeling annoyed? Ah yes, of course.
“Only because you refuse to address the situation...”
“It’s an arrangement, Mycroft, not a situation.”
“Semantics. Considering your feelings...”
“There are no feelings.”
“And yet you’re here and we’re having this conversation.”
Older brothers really were a bother.
“Will you help?” Sherlock asked and fought to keep the begging out of his voice.
“You’re my brother, Sherlock. Despite your stubborn belief otherwise, I do care about you.”
Part 12