BBC's Sherlock is not mine.

AN: If any of you awesome readers happen to have any artistic talent or knows someone that does, I would seriously appreciate any artwork to correspond with this story. Trying to find something to accompany this work...Now, onto the important stuff. Oh, and a wee warning- Grown up stuff ahead ;)

Having delivered a time-sensitive report to DI Lestrade first thing this morning, Molly was now strolling casually down the halls of NSY. She was caught completely off guard when a hand snaked out of the shadows and snatched her into a darkened room. For the briefest of moments, fear consumed her and her eyes glowed a sharp silver. But within seconds she realized her attacker had been overtly gentle in his abduction and that he smelled of sandalwood and tobacco. Fear receded quickly, but her eyes maintained a soft glow, her mind postulating the most likely reason her mate would drag her into an abandoned break room with all of the lights off.

He had her back to his front and made quick work of her garments. Once bared to his gaze, he spent several moments lightly caressing her arms and torso, but studiously avoiding her breasts, and never venturing lower than her waistline. His teasing was driving her mad, so she pushed her bottom back against him, discovering that he was quite naked as well. The thought that they could be discovered in this state at any moment added another level of eroticism to the encounter.

"Sherlock..." she couldn't help the breathy quality of her voice.

His however was strong. Commanding. "No Pria. No speaking from you unless given direct permission. You are being punished after all." His words sent a shocking thrill through her system.

"Punished? Wh-" She was cut off when Sherlock delivered a sharp pat to her backside. It did not hurt, not really. On the contrary, the sensation was surprisingly pleasant.

"Really Mrs. Holmes, one would think you'd be smart enough to understand basic instruction, you know, being a doctor and all." His words would have been almost cruel if not for the apologetic kisses and nibbles being delivered simultaneously. "And you know exactly why you're being punished."

Molly racked her brain, but for the life of her, all she could focus on were the delicious sensations he administered so masterfully. And he was a master. Using his hands, his mouth, even the tips of his hair to bring her body to a heightened sense of awareness. He ran his hands up her thighs and used two strong slender fingers to circle her entrance. Her breath caught in her throat, thinking he would finally give her some relief, but he moved on placing both hands on her hips just under her belly.

He held her in place and brought his mouth to her ear nipping it, then whispering "You remember...earlier in the morgue. That was a very important case Molly. And you were being purposefully distracting."

The fog cleared a bit and she recalled the incident he spoke of. He had arrived at her morgue with Lestrade in tow and proceeded to deduce a corpse. She had indulged in a bit of fun, releasing small bursts of pheromones and allowing the tip of her stripe just above her bum to show when she "dropped" a pen and had to bend down to retrieve it, right in front of the consulting detective. An oblivious Lestrade had finished taking down notes and made to leave, motioning for Sherlock to follow him. On their way out, Sherlock had turned back to her and snapped slightly sharpened teeth at her, promising retribution. She did not think it would be so soon. Nor so sweet.

"You could have cost me the case with your twitching tail." He growled in her ear, wrapping a hand around her throat, fingers splayed, demanding submission. But she would not submit. Not yet.

"Nonsense. You already had it solv-" Whack! Another pat, this time to the other side of her rump.

"Rules are rules, my perky pathologist." He maneuvered her slowly onto the floor, ever careful of her big belly even in the midst of their heated play. There was a pallet of soft blankets beneath them. Apparently, he had prepared. He positioned her limbs to where she was on all fours with him kneeling behind her. Molly was panting now, anticipating her reward (or punishment as he had termed).

"Now, I can scent you. I know exactly what you need. And I will give it you." He traced her pulsing stripe with one hand and used the other to lightly squeeze her breast. He avoided direct contact with her nipples, knowing they were overly sensitive these days. "But first..."

MADDENING MALE! Molly harrumphed aloud in agreement.

She heard him chuckle darkly. "First, you must submit, and in doing so, admit you were wrong to tease me." Another slap , leaving her lower cheeks tingling.

ENTICE. Her Beast was ready to play. So was Molly. She arched her spine the tiniest bit and felt Sherlock tense behind her, his member hardening to steel. He thought she was submitting. So soon? Her beast chuffed in amusement. ARROGANT MATE.

Just as he was lowering his face to her shoulder, Molly sprung, escaping his arms and stopped several feet away, now facing him. She got her first good look at him since entering the room and goodness did she get an eyeful. He kneeled before her. Over six feet of lean, muscled male, stripes darkened, their tips ending in sharps points on his sculpted abdomen and pectorals. He was breathing heavily, obviously surprised by her escape. Having viewed him so freely, she wished briefly that he could take her in a more traditional pose, with them facing one another. But she knew that in her current physical state, his original idea was the only feasible option.

Apparently at the end of his patience, Sherlock lunged toward her, eliciting a yip of surprise from her. She tried to scramble away but could not gain purchase on the cold marble floor. Within moments, he had hold of her and she was back on their makeshift bed, in the same position as before. Sherlock was making a constant noise now- halfway between a purr and a growl.

"That was very naughty, Sphinx. Now...submit." His words were clipped. Molly's smile was devious in the dark, knowing he could not see her. She decided to comply. Besides, at this point, she was torturing herself as well.

She arched her spine in a downward motion then carefully lowered her upper body until her bottom was posed up in the air angled toward him. He roared in response to his victory (she gave a short thought to the sound carrying through these not-so-thick walls but was soon beyond caring) and leaned over her, sinking his teeth into her Mated mark. He positioned the tip of his manhood at her warm moist entrance and sank into her, inch by tortuous inch. Molly tried to back up against him, wishing to speed the process along, but he would have none of it, keeping his grip on her hips firm and in control.

Finally, he was seated within her and he fit so snugly that she could feel every pulse from his cock beating at her inner walls and driving her closer to the edge with a maddening tempo. After a few moments to let her adjust to his length and girth, he began to move. With every thrust he twirled his tongue and sucked hard on her flesh, not actually drawing blood, but mimicking the act. It was clear to Molly that her mate wanted her good and Marked.

Her Beast was riled and pacing. GOOD MALE. WE ARE HIS TO MARK.

She writhed beneath him, needing him faster. Harder. And apparently her punishment was done, because Sherlock complied, quickening his movements and deepening his thrusts. Once this aggressive rhythm was set, it was mere minutes before both found themselves at the edge of oblivion. The room smelled of sweat and sex and Molly thought it was glorious.

She felt him lift her hips, bringing her knees fully off the ground and angling her so that he sank deeper than he had yet. The sensation sent her into a spiral, her lust exploding in a cacophony of colorful lights behind her eyelids and sharp bursts of warmth all over her body. She felt him swell impossibly larger within her, his climax upon him, locking them together until his ejaculatory process was complete.

After several minutes in which she rode out yet another orgasm, this one more gentle than the first, he finally softened enough to pull out of her slick body. He lowered them both carefully to the ground, situating her head on his bicep and tracing soothing circles on her sensitive side. He trailed his hand lower to her reddened cheeks.

"Did I hurt you?" His beautiful baritone whispered through the dark.

"You know you didn't."

"Yes, my calculations were quite precise."

She giggled and grabbed his wandering hand with both of hers, bringing it to rest over her heart.

Then, in the way of couples who had been together long enough to be absolutely comfortable with one another, Sherlock brought up a topic entirely mundane. "I thought I would cook dinner for you tonight."

Molly was tired now and felt herself drifting but roused enough to answer him. "Don't be ridiculous. You do many things brilliantly, but cooking is not one of them."

His offended scoff was telling but she continued. "Besides, you're in the middle of 3 different cases at present and I know you do not like to take unnecessary breaks when you are so engrossed." That brought Molly's head up with a thought and she turned to face him. "In fact, I'm quite surprised you managed this little rendezvous."

He scowled at her. "Little? Pria, if that is the first adjective that pops into your-" She silenced him with a finger pressed against his lips.

"It's not."

His satisfied grin was endearing and oh-so-sexy. "Good. And besides, I had to teach you a lesson didn't I? Couldn't let you go unchecked."

"Truly? That was your idea of discipline?" Molly pretended to ponder his explanation.

"Mhm." His hands were wandering again, apparently not able to get enough of her.

"Well then...I suppose I will have to be bad more often."

His head snapped up and he let out a rare hearty laugh.

"I say, I told you there were strange sounds coming from somewhere in this hallway." The pinched voice of Anderson broke through there lust-induced stupor. The sound of several sets of footsteps echoed down the hallway, getting closer.

"Don't be ridiculous. Its just the pipes or something." The tired tone of Sally Donovan sounded out.

"Noooo, I'm sure its not that. We need to investigate each room. Something is afoot."

Molly whimpered in amusement and Sherlock was forced to put his hand over her mouth to silence her. When she regained control of her humor, they began to quietly dress. Sherlock stuffed the soiled blankets from the floor into an empty garbage bin.

"Really, Anderson! I have legitimate issues that need my attention. I have no time for your chicanery."

"But its not! I swear! I heard grunting and growling and other painful sounds. It was...unnatural."

They were both fully dressed now and stood huddled against the wall behind the door, just in case it was opened.

"The only thing unnatural here is your imagination. I can't believe I wasted ten minutes in coming down here with you. Good day, Philip." They heard her sigh in exasperation, then head down the hallway, away from them.

Anderson's plaintive voice and footsteps followed her and soon both were out of audible and presumably visual range.

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8

Sherlock opened the door and peeked out, confirming that the coast was clear. He grabbed her hand and dragged her out of the room.

Together, they made their way out of NSY. Molly acted as nonchalant as possible, but any man with half a brain would be able to read her easily enough. With her flushed cheeks, mussed hair, and that dreamy look in her eyes, she exuded the manner of a woman good and thoroughly fucked. He was glad they passed unnoticed- he was in no mood to unsheathe his claws on unsuspecting men with wandering eyes.

Once outside, they embraced and she kissed him sweetly on the cheek, before heading their separate ways. She- back to St Bart's to finish up her ahem interrupted shift. And he- to hail a cab. He was due to meet John and Mary at Mrs. Hudson's. They planned to discuss one of his cases involving a man he was sure tied in some significant way to Moriarty.

A cab pulled over and he hopped in. Once he received a text from Molly, indicating a safe return to the hospital, he scrolled through his contacts and dialed his brother.

He skipped pleasantries. "Well?"

His brother was also content to ignore the niceties. "We believe we may have found it. The building was once owned by Lord Moran. It is far enough out to be deemed safe from civilian interference and Moriarty should be intrigued enough by our audacity and proposal to hopefully take the bait."

"Hmmm. And the Canine?"

Mycroft grunted (an entirely un-Mycroft sound), "what of him?"

"He still lives?"

"Oh for goodness sakes, Sherlock, I'm not going to kill him. Though it would be a lie if I said the thought hadn't crossed my mind. Actually," Mycroft paused here, obviously struggling to bite out the next bit, "He has proven rather...useful"

"Hopefully, there are no storm clouds above to strike you down, Mycroft."

"Oh, shut up." And the line went dead.

That business squared away, Sherlock used the rest of the cab ride home to sort today's sinful interlude into the most treasured room of his mind palace. By the time they pulled up and the cabbie was paid, he was forced to use his long coat to hide an embarrassing, but entirely unavoidable erection.

He calmed himself and barged into 221 Baker Street, bounding up the stairs, intending a quick shower and change before meeting his companions. He pause halfway when he heard raised voices emanating from Mrs. Hudson's flat.

"...It's got to be a girl. Look at how she's carrying!"

"Oh and you know so much about the way a woman carries, do you?"

"I happen to be a doctor!"

He heard Mary and Mrs. Hudson burst into laughter. Apparently his best friend was in the middle of a losing battle.

The female Ursuline said, "You'll see, John. It's a boy. I just know it."

His landlady added her two cents. "Pishposh, I don't care what it is, as long as its healthy."

He heard a chair scrape and John cough absently. "Well, yeah, of course, I'm just saying..." he trailed off.

Mrs. Hudson continued. "Plus, I am determined to be at the hospital for the birth. I still feel awful that I couldn't make it to the wedding. If only my blasted sister hadn't taken ill. I wouldn't have been out of town."

Mary comforted her. "Now, now, Mrs. Hudson, they understood. Family is family after all. Besides, Lestrade couldn't make it either. Away to Bristol he was. Another attempt to reconcile with the wife. At least, that's what Sherlock said."

The three of them spoke in unison then. "And Sherlock is always right." They broke into gales of laughter and Sherlock took that as his cue to move along. He needed to get cleaned up and join them. He was happy to note that they had finally grasped the inevitable truth of his infallibility.

A sweet interlude.

Reviews are love.

Direwolf