Fan Fiction (Sherlolly): The Key Ch 5

The Key

Rated M for sex – yay, it’s finally happening!  As well as graphic description of drug use and who knows what else as the plot develops.

Disclaimer: Don’t own BBC’s Sherlock, but if I did you better believe there wouldn’t be this 2 year hiatus BS.

Author notes: continued from Ch4. Molly is in the lab analyzing mysterious samples sent to her, but she is thinking (in italics) about an incident after the Fall when Sherlock is living with her and has relapsed into drug use. The next few chapters will continue to be a flashback so they will also be in italics. I hope this doesn’t bother anyone too much, and rest assured we will be back to a normal font very soon.

APOLOGIES: So sorry, chickens! This is almost a month overdue. I’ve had a very busy month coupled with an injury to my hand that didn’t help the writing process. I hope this chapter makes up for it. Also, I was quite intimidated by writing an explicit scene. There are so many wonderful writers in the community that handle the sex so well, I can only hope that I’ll be as good one day.


Somewhere in her mind a voice cautioned her to say no and go into her own room. It was ridiculous to continue to sleep with him, when he no longer needed her to presence to chase away the night terrors and her body to guard him against the chills. The other voice, the angel or devil, she wasn’t sure yet, wanted her to enjoy his warmth and his embrace for as long as she could. Forget the consequences, this may be the last time she would be able to be physically close to the only man she’s ever really wanted. 

He would be leaving London soon, catapulting himself into danger and to start something that they couldn’t possibly finish would be devastating – to her. This stoic man had allowed himself to form so few emotional attachments and those he had formed had cost him his career and even his ‘life’. Even if he wanted to, it would be unfair to expect Sherlock to add her to the list of those he cared for. Molly knew where they stood: it would only be her heart on the line. 

“I have to brush my teeth,” she said.

“All ready brushed mine,” and with that he went into the bedroom, removing his shirt as he walked. Her eyes widened at site of his smooth unblemished back, swallowing hard at the way the pyjama bottoms hung off his backside. 

Stumbling over the rug she locked herself in the bathroom, gripping both hands on the sink and forcing herself to take deep breaths. When her heart had calmed as much as she thought it could, given who was waiting between her sheets, she brushed her teeth thoroughly and as an afterthought brushed her hair, threw on some more deodorant and headed back to the bedroom. She glanced at the living room and her cat now asleep on the couch. Toby could sleep where he was, she decided. 

She waited by the door, hesitating, unsure if she should undress in front of him and trying not to stare at his naked chest as he sat up on his side of the bed, waiting for her. He watched her shift her weight from one foot to the other for a moment, then he turned down the covers on her side and cocked an eyebrow. She could see that he still had his stripped bottoms on. 

Of course he was wearing his pyjama bottoms, he was just in the habit of sharing the bed with her by now. He wasn’t aware of her decision to sleep in the guest bedroom tonight. As far as he was concerned this was simply their usual routine. 

Silly Molly, she chided herself.  

She scurried to the bed and practically dove under the covers, still clad in her tank top and shorts, pausing only to remove her jumper. She lay down on her back, too shy to look at him. She could feel his eyes on her, studying her, probably trying to deduce why she was so nervous all of a sudden. 

She felt the bed shift under her and heard the lamp click off. The sheets and blankets shifted over her skin as he settled down making her shiver slightly and she heard him sigh as he finally got comfortable. 

It amazed her how he could be so close to her physically and yet she felt like he was miles away. Usually an episode of chills or hallucinations from the detox had been her excuse to reach out and wrap herself around him, but those becoming infrequent and she doubted he’d have another episode tonight. 

If he did though, she would embrace him like she always did and comfort him. Wrapping as much of herself as she could around him, and hold him close until necessity took him from her. 

Did she still need his illness as an excuse to touch him? After all they’d slept in each others arms for weeks now. Would he allow it? Would he reach out for her as well? Or would he draw away from her? Here she was, stiff as a board, not looking at him; it was hardly an invitation to move closeness. Gathering up her courage she turned to him, his name almost on her lips, as her hand reached out to touch his shoulder. 

His indelicate snore and closed eyes froze her. Sherlock was fast asleep. She watched his serene expression for a moment before she rolled back to her side of the bed. 

Clearly she had let her imagination run away with her. Again. 

———

Molly had been having the most delightful dream. She was nude and lying on her back in a field of green grass with a clear blue sky and bright hot sun above her.  Butterflies fluttered around her body and occasionally one would land on her, it’s wings brushing softly against her skin. 

And better still she felt the heavy weight of a man moving like a wave on top her. She couldn’t see him but the delicious surge and ebb had her gasping and spreading her legs. She felt a wonderful pressure at the entrance to her sex and she could even feel the muscles of her slick passage contracting, ready to grip him from within. She knew instinctively this invisible man was Sherlock. Her dream self said, “I must be asleep”, and sadly the realization that she was dreaming woke her as she grasped desperately at the fading wisps of her phantom lover.  

Groaning she opened her eyes, reluctant to leave the naughty dream and found sunlight streaming in through the windows. She was unusually hot and there was a delicious pulsing between her legs. Oh God! Was she so turned on by her dream that she was grinding against Sherlock in her sleep? No, her hips were still, though her thighs were open and – Oh God! – her legs were wrapped tightly around the man in her bed. 

It was Sherlock  moving against her. Pressing softly one moment, then more firmly the next. Was he asleep still?

All coherent thought left her mind as he buried his face into her neck. He moved his lips across her fevered skin and pressed himself against her in a slow, firm thrust. A moan broke free from her mouth as he shimmied from side to side, parting the lips of her sex underneath the shorts and pressing his hard length against the most exquisitely sensitive spot. 

His head snapped up from her neck, ice blue eyes studying her intently until she felt like a specimen under his microscope. She was beginning to retreat a little, when his hand slipped from her lower back to her buttocks, pressing her closer and rubbing tight circles against her core as he studied every flicker pleasure that washed over her face.   

Molly was flooded anew with sensation and she closed her eyes against his penetrating gaze, moaning louder as she  rubbed instinctively against him, her body seeking more sweet friction. When she opened her eyes again, she caught the hint of amusement in the upturned corner of his mouth. 

“This is a bit different from our usual morning routine isn’t, Molly?”

She didn’t get a chance to reply and he picked up the pace, grinding into her, both hands gripping her bottom now. She wanted nothing more that to slip her shorts off, press the length of him into her and ride him. She could feel a hot wet heat curl in her belly and spread downwards. Much more of this and she will have soaked through her shorts as well as his pyjama bottoms.  

Wanting to feel more of him she skimmed her palms along the smooth skin of his back, latching onto his powerful shoulders as she clutched him to her. Sherlock rested his full weight on her for a moment, causing another moan to escape her, before he moved a hand to her shoulder. He kept her pressed to the mattress as he pulled away, creating a space between them again. She felt a pang at the loss but was quickly distracted by his hand trailing down her torso. Little shivers broke out over the bits of exposed skin he encountered on the way down before gripping her bottom again and continuing his heavy thrusting. 

She moaned again, low and long into his ear, but couldn’t help but be annoyed by another of his self-satisfied smirks. She was writhing under him and though he was clearly enjoying himself, his composure was still intact. She could handle a smug and reserved Sherlock in every aspect of her life but not in her bed. 

Right, time to take care of that. She hooked one slim leg around his knee, trapping him, before using the opposite leg to lever herself off the mattress, rolling the both of them over. She was straddling his hips now and pressed her hands against his chest, straightening up and looking down at his surprised face with a smirk of her own. 

He palmed her thighs as he tried to move his hips against her core again but she rose slightly, not allowing him any friction, before lowering her bottom back down, squirming just a bit as if she were getting comfortable. He groaned, reached up to her neck and pulled her down for a kiss – he’d never kissed her on the lips before. She felt his hips tense for another thrust as he pulled her down and she shucked his hand off, lifting her hips up again as punishment for trying to distract her. She smiled, enjoying this moment of dominance over the great detective. 

“Molly,” he said, low and with a hint of warning. 

“Not used to being denied, Mr. Holmes?” she couldn’t help but taunt him. For the first time she felt powerful and compelling in his presence. 

“No. I’m not…Miss Hooper,” he said, amused by the formality before narrowing his eyes, “And I won’t answer for the consequences.”

Molly giggled in response and settled her weight back down on him. She captured his wrists in her small hands, and pressed them over his head before dropping her face and inch from his. 

“Say the magic word, Sherlock. I want to hear you ask me for it.”

Lids low, blue gaze fixated on her lips, she watched as his pupils grew larger and she felt as though she could fall into their depths and be lost forever. She shook her head a little, resisting the impulse to kiss him before gripping his wrists tighter. When he met her eyes she arched her brow, waiting. 

“Please, Molly.”

 Molly closed the distance and kissed him swiftly, almost chastely before straightening and releasing his wrists. Sherlock moaned, frustrated by the fleeting contact of her lips.  

Molly arched her back, crossing her arms over her stomach and pulled her tank top over her head. She had worn no bra to bed, and her small breasts thrust out as she tossed the top to the floor. Her long hair swung around her shoulder with the movement, partially obscured one creamy mound.. 

She looked down to see Sherlock’s smirk was completely gone now.  He was biting his lower lip, eye’s glued to her chest, her nipples rosy and peaked. She pushed her hair back over her shoulder exposing the breast that had been hidden from view and felt a rush as satisfaction when his eyes widened even more. He released his bottom lip and he shivered as he ran his tongue over the indentations. God, she wanted to do that. 

Sherlock’s exceptional focus was now entirely on her, and she bloomed under it. She revelled in his gaze as it swept over her face, neck and torso, lips and eyes. Always back to her lips, as he licked his as if wondering what she tasted like.

She leaned forward slightly, an invitation and felt his hands moving slowly up her thighs, over the shorts, over the soft skin of her stomach, fingers curling around her waist hesitating there. She wrapped cupped her hands around his and gave him the slightest pressure upwards, encouraging him to continue. His palms slid over her ribcage, her own hands still lightly gripping his larger ones. And just as his thumbs began to brush the underside of her breasts, she moved her grip to his wrists and using the weight of her upper body to force them over his head yet again. 

He groaned at her renewed denial and control of him, eyes moving from her chest to her face unsure of where to settle. She tightened her grip on his wrists and was rewarded with a swift intake of breath. She locked eyes with him and leaned down to him. A few inches from his mouth she froze. 

“Molly,” his warning was breathy and desperate now. 

“I changed my mind, Sherlock. I want you to beg me,” she smiled mischievously and deliberately pressed her pelvis into his ridged length. 

Molly couldn’t help but feel a bit smug as his eyes fluttered, the pressure of her sex against his eliciting a moan from the usually stoic man. Molly revelled in her control over him, and felt no small satisfaction at his discomfort and longing. Molly relished how the tables had suddenly turned. 

Molly gave him a few more slow rolls of her hips, enjoying the friction even with her shorts still on. She was getting hotter and wetter and was sure that when they finally moved away from each other, Sherlock would have a large wet patch where she was working him now. Well that sounded fine to her. 

She started to lose herself in the rhythm closing her eyes, feeling the anticipation coiling in her belly. She felt him twitch his wrists as if asking to be released. He had so much strength, he could easily over power her and part of her was surprised he let her take control. Maybe he even respected it. 

Focused on her increasing pleasure, she released his hands, dropping hers to either side of his head, her breasts poised just above his lips. She continued to ride him, dropping her head to watch them, fascinated almost as much as he was by the way they swayed and almost brushed his face. His eyes were locked on her left nipple, and she watched crane his neck upwards to try and capture it, while his hands cupped her bottom with urgency, demanding she ride him harder.

Molly started to feel overwhelmed by the sensations and the years of rejection started to seep into her thoughts like rain through a leaky roof. Wanting some distance, she began to straighten, pulling herself upright but she felt his arms lock around her like a vice, not allowing her an inch to move. She froze, feeling tension radiating through the arms that held her.

Nervous now she searched his face for some clue as to his state of mind and saw something that she had only glimpsed once, in the moment he had told her he needed her to help defeat Moriarty. He was open, vulnerable, the walls of logic, condescension, arrogance that he hid behind were gone. 

“Please Molly, I’m…I’m begging you.”

They both were still, looking into each other’s eyes, breath mingling, sexual tension demanding to be satiated rolling off them in waves. Sherlock was holding himself in check, hesitating, waiting for her permission. 

Waiting. Always waiting. She had waited for him for 4 years and this might be their only chance to be together before he immersed himself in the dangerous mission ahead of him. 

She took a deep breath and nodded. He acknowledged her permission with a subtle nod of his own, brows furrowing over his eyes and in a movement so fast she wasn’t sure how he accomplished it, she was on her back again, his full body length pressed against her. 

She felt a thrill as creep up her spine when searched his gaze and saw the flash of something dangerous. He fisted his hand in her hair, drawing her head back and exposing her throat. 

She had awoken the animal in Sherlock Holmes.

“You’re going to pay for teasing me, Molly Hooper,” drawing a tongue around her ear before biting her lobe firmly enough to make her squeak. 

Unlike his hand in her hair, his lips were gentle and caressing as he made his way along the underside of her jaw to her ear.  When his lips finally reached hers they landed as soft as butterfly wings. He tightened his grip on her hair, as his pressed another feather light kiss to the corner of her mouth. The contrasting sensations washed over her and Molly let out a delicious moan.

Sherlock lingered against her mouth, watching her, velvet lips working her, trying to coax hers apart. When she opened for him, he slipped his tongue into her, slowly, inexorably, penetrating her with low groan. 


Thank you to all my lovely reviewers and to those who like this fiction enough to follow it 🙂

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