Molly was staring at his scarf again. Even as she chastised herself internally for mooning over Sherlock again, she couldn't tear her eyes from it. Sherlock always wore scarves. They were as pivotal to his identity as his beloved Belstaff. Lately though Molly had found herself thinking of all the dirty things she could do with that scarf...and its owner.

Molly finally lifter her gaze from his scarf to Sherlock's face. Oh, god, he was smirking at her. He had seen her staring at his scarf and had deduced what she was thinking. Of course he had.

Molly blushed as she turned to grab the toxicology report that Sherlock had originally come for and handed it to him while avoiding his eyes.

"Um...Mr. Trask's report came back clean...he..um, he appeared to have enjoyed a fairly vice-free life," stammered Molly wishing for once that her plea for the floor to open up and swallow her whole would be granted. So far no luck.

"Molly," Sherlock drawled.

"Look at the time!" Molly said quickly. "I'm late for a meeting!" And with that Molly turned on her heel and practically ran from the lab.

Sherlock waiting until the door had swung shut before he started chuckling. Honestly, while Molly's thoughts were perfectly clear to him, he was a bit surprised that her line of thinking was so...naughty. For some reason that pleased Sherlock, and he wasn't sure why. With a snap he closed Mr. Trask's file and began leaving the lab, resolving as he went, he would put this whole Molly/dirty scarf obsession out of his mind.

And yet...

And yet...here he was three days later, standing over a corpse with Lestrade and John and he was still thinking about it. Not actively of course, he was still making deductions on how the victim was staged to look like a suicide, (he was killed by a shot to the right-side of his head, and yet he was left-handed, you could tell by the wearing of his left cuff), but he couldn't keep his hands off his scarf, touching it and wondering just what Molly had planned to do with it. Even John noticed.

"What's the matter? Did the dry-cleaners put too much starch in your scarf?" Asked John. "You keep fingering it, is it itching you?"

"What? No." Sherlock said with a start. "I'm just...thinking," finished Sherlock lamely.

"Of course you were," scoffed John. "That's what you do with 90 percent of your time."

Sherlock couldn't think of clever comeback and settled for glaring at John instead.

"Well this is clearly a waste of my time," said Sherlock straightening and ignoring John and Lestrade's outraged sputters. "I need to check on some experiments at Bart's. I'll text you later John," he said over his shoulder, leaving to John to once again find his own way home from a crime scene.

In the relative quiet of the cab Sherlock finally admitted to himself that his thoughts about Molly and his scarf weren't being easily banished, and even more startling he found himself ...enjoying these thoughts. But he was Sherlock bloody Holmes! He didn't need, and didn't want sex.

And yet...

And yet...the idea of Molly, naked and wrapped around him was something Sherlock found himself wanting more and more. Admittedly, he was a bit under-experienced in sex department. Lord knows John and Mycroft teased him about it all the time. Surely having a little more knowledge in that area would be helpful in this investigations. It definitely would be nice to not have to look to John for answers when sexual stuff (the mechanics and the motivations) came up in his inquires.

Yes, this could be an experiment, Sherlock decided. He could handle an experiment. Now all he needed was to get Molly on board.

A half-hour later Sherlock strode into the pathology lab. He locked the door behind him quietly and then made a bee-line to Molly, who was absorbed in looking at slides and hadn't heard him come in or even when he came to stand directly behind her.

"I've deduced 37 ways my scarf could be used as a sexual aid," said Sherlock (he had thought about that too on the cab ride over). Molly, shocked at the sound of Sherlock's voice out of nowhere, gasped and jumped back, causing Sherlock to grab her by the arms to keep her from stepping on his toes.

"What!" exclaimed Molly, turning around in Sherlock's arms, her face turning beet red.

"My scarf," said Sherlock, with an expression that clearly said he thought Molly was being slow. "I know you've been thinking of how it can be used during sex...during sex with me."

Molly still blushing furiously, stared at Sherlock while she open and closed her mouth a few times, unable to get a word out. She was however, thinking- 37? Damn. She'd only come up with 18. Either she was losing creativity in her old age, or Sherlock had experienced way kinkier acts then she had thought.

"I've never had sex with someone I respected before," said Sherlock, using the reasoning he had thought of in the cab ride that would work best on Molly. "I find myself curious about what that would be like, and if the scarf would ...add pleasure to the act."

"Are, are you asking me to have sex with you?" Squeaked Molly, sure that she wasn't hearing right.

"Yes," said Sherlock firmly. "An experiment! It has been pointed out to me time and time again that my knowledge in this area is woefully lacking. This will rectify that. We'll meet three times a week, for the next four weeks. I give you full license to do what you want with my scarf," said Sherlock with a grin.

Molly gulped. This was not happening. Years of daydreaming and un-returned affection and now Sherlock was practically throwing himself at her. Next she'll find out that she'd find out that lab coats where now the height of couture fashion.

"You'd only have sex with me, I mean we'd be exclusive" said Molly, stalling for time while she tried to stop her head from spinning. The fact that Sherlock still hadn't let go of her was not helping.

"Yes," said Sherlock.

"You can't tell John," said Molly, still stalling.

"As long as you promise not to tell Mary," said Sherlock. "I know you two like to gossip."

"You know that a lot of my...my ideas would require you to be...somewhat...submissive to me," said Molly nervously.

Sherlock had been watching Molly's mouth while they had been talking. Seeing her form the word submissive and hearing it leave her pink lips cause a jolt to zip straight down to his groin. Sherlock had never had that reaction before (although he would never admit it, Irene had come pretty close) and it only furthered confirmed that he had to get to the bottom of this scarf business. He was sure that once the "experiment" was over, he would stop thinking about it and he wouldn't be bothered by it again.

"I understand," said Sherlock, with no hint of embarrassment or unease in his voice.

Molly closed her eyes. This could be a spectacularly bad idea. She already in half in love with Sherlock, and she knew the odds of him ever loving her back were astronomical. Right now she was pretty sure she could get over her feelings and marry someone else, if she ever found herself in that position (again). If she went through with this, there would probably be no coming back. She would more than likely pine for him forever.

But at the same time, if she turned him down, she knew she'd never forgive herself. Ever. She would think about it everyday for the rest of her life.

Fuck it, Molly thought. She'd be brave.

"Deal," said Molly and in another act of bravery, she leaned up on her tip-toes and sealed their pact by kissing Sherlock square on the mouth. Sherlock was startled for a moment but then he found himself returning Molly's kiss with enthusiasm.

Molly leaned back, breaking their embrace.

"Oh, Molly Hooper," said Sherlock with a grin he couldn't contain. "This is going to be good."

Notes:

Instead of writing the whole story and then publishing it, I'm going to try doing it chapter by chapter.

Disclaimer: I, of course, own nothing.