A/N: Just a little fluff to brighten up your night. Personally, I like it. Are the comments annoying?

Disclaimer: Obviously, none is mine. Darn.

When he had come back from the dead, he had been ready. Ready to be more than just a consulting detective and a friend. He had wanted to be a lover and a boyfriend (even though the term disgusted him). Her lover and boyfriend.

Well, technically he already had been her lover. Just for one night, right before the fall, after he had declared that he needed her. And, God, she had given him everything.

It had been passionate and rough (the first time, at least) and just then had Sherlock understood how much he really needed her. To hold her in his arms and to be in hers, to feel her, taste her, being buried deep inside her…a life changing experience.

And being parted from her for so long had convinced him that yes, he was very much in love with Molly Hooper and that he would give in and be with her for as long as she wanted him.

…Just to find out that she didn't want him at all anymore. He had felt the difference the minute they laid eyes on each other in the locker room. And after spending one wonderful date solving crimes with her (it had been perfect. She was perfect for him, in every aspect of life. How hadn't he seen this?), she had finally exposed her ring and he had bit back the hurt and had said his farewell to what could have been.

Almost a year later, Molly had broken off her engagement. It was a misfortune that he had to go back on drugs for the case. Curse John for bringing him to her lab. If she hadn't known about his on-purpose relapse, he might have had another chance with her. But damn, she had been angry. And disappointed, which was even worse.

And then there was the thing with the engagement. Sherlock really didn't understand why she (or John, in fact) couldn't see that it had been for the case. Janine was a strong woman, she could handle this. And so she did. Molly had been way more unforgiving about this than her. She had withdrawn from him even further and now he felt that she was completely out of reach.

So Sherlock was currently trying to accept that she would never be in his arms again, that he would never feel the comfort and love again which she had given him so graciously back in the dark lab at St. Bart's.

Yet, he couldn't keep away from her completely. Molly was a part of his life, a good part. He was sure that one day, it wouldn't hurt to be with her without being with her. He could go back to be a friend. And he would be happy for her when she found another man and got married to him. Yes, happy…One day…

It had become a habit to take a deep breath before Sherlock entered Molly's lab. His eyes instantly hurried around to find her and it had also become habit that his heart did a flip first and then clenched in despair. His heart was kind of dramatic about the whole thing. Annoying.

He found her chatting with a colleague – Susan, if he recalled correctly -, a little white bowl with some kind of dessert in it in her hand. Susan had one as well and when she saw him, she quickly said goodbye to Molly and hurried out of the lab.

"Hello, Sherlock", Molly greeted him with a smile. "Case or experiment?"

Sherlock smirked. She looked lovely today with her side braid and this smile, which was only his. She only smiled at him like this.

"Experiment", he replied and while he shrugged off his coat, Molly put the bowl on the table and went into the next room to get his things. When she came back, Sherlock was sniffing at the dessert.

"Mousse au chocolat?" he asked.

"Yes. It's Alex's birthday today. Made it himself. I already had two bowls, but it's just so delicious! Do you want some?"

"No."

"I thought you're not on a case."

"Too sweet."

"But it's dark chocolate."

"Still."

Molly shook her head. "Suit yourself. More for me. Yummy."

Sherlock sat down at his usual place while Molly sat down at the little workspace with a computer.

"You shouldn't eat this in here", Sherlock pointed out.

Molly grinned over to him, pulling a tea spoon out of her jeans pocket.

"Are you going to tell on me?"

They looked at each other and Sherlock could feel her creamy, soft skin beneath his fingers.

"No."

"Good boy."

Sherlock huffed. Molly giggled and turned her attention to the screen of the computer.

They worked in comfortable silence for a while, until Sherlock made the horrible, horrible mistake to glance up at her.

It felt like lightning had struck him and he froze.

The tongue. Molly's tongue. Licking the mousse off the spoon. Just the tip swirling around it to get it all.

Sherlock shivered.

Memories, oh so many memories flashed in front of his eyes while Molly innocently loaded her spoon with more mousse, pushing it between her lips and into her mouth – God, this wonderful, hot mouth – sucking the mousse off, her cheeks getting hollow as she slowly pulled the spoon out again.

Oh, those heavenly, bittersweet memories!

Sherlock swallowed hard. Without noticing, his face turned into a dreamy expression with his lips parted, eyebrows raised and pale cheeks blushed.

It might have stayed like this all the way through the dessert if Molly hadn't caught him looking at her. Her eyes darted to him and the tongue, this delicious pink tip, paused in mid-lick, so to speak, still sticking to the spoon.

"Is something wrong?", she asked (of course she had to remove her tongue to speak properly. What a shame. What a terrible, terrible shame) and Sherlock flinched.

"No. No", he had to clear his throat, for the first 'no' came out as a high-pitched squeak.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, of course", he replied with some annoyance in his voice to cover up his flustered state (flustered?! Yeah, that's not at all the state he was in but for the sake of our younger readers, let's say "flustered").

"Do you need help with something?"

"No."

"Are you feeling well? You look a bit…"

Flustered, please say flustered. Not the other thing!

"Hot."

Oh God.

"I'm fine."

Molly sighed and mumbled a quick 'fine' before she turned her attention back to the screen. With another hard gulp Sherlock looked through the microscope again, seeing nothing.

He heard the button on the mouse click a few times. Then the clink of metal against porcelain.

Damn, he wanted to look. He wanted to see it again. One more time. Just for a second.

No, his mind shouted angrily. No more of this! You're a grown man. You're in full command of your body. You don't give into your body's needs (anymore)! Focus!

Sherlock nodded to himself, pressed his lips together and blinked furiously until he finally saw the bacteria through the microscope. His mind was right, of course. He was stronger than his body.

But then, oh this cruel woman, started to make sucking noises and hummed and God dammit it was driving him crazy. Every inch of his skin was tingling with desire and his manhood – no, sorry, must think of the younger readers. No mention of this! We sum it up with this – Sherlock felt really, really hot. This fateful night was on his mind so vividly that he felt, tasted, heard and smelled her, all of her, her, her, her.

"Molly!" he shouted, the despair erupting from his mouth like lava erupting from a volcano.

He saw her flinch in her seat and she looked at him with wide, innocent eyes, the spoon, hideous object, still in her mouth.

Sherlock, still outraged and very, very hot, shot up from his seat.

"If you can't eat your disgusting dessert with the dignity of a civilized person, and it's clear that you can't, I will leave and continue my experiment at home!" he said – well, yelled, as a matter of fact – while he hastily put on his coat.

"Good day!" he snapped as he flipped up his collar and with one last look at her (those eyes! So warm and innocent and hurt! This woman is impossible!), he whirled around and stormed out of the lab.

"What the heck's gotten into you?" he heard Molly shout after him, which only made him speed up.

He was practically running now, his footsteps echoing from the walls, mocking his lack of control.

With a growl he pushed upon the doors to freedom and sprinted the way home only to channel the energy that was bubbling beneath his skin to something other than what he really wanted to do with it (Oh God, here come the memories again! Why haven't I deleted this bloody night years ago?!).

His lungs were burning when he finally reached Baker Street and as soon as he was inside, he broke down on the stairs, rolling onto his back and gasped for air hungrily. Sweat was running down his forehead and he wiped it off with the sleeve of his coat.

Damn, he was hot!

With some effort he shrugged off his coat, still not done with the panting. His lungs were really mad at him.

Leaving the coat where it was – Mrs. Hudson would bring it up, later – Sherlock climbed the stairs. Oh, his legs hated him, too.

Grunting and panting, he finally reached the top, dragged himself over to his couch and crashed down on it, face first.

Never ever would he set another foot into St. Bartholomew's hospital, he swore himself sternly. He would conduct all his experiments here, in the safety of his home. Away from Molly. No more of this torture!

"There you are! I thought you'd never get home."

Sherlock froze as he heard the voice of the woman he was currently thinking of (well, she was always on his mind. Not always in the focus, but always around. Just like…wallpaper). He shot up and wanted to throw her out when he laid eyes on her. They widened in pure horror and his mouth fell open as he saw Molly stand in the doorway to the living room in nothing, NOTHING, but his purple shirt. She smiled at him, her head tilted, and pulled the elastic out of her hair.

Sherlock gulped as her long hair cascaded around her shoulders freely.

With a giggle Molly crossed the distance between them and just then did Sherlock realize that she was carrying a bowl of that damned mousse au chocolat in her hand.

He tried very hard to speak, to say something, to stop her from coming closer, God help him, but his throat was dry as the desert and when she reached him and her scent filled his nose his legs gave in and he fell back onto the couch, watching helplessly as Molly smiled down at him, put a hand on his shoulder and climbed onto the couch and – Jesus Christ! – onto his lap.

He let out a gasp as he realized his hands had snaked around her thighs and he could feel the softness and warmth of her skin beneath his fingers.

Sherlock looked up at her, completely flabbergasted. He had no idea what the hell was going on. And how she got here, for that matter. Or why, on earth why, she was here.

"I saw your envying look while I was eating my dessert and I just know you would love some", Molly answered his unspoken question. She raised the bowl and Sherlock watched as she dug in the spoon.

"Do you want to try it?"

She held the spoon in front of his mouth but Sherlock hardly noticed. His concentration was focused on her weight on top of him, her hot centre right on top of his manhood, his fiercely reacting, quickly swelling manhood (okay, things got totally out of hand. Youngsters, you gotta stop reading now. Go out, meet your friends, play some games, but do not, I repeat, do NOT read on. You have to stop. It's the law).

Sherlock's brain – now in dangerous lack of blood supply – needed quite a while to process the incoming question, therefore Sherlock almost needed half a minute to shake his head.

He didn't want the bloody mousse au chocolat!

"How about now?" came the next question and just as Sherlock wanted to decline with words, Molly put the spoon into her mouth, looking at him with eyes that were burning, inviting, seducing even.

With a slurpy noise the spoon plopped out of her mouth, the mousse gone. Molly grinned at him wickedly and Sherlock was wondering why she didn't swallow when the two right contacts in his brain finally touched.

OH!

Sherlock couldn't nod fast enough as he finally understood – thought he understood – what was happening, tilted his head back and parted his lips to crush them against hers.

He had waited so bloody long for this kiss. He refused to wait one more second.

He kind of shoved his tongue into her mouth, passion overwhelming him, and kissed her hungrily, tasting the mousse on his tongue as it caressed hers. He still despised the taste. Not her tongue. The mousse. Only the mousse.

The cruel woman on his lap broke the kiss after a few seconds and pulled at his hair when he tried to reunite their lips.

"We have to finish the dessert", she declared in a teasing whisper and repeated her former action. Sherlock couldn't wait for the spoon to pull out of her mouth so he could replace it with his tongue again.

She kissed him longer now, bless her, and Sherlock let out a pleased hum, his hands wandering under the hem of her – eh, his – shirt. They wandered up her thighs, kneading the creamy skin along the way before they cupped her bottocks. He had always thought her skin was especially soft there and he had the time of his life massaging it, feeling the warm flesh beneath his fingers. He pulled her against his chest with a low moan.

But then, curse her, did she end the kiss once again. Sherlock tried to protest, but Molly pressed her finger on his lips before she gently pushed him back into the couch.

"The whole dessert, Sherlock", she reminded him and tilted his head back until Sherlock was looking at the ceiling.

Damn her, he didn't want to look at the ceiling! He knew every crack or blob of paint already. He wanted to look at her, see all of her, catalogue every change of her skin in the three years they had been apart.

He should say it. Maybe that's what she wanted. She might wanted him to beg. And he would! He would tell her everything he felt in his heart as long as she would kiss him again! And never stop, preferably.

Sherlock had opened his mouth to confess that he was all hers when he felt something cool and sticky on his throat, realizing it was the mousse. Only for one second did he wonder what had happened. Then he felt Molly's hot tongue lick over his skin, covering it in goosebumps. He let out a rather embarrassing loud moan.

Her tongue glided up, ran along his jaw, reaching his ear where her lips sucked at the earlobe. Sherlock's hips buckled. Molly giggled.

"Maybe now you get the idea", she whispered and placed a tender kiss on his cheekbone.

"Y-Yes", Sherlock croaked and watched how Molly picked up some mousse with her finger before putting it in her mouth and sucking it off.

Sherlock's manhood was throbbing painfully already, declaring that he wanted some of Molly's attention, if not all of it.

But the pathologist was not finished with teasing him, as it seemed, for she loaded some of the mousse on her finger again and offered it to Sherlock.

Even though he didn't like it, he opened his mouth and looked at her with heavy lids and burning eyes as he licked and sucked her little finger clean.

He shivered when Molly put the finger into her mouth after Sherlock had released it.

"Hold this", she ordered and pushed the bowl into his hand before she started unbuttoning his shirt.

Damn it, she moved too slowly. His fingers were trembling from all the desire that was rushing through his body.

So, to busy himself and to pay her back, Sherlock mimicked Molly and spread some of the mousse on her neck and licked it off, not minding the taste so much now.

Molly hummed in pleasure and tilted her head way back so Sherlock could access all of her long swan neck and he totally took advantage of it, forgetting the mousse for the moment and just licked and kissed her sensitive skin for the delicious taste of it.

He jubilated when her hands snaked into his full hair and her pleased little moans and gasps filled his ear (yes, my darling, I remember how sensitive your neck is), thinking she might forget about the blasted dessert, but of course she didn't.

She stopped him at one point and ordered him to take off his shirt, which he did as fast as possible while their eyes were locked, and she pushed him into the cushion once again and the real torture began.

Molly started by drawing a line of mousse au chocolat on his collarbone and the hollow between both of them and licked it off, slowly, in one lazy wipe of her tongue.

Apparently she remembered his soft spots, too.

His fingers dug into her skin while she was drawing on his chest with the mousse and destroyed her work with her skilled tongue. Sherlock moaned as she sucked of the mousse from his left nipple with her sweet, sweet mouth, his chest rising and falling quickly by now.

The lust consumed him by the second, by every wipe of her tongue and every kiss of her lips. He was physically hurting. Molly Hooper put him to pieces.

"Please, Molly", he begged her with a raspy voice, the desperation audible.

She rose from her crouched position and looked at him, their eyes locking once again.

"Please, what?"

"I can't bear this…I need you", Sherlock whispered, his hands on her hips and his thumbs grazing the skin of her belly.

"Even after all those years?" she whispered back.

Doubt.

Sherlock couldn't believe that she doubted him. His feelings. His sincerity. Him!

"Even more so", he breathed and for once took control of the situation, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her like a drowning man.

It had felt like this when they had made love the first time. He had drowned in Molly. His senses had been consumed by her, his mind filing every little detail they had discovered. And so was it this time, he catalogued all the little things that were the same and those which were different. Her tongue was moving differently, being used to another type of kiss. Her nose nudged his in the exact same spot when they tilted their heads to the other side. She tasted differently but still exquisite. Her scent was still the same and he loved it even more now that it was all over him.

The kiss turned feverish very soon and Sherlock let out a surprised gasp as he felt Molly fumble hastily at his trousers. His fly was open in a heartbeat (skilled hands, people, skilled hands!) and Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut and moaned into her mouth as she took him in her hand.

"Gosh, I wanted to take this slow, but feeling you so hard and ready for me, I can't…" she breathed into his hair while he was nibbling at her neck.

"No. No more. I need you now", Sherlock replied hoarsely and was already lifting her up to position her when she stopped him.

"But the dessert!"

"Fuck the dessert!"

"Sherlock!" Molly giggled and when he grinned at her boyishly, she pecked him on the lips.

"But I wanted to lick it off some other part of your body."

"What part?" he asked, still busy trying to push her down (horrible, horrible woman, leaving him standing in the cold air like this).

"This part", Molly grinned and Sherlock let out a groan when her very hot, very wet centre rubbed along his manhood, and we are talking aaall the way.

After some slow processing, Sherlock understood the meaning behind the tease and paused.

"Oh."

"Mhmm."

He thought about this. He craved Molly's sweet mouth on his cock (oh, come on. I think we're past the part where we call it 'manhood', aren't we?), but he wanted to bury himself in her even more.

"Later", he decided and while Molly was being busy with giggling into his ear, Sherlock grabbed her hip and lowered her onto him.

Oh, the slick warmth that was welcoming him! He was back in heaven!

"Oh God, Molly!" he breathed into her ear as the sensation overwhelmed him and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her as close as possible. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders in response and kissed him while she started to rock her hips. Slowly at first, just as overwhelmed as him, re-experiencing what it was like to have his length inside her, filling her and stretching her in the most pleasant way.

They kissed almost sweetly now, love replacing the lust for a moment, the longing for each other finally fulfilled.

"Sherlock", Molly breathed against his lips and cradled his face, letting her fingertips glide along his cheekbones.

Once again their eyes locked and Sherlock and Molly smiled at each other. They shared more sweet kisses, but soon the lust made a comeback and Molly started moving frantically, riding him like a black, beautiful mustang (sorry, I so couldn't resist. Snorts).

Sherlock's senses were once again burned by the exceptional woman on his lap and there was this hunger for her, the need to feel her bare skin against his. But she was still wearing the purple shirt and right now, it was driving him mad. It had been a big turn on half an hour ago, but now it was nothing but frustrating. Always the impatient man, he didn't bother to ask her nicely to take it off. No, he just grabbed the rough fabric (rough compared to her skin) and ripped it apart. Molly squealed and lost her rhythm.

"Oh, Sherlock! How could you?! This was my favorite shirt", she complained while he was busy getting the remains off of her.

"It's my shirt" he reminded her, throwing the damned thing across the room.

"My favorite shirt on you", she grinned and Sherlock let his hands run through her long hair before he pulled her naked upper body against his, never breaking eye contact.

"I'll buy you a new one. I'll buy a hundred if you want. Just shut up now and start rolling your hips again."

"You like that, don't you?" she grinned.

"God, yes!"

Molly giggled and kissed him, their tongues dancing while Molly started to move her hips yet again. She rolled them slowly and Sherlock felt her slick channel slide along his shaft, massaging him oh so nicely.

Dear Lord in heaven, Molly Hooper knew exactly how to drive Sherlock mad. Her hips moved with expertise, clenching her walls around him when she moved down on him, which felt so bloody fantastic that Sherlock was on the edge of losing control. The need for her made his skin tingle and he buried his head between her breasts to feel her. His face rubbed against her mounds, the creamy skin brushing over his cheekbones and nudging his nose. He just loved this spot, so warm and soft and safe.

He heard his Molly moan on top of him and once again she picked up the pace, soon rocking back and forth so fast their skin was slapping together soundly.

Molly's hands moved into his hair and Sherlock moaned against her bobbing mounds as she tugged at his black curls. His fingers slid down her back and dug into her hips again, needing her to move faster, even though the couch was already squeaking from Molly's rocking. He moved her over his cock as fast as he could and bit into the mound of her right breast. Molly let out a high-pitched scream at the overwhelming orgasm that followed the love bite. Sherlock gasped when he felt her channel tighten and convulse around him, demanding his seed.

After three years, he was more than ready to oblige.

He groaned into her neck as he came just seconds later and held her tight, pressing her against his body to feel her everywhere while he ejaculated deep inside her. The most marvelous feeling in the world!

Both of them were panting heavily and Sherlock fell back into the cushions, taking Molly with him. She melted into him, her fluttering heartbeat against his chest, and placed her head in the crook of his neck, letting out a more than satisfied sigh.

Sherlock closed his eyes and placed his cheek on her fringe while he tenderly caressed her back, running up and down along her spine with his fingertips.

He was feeling more content and at peace than he had in years. This is what she did for him: Bringing him peace. When he was holding her in his arms, all of the pain, frustration, anger and fear melted away. With her, he could just be himself. He could just be.

"I love you, Molly."

It wasn't difficult to tell her. Not anymore, not after losing her twice, once to Moriarty (in a way) and once to Meat-Dagger-Man (he had deleted his name as soon as he had noticed the absence of the ring, but the Meat-Dagger-thing had been too hilarious to delete).

"I know", came her soft reply and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "Only took you seven years to find this out. Congratulations."

Sherlock chuckled and placed a kiss on her arm before he let his nose brush over her skin to breathe in her scent.

"You forgive me, then?", Sherlock asked and opened his eyes as he felt Molly stiffen in his arms.

He turned his head to look at her, but obviously she refused to look at him, for her head was still buried in his neck.

"It depends", she finally replied.

"On what?"

"Will you ever take drugs again?"

"It was for a…" he let out a sigh, "…no, I won't."

"Will you ever break a woman's heart again by pretending to be in love with her and propose to her only because it's what you think the easiest way to get what you want?"

So this is what she really had been angry about, Sherlock finally understood. He had always assumed it had been the relapse (and the three slaps had been a big pro for this theory). Molly had never commented on his actions regarding Janine. And that's exactly what should have told him that this had been the reason for her pulling away from him. Stupid Sherlock. He should have known.

She was still afraid that he would hurt her at one point, that he would use her for egoistic purposes as he had Janine.

"I won't be able to", he began softly, turning his head so his lips brushed against her forehead, "when I'm already married. This would be against the law."

It was dead silent for a moment. Then Molly raised her head, her brows furrowed and her eyes hurrying over his face.

"Was this your attempt at a proposal?"

"I think that's fairly obvious."

She looked into his eyes, her lips slightly parted. There was tenderness he could see, the love she felt for him, but also fear.

"Boy, do I hope you did better with Janine", she exclaimed in the end and dropped her head back onto his shoulder.

Sherlock blinked.

That wasn't the response he had expected.

"Well, I proposed to her through an intercom in front of Magnussen's office and John was present. But I had a ring."

Molly sighed.

"I'm going to take a shower."

Before he could protest she had climbed off his lap. He reached out for her, grabbing her wrist before she could escape him.

"Marry me, Molly."

Molly looked down as he stroke her hand with his own.

"Better, but it should be a question, not a command. And you should be dressed and go down on one knee."

"Really?" he asked as he stood up, following her to the bathroom. "Do we have to go through this charade? Haven't we known each other long enough now?"

To his utmost displeasure Molly chose not to answer him. Instead, she stepped into the bathtub and was about to draw the curtain close when he quickly joined her. He stared at her back while she turned on the water and chose a temperature to her liking. When she stepped into the stream and the water soaked her long hair and trickled down her beautiful body, Sherlock had the feeling he was losing her again.

But not this time, he swore himself.

As tenderly as he could he wrapped his arms around her from behind, closing his eyes as the water poured down his body while he pressed lingering kisses onto her shoulder.

"Please, Molly. Please marry me. I love you."

She shuddered as he whispered those words into her ear and leaned against him, her forehead resting against his lips.

"I love you, too."

Pure bliss filled his heart.

"Then marry me. I will not hurt you again. I will be the man you want me to be."

He heard her sigh again and she covered his lower arms, which were wrapped tightly around her belly, with hers. Their fingers interlaced.

"I just want you to be yourself, Sherlock. I love you for who you are. It is you who thinks you're not loveable. And this disbelief makes you push people away or hurt them. Sometimes you even ridicule them for loving you."

Sherlock pulled her closer.

"Not you. Never you."

For a long while, it was silent despite the running water, then Molly sighed.

"Ask me again. And this time, ask."

Sherlock smiled against her forehead.

"Will you do me the honor and be my wife, my dearest, fairest Molly Hooper?"

"You're such an arse."

He chuckled and pressed pardoning kisses on her wet skin.

When he reached her ear, he tried again.

"Will you marry me, Molly?"

He couldn't see, but she smiled.

"Yes, I will. God have mercy on my soul."

His heart skipped a beat and he turned her around in his arms, she slipping in the tub and crashing against his body, to check if she was as happy as he was. The answer was in her eyes.

With a tender smile he cupped her face and pulled her in for a sweet, lingering kiss.

(I could continue with this story and tell you in all detail how they made hot shower sex and continued to celebrate their engagement all through the night and part of the next day, but for now, this shall be enough. Let's end this story with the scent of love and tenderness in the air rather than the hot, musky scent of sex. Let's do this another time, shall we? Okay. Laterz!)

(God, I'm such a douche...)