PART I

FOREVER AND ALWAYS

A cool breeze blew in through the window, pale yellow sheer curtains rippling out gently likes waves across a resting lake. Though the city outside was bright, despite the hour, a faint trace of moonlight poured in casting strange shadows across the room, fading as it crossed the small space and creating a strange sheen of saturation.

A man, dark and brooding, sat in the inky depths of a corner, his leg crossed over his knee and his left hand resting on the arm of the plush red chair. His right arm, bent at the elbow, slowly gave way to angle more as his long thin fingers brought a cigarette to lips.

As the end lit up from the cool air passing through, bright blue eyes and a strong nose were revealed in a ruddy red light. Spiraling up like dancers on a stage, the breeze from the window caught the creeping smoke and created a slipstream out the bedroom door that was perfectly cracked.

All was planned for, every possibility prepared for and every eventuality expected. His eyes had not shut in minutes despite the smoke burning his eyes and half lidded pupils dilated as his fingers gripped the arm of his chair.

Suddenly, the stillness was broken by a sigh rising from the depths of the room and his nails dug further into fabric.

Hungry lips pulled in another deep drag as the breeze blew in again and with a heavy swallow his Adam's apple bobbed.

Across the room, less than eight feet away, another sigh crawled through the air in a lazy almost desperate fashion, then a small moan and movement.

Nestled in the pale moon's light lay the form of a nude woman resting beneath light cotton sheets. All her curves revealed, her soft smooth skin exposed and her hair cascading down about her shoulders and face.

The man's pupils grew larger still as the feminine form rolled onto her back, one breast sliding free and lightly undulating in the night air, the other half hidden though both nipples were hard and pressing.

"Auh- god- Sherlock-" A desperate and lust filled call sounded out softly, sorrow and want lacing an unconscious voice. Another gasp and then the small form raised off the bed as heels gently dug into the mattress.

The man in the corner stilled, his sharp eyes watching the woman who was moving gently as if with a lover yet utterly alone.

This was what he did, often when his nights were long and grueling. When no cases were present and all his experiments done; when his violin had dried up of weeping melodies he would come here as she slept.

Sitting in this chair, shrouded in darkness, and smoking a cigarette that did little to help him soothe the ach.

In these late hours, moments before dawn, he would contemplate his life choices, condemn and berate himself for his lack of faith in the world and then,for a brief moment, he would allow his walls down.

He would remove the thick rusting bars that lay like a heavy burden on his heart and he would indulge. Opening doors in his mind palace that were so often chained shut and locked tight.

He would let himself feel things, powerful things, things that normal people deemed private and quite possibly indecent. Desires would sweep through him and he would watchwhile she slept.

He would watch her while she dreamed of him...

Dreamed of him stroking into her, gripping her hips and burrowing into the nape of her neck with her hair smelling like death and lavender.

She dreamed of him every night he had found. Not always so lust filled, sometimes she simply spoke his name. Called to him, as if he was a long ways off, just out of reach, an unattainable thing that could never be tamed.

He supposed, if he thought about their two very different worlds, he actually was. And when he would come here to indulge and watch her, he found he did not like that idea, not one little bit.

Other times he'd catch his name with words like forceps, ligature and skull. They'd be at Bart's in that dream he wagered with him standing beside her doing strange uncharacteristically simple things. Like handing her tools or getting her coffee.

Dreams were funny that way. The subconscious always has a way of finding the most odd bits and bobs to throw at you, things that never make sense nor actually occur in the land of the living.

"Oh- god-" he starts at the sound of her murmured groan, breaks away from his scrambled thoughts and his sharp eyes return to the bed. A tongue slowly slides over a bottom lip, the soft flesh falling prey to teeth that bite to hard.

It was these nights, these nights of breathy gasps and gently thrusting hips that he found his baser desires much harder to control. These were the nights that truly tested his resolve. He let his feelings, desires and wants free for one single reason. The ability to enjoy and immerse himself in her want, in her love for him.

She adored him, pined for him and Sherlock Holmes knew it. Yet, he could not give himself to her, to his baser desires. For though he often felt on nights like these that his heart might burst and his loins strained in protest, he could not bring himself to damn her like he had all the others.

He could not pull her fully into his world and let his carefully controlled feelings be known. It would be selfish; put her and himself in extreme danger and make the work near impossible to do.

For if he had her, what need would he have of the work? And if he didn't have the work, who would he be? Another schmuck on the tube- a boring suit- a less intelligent version of Mycroft.

Shivers of fear and revulsion came at the idea of being anything but himself and who he was. Looking back over his life there were very few things he would change if any at all. His views on humanity were absolute and logical, his ability to reason and deduce were very rarely, if ever, wrong. He was near unstoppable, the only competition being his brother, who for the most part hated "leg-work" and simply couldn't be bothered.

Another fear often struck him, as he sat and allowed his usually collected thoughts to scatter, if he were to give in to this petite woman before him and he were to grow bored, she would be far worse off after, then she was now.

For now she could imagine and dream, the ache of pain and longing in her chest seemingly huge to her, but minor in comparison to the pain she would feel should he succumb, use her and then leave.

While Sherlock liked to imagine he was better than that, more mature than that, he could not ignore his true nature. He could not deny that even if he loved her, there was a chance however small, that he may grow tired of it all. The things required of him during such a domestic affair becoming tedious and ever harder to understand as the months wore on and each new hurdle of a budding romance began.

There would be no savior for her, and he could not be her white Knight in shining armor, no matter how many knighthoods he received. Not that he'd ever commit to taking such an honor, despite his brothers frustrations on the matter.

So he only watched, listening to her feathery gasps and urgent calls to him, assaulting the bed and it's pillows with seeking hands that he could so easily restrain-

She was petite, he was not and despite the fact everyone seemed to realize he wasn't as tall as they had originally thought, he was by far, munching bigger than Molly Hooper.

He often deduced that intimacy with Molly would be like putting a one size too small leather glove on his hand.

Far too tight and grippy. With a sleek hot wetness that swallowed him with one harsh thrust-

Sherlock felt his body react at the image, his hand nearly jerking to his groin in protest of its activity.

It had been so long since he'd had real intimacy or any kind of extended physical contact that often stray thoughts would cause severe discomfort. But he chose this life, chose the discomfort and the fight against outer pressures to engage in carnal behavior.

Logic was cold, calculated and true. No pain, no fear of being hurt or let down and no distractions. No sentiment meant no mess and that meant an easier life for the man whose life was far to complicated and dangerous as it was.

Truth be told at this point in his life, at the age of 36 he feared if he were to give in, he would not be able to pull away. He would descend into the madness of passion, desire and- love. That gooey chemical defect, the sticky and often stagnant pull of domestic bliss, the very idea making his stomach churn and his brain swell in panic.

And he knew he'd not have the control over his desires as he did with his logic. If he indulged it would consume him so totally he almost feared his own deductions of how he might overwhelm her with his 15 year long celibacy being broken.

In just a few seconds he could convince her to kiss him, no less than ten he would have her on her back, putty in his hands and weeping for release. Fifteen seconds and he would be dominating every inch of her, supping from her body the very essence of her pure and loving soul. Sateing his neglected appetite for as long as he could.

Over and over he would take her, bind her to him, wrap her heart ever tighter around his finger until he was all she saw, smelled and knew. He could reprogram her, fine tune her skills until she was the perfect lover for him.

And she wouldn't even know.

His heart was beating fast now, palms sweaty and brow creased as his eyes fluttered closed and a slow breath was drawn in over his lips. He shuddered at the imagery his sex starved body threw at him and reluctantly adjusted his sitting position to accommodate the all too familiar discomfort in his lower region.

In a way, he really was just a beast, an animal desperate for release, for a mate. His carnal desires so much stronger than most due to his own neglect. But still, even in this shaky nearly destroyed state he resisted.

Because of the aforementioned fears of how he could twist his sweet innocent Molly into anything he wanted, to do anything he wanted, manipulate her to the point of utter destruction.

She'd not even be a shadow of the woman he loved-

His eyes jumped open at this realization, and he slowly stood. Striding to the window he ignored the woman now lying silent upon the bed, twisted and wrapped in the sheets in such a seductive manner. He would lock down his mind palace as soon as he got home. For now he needed to leave lest he do something regrettable.

He almost escaped, almost made it another night before, suddenly, she called to him.

"Sherlock, please, I need- now! I need it now-"

He stopped at the window, eyes trained hard on the sill. He flicked the cigarette out and felt his eye and mouth twitch in anger. He needed to leave, but his transport was not listening. Normally, before he left, he took the time to shut all the doors and windows he opend in his mind. To labour through re-caging the metaphorical trap on his heart and reorganize his chaotic mind.

For some reason, tonight it had gotten out of hand too fast. So vivid and visceral were his feelings and thoughts he had worried he might approach her sleeping form.

In his rush he had not bothered to reign in his body and it's impulses, the doors not barred and the shackles not locked. And as she called out to him again in her sleep, her hand slowly moving to rub her own breast in a rather pathetic attempt by her subconscious to live out what she was dreaming, he found himself turning towards her. Slowly and with much restraint he gazed upon her wilting body, heat he swore he could taste filling the space between them.

His hunched and tense frame moved to stand next to the bed, looking down on her partially exposed form with no shame or guilt and his pupils so wide the blue of his iris was no longer a stunning feature but more like the blinding thin rim of the sun during an eclipse.

His breathing was even but his heart was hammering, the sound of blood gushing into his ears and his fingers clenching hard into his palms.

"Sherlock- more. Please do more!" she murmured as her hips began to lightly thrust again. Her hands reaching out to grip air and her hips starting to buck more furiously. The very light sheen of sweat on her face and the ruddy red of her cheeks brought him to his knees at the side of her bed as his groin continued to strain against fabric that had never felt so tight.

"For god's sake how I want you." he whispered amongst clenched teeth and clamped eyes, his hands now fisting the sheets nearest him and his nostrils flaring.

"Yes, Sherlock- yes, like that- just there!"

"I can only imagine what my dream self is doing to ravage and ruin your supple little frame, I'd take you beneath me if I knew I wouldn't hurt you-" he rambled into the side of the mattress. Perhaps, if he verbally admitted this to himself it would ease the strain and allow him to go-

"I love you Sherlock-" she breathed as sweetly as a summer wind. Shoulders tensed and he looked up to her then, a pain shooting through his chest and he knew he would have to lock down this overpowering sentiment soon or else he would do something very not good.

"I know, but I am poison to your veins- I am so bad for you. You must believe me, I've done all that I can to put you off. Why won't you listen?" The desperation in his voice was uncharacteristically prevalent and he felt utter shame and disgust wash through him as he heard his voice pleading with this woman. Nearly begging, and Sherlock Holmes never begged.

"Oh, Sherlock, I love you so much. Sherlock, please love me-" she said softly.

No doubt in her dreams they were now doing the most inane form of cuddling he'd ever be privy to. He took another deep breath as a wave of anguish washed through him followed by haute anger that he felt such despair in the first place, for a woman, this woman.

"Will you take me again-" she breathed.

Shaking his head to try and clear his mind a painful smile took over his mouth and he wheezed out his words in utter torment, "So vivid. How can your dreams be so vivid-" his own imagination fed him more images of Molly being flipped onto her stomach, his knees gently pressing her legs apart.

Take her now! A voice whispered in his mind, caressing and seeping into his soul like so many of the drugs he had taken in his youth.

His length twitched and Sherlock sucked in a breath before jerking to stand in shock, sweat on his brow and his hands shaking.

Claim her Sherlock, she's begging you to. Consume her!

"Shut up!" he hissed as he went to turn away, his hand flying back and forth in front of his face before raking through his hair in a near crazed frenzy..

"Sherlock, love, just a kiss goodbye?"

He stopped and his head slowly turned to look at her, his mouth parted and his eyes laid heavy with fear, "Merciful God help me-" he whispered though he believed in no such being.

Just a kiss, claim her mouth! Consume her! Kiss her now! She's yours anyway, she belongs to you- Take HER!

"Shut. Up!" he nearly barked too loud before his eyes found purchase on Molly's face. His pupils scanned down the length of her sheet clad body, lingering on the V-shaped crevice that had formed near the small entry to her womanhood.

"Just one, please love, one to wear to work, one little peck-"

Sherlock let out a shuddered breath and closed his eyes in resolution, it was too easy a set up but his bodies will had won the moment he lost control of his normally tightly reigned emotions.

He turned back and sat down on the bed next to her removing one of his gloves and gently letting his knuckles rub feather light down her cheek.

"Just one-" he whispered more to himself than to her as he leaned down, his hands placed on either side of her pillow. He stopped himself an inch away, his stormy dilated eyes staring at her calm face, devoid of anything but innocents a naive beauty. Before he could think better of it he moved forward and took up her lips.

As she slept, he claimed her mouth though the kiss was more subtle than that in an old black and white movie, he placed his lips on hers as he breathed in through his nose to catch her scent.

She remained asleep, or so he thought.

Suddenly a tongue gently lapped into his mouth and fingernails ran along the follicles of his scalp. A moaned escaped into her mouth like from that of a schoolboy who had just touched a girl for the first time.

Eyes shooting open, realization of his current predicament propelling him through the heat of his baser instincts and towards reality, he tried to pull back. For all he was worth he tried but the woman's sweet supple mouth and caressing fingers kept him pliant a moment too long, he moaned again for he knew he was utterly helpless and then her eyes were open.

Sherlock could see the clarity coming to the forefront of her mind as she realized what she was doing and who she was kissing.

Instantly she released him and the detective stood quickly, taking the moment of shock as an advantage before racing to the window and trying to duck through.

In an instant the light was on and he froze, a deer blinded in the headlights, his foot on the sill and his hands ready to launch him out into the darkness of the night.

"Sherlock- don't go!" her voice was desperate, one hand clutching the sheet to her chest, the other suspended mid-air.

Reluctantly he turned his head, though his face was turned down his eyes managed to glance up through his curls and he studied her face quickly. She did not look angry, only shocked and hopelessly trying to keep him there.

The red tinge that had splattered her cheeks still lingered, her eyes half crazed and her hair a mess, clad only in a rumpled sheet she looked like any man's wet dream.

"Please-" she begged him and a heat flashed through his abdomen at her tone.

"Molly, I need to go." he said trying to remain strong, trying to remain the good man who was just a little off and not the bad man who could play nice.

"No, you don't. You could stay, you can stay, please- stay." so soft were her tones, so gentle and welcoming and Sherlock's eyes screwed shut as he forced words from his mouth, words that he didn't want to say but knew he had to say.

"Don't be ridiculous Molly, why would I want to stay with- you." he had stopped and stumbled over his last two words as he watched her rise from the bed, the sheet still hugging her body like a gown. Her eyes looked at him so intently it made his length jerk again and he had to fight back a wince and cold suck of air.

"Because I know you want to." it was a soft statement, the uncertainty in her voice nearly hidden by her conviction, but she always had a low sense of self-worth and that would probably be his only way out of this, regrettably it would have to be done- to save Molly and to save himself.

Sherlock released his hold on the window and lowered his foot back into the room. "you'd do best to leave the deductions to the professionals Molly. You're rate of error is appalling and I've no time for games."

Molly moved closer and Sherlock placed his hands behind his back to hide how tightly he was gripping his fists. She shouldn't be advancing on him, this was where she should be recoiling- a cold spike of anxiety drilled into his gut and he found himself taking a step back as Molly came to stand before him. She placed a dainty hand on his chest, her honey brown eyes gazing at him with something akin to devotion and she brought her mouth up to his cheek, "this isn't a game- at least, not anymore. I'm not going to let you run from this. I love you Sherlock-" she breathed the last part into his ear, her nose close enough to get tickled by his hair. She did not see his eyes close or his lips roll together as he felt more heat building in his brain, pressure and want clawing away inside his skull.

"Molly-" he warned as her hand came up his chest to run through his hair and Sherlock felt himself loosing, felt his knees beginning to buckle.

"I love you Sherlock, and I want you to take me to my bed- I want you to do anything you like- I want you-" she blushed and looked away, hardly the time to appear the prude but this was Molly Hooper and despite her obvious experience in the area Sherlock knew he made her feel rather inadequate.

One of Sherlock's hands came free of his grip and strayed up to her chin, he took it firmly between his fingers and steered her to look into his eyes, them being a dead give away of his current state and lack of control.

"Dont." he ordered softly.

Her brow furrowed in a mixture of confusion and sadness and Sherlock gently leaned down to kiss her forehead, breathing in again in his determination to commit her smell to his memory. It was an intoxicating smell, so often he would get tiny wafts of it but he decided that now, he wanted to know her smell always.

"Please- don't." he whispered against her forehead, his eyes closing as he allowed himself to savour her warmth.

"Sherlock, I-" But she stopped herself, perhaps thought better of it and then tilted her head up and gently brought her lips to his. Muscles stiffened, eyes scrunched shut and a low hum came from his throat. A leather clad hand came up to cup her jaw, his other hand slowly looping around her waist and pulling her closer against him.

Yes! God yes! Let me have her, please let me have her. So long, to long it's been ages and I want her so badly I love her let me have-"

"No!" Sherlock suddenly blurted into her mouth as he pulled his face away, though his hands did not release their hold.

Molly's heavy breathing came in pants across his neck but he kept his head turned away, a pathetic attempt to win a battle he already knew was lost.

She kissed his throat, long lingering kisses that made his groin ach and his stomach flutter, his hands gripped harder, one fisting the sheet at her back, the other running up her jaw to tuck gently into her hair before he fisted at her roots and pulled her head back to a safe distance.

He looked down at her then and through panting breaths and clenched teeth tried to warn her off one more time, "Molly I am-" the word was there like acid on his tongue but he forced it out anyway, "I am begging you, for the sake of our friendship, for the sake of your heart and mine, don't continue to tempt me- it will end so badly. For both of us."

A new emotion filled her eyes and Sherlock knew his pleas had landed on deaf ears for in her eyes was a brand of total defiance that he only knew to ever be in himself. She would not relinquish her hold on him, not now that he was putty in her hands and suddenly Sherlock realized he had gotten his deductions all wrong.

For it was not Molly Hooper who could be twisted and manipulated into the perfect lover, who could be seduced into some dalliance that would end horribly with her heart shattered, but him.

In this moment she was all he saw, smelled and wanted. She had him wrapped around her finger. It had taken her five seconds to break his will, ten seconds to get him to surrender and in the next five he would be consumed by her and begging for more.

She brought her hands up, gently cupping his jaw while she stood on tiptoes and leaned in for the killing blow. Sherlock's fingers slid from her hair, his hands trembling and his his lips quivering, "Molly-" he almost whined out in protest but she would have none of it.

She kissed him softly, her mouth opening and her tongue gently urging him to open to her, and despite his strength of will he did. He became so pliant under her hands that he didn't notice her hands leave his face. He was so lost in the experience and taste that he gave kisses back to her readily.

"Mmmm." rang like a gong from his chest and up through his throat and into her mouth.

Molly's brow furrowed as she let out her own little gasp of ecstasy, no signs of halting their suddenly sinful ways in the near future.

The petite woman's hands ran up his chest and Sherlock felt her slender fingers start to push off his coat and suit jacket. They pooled onto the floor and at the dull thump that resonated, Sherlock was pulled back from this intoxicated moment.

But as he went to look down Molly played her cards right and released her sheet, quickly gripping onto his hands and bringing them to her hips.

Sherlock's overactive mind once again focused on her as he let out a gasp at the feel of her warm smooth skin.

"Dear god-" he murmured as he raked his hands all over her suddenly exposed body, his sensory perception nearly short circuiting at the sudden onslaught of input.

This left clever Molly to start the arduous process of unbuttoning his shirt and when she had finally succeeded, all while keeping Sherlock's lips busy with her own and his hands lovingly exploring her skin, she let out a triumphant squeak and instantly started to work on his belt.

Musician's hands instantly gripped onto her wrists and stilled her near frantic fingers, she had gotten so far that the sudden halt to her progress forced a frustrated moan from her throat.

"Are you sure?" Sherlock asked as he continued to pant hot breath across her face.

Molly suddenly felt a wave of calm wash over her, she knew then what she needed to say and as Sherlock chanced a glance down at her he saw a face that had been burned into his mind long ago.

What do you need?

Her eyes were intense, her mouth slightly parted as she looked at him but also into him and saw all his fears, traumas and insecurities. No trace of his ego could be found and his confidence was buried beneath years of mistrust and neglect.

"Sherlock, stop fighting yourself. Stop fighting me." she brought her lips to hover over his and she closed her eyes as she nearly whispered, "Just let go, love. Stop resisting and embrace it, embrace your humanity and embrace me."

The palm of her hand slid down his chest, down his torso and stomach and onto his belt buckle. With a slow dexterity born from years of cutting up cadavers and meticulously exploring the cavities of the dead she slowly undid his belt and then popped his trouser button.

As her fingers slowly pulled down his zip she kissed his lips softly and then said in the most fevered way, "Let yourself indulge just this once, and I promise no matter what happens after, I will still love you in the morning. I will always love you, Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock's eyes were black, his breath short thick gusts of need, "Promise me-" he whispered up to the heavens.

"Forever Sherlock, forever and always."

His pants pooled around his angels and before Sherlock could think of any further protest Molly kissed her way down his body until she rested on her knees in front of him.

She heard Sherlock suck in air, heard his hands smack against the walls on either side of him as he braced himself so Molly didn't hesitate, she gently pulled down his boxers and freed his length from its torturous trap.

Standing swollen and weeping the petite pathologist took the base of the shift in her hand and moved forward taking the head into her mouth.

"Aah!"

She worked slowly, moving it in and out between her wet swollen lips, licking, sucking and trying to work his already fevered brain into a utterly unusable wreck. Glorious sounds escaped his throat, his head lulling back and thumping against the wall, his hands leaving their braced perch to slide into her messy hair and then he started to guide her.

An easy rhythm was found, just how he liked it-

Slow, slow, fast, slow, slow, fast

He could count her movements to the time of his favorite wants and he found himself hearing the music sear through his mind and knew that waltz would never play the same for him again.

As he rested on the verge Sherlock knew he wouldn't last long, it had been so long since he had done anything so decadent that his limit was not impressive, but he seemed to know that Molly would not care and as he gasped out her name he felt his length stiffen and he was plunged into the depths of his own end.

He gripped her hair tighter, more pleas of a rather indecent nature spilling forth from his mouth, "Swallow it, please swallow- swall- oh god!"

Tremors wracked his body and the pleasure was sharp and fast, spiking in his gut and leaving his legs a rubbery mess. Molly complied to his demands and kept him in her mouth until his seed was all but gone. She licked him clean, committing his taste to memory and taking in the smell and feel of his manhood.

When she finally released him she looked up at him, seeing a man who was never exposed in any sense of the word totally open and vulnerable to attack. His cheeks ruddy, his hair a mess and his lips swollen and caught between teeth that more often than not bit at anyone who tried to get close.

He was beautiful like this, totally undone and unprotected and she knew that no matter the outcome she would remember this Sherlock Holmes, a quivering mess of a man with lust in his eyes and completion twinging his brow.

When he finally braved to look down upon her he realized that this night was not over, for seeing Molly Hooper on his knees before him, a very small dribble of his seed on her lips, he was aware of another overpowering need fill his mind. And suddenly the only thing the normally snappy man could think to say was a resounding, "My turn-" murmured low and dark.

He gripped a hand back into her hair, pulling her up and gently stepping into her. She moved back, allowing him to float her towards the bed. A strange tango for two that would have looked like a power play from anyone else's view. He had given into her, had submitted, now it was her turn.

"Sit." he said softly and she complied. He fell to his needs at the foot of her bed and spread her legs apart. Molly's face had gone from calm and satisfied to shocked and hopelessly euphoric.

His large hand splayed between her breasts and he pushed her to lay down upon her bed, legs still dangling and knees bent.

His hands ran up her thighs before coming down to her crevice, palms pushing her legs apart and thumbs gliding down to part her most intimate area.

He stared then, looking upon the soft pink flesh and dainty lips and realized this was his new drug, whether or not he would be able to resist the temptation in the future was far beyond his abilities to deduce.

He didn't hesitate, he didn't bother to play or explore, he leaned forward and took her womanhood into his mouth.

The most tragic sound escaped from her, her body jerked and her hands instantly came to his hair.

He did not stop though, for he felt like being merciless, felt like gaining some of the control he had recently lost to this woman back. So he kept his ministrations fast but steady. Lapping, lickjng, sucking and pressing into her core, her small bundle of nerves.

"Oh Sherlock please, if you don't slow- slow down it will be over and-" But he didn't stop, couldn't stop. He was so far gone, tasting her, smelling her being consumed within her heady flavors and aroma that her own begging cries to let her savour the moment went unheard.

Her nails dug in, legs clenched around his head to try and slow his progress but his strong hands instantly gripped her thighs and forcefully pressed them apart.

"No no Miss. Hooper, you are at my mercy now, and-" he kissed her abused bud with little remorse, she jumped and bucked her hips unwillingly, trying to keep from losing this battle so quickly.

"I believe turnabout is fair play. I want you to cum, so- you will as fast and as hard and I want you to."

Before she could protest he was back at her again, paying special attention to her swollen nub. He knew she was close and knew the best way to get her to finally let go.

He flicked her clit quickly over and over with his tongue and just as she raised her hips he pressed a finger in to her swollen heat and hooked it just on the inside of her pubic bone.

Molly's world shattered and she let out a cry of his name so ardent and loud that he was sure those on the street below had heard.

He felt her muscles contract dangerously tight and he wondered what it would feel like around his length. Juices flowed out and a new more potent smell filled his nose, one that he instantly cataloged as Molly's own personal cocktail of sexual completion.

He removed his finger and started to drink from hr, sup the soul of her body just as he had in so many of his unbidden fantasies. It was like drinking a dangerously fine wine, far to good to waste a deep he continued to drink until her body fell still and her entire being turned to mush.

He stood then and moved around her bed to click off the lamp before he climbed into the bed and ever so gently took her hair in his hand and gave a small tug.

Molly moaned but Sherlock persisted and finally she started to press herself up the bed and back towards him. His fingers remained locked in her hair even after she was nestled next to him, his lips coming to kiss her shoulder, neck and temple.

"Sherlock-" she breathed out as his free hand came to gently cup and entangle in her pubic mound, "Please don't let this change anything. If we can't be more, don't let our friendship become less. I can handle a one night affair, but I can't handle never seeing you again. Please don't-"

"Shh, just lay here. Don't think, don't allow worry to diminish your afterglow. It's rather fetching in the moonlight."

Molly tried to turn but Sherlock tighten his fingers into bother her scalp and her womanhood and murmured into her ear, "No matter what happens the morning after, I will always love you Molly Hooper."

Molly let out a small sob, "Promise?"

Sherlock gave a small chuckle as his nipped at her shoulder, "All my life, forever and always."

In the morning when she woke he was gone, but instead of a hollow heartbroken feeling of anguish she found her heart swelling with content. And as she rolled over onto her belly to stretch her hand came across a price of soft fabric. Her eyes opened to see a blue scarf laying folded neatly on her pillow and the smile on her face was worth more than a thousand words.

A/n: please R&R I desperately want to know what you think. There is a part two if you think it is worth the read. Let me know.