#sherlolly smut

[ukthxbye]

Confession

(new fic from me. Very much wanted to write some solid Sherlolly smut for my friend. I think someone else requested some recently? This is how it is done then. )

He’ll probably not notice.

Molly knows the risk, and how to hurt her own feelings. An old unconscious practice. Akin to the knife’s first slice into a cadaver’s chest. Molly’s therapist told her so, a mundane habit she could do in her sleep. 

“I don’t know what you expect. We’ve gone over this and I remind—” 

“You’re so good at reminding me… Like I don't know what to do.”

 And her therapist would sigh and move on. Talk about her mother or her job or… but no they haven’t talked about her and Sherlock’s past in a long time. 

It’s more familiar than what we are now. 

Her therapist was clueless Molly, and Sherlock slept together. Any of the times. Dinners. Overnights. Tea and then lunch. More than work and one step ahead even if it feels the same.  

“I’ve only got twenty,” he checks his watch. “Actually forty minutes, I’ll be honest. This case needs another intelligent mind. John has none, so you’re it.”

“Always,” she says, her fingers running down the edge of the tie like a stim. Black, dull silk, fine in its quality even if plain. She couldn’t say now why she stole the tie at the moment. It’s end sticking out of a drawer. But it cleared in her head a day ago, an image she can’t push aside. 

A breath between them, his squint unyielding. 

“That's my tie.”

“Hmm?” He likes me innocent at first. 

“Why are you wearing… it.” His voice drops lower, his stare on her chest and she pulls air sharply through her nose to counteract the instant heat and pressure under her sternum. Should’ve skipped breakfast. 

“Hmm?” She stares down, shuffling a paper, looking at anything but his eyes. “Oh this. I had a staff meeting, and I needed to look more professional. I saw it there the other day and —”

“No.”

“I’m sorry?” She dares a glance up, swallowing her thickened spit in a slow gulp. Why do I forget his effect every time until it's too late? “What are you—”

“That's not why you wore it.” His voice bounces in her head, direct… with no hint of confusion. 

She snickers while her insides contort, knowing it's a game he’ll win. “Contrary to your ego, I do things that have nothing to do with you.”

“But it's… my… tie.” He speaks each word softer than the next as he steps beside her. “And I said nothing other than that, which is true. In fact. But… that’s not a clue. The Molly I know would always ask, not take… like a thief… but that circumstance is irrelevant to the reasoning. Now…” his gloved fingers tap on the table near her hand. “I need you to tell me what it is… you want or … is that the game?”

She shakes her head slightly. “What?”

He sighs out as he flexes his chest, glancing down at the table, “The game… Your game. Please own this… it's much sexier. You’re of like mind, but that means…” his eyes travel up her form and meet her stare, “We must use words. Is that not what we discussed, my darling?”

Blank. Her thoughts slip away with that “my darling” dripping in the sweetness, almost like begging that he whispered in her ear only two days ago… when she stole the tie.

I have two options… keep playing or play with him. 

“So what?” Okay so I play. 

“So what what?” The tiniest growl under his tone sets her spine alight. 

She sniffs and shrugs, looking away at her paperwork. Perfect. “So I stole your tie.” Her index finger and thumb stroke down the tie.

“Yes, we’ve established this… move on.”

“I’m wearing it.” She loosens it at the top. She spies his eyes on her throat. 

“Are we in the mood for the obvious?”

“Does it bother you?” She holds his stare. He also likes me like this. 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” 

He flinches, and she smirks. 

“So, what are you going to do about it?” She only offers a raised eyebrow. 

“Why should I do anything?” he snickers low as he leans back against the counter, folding his leather gloves hands across in front and his face drops back into flat serious. “You made your decisions. You want me to do something about it… but…”

He sighs so faintly, and she matches. So maybe this was silly. It was fun but … is this us? 

He leans to her, without a word, and she waits wide eyed as he gets closer, stepping around the counter running his fingers lightly on it. His eyes stay on the tie and she holds her breath, waiting, each scuff of his step ringing in her head. 

So much of what she imagines never comes true. Even now, this all seems like a dream. Did she imagine his hands on it this morning as she tied the knot? Yes. God, yes. 

His hand brushes her breast as he slides it up the tie and grips, tugging her to him in one hard snatch.

“Tell me what you want with this,” Sherlock says. His eyes betray him, darkened now. 

“Beg me,” she says, letting the fire settle in her chest. Her own voice is unfamiliar to her. Low and clear like his. 

“Ah… well,” Sherlock says with a click of his tongue, his fingers wrapping the tie around his hand. One turn, then another over his hand. “Let me do what you need… what you want…what fantasy has played in your head…and to this end… please. Rid me of this riddle. Give me the answers.”

She closes her eyes, the heat of his face so near hers now. “I could leave you stiff and cold.” She heard the tremor in her voice, the pressure hard at the back of her neck. 

“You can…you have before.”

“I’m glad you remember that.”

“Yes… I remember everything.”

Molly’s memories flash like lightning, dropping into her body, and her eyes flutter closed. 

“Tell me what you need… tell me the game.”

She licks her lips meeting his dark gaze. The animal inside him growling under his teeth set, his hum low as he slips his gloved finger down her jaw, gentle and rough in his grip, the leather soft but with pressure. “What… do… you… want?”

“Turn and go into my office and wait. Sit in the chair that is uncomfortable, the old chair you complained about when I made you sit an hour in it… you’ll sit and wait… gotta throw off suspicion…yes?”

“Good girl.” He says low, his fingertips falling from her face, down and across the tie and her breasts, somehow finding her nipple. She stifles a gasp. 

And he’s gone, pulling his coat close around him and his steps increasing as she watches him sneak into her office and close the door with no noise. 

“That's right… I am. But I’m bored of that.”

His eyes spoke of curiosity before he left her… It looks a lot like lust. She’s always seen that in his drive for answers. Passion in bed is better used in a case, he’d all but said. Others never spotted it, but she did. 

But I’ll make him too tired to care about the case. You can thank me later, John. 

“You will…” her fingers lightly travelled up the tie to her throat, a glitter painted nail tracing along the collar and he doesn’t blink, “Do exactly what I tell you. I’m gonna take my tie off… oh sorry… your tie.”

He licks his lips, his blue eyes darker, steadily staring at her fingers.

She counts breaths between each pull. 5…4…3…2…1

The tug is unyielding at the nape as she arches it up, throat exposure that shifts him in his seat, mirroring her with his own neck. 

The knot slides out, and she grabs both sides. God that pull feels like his hand the other night... But focus…

 “I need you to stand.”

He wordlessly complies. 

“You will tie me to the chair.”

“We could do this somewhere more enjoyable—” 

“Did I say speak?”

He shakes his head. The slight lift at the corner of those perfect lips strikes her core, blood pooling. She knows each tic and gesture like a well-worn textbook. Years and she uses it to her advantage now. 

She sits slowly, not releasing his gaze, letting him see down her shirt before she leans back.

“You like it when I tell you what to do? Nod… but if you have any pretty words as you tie, then say them… make me ache if you can.”

“I don’t have to speak… in fact my words are worthless. But my hands do valuable work… and my tongue… if you want them, they will serve you better.” 

“Shut up then and get to work.”

His leather hands, like a criminal tying her up, crosses her mind, and tingles in her skin. He’s no angel, as he said before. But serene in his steps behind her taking her arm’s weight into his hand, the leather thumb softly tracing the vein down her wrist, tugging her arms back. 

And he binds hard, with speed and she whimpers at the pressure just before dangerous. So precise it almost makes her come. 

“Kiss me… my lips, my eyes, and my jaw.”

He lingers his gaze before beginning his set path and she squints at its tenderness. Has she seen it before? Before now, many years ago, his lingering glance, so happy that she’d moved on like he instructed strictly her on the night he left to be “dead”. 

But I tired of doing what I was told to…

Everyone told her to never look back, never settle, never sleep in his bed and never think he could…

His lips’ caress so faint, she almost wishes her hands could slap him. He knows, oh he knows, and it's worse. 

“Stop being so docile,” she says, irritation creeping into her tone and settling in her tightening chest. 

“May I speak?” he says in a low whisper, resonating in her jaw more than her ear. 

She nods, and he persists for kisses on the same path before leaning back and securing her stare with his.

“Reverence is not as foreign to me as it would seem. An object of desire before me. A game and a case all her own. So speak.” He pulls in a ragged breath, her eyes falling to his chest, watching it rise and fall before his words snap her attention to his mouth. “Tell me your desires. Your requirements for this sacrament… it is not any less worthy than any other rite.”

Her lungs betray her. But she builds fire from it, “Unbutton my shirt, slowly, and kiss anywhere you want. But only if… you tell me what you are sorry for.”

“Hmm?” A pinch of confusion tightens on his brow. 

“Say your apologies.”

“A confession?” 

She nods with a heavy breath out her nose, the fantasy now real washing over her. And he blinks slower as his mouth crooks up.  

He sneaks a kiss below her jaw and she allows it only because the distinct sound of his glove pulled off and hitting the floor strikes her to her core. Oh god he’s going to do this… all of it I ask. His hand to the buttons of her shirt and she counts each one in her head, mapping his path and the seconds turn into minutes. Her body drops into a state of awareness and surprises her. 

Her eyes flutter closed, his breath dancing along her sternum, and his hands plant on the chair’s edges, not touching her thighs but so close she senses their heat. Is he being careful or is he… god just grab me… but no. She rights her mind, reminding this is the fantasy she wants. She says, “Yes, like a confession… if you want to bring religious kink into this.”

A joke to lighten the mood. 

He sighs, and she turns her attention to watch his lips as he says with his usual grin. “I can’t argue with its power.”

“Can’t imagine you in church.”

He sighs into her skin and she can’t breathe. Why am I feeling this way now? She’s had sex with him. Though mostly more passionately, fast, or angry. Scratching an itch. But this is like surgery. 

“You go to church often?”

“Well, no—”

“Except that night.”

She leans back, and he obliges and mirrors, each looking fully at the other. 

His eyes say what he doesn’t. He was there the night she slipped in the church to pray in desperation for his safety. A god she can’t believe in but she needed any help she could get. 

“If I could I’d slap you.” It’s worked in the past. 

“Oh… but you can’t.”

“Wipe that smile off or you get nothing.”

“My apologies.”

“Then get on your knees.”

She catches the flash of the shape of his cock in his pants as he steps half a step back and falls to his knees before her with a dull thud and a grimace. 

“Molly… if I’m allowed, I will confess my sins… while I commit others.”

“As long as you do as I say, absolution is yours.” Her smile grows as she speaks, a new fire building in her core with the words she’d only heard in her head before. 

“Beautiful words but…” His darkened stare on her chest and she knows he cheats, counting breaths and rise and fall to know his effect. 

“Some things are involuntary, Sherlock. I’m exposed in my office. That's why my heart is up and my breath—”

“OH… of course.”

“Moving on. You’re confessing… not me. I need no forgiveness.”

“Then please forgive me…” he licks the corner of his lip, his gaze straying down. “I forget my place. May I lay kisses on your chest as an offering with my confessions?”

“Yes.”

Her thighs in his hands as he leans over, his hot breath on her skin now so close as his lips caress just below her collarbone. “Forgive me, Molly, I have sinned.”

The kiss moves over to her clavicle and he speaks low into her throat, “I knew of your affections…” Trailing down her sternum and she knows her breath informs him of her want to him. But she can’t control them now. Her arms ache now tied back 

 “I confess I thought all affection dull… but not yours…” He smiles into the kiss over her heart, the pressure of it and the organ reaching for each other through her sternum.  

Wait… what?

But his lips trail over the swell and his nose nuzzles the edge of her bra, the heat of his breath sneaking through the black lace, finding her nipple and she gasp as he says “I confess I saw advantage at first… then it turned to fascination and then guilt… but nothing would rid me of it… not until you let me find my own.”

Get back under control. She lets the images of him breaking because of her wash over and give her ammunition. What could he say now? Was he even serious? She can’t decide if she wants him to be or not, but she’ll test it.  

“What is your confession, then…that you loved me all along?” she says with a light snicker. Does he think I’m dumb? Is it to make me feel better? 

The air shifts, and she swallows hard as he leans back and lifts his eyes. Their stares meet, his eyes steady where hers search. He licks his lips. “Yes… though I confess I was confused. But genuine confusion never stays long with me.”

Every nerve sends fire to her spine as she sits still in shock… hopes long dead racing through her mind and the look in his eyes… she recalls each memory, each time she said to herself, “no… do not believe.”

She squints, her mouth screwing up. “Then why did—”

“Why did I do anything?” His face lifts, looking to the ceiling as if I appeal to heaven but returns his darken stare to hers. “I’m selfish, Molly. Seeking the ends to the means. I’m ill equipped at human emotion out of the abstract… you deserve more… so much—”

“Shut up.”

And he does, his face falling into a kind of serenity. 

She expects him to argue after she says it. It's his favourite defence mechanism she’d indulged until now. It made for some amazing foreplay recently. But he surprises her again as he pulls his lips tight closed and only nods with a slow blink.

“My trousers…” she sighs as his long fingers find the button immediately, and with precision he drags the zipper down. “Prove what I deserve.”

She shivers as his fingers slide inside her waistband, one hand gloved and the other not mixing sensations along her hips. How many times she’d seen those gloves hold evidence. Now tracing the lines of her bones like reading religious text, reverent. Much slower study than the previous times, none of the fervent pawing. Has he had his fill before, so now he’s patient? Her mind settles with his calmness, and she knows what to say.

“Meet it once more, but now worship as it was meant to be… in—OH,” she says soft but yelps out he lifts her, grips her trousers and knickers in one snatch down to her knees and then looks her in the eyes as he pulls the rest of the way down slow and off.

Bit of both then. 

She should have more thoughts. This is her fantasy, after all. What a time to tell him what she wants, he so perfectly compliant. The cool air of her office floats across her exposed skin. His hands cover her knees, and he pushes them apart and her breath catches. 

“Just touch me,” she blurts out, everything in her core aching.

“I’m but a humble servant…,” he smirks as he says it, but it doesn’t make her want him less. “You must tell me what you desire most of all… what you need… my hands or my lips.” He slips the gloved hand roughly up her thigh, his thumb ghosting the crease of her thigh and her cunt. 

“I… your hand first. You can kiss me everywhere else.”

He grabs her bum with his gloved hand, the leather tightening with his grip into her flesh, and she sighs into the building pain. But it only builds her hunger and impassioned fervour overwhelming her and she hears the hitch in his breath, a consecration declaring her power and his want.

His lips and teeth pull at her bra and her nipple slips out with coaxing. His lips and tongue work and she forgets where his hands are until the ungloved one slips up, gripping her rib cage tight as it slips over the other breast. 

He moans, sucking her nipple and half her breast into his mouth until she arches, the tie tightening on her wrist and she matches his moan. Her mind clears with the perfect combination. Nothing else in the world but these sensations. Wetness spreads across her hard seat as she shifts. For a moment, the discomfort grounds her in the reality of her fantasy coming true. The smells of chemical mixing with their own scents, and the sterile hospital air.

Spoken low into her chest, his voice and her heart skipping along with the words. “Intercede for me, my beloved Molly. Let your grace pour out for me, but also your mercy. I do not deserve this honour… I denied myself it because of that truth… yet you bless me. Let me bless you too.”

He put his fingers in his mouth, wet them with a glisten and then found her cunt, slipping in with ease as she bites her tongue not to cry out. It wasn’t new to her; she knows the fingers well, but the scene set overwhelming and she slides in the chair to allow him more and the tie pulls on her wrist to a deep ache. 

Two fingers in pulling and curving calling her to come as she gasps, a small orgasm pulls from her. God that was fast. 

“This is but the beginning of my confession. Let my tongue speak the rest.”

“Oh god—”

The words gone, his kiss on her lips hard, then soft and tongue disorientating her, his gloved hand still kneading her bum and the fingers inside her spread, his thumb finding her clit now. 

She sighs and whispers into his mouth, “yes” and he laps it up. 

But then he is gone and she can’t catch her breath before he pushes her thighs apart and both hands grip her ass, bringing her to his hungry mouth. 

He devours her. The word “fuck” leaves her lips between heaved breaths. The growing ache in her lower belly matching the pull on her arms and shoulder. 

Tongue wide laid flat licks up and finds her swollen clit and she cries out, biting her lip to keep from a loud moan. 

Between licks, he whispers to her, “I confess I could drink this sacrament forever, drown if it—oh yes it has blessed me.”

His tongue laps more up and she moans her eyes closing in ecstasy. But the air cools and she senses his pause… like asking permission and she glances down to see him looking up in begging reverence. It breaks her and puts her back together. 

She sighs through her heightened breath to a shudder. “Drink then, drink your fill if you can.”

“Thank you…oh bless you,” he says, a murmur only as he continues his worship. 

He sucks and pulls, consuming all she releases. His tongue playing with her clit with a perfect speed her mind goes deliciously blank. Only the rolling sensation in her body, his touch and mouth and nothing else.  

“Drown me, my darling.” His shudder, the pitch rising, and she knows his want, sensing it in her core. 

“Like that yes god please yes” she wishes she could pull his hair, but the tug of her requested restriction like reverse psychology and in her frustration her want grows.

The groans come deep from him, echoing into her cunt, and she shudders as he whispers, “I love you.”

And the orgasms wash over her, long sustains and staccato his tongue plays as his fingers enter her again. Playing her like a new piece of music. “My conversion is complete. This religion I only knew in the abstract will now be my only devotion.”

He lifts himself up, his fingers slipping inside her deeper. And he kisses her hard again. She tastes herself mixed with him, a scent mixed with his spicy cologne and she aches clinching his fingers, riding out the last of the climax. He slips out, and she drifts back into reality with her breathing. 

He places his forehead against hers. “May I release your bondage now?”

She nods and kisses his cheek, still wet from her. “Only you can… my love.”

They both smile, searching in their stare for ease once again. She sighs as he wraps his arms around and kisses his neck, and he loosens the tie’s hold and rubs her arms, helping her wrap them around him.

He pulls her onto the floor with him, cradling her, and stroking her hair, pulling its sweaty strands of hair away from her neck. She lays her head on his chest, his heart’s thump a comfort. How many times she’d considered when it might stop on her. She’s seen his dead body in her mind and in a lie… and that reality will still happen one day. It's a toss up who’ll be first but she wants the living one as much as possible. Death is inevitable. So is life. 

Then let’s live. 

“Let me get your clothes and let's go back to… yours? You have the most comfortable bed. No ties to steal,” he says matter-of-factly but with a growing smirk. That snarky boyish charm his face always shows. He’ll always have that and she grins, grabbing his cheeks with both hands and kissing him until he moans in her mouth. 

She releases him to admire his soft gaze, the only worship she’ll ever need. 

[simplyshelbs16xoxo]

hello my beautiful sherlolly fam <3

I thought it'd be fun to host, and participate, in an event this year! I know it seems too early to announce it, but I wanted to do it early enough so everyone can have time to get the creative juices flowing if they want to participate!

It begins on October 1st and runs all month long!

Any form of contribution is accepted as long as it's within the spooky or autumn theme!

I know some of you aren't into spooky stuff, so to make sure everyone can join in, just autumnal themed things are fine too!

and yes screamfest is supposed to have a double meaning for the smut writers out there (I thought it would be funny lol)

Just use the tag 'sherlolly screamfest' and/or tag me

For fics, I opened a collection on ao3 (x)

[superlc529]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thanks for the tag @esmealux ❤️❤️

How many works do you have on AO3?

I have 29 works on AO3. I've been working on a new Lucifer fic for the past 2 years on and off (mostly off) and that'll be my 30th on the site. However, I do have 63 works on ff.net (29 of them are the same) from various fandoms.

What's your total AO3 word count? As of right now, I have a word count of 179,925 words on AO3. I know that total is sometimes some writers' word count for a single fic. ;)

What fandoms do you write for?

Right now, it's mainly Lucifer (and Supernatural). I've been writing fanfics since I was a sophomore in high school. On ff.net I have written for (in no particular order): Bewitched, The Big Bang Theory, Castle, Doctor Who, Forever, Heroes, Jimmy Neutron, Lucifer, Smallville, Supernatural, Timeless, and Will & Grace.

Top five fics by kudos:

The More Things Change... (Lucifer): 1,090 kudos

Been Down This Road Before (Supernatural): 621 kudos

A Unique Guilt Trip (Lucifer): 548 kudos

Trick-Or-Treating Revelations (Lucifer): 543 kudos

Thanks For Listening (Lucifer): 449 kudos

Do you respond to comments?

Yes! I try to respond to every comment if I can... at least on AO3.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don't actually write angsty endings. All my fics have happy endings actually. ❤️

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Oh, wow. Since all my fics have happy endings, it's hard to choose just one... for the ones I wrote over a decade ago, honestly, I can't remember... LOL. Read them if you so choose and pick your own. ;)

Do you get hate on fics?

I would get hate on fics on ff.net but thankfully (not so far) on AO3. When I first started writing fanfics, I interpreted some helpful advice AS hate, but it really wasn't. Thankfully the response is mostly positive on my writing. Sometimes I'll still get some "hate" on ff.net, but I still feel an obligation to post there for consistency since I cross-posted since getting an AO3 account.

Do you write smut?

No. (But I read it).

Craziest crossover:

The only crossover I have written was a Castle & Forever crossover that can be found on ff.net and AO3 called Ties That Bind.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

I think somebody wanted to translate one of my older Smallville fics back in the day. Honestly, I can't remember which one or if it came to fruition.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not to my memory, but I used to beta all the time for Smallville. And I was a "consultant" on a fanfic on AO3 from a friend for a Forever and Quantum Leap crossover fic. Plus, I bounce ideas off with fandom friends in the Lucifer fanfiction world. ❤️

All time favorite ship?

Uhhhhhhhhhh... I can't say an all-time favorite ship because I love all of my ships equally. But I'll settle for my top two: Clois (Clark Kent and Lois Lane) and Deckerstar (Chloe Decker and Lucifer Morningstar).

What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I've had a WIP for Sherlock/Sherlolly in my documents for quite a few years. It's a time travel one where Sherlock from post S4 gets sent back to the time between the end of S1 & beginning of S2. I don't think that one is ever gonna be finished to be honest. I never post fics until they're finished anyway, so at least there won't be anybody disappointed. ;)

What are your writing strengths?

I try to pride myself on the characters being written in-character - where the reader can actually picture the actor's expressions, mannerisms, etc - like they're watching an episode. Dialogue is definitely where I excel.

What are your writing weaknesses?

I really suck at descriptions. I'm not gonna lie. I have tried to work on setting the scene and character movements, etc but I still struggle with those factors.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

I'm not really great at it. If the character is known to say words or phrases in another language, I might write it in a few times, but nothing that needs a long translation.

First fandom you wrote in?

Jimmy Neutron (on ff.net) when I was about 16 years old.

Favorite fic you've written?

I have a few, but honestly I'm more proud of my Lucifer stories and my one Supernatural story, so I'd have to go with a tie between my first ever Lucifer fic: The More Things Change... and my Supernatural fic: Been Down This Road Before. And right now the Lucifer fic I've been working on for 2 years is quickly becoming a favorite too. LOL. We'll see if people like it once I've finished it and started posting. ❤️

---------

Tagging a few of my fandom friends: @my-crazy-awesome-sox, @mightbeawriter, @wendeckerstart, @kaykat666, @thewollfgang and anyone else who wants to or feels inclined to do it! And to those that I tagged, please don't feel obliged to do it. Love oo!! ❤️

[writingwife-83]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thanks for the tag @bg-sparrow this looks like fun! ☺️

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

260 (and rapidly going up, because there’s a bunch more one shots that are currently still in a multi-chapter and I’m working on posting them individually)

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

1,528,192 😵‍💫

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Mostly BBC Sherlock and Star Wars. But I’ve also written a fic for The Hunger Games, Loki show, Grantchester, Miss Scarlet and the Duke, and Wonder Woman.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

(I’m not gonna include the fic that technically comes in 4th place because that’s the multi-chapter of one shots which will eventually be deleted completely from AO3 once all the one shots have their own post)

I Told You So (sherlolly)

Alliance (reylo)

Half Agony, Half Hope (sherlolly)

Zephyr (sherlolly)

For Science (sherlolly)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Absolutely! There was only one time in my life that I said I couldn’t routinely do that, and that was at the height of popularity for I Told You So. I was posting it on AO3 and ffnet, and also posting the links on here, and I was getting feedback on all three platforms. Which was amazing! But it meant it was a bit much to keep up with. Other than that, I feel commenters deserve a response since they’re giving us writers the thing we want most. ❤️

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

For reylo probably I’m Ready to be Heartbroken and for sherlolly I think it’s a tie between You’re Dying and Congratulations, By The Way.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I truly couldn’t say because I’ve written sooo many with happy endings that Idk what would be happiest 😆

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I’ve gotten the very occasional slightly rude comment over the years, but not what I’d consider hate.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I never have and I don’t plan to. It’s just not something I want to do. And besides I think there’s always more than enough of that for those who want it. If anything, what tends to be lacking is a large selection of fics without that type of content.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Only think I’ve ever done is a Star Wars AU one shot for sherlolly called Balance.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of, and I don’t know if I’d even want to know because that would be such a huge amount of stress and I’d probably be very limited in what I could do about it.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I’m honored to say that I have! There might be one for I Told You So on ffnet… I can’t remember. But definitely on AO3 there’s a Russian translation of Zephyr and a Chinese translation of For Science

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes, indeed! I’ve co-written two fics with @thisisartbylexie. Alliance for reylo, and Half Agony, Half Hope for sherlolly. Coincidence that those are also in my top 5 kudos? I think not.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

That’s super hard but if for no other reason than the duration of my creating, I guess I’d have to say sherlolly.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

I don’t think I have an answer for this because the 2 WIP I have at the moment are ones I am definitely in the process of finishing.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think dialogue and internal descriptions for the character. And I guess describing things in a way that help the reader easily hear/see the scene in their mind, since that’s a comment I’ve gotten many times over the years.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Action and mystery. Ironic, given my fandoms lol. I am always so uncomfortable describing action scenes or situations where there’s a lot going on and it’s fast paced. And I absolutely would struggle if I had to come up with a mystery plot line!

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

What an interesting question! I’m trying to think if I’ve ever even done this in a fic. 🤔 But I think it’s a great thing to include if the plot calls for it! If I did I’d ideally want to check with someone who is fluent in that language just to make sure I’m not being inaccurate.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

BBC Sherlock (for sherlolly) going on 10 years ago 🥹

20. Favorite fic you’ve ever written?

I genuinely don’t think I can choose. Sometimes I try to when I get this question, but it really is a toss up between a few fics. There’s not one particular one that stands out from the others so much that I’d call it my favorite. But some of my faves are definitely in that list of my top kudos fics that I listed in question 4.

I’ll tag @musicprincess1990 @englandsgray @love-yellow-door @strawberrypatty and whoever else sees this post and feels like participating!

[miz-joelys-sherlollilists]

Latest & Greatest Sherlollbrary Additions 10/25/23

A Touch Of Something by JaJaJa3510 (Rated T, One-Shot) Established Sherlolly AO3 2023

Aiguamoll by mizjoely (Rated T, One-Shot) Sherlock Screamfest 2023, Fantasy/Supernatural, Adapt/Crossover (Arthurian myth) AO3 2023

The Ghost of the East Wind by SimplyShelbs16 (Rated T, In Progress, Multi-Chapter) Sherlock Screamfest 2023, Fan/Sup (Ghosts) Alt S4 AO3 2023

My Molly by Canadianfan21 (Rated E, One-Shot) PWP, Smut, Dom!lock AO3 2023

Sewing can be dangerous by Canadianfan21 (Rated E, One-Shot) PWP, Smut, Dom!lock AO3 2023

Stoned by amyutz (Rated T, Complete, Multi-Chapter) Sherlock Screamfest 2023, High!lock, Halloween AO3 2023

[garuda-dreams-of-rain]

Smut, my darlings.

#Sherlock

#Sherlolly

#FanFiction

[afteriwake]

😅🥺🤡🛒🎢✨

😅 What's a story or scene you've created that you're a smidge embarrassed exists? Aside from the two stories I've orphaned? Some of my crackfic from the Buffyverse era. It's just...it doesn't resonate with the shows in a way that I am embarrassed about, just a little. Am I still going to add it to AO3? You bet. I wrote it, it deserves to be added for posterity's sake.

🥺 Is there a certain type of moment or common interaction between your characters that never fails to put you in your feels? First "I love you" and marriage proposals. I'm a sucker for both of those! Oh! And singing to/playing music for babies/toddlers.

🤡 What's a line, scene, or exchange you've written that made you laugh? Quite a few, but the one that stands out the most because I just re-read the fic is "Sherlock standing in front of the window at 221B, playing the violin while naked, and Molly's trying to get him dressed as the people below take pictures" (aka The Humorous Effects Of Sherlock And Truth Serums).

🛒 What are some common things you incorporate in your fics? Themes, feels, scenes, imagery, etc. Lots of fluff. I can write angst, and I can write PWPs, but I adore fluff the mostest. Sarcasm, good one-liners, and fully fleshed-out characters are other things I try and include in my wring.

🎢 Which of your fics would you call your wildest ride? Well, I orphaned it, but the Adlock/Sherlolly dub con fic. Like...it's an insane story I wrote to see if I could push my limits, so there's death, sex, blood, miscarriage, dub-con, and implied suicide...it's a really wild fic.

✨ Give you and your writing a compliment. Go on now. You know you deserve it. 😉 I write damn good smut for a woman who hasn't had sex since 2009.

Fanfic Writer Emoji Ask

[musicprincess1990]

Writing Wednesday

**WARNING!!** Here be smut!!

This is a full and hearty Explicit, so if that’s not your thing, I get it. Tbh, I debated whether or not to even post this, but… I kind of needed it. It's a two-parter, I'll be posting the second chapter next week.

Anyway, here's the link, and a quick excerpt. Hope you enjoy!

Simple Truth: Chapter 1

~*~

It was supposed to be so simple. A gentle brush of his lips against hers, a parting gift of sorts, lasting no more than a few seconds, then he would step away and out of her life forever. That was the scenario Sherlock had envisioned when he decided he would pay Molly a farewell visit before being exiled.

He had not, however, envisioned her kissing him back… nor the reaction said kiss would bring about.

[thehiddenlawyer]

PINNING- A Sherlolly Short

Link to Ao3!

Enjoy!

           Sherlock Holmes didn’t know what hit him.

           One moment he was slamming through the double doors of the morgue, calling for Molly as he scrolled through his phone, completely focused on the triple murders in Shoreditch, the next moment he was pressed against the wall, practically immobilized as his breath was stolen from his lungs. For just a heartbeat, just a moment he’d thought he was under attack and was grateful he caught himself before he’d thrown her against the wall. His little Molly, who barely came up eye-level to him in heels and weighed as much as a wet kitten, had managed to surprise him, pinning up completely against the wall, kissing him, her mouth bruising in its brutality.

           “Molly,” he growled, when she pulled back from him to let him breath, her front pressed against his, keeping him immobile still somehow, “Molly what are you doing?”

           She somehow managed to look sheepish, licking her lips, “making a point,” she murmured, kissing him again and he moaned when she licked inside his mouth, and Sherlock found himself growling as he opened his mouth for her, gasping when he felt her small hand slip beneath his belt.

           The way she had him pinned it was difficult for him to move his head but he managed someone, breaking the kiss again to gasp against her mouth, “what point, exactly?”

           “Two points,” she grinned, having somehow managed to lift his shirt from his trousers, her slightly cold fingers touching the skin below his navel, his prick jerking to attention, “the other day you didn’t let me go to Shoreditch by myself because you were worried I’d be attacked,” she murmured in that soft voice, the same voice she used to murmur to him in the darkness of their bedroom, when she lay against his bare chest, her fingers tracing absent patterns on his chest, endlessly fascinated by the hair there, “and you’ve kept telling me I haven’t an impulsive bone in my body…”

           Sherlock couldn’t help smiling down at his love, at his Molly, the love of his life, the reason he finally understood what his heart was good for, beside pumping blood to his heart, and other important bits, “you’ve proven me wrong today, darling. I need to learn to never assume anything about you.”        

           Grinning, she kissed him again, her fingers finding his prick in his trousers and he nearly screamed, tasting the black coffee she’d had earlier, “you’d think you’d learned your lesson by now,” she smiled at him, kissing him again and his eyes rolled to the back of his head as she began to stroke him.

           He grunted, all his words, all his thoughts fleeing as he watched her chocolate brown eyes, her wicked smile as she sank to her knees in front of him, humming as she unbuckled his belt. “My Sherlock,” she smiled watching him with those eyes, her fingers languid against him, stroking him slowly and he arched into her warmth.

           That day, Sherlock Holmes learned that being pinned by the love of his life, by Molly Hooper was his favorite thing in the universe.

[angeli-marco-writes]

Sherlock Holmes - Kiss Me, Mr Detective

A/N - Season 1!Sherlock, the cutie. And friends to lovers. Two of my favourite things. I do not own Sherlock Holmes, the character, the universe, the adaptations or anything: this is a work of fiction set on the BBC adaptation of Sherlock. Did I still write 8.2k words (exactly) for it? Yes. I also don’t own the song or the lyrics used within, and if you fancy it, listen to ‘Kiss Me’ by Ed Sheeran while reading.

Warnings - Bad language. Mentions of murder and drug usage. Mild angst. Smut, loss of virginity, masturbation, oral m receiving, penetration, unprotected sex, so 18+.

Summary - After a fight with John leaves Sherlock feeling particularly down, he calls on the one person who is always there to support him. Only tonight, it’s different. Feelings come to a head, exploration ensues, but is this just a one time thing? That depends on whether she stays the night...

TO SHERLOCK, it’s just another normal day, whereas to John? He’d rather not admit how regularly these awful days roll around. Sure, the case didn’t go as well as it could’ve, and Sherlock admittedly could’ve made much more of an effort to comfort John after the apparent ‘heartbreak’ he endured. He just could not understand it. Why the hell was John so emotionally responsive to a case they’d been on for less than twenty four hours which turned out to be a bust anyway? 

“You are absolutely unbelievable!” 

“People die every day, John. You’ve killed people, as have I. It isn’t that great a surprise.” Sherlock deadpans, picking up his teacup, raising it to his lips, drawing a long sip from the warm liquid. 

“Oh, yeah, of course. The proud, the cold untroubled heart of stone, that never mused on sorrow but its own.” John mocks. “Do you not even care that people are still dead despite the fact you solved the case?”

“They’d be dead either way,” he reiterates, “at least we got to them before they completely decomposed. Will me caring about them stop them from being dead? No, Dr Watson, it will not.”

“Sherlock!”

“John!” He mimics. 

John slams his hands down on the desk, shaking the wood and everything resting on it, surely sending the vibrations through the floor and notifying Mrs Hudson of their ‘domestic’ as she so likes to call them. The buffalo even begins to swing. John’s tea is long forgotten, but Sherlock’s is keeping him grounded, calm, as John waggles his fist in Sherlock’s passive, blank face. 

“You-” he pauses, gulping down breath. “You are a fucking machine, I can’t even deal with you right now. How dare you be so cold hearted and untroubled by this. You’re a disgrace.”

As if he hasn’t heard that one before, Sherlock scoffs. 

Placing his teacup back down with a clink, he stands, the darkness of the night, of the room, closing in on them both. Nights like these really are danger nights, any night John leaves him. That’s what's coming next, but there isn’t a thing he knows to say or do to prevent the inevitable. He’ll simply just text Her instead, she’ll keep him grounded. 

“Why? Emotional context? Emotion, whether of ridicule, anger, or sorrow, whether raised at a puppet show, a funeral, or a battle, is your grandest of levellers. The man who would be always superior should be always apathetic.” 

With a huff like a bull, John viciously turns on his heel, blaspheming under his breath, cursing Sherlock out. He reaches for his coat and snatches it off the stand, slamming the door open. 

“MACHINE.” John screams before pulling the door shut with a great slam, seething, the coat stand still rocking in his wake. 

John’s footsteps thunder down the stairs, but before he’s even gone, Sherlock’s phone is withdrawn, and he’s tapping out a message.

Can you come over? Please? SH

It wouldn’t usually bother him as much. The case didn’t phase him, at all, but John’s opinion did. It always does. But today was a particularly long day of being brutish and rude, cold and distant, his usual and true self, but John’s more and more impatient with him now. 

Being called a ‘machine’ is, again, nothing unusual, but this time it stings a little more than usual, especially after his recent arrest, and a fallout with Molly. He only has one person left, right now, who doesn’t hate him. His longest friend, the one he keeps away from it all so as to not tarnish her life with his misdeeds; Y/N, the one he can always rely on.

He knows she’s arrived by the sound of his window crashing open. Crawling up the bricks, skimming the drainpipe, latching onto the ivy; it’s her usual manner of entry. She never uses the door. 

Putting his cups and saucers into the sink, he makes his way through the house, opening his bedroom door to find her already sitting there on the bed, her coat hung up on the hook, her work clothes clinging to her body. 

“Hey there Mr Detective, you okay?” she asks as jovially as she can muster.

The way he ambles across the room, his dressing gown floating behind him, and slumps down onto the bed, instantly tells her he’s not okay at all. She can’t help but to look upon him sympathetically, edging a smidge closer to him, until he’s prompted enough to wrap his arms around her torso, finding his rightful place tangled around her. She knows him well enough - his past, and his current life - to realise she’s the only person he’s ever felt comfortable enough around to do this with, and that brings her a certain swelling pride in her bosom, one that doesn’t go unnoticed by Sherlock as he feels her skin heat up against his cheek. 

It doesn’t take long, either, for his head to follow suit, burying into her chest. He’s always, always had a thing for her boobs, ever since they were in uni together. 

That’s something so special about the two of them, he doesn’t have to say anything for her to know he’s not okay the way he does with everyone else. And naturally, he can read everything about her in a split second.

“I’m here, bud.”

Above all else, he just needs to know someone is there for him in moments like these. The world is cruel to him, and Y/N wishes more than anything that it wasn’t. Upon instinct, her hands stray, one to his back, pressing against the silk of his dressing gown, the other cradling his long neck, fingers knotting in the dark curls there. 

She isn’t sure how long she stays there, simply holding him, feeling every twitch of his muscles, every breath of his against her skin, but she likes it. Of course she does, every time she likes it. Sherlock brings her an inordinate amount of comfort at the best of times, today is no exception, especially with what the day has held. Even when she’s the one comforting him, he doesn’t realise how much he helps her too. 

His flat is so familiar, his bed as comfortable as her own. She knows his sock index, she’s studied his periodic table over his shoulder more times than she’d care to admit, and she even has her own toothbrush in the bathroom in case she has to pop over for an emergency freshen up. Sherlock has, and always will be, her first port of call, and that she remembers as she shifts further onto the quilted bedspread, her phone on his oak bedside locker. 

His head begins to stir against her chest, his curls tickling her collarbones, small hums escaping his lips as he pushes himself up, his elegant yet trembling hands still splayed on her waist.

“I could feel your heart beating weirdly, what’s wrong?” he asks, quirking his eyebrows. 

“Just the usual.” she vaguely replies.

Sherlock isn’t having it, though, and scans her a little more. “You’re still in your work clothes.”

“Great deduction. I was hoping you’d go a little deeper, though.”

“You hate wearing work clothes longer than necessary, which means you had plans straight after work, considering you finished… five hours ago? That’s your usual time for today. Counting overtime, forty five minutes, walk to your car, another ten, but your umbrella wasn’t working, round that up to an hour, leaving at 6. You arrived home, no, not home, at your boyfriend’s house for dinner. However, you’re not comfortable enough with one another yet for you to use his shower, or perhaps you are, but you elected not to, and stay in damp clothes that only had seventeen minutes to dry with the heater on in your car for the journey there. You ate dinner, Mexican, had a glass and a half of five percent wine, realised you couldn’t drive, but you didn’t particularly want to stay. Nonetheless you sat and watched the telly with him for hours, football, I can see the dreariness in your eyes. I know how much you hate it, and frankly, same. You stayed for almost all of the match, seeing as you’re now sober, but something else happened.” She lulls her head to the side, prompting him, her smile not meeting her eyes. “As soon as the match ended, he tried to make a move on you, he pressed his mouth to yours, he tried to push his hand up your skirt;” his throat bobs with a vicious gulp; despising the thought of anyone else laying a finger on her, “you swatted him away, rightfully so.” 

He pauses a minute, his harsh tone of voice and his sharp face softening. He can see the vulnerability in her eyes, her walls about to crumble. This woman he appreciates so much. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

Smiling melancholically up at him, she brings her hand back to his hair, her fingers carding through the soft curls. His face buries back into her chest just as her voice offers a broken whisper, “I broke it off. I was the one who couldn’t commit this time.” 

And as she lays her head on top of his, her breathing more shallow, resounding in her chest, he dwells over those very words. The way she said them, not to mention the words themselves, hold a myriad of meaning. What could she possibly-

Oh.

The subtext, yes, impeccable. She’s always had a way with implications and subtext, always knowing that the likelihood of him actually picking up on it is little to none. But now, now he’s become trained to her, her way of life, her way of thinking, her way of speaking. This is too good an opportunity to miss. If she means what he thinks she means, ever hopeful, then this is completely unfamiliar territory. 

Gathering all of his courage in one deep breath, he begins to pepper kisses on her skin. The faintest brush of his lips on the tops of her breasts, all that’s available to him with her shirt the way it is. He feels her heart flutter, her breathing stutter, but despite the chemical flush of her chest, he still isn’t quite sure she likes it. Not until he feels her grip on his hair increase, and he glances up to see her head thrown back. Her spine delicately arches against his hand, thrusting her chest further into his face. 

His nimble fingers reach for her buttons, undoing the top two, giving him space enough to find the valley between her breasts. Lathering kisses there, licking the swells of her boobs, his tongue pulsates with the increased thrumming of her heart. The sensation is new, so unbridled, and he doesn’t quite know what to do with the stirring in his loins right about now. That unknowing is only further amplified by the sound that rips from her chest when he involuntarily bites down on the supple flesh. It couldn’t be… a moan?

Sure, he understands the chemistry of it, the reactions that occur in the synapses of the brain, the pheromones and hormones released when one is aroused, but this is all new to him. And, from his embarrassingly basic level of theory, surely that doesn’t start until some more stimulation on other parts of the body commence? Nipples, perhaps something lower down… then again, what does Sherlock know?

Of course it’s an intimate moment, the closest he’s been to a woman before, and maybe that’s why he freezes, stops, and she tugs his head up by his hair, her gentle, pleasured smile with her lips softly parted deepening the look of bewilderment painted onto his face. Her eyes are twinkling, alight with an excitement he hasn’t seen for far too long. 

“What are you doing?” she whispers. 

He shrugs his shoulders with a sudden force, his dressing gown falling off a little. “I don’t know. But now I feel like I read your pining words all wrong.” 

She gasps, a wheezing sound, sucking the air from the room. She smacks his arm gently, muffled by his button-down and dressing gown. “I wasn’t pining! I was saying.”

“Hmm, same difference.” 

Everyone must acquiesce when it comes to Sherlock Holmes. “But no, you didn’t read them wrong at all, but I know you don’t see me that way, you don’t feel things that way.” 

He pauses, his beautiful plump lips pursed, fidgeting on the bed. Brushing her hair off her face reveals the pain she expressed. However, her eyes glued on his, sadness is betrayed in every line of his young, clean-shaven face. His entire bone structure is taking a nosedive. 

“For you, I’ve been feeling everything from hate to love to lust, and I guess that’s how I know I want to hold you close.”

“Sherlock...” she whispers, her singular word an inflection of surprise. 

Never tearing his eyes from her, his hand comes up to her cheek, rubbing his thumb over the slightly blushing skin, searching her face, with his big blue eyes, for a shred of reluctance. But, all he sees is her, so he elects to do what his heart is yelling at him to do for once, and kisses her breathless. His full lips holding hers, his one hand on her face, the other still wrapped around her back. Hers fly around his neck, clinging to him for dear life.

It doesn’t take long, their movements steadily heating, for their previously slow, intimate kiss to grow into something more, Y/N pulling herself up from the bed and making herself comfortable on Sherlock’s lap. His breath hitches in his throat, a cute little hiccupping sound escaping his lips in between embraces. 

As much as he loves just this, soft caressing and gentle petting, he just knows she wants more. He does too, that much is evident from the length prodding at Y/N’s inner thigh as she moves gently on his lap. She won’t make a move, though, he’s too inexperienced, and she’s too much of a sweetheart to corrupt him, so she thinks. Ever since he first saw her, she’s been corrupting him slowly. He didn’t realise at first, but over the years, he began to understand, and now he’s in too deep. 

For Y/N? It’s always been him. Every breakup she’s had, she’ll come to Sherlock’s flat, full well knowing the real reason she broke up with them, because she couldn’t commit, because she was too caught up on him. 

Skimming his hands beneath her shirt, he savours the press of his hands on her bare skin, warmth seeping from her body into his, his fingers dancing along her spine. Electricity shocks her in bursts, unlike anything else, from his touch alone. 

“May I take your shirt off?” he asks. 

“Fuck, yes.” she groans. “May I do yours?”

“Be my guest.”

In a tangle of limbs, a few buttons pop off, and eventually, two shirts make it out the other side, tossed from the bed and into the laundry pile. Aka Sherlock’s floor. He’s like that: sock indexes, yet he won’t get a hamper. A walking contrast.

His thumbs press beneath the band of her bra, savouring the pressure of the flesh that falls into his hands, but that’s as far as he gets. 

“Never undone a bra before?”

He shakes his head sheepishly. “I know the theory. Just… you always wear peculiar ones.”

“I wear relatively normal bras, and this one is certainly bog standard. Had I known you’d be undressing me Mr Detective, I’d have worn something nicer.”

“Just do it for me.” He requests, chuckling. 

She unfastens her bra, and allows her breasts to spill from the cups, into Sherlock’s awaiting hands. The gasp that erupts from him sends Y/N’s brain into overdrive. He’s cupped her chest through her shirt before, buried his nose into her cleavage countless times, but never before have they had such skin on skin contact. Her lips press to his neck, shifting her closer to him. Sucking on his pressure point, she receives a similar gasp in response, only this one is more guttural, more a sound of pleasure than surprise. He’s wilting from a single kiss to his neck. 

“Has no one ever given you a hickey?” She husks in his ear, her voice alone sending tremors down his spine. 

“N- fuck, no.”

“I’ll make it worth it. All of this.”

“I know you will.”

She fuses her lips onto his again, savouring the faint hesitations as he grapples with his breath, eager to get some control on his mind with all that’s happening. Never did she ever think Sherlock would be here beneath her, his rough fingertips brushing over her peaked buds, and his palms dancing over her waist. Never did she think she’d hear him whisper his next words, either, not in a million years. 

“More.” he pleads. “Can we do… more? Whatever that entails?”

“That depends what you want to do.”

“Get me out of these damn trousers. They're rather uncomfortable.”

She snorts lightly, a piggy like sound, the one they bonded over all those years ago. “I can feel why.”

“I imagine you want out of your work trousers, too.”

“God, yes; they’re ghastly.”

“I don’t think so.” he hums. “You look nice.”

Her cheeks begin to burn, blood rushing to colour them, betraying her true feelings, but as he tweaks her nose playfully, the little snort escapes again. 

They were in the dining hall, second week of university, almost ten years ago, and Y/N was sitting with her friends, downing enough coffee to sink a ship, eating her hangover away, when her friends decided to make her laugh with tales of last night's drunken events. Unbeknownst to her, one of the greatest minds of the twenty-first century was sitting just a few seats down on the half-empty bench, watching her perceptively in his periphery. That’s when he first heard the sound. The cutest thing, and it startled him into action, beginning his deductions almost instantly. Admittedly, her student ID on the table aided him a little. 

He shocked her from her haze, too, as soon as he spoke her name. 

“Y/N, eighteen, jurisprudence first year, freshers week over with. You left a boyfriend back home, but you’re more sad about leaving your dog, as I would be. You don’t particularly care about law but know it’s a good undergraduate to receive anyway. Dyed hair, extrovert, killer hangover, and apparently there’s a little piggy living inside your nose. Sherlock Holmes, would you like some aspirin?”

“That’s weird; what are you, some kind of detective?” She asked, sans malice, a playful bounce to her words. 

“Chemistry, going for a masters. But I do like the mystery, yes.”

“So you’re… bright. Nice to meet you, Sherlock, and it seems you know almost everything you need to know about me. But yes, I will take that aspirin, if you don’t mind. How was your weekend?”

He smiled at her, the first true smile he’d given in a long time. “It was nice, thank you.”

And thus a friendship was born, all because he heard her little piggy snort. 

Her slender fingers work wonders with the fastener and zip of his suit trousers, and even manage hers too, all within the space of a few seconds, but Sherlock is reluctant to let her go, even just to get her trousers off. 

“I need to sit up, just for a minute.”

“No.” Sherlock commands, insistent. “We can make this work.”

“Sure we can, but it won’t be very comfortable. Come on.”

She’s barely peeled away from him and wrestled hers off before he’s drawing her back in for a kiss, his trousers settled just above his knees. 

“Sherlock,” she protests, mumbling against his lips, her hands on his heavenly, broad, muscular shoulders. “Sher!”

Her squeal at his sudden tug on her panties disappears, captured by his eager mouth. And in fact, her panties seem to disappear along with it, thanks to Sherlock’s swift movements and nimble hands. Maybe he’s had some experience to be so good at this…

“You sure you wanna go this far?”

“More sure than I’ve ever been. I need you.” 

He takes a deep inhale, dropping his forehead against hers, his breathing coming out in bursts as he tries to get a grasp on the situation. “Kiss me.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice, instantly getting to work on the waistband of his boxers as his tongue lavishes her own. His hips rise briefly, just long enough for her to tug the elasticated material from around him, slipping past her, and then he kicks it into their growing pile of clothes. His length falls into her awaiting palm, and-

“Wow.” She exhales in amazement. “If I’d known you were packing this much, I’d have jumped you long ago.”

“No you wouldn’t.”

“Absolutely not, until tonight I thought you’d just laugh at me.”

He pecks her lips affectionately, “Never. You’re bloody beautiful, I’ll let you do anything to me.”

“Hmm, anything, you say?”

Stifling a chuckle against her neck, he recommences, “Maybe not anything.”

Yeah, that's definitely the right call. Still, she finds herself all but clawing at him, her breath hovering teasingly just over his lips, their noses touching, her hands clamped to his cheeks, feeling the building heat there. She must be making such a mess of his bed right about now, but for one night? It can’t matter.

This is a one time thing, it has to be. Sherlock just needs to release some tension, she just so happens to be there. Still, she can’t prevent the little glimmer of hope shining through at the possibility of this being a more-than-one-time thing. The moral compunctions of their friendship after this don’t matter anymore, because he’s leaving a fire in his wake, his delicious fingertips digging bruisingly into her bum before trailing lightly up her spine, skimming her shoulder, brushing her neck - arched for him to reach where he wants, able to mark her as his own - and finally slipping over her lips, taken obediently by her awaiting mouth. Christ, if there’s one thing she hopes for tonight, it’s that his actions never relent.

Whether it’s what he intends to happen or not, his fingers in her mouth give her an idea, one she prays he goes along with at least a little, so she pulls away. The dirty, telling smile on her face hints at what she’s about to do, lending Sherlock to shift a little more up the bed, his eyes following her every move. Hands splayed on his thighs, her small fingers gripping onto the fine hairs there, she begins to take his tip into her mouth, never once breaking eye contact with him. Yeah, this is what’ll drive him insane. 

Inch by inch, she takes him into the welcoming heat of her mouth, pulling off slowly, only to go down again. She adds her tongue into the mix at some point, too, and her hand, on what she can’t reach, tickling his balls, but further than that, his mind is blank. Hot white, washed with pleasure. The sounds he emits are other worldly, so much that he has to muffle himself with his own hand; what would Mrs Hudson say? He’s always had such control over his mind and body, but this… he’s slowly losing all semblance of control, and he’s not even mad about it. What he does know is that there’s a building heat in his abdomen, a coil about to spring, and his cock is beginning to twitch. If she keeps going this incredible way, her teeth grazing him ever so gently, adding another new sensation into the mix, he’s inexorably going to finish before he can help it.

“As much as I adore your torturous ministrations, I think I need to be inside you…” He husks, his voice deep.

A smirk gracing her lips, she looks up at him through half-lidded eyes, mischief glinting in her pretty little mesmerising eyes for a second, before she hollows her cheeks and takes him wholly, allowing his length to slip partially down her throat. Her moan reverberates around him, and Sherlock begins to thrash above her, scrunching the duvet in his hands, not caring if it creases. If there’s one thing Sherlock hates, it’s creases. And being called a machine by his best friend. Right now, though, it seems as though every misstep in his day has led him here, into the welcoming heat of Y/N’s mouth, taking him so eagerly, her tongue lapping at the vein on the underside of his dick, a string of saliva remaining as she pulls away. 

“I think you’ve got a couple of rounds in you, Mr Detective. Can you do that for me?”

“Y-yes.” He stammers, his head tossed back in pure ecstasy a moment later as she begins to work on the head with kitten licks. “But… can I s- fuck me, say something?”

“I plan on it.” she chuckles, “anything.”

She goes back to peppering kisses all over his member, tip to base, brushing his balls, working her way back up. 

“Touch yourself f- for me.”

“What? Why?” 

Her tone is more inquisitive than anything else, but upon that playfully rueful look in his lust-darkened baby blue eyes, she knows he’s going to get her back for this little display, and he’s just worked out how. It works both ways, she can prepare herself for what’s to come next while pleasuring him. And he gets to watch. It’s a win-win for him. Maybe he likes this sex thing a little more than he’s letting on. 

“Are you sure you want me to? I’ll just make a mess on your sheets, Sher.”

She swallows him again, bobbing her head up and down on his length a few times while he grapples with literal reality. He’s teetering on the edge. One more move, and he’s a goner. His head is already against the wall, lolled there. 

“I don’t care about the sheets, darling, I need you ready for me.”

She gulps, nods, and reaches one hand around her, skimming over her stomach, until it nestles between her thighs. She rubs her thumb over his tip, collecting the pre-come beading there, while she rubs over her throbbing pearl, pressing softly. Then, as she inches down on his cock, taking him in her mouth, she also collects the slick from between her thighs, and uses it as a lube to push a finger inside herself. Of all the times she’s touched herself, she never imagined, even in her wild Sherlock fantasies, that she’d be doing it with his dick down her throat. With every bob of her head, she scissors herself more, sinking back onto her fingers. 

“I think I’m-” Sherlock begins to say, his words cut off by an utterly obscene moan splitting the air. 

She hastily abandons her one post, and wraps both of her hands around his girth, working on what she can’t fit into her mouth with her increased speed, licking and suckling his head as he begins to fall apart, coming, with a scream, down her throat, his one hand clamped over his mouth, biting down harshly to silence his cries; the other buried in her hair. 

His whole body falls lax, completely spent, meanwhile, Y/N savours every drop she’s been able to draw from him. He softens in her mouth, allowing her change to slip away from him, grasping a tissue from the bedside to wipe away any excess. That’s certainly something she never thought would happen… 

He’s calm, though, smiling lazily through hooded eyes, his breathing regulated once more, making beckoning motions to her with his big hands. He’s placated, though, and sliding her hands into his, she’s allowed time enough to get into place, smiling softly at him, raking her fingers over his scalp in a comforting way. Even as she sits herself on his lap, she can feel him hardening beneath her ass, slowly but surely. She was right about him, he’s definitely got another round in him. 

“Do you have a condom?” he asks. 

“No, sweetheart, they’re in my other bag. I didn’t plan on getting any for a while… do you?”

“Not in here, that I’m aware of. John may have stashed some in my less favoured dressing gowns or socks, and he definitely has some upstairs, but I’m unawares.”

“I’m gonna sound crazy here, but do we need one?” She says hesitantly. His eyes widen, he cocks his head to the side. “I was tested after my last partner, I’m clean, and on birth control. You’re a virgin. There’s no point, is there?”

“You have a considerably good point.”

With that, energy rejuvenated a little, he wraps an arm around her body, flipping them over so he’s on top, shadowing her, looming over her, gazing down at every inch of her naked beauty.

“Take your time. I’ll be your safety.”

“I know.” he whispers, a tearful smile making its way onto her face. “Thank you.”

He needn’t say more, because she already knows why she’s being thanked. For her kindness, for making him so comfortable, for accepting the fact he’s still a virgin in his late twenties and, if he’s being honest, has no damn clue what the practicality and reality of sex is. Sure, he’s seen porn. He’s also looked at John’s laptop. But that doesn’t prepare one for when the moment comes. It’s like all of that goes out the window, and he simply remembers the first time he opened a biology textbook at secondary school, pictures of flushed organs staring back at him, desperately waiting to be relieved. That’s what his own coock is like right now, already hard again, virtually pulsating with hunger in his palm. He strokes himself a couple of times, glancing down at Y/N’s wide eyes.

“Are you okay? Can I…”

“Yes, Sherlock,” she chuckles, “whenever you’re ready.”

Now, he thinks. He rubs two digits through her folds, gathering her wetness, enamoured with the way it glistens on his fingertips. Tentatively, he brings his fingers up to his mouth, swirling his tongue around them to get a taste. Eyes rolling into the back of his head, he moans. She’s better than any cup of tea he’s ever had. 

His cock slaps against his lower stomach pleadingly, so he grasps it in his hand, and begins to enter her, pushing gently, feeling every flutter of her walls. Her arms fly out, hands grasping his shoulders, nails leaving crescent moons in their wake at the delicious stretch. It’s nothing like they’ve ever felt before. 

“Can I move?” He asks, balls deep inside her, their pelvises flush against one another. 

“Please.” She all but begs. 

Before doing anything else, Sherlock hooks one strong arm around her body, malleable in his hands, and holds her chest against his. Her breasts push into his skin, her nipples gaining friction from the dusting of hair there. Her one hand cups his slender neck, the other, his sharp cheek. Their eyes meet in a fierce gaze of burning intensity, and he begins to move. Slow, calculated, sharp thrusts punctuate her core. With every heavenly stroke, he can feel the ridges in her velvet walls, squeezing around him unwittingly.

“Jesus,” she cries, her clutch increasing. 

“Hmm, not quite.”

The smirk in his words is quite literally audible. He’s so cocky, so full of himself, and fuck if she can’t feel another gush of arousal coursing through her, drenching his cock. How does he manage to be so attractive when he’s so dishevelled?

“Is that good?” He asks, unsure.

“So good.”

She brings her legs up, skimming the clenched backs of his thighs, until they wrap around him, drawing his hips into her at a new and improved angle. Heels digging into the base of his spine, he begins to move with a new purpose, his thrusts more passionate as his breath is drained from him by her kisses, his eyes alight with a new flame. 

“Oh my God, Sherlock.” She pants, pulling him in for a kiss he greedily returns. 

He drives his hips deeper, squeezing his fingertips into her supple waist bruisingly. It’ll be a mark that she belonged to him once, even just for one night. That’s when he reaches that special spongy spot that makes her entire body buckle. She all but screams, pressing into him wholly. 

The coil is building, ready to break. He seems to be nearing the edge, too, his member twitching inside her when he buries himself particularly deep. She’s oh so fucking close… She licks into his mouth filthily, desperately clashing her teeth with his, eager for his kisses to tide her over. Silence her. Shifting his supporting hand, he trails one dextrous finger around to circle her clit, adding the faintest pressure for a moment. She mewls as he groans into her hot skin, clawing at him, entirely at his whim. Now he knows where to press, he settled his grip back around her, and draws her in close. This time around, he bends his knees a little more to measure his movements more carefully, ensuring that he ruts up and brushes her sensitive bud with his pelvis, helped by the extra friction of his neatly trimmed pubic hair on every thrust within her, his tip just scraping her g-spot.

“I- Sherlock, please tell me you’re- oh sweet mercy- close.”

He grunts softly in her ear. “So close.”

Their lips meet tenderly, passionately, in what they acknowledge to be a final kiss, moans mixing between them, savoured by the other. 

His thighs clench, her legs tighten around his waist, and finally, her sweet walls flutter, squeezing him as she reaches her climax, his not following long after, spilling inside her, painting her soft walls white, marking her. 

“Y/N,” he cries in ecstasy as his orgasm reaches him. “Sher…” she repeats, her saving grace as pleasure washes over her entirely. 

Their whole bodies wind up pressed together, bound together as one, skin on skin completely, becoming one another. 

He lets her down gently, unravelling his grip, unsurprised when their sweaty skin sticks together. Her long legs unfurl, splaying in a butterfly. Sherlock tumbles ungracefully away, somehow landing with a certain gangly elegance on the space of mattress beside her, his arm instinctively flying over to place on her stomach, the skin hot and flushed red. Her chest moves hastily up and down with the thrumming of her heart, while his barely shifts despite his shallow breaths, his white skin glistening in the moonlight. 

“Are you okay?” He huffs, turning on his side. “You look pretty fucked out.”

His baby blue eyes train instantly on her nipples, hard in the open air. This is the first notifier, the first inkling she has to feel self conscious, so she draws the sheet up around her as best as she can. Sherlock’s not having any of it, taking a stronghold on her arms, and pulling her until she’s lying on him, naught to separate them. 

“I’ve never been this close to anyone physically and y'know.” He hums tiredly. She’s never heard him sound tired before… 

She smiles up at him as best she can, “Are you glad?” 

He begins to hold her ever closer, squeezing her tighter, feeling every ridge of her body. 

“I’m so glad that you were my first, in so many ways.” 

Praise from Sherlock is a rarity, and she’ll take it as and when she can, savouring every moment, this time by holding him like a koala, her grip not wavering. 

“I’m glad too, Mr Detective.”

He brushes a kiss to her cheek, “As much as I like this, we need to get you cleaned up.” 

A supporting arm beneath her bum, he picks her up, and unsteadily ambles into the bathroom. 

“I don’t know much about this, but I know you should probably use the toilet, should you want to avoid a UTI, so if you’d like me to leave…”

He sets her down on the loo seat, cupping his hands over his nether regions, and he hurries to grasp for things, until she puts her hand on his arm, squeezing in a conciliatory manner. 

“You do remember the camping trip, don’t you? You really don’t have to leave just because I have to pee, you never did before. In fact, you frequently annoyed me with it if you had a particular point to make, steadfastly refusing to leave the bathroom after following me in there when I went to pee. Why does this change anything?”

He shrugs, dropping whatever was in his arms, “It just doesn’t feel the same now, though.”

“Ooo, and now Mr Detective feels things.” She jokes, poking at his ribs. 

He recoils, chuckling with her, “Only for you.”

As Y/N washes her hand, Sherlock begins to wrangle with a floorboard, clattering about until he eventually pulls out a small lock box, from which he withdraws a packet of brand new marks-and-spencer's ladies briefs. 

“Why the fuck do you have these? Anything you wanna tell me?” she asks, eyes wide.

“John’s idea. He has plenty of girls over here who frequently stay the night, simply a precautionary error.” He takes a beat, gargling with some mouthwash, “they’re clean, new, I just don’t like the idea of you in dirty underwear, and I know how reluctant you are to go without them whenever you’re not in your own bed. I stayed with you enough nights in university to know that.”

Those nights were awfully painful. She’d take the floor, he’d take the bed, and every time she’d have to wash the sheets. He’d sweat and vomit, shake and cry, plead for the pain to be over. He wouldn’t go to hospital, he wouldn’t call his brother, he’d just turn up on her doorstep, high as a kite, almost in tears, knowing he’d gone a little too far. And each time, it was a little farther. 

“Thank you, Sherlock.” 

She takes them from him, and begins to shimmy them up her legs, only prevented by Sherlock moving to grab a handful of her arse. 

“Hmm, I like this. Fancy another round?” He smirks. 

“I’m too tired, babe. Give me a bit.” 

He can see the lazy smile on her face, the tiredness in her pretty eyes, so he wets a flannel, and begins to clean her up with gentle movements between tender kisses.

“How do you know how to do all of this?” She asks, inquisitive more than anything. 

“Instinct, I suppose. I never read or learned about it, seeing as I never thought it would happen.” 

She snaps the waistband before moving her hands to his waist, leaning up onto her toes to reach him, kissing her softly. 

“Look at you now.”

After brushing their teeth in an amicable silence, their pinky fingers overlapping on the porcelain of the sink, he aids her back to the bedroom, settling her on the bed. She has things here: deodorant, toothbrush, moisturiser, and yet somehow she doesn’t have underwear, even after all these years. Perhaps that's one too many things to explain… 

With superfluous extravagance, he throws her his shirt, offering her a wry wink. She finds a blush clawing its way onto her cheeks, dumbfounded. It smells like him, just like a forest glade if it was rained on by tea and cigarettes. Maybe he’ll let her keep it as a memory.

In such a short amount of time, she’s learnt that he has a very sensitive neck. Very. A single kiss there has him biting back a moan. A low one at that, considering his deep voice also drops almost an octave when he’s aroused. His nipples are almost as sensitive as his neck, and he rather likes it when she tugs on them unwittingly. 

His first orgasm comes quickly, but his refractory period is astonishing, and it takes longer to achieve a second high, long enough to make her come more than once, she assumes, though her first orgasm was mind blowing enough for two. Perhaps that’s just because it’s his first time, but it’s impressive nonetheless.

What’s the point in learning all of this if, once he comes around from his post-orgasmic haze, he’ll pretend like it never happened, in typical Sherlock style?

The shirt, though a small gesture, means a lot, and her vision begins to cloud as she looks down at the black cotton. 

“You mean you want me to stay?” She croaks.

Sherlock turns to her from his set of drawers, his face full of apparent obviousness, brows furrowed in that cute bewildered way. 

“Of course I want you to stay.” He states, like it’s the plainest thing in the world, like it’s stupid for her to even ask. But she’s silent, and when she says nothing in response, he launches into a long winded explanation: don’t show sentiment. “I- I just mean, i-it’s midnight, I’m not having you out in London alone. You stay with me. Only if you want to as well...” 

She nods eagerly, “Yes. Yeah, course I want to stay.”

He all but leaps access the room, jumping onto the bed, before planting a proper smooch on her lips, grinning down at her. He slips into his usual side of the bed, and she takes hers, rolling to look at him.

“Don’t get cold.” He warns, tucking the duvet up around her shoulders. She giggles like a child, that small snort sounding again, prompting Sherlock to press his thumb to her nose like a button. “How are you… feeling?”

“I’m fine bub, really. That bloke doesn’t matter to me at all. Bit of a scumbag if I’m honest. You’re the one I’m with, the one I wanna talk about. How are you feeling? Must’ve been a pretty big blow up with John for you to call me and be so... teary.”

He sighs, crestfallen, “He called me a machine.”

Her gasp pierces the air, her hand flying to his hair, stroking in consolation, cooing senseless reassurances to him. She’s done this innumerable times, but now it feels different, like there’s no barrier. 

“He’s done it so many times that it needn’t bother me anymore, but the way he looked at me, like I was this abhorrent monster, especially after the day and the disappointing case we had, it got to me. I hate having feelings.”

“You don’t have to hide them with me, though.”

He hums gently, burying into her chest. “I know. That’s why I treasure you so dearly.”

“That means you also have to trust me, and you’re not going to like what I have to say.” His chest heaves, shifting her whole body. That’s his way of giving in. “Please just talk to John. You know that whenever he leaves, he’ll come back, and try to pretend it never happened. He needs to know you’re human and that he upset you, but also that the case upset you as well. No one’s superhuman, and once you let John in on the fact that you’re not a machine, things between you will be so much easier, because you might agree for once.”

“I suppose you’re right.” He grumbles. 

He pulls her into his warmth, hooking her leg around his as he snakes his arms around her back, breathing deeply from the crook of her shoulder. She begins to pepper kisses on his salty skin, savouring the taste with every small swipe of her tongue.

“Your heart’s against my chest, your lips pressed to my neck,” he breaks off with a faint whimper when she sucks a little harder, “I’m falling for your eyes, but they don’t know me yet.”

“Of course they do,” she whispers brokenly, hoarsely, “they’ve always known you.” She swallows thickly, “Does that mean it’s a feeling you’ll forget?”

“No, I don’t think I ever can.”

The silent words that pass between them both are so special, too special to be spoken aloud. ‘Think I’m in love now.’

“Kiss me like you wanna be loved.” He begs. 

And really, who is Y/N to deny him? They just stay that way a little while, revelling in their lazy kisses, until she begins to fall asleep. It isn’t the first time she’s fallen asleep in his bed, not by any means, but it’s the first time she’s fallen asleep in his arms. She isn’t mad about it.

“Settle down with me, cover me up, cuddle me in. You were made to keep my body warm.” She smiles into her words, and embeds herself into him, entirely covered by the duvet, spattered in his kisses, safe in his arms. Sherlock feels safe with her legs around him, her fingers in his curls, holding himself against her. Amicable silence is how they drift off, Peaceful.

John re-enters 221B at a respectable hour. He got a fair amount of sleep on Greg’s sofa, having no girlfriend in the picture right now, but not enough to deal with Sherlock just yet. Not before his coffee. He expects to see Sherlock sitting in the exact same spot as when he left, perhaps just with a refill of tea, his fingers still steepled beneath his chin, eyes closed yet wide awake. Instead, he arrives at a seemingly empty, considerably clean flat, with no Sherlock in sight. Perhaps the unsleeping man must actually be asleep, he thinks, so he quietens down, and toes off his shoes before wandering farther into the flat. Even if the man does piss him off extraordinary amounts, perhaps he should just check he’s okay…

He gives the bedroom door a quiet rap, listening in momentarily before pushing it open. Frankly, he’d rather have found Sherlock with a cigarette in hand and the whole flat torn to shreds for the level of surprise he gets upon reaching the bed. His first idea is to scream bloody murder, but that might annoy Mrs Hudson, and upon stepping closer, even in the sliver of daylight through the curtains, he sees the duvet riding down a little. The last thing in the world he ever thought he’d see: Sherlock in naught but boxers pressed against a half naked woman, his palm splayed on her bare thigh. Sherlock? Spooning? It seems so, his entire body pressed to this woman. John feels himself go rigid, his feet glued to the floor, his gaze unmoving from shock. 

It takes his phone to buzz in his pocket to get him moving, and when he does, all he tries to do is balance precariously on his tip toes in a wry attempt to get a birds-eye view of the whole thing. He’s not disappointed, or disturbed, once he does, though, his army agility proving useful. Sherlock’s hand is holding her, fingers entwined, just next to her chest. He wonders how comfortable it is, but if they’re staying this way, it can’t be too bad. Maybe all Sherlock needed to loosen up was a good shag. 

She’s wearing his shirt, too; Sherlock’s black dress shirt from the previous day. And Sherlock? He never seeps in anything less than a full set of pyjamas, he’s weird like that . 

This girl begins to stir, her lips parting gently, small hums escaping. Next, her eyelids flutter, and her hair shifts on the pillow. He didn’t make any noise, did he? John was specifically careful not to, just in case. He doesn’t fancy Sherlock’s wrath just yet. 

One eye opens, and she whispers, almost incoherently, “Hi John.”

How she knows his name and who he is, he’s not at all sure, because he doesn’t think he’s ever seen this face in his life. The hair is familiar, and maybe, if she were more awake, he’d recognise her smile, but he’s never seen a woman in Sherlock’s company beside Molly Hooper. Speaking of… 

Before he can even say anything, though, before he can ask who she is or if she wants tea or if she date-raped his roommate, she’s mumbling, and detaching her hand from Sherlock’s, rolling over. Dumbfounded, John just stands there and watches her cuddle into Sherlock’s chest, her arms wrapping around his torso like second nature. Even in his sleep, not consciously thinking about his actions, he grips her back - one hand resting just above her bum, and buries his nose into her neck.

John can’t help but smile to himself. Maybe their fight was for the best if Sherlock now has a girlfriend, someone he turned to for solace. So, he grasps for the top of the duvet and pulls it up over both of their figures, reaching their shoulders, and leaves, staring wistfully for a brief moment at the seemingly happy couple. 

The weight of the duvet of what startles Sherlock, though, stirring him a little, inviting him to him against Y/N’s skin, smiling with eyes barely open. This is really nice, he thinks to himself, not waking up alone. 

She smiles back blearily, and in her morning voice, whispers to him, “Kiss me Mr Detective.”

[ukthxbye]

All That Glitters and Gleams

So it has been over a year since I writer Sherlolly. Thought I might be done because of my focus on my two books and trying to get an agent... life is funny.

When this photo showed up in the sherlolly discord,

the wheels started spinning and 24 hours later, you're welcome.

cw: semi-public sex, fingering, light dom/sub, begging

Glittering.

Gold and silver statues and everything shiny draped dramatic fabric in this room normally spare dingy blue white.

And he hated it.

But impressed all the same. The banquet hall of St. Barts transformed to another age. Sherlock scoffed when Molly asked him to this 1920s fundraiser, rattling facts about all the false opulence for what.

"It's fun to pretend," she'd said in the wry, sad resignation he knew like a drug. Nearly as unpredictable. She might tell him to forget it and go with someone else. She might let him rattle off facts as they walk in and still pull him along, suffering the embarrassment.

She blessed him with the latter. 

He couldn't refuse anymore what she asked for. His life depended on her happiness… like a new addiction.

But he'd denied her the one thing she craved. She denied herself more. 

"They shouldn't have spent so much money, you were right," she said at his side. "You've every right to hate this. It's dancing and talking to higher ups. We can go home."

"Well, at least the champagne is cheap," he said glancing at woman walking by with two green bottles in had. But home, where is the adventure in that? Can't critique and complain until we have the facts," he said, slipping off his long wool coat, handing it to the hired coat clerk… no wait, it was a boy from the cafe. 

"Gerald, they roped you into this?" Sherlock frowned at him. 

"Ticket sir, you try to have a good time, eh?" the boy said, coats piling up on his right. 

"Yes…yes." Sherlock offered him a cocked tightlipped smile. 

In instinct he turned to Molly, and without interrupting her conversation with a heart surgeon he disliked, his hands reached around her shoulders, grasping the lapels on her equally long coat.

The lights, low in the room but travelling across a mirror ball, landed at her back as he slid the dark fabric down like a curtain.

Glittering.

But he liked it.

He vibrated, her scapula bones meeting like wings of an angel as she dropped the coat off her arms. 

She'd not let him look at the dress until now. Beadwork in a line down the straps, down and across her waist. Shadow and bones and gold. Champagne dripped down her frame, soon like on her tongue.

She matched the room and enhanced it to a mind numbing quality. 

"Come on, there's Stamford," she said with a half grin, and grabbed his hand.

 Like fire on a golden pyre. 

He accepted her lead, lost in the light playing off her skin. He'd mapped it before. He mapped everything. But why does it look different here?

Do her nerves jump when his hand drifted up to her elbow, gripping like a secret, waiting? Lost to the bunching pale satin, but… she responded each time, ending the conversation.  

She let him hold her hand absently as she tugged him from one corner to the next. Satin gloves threaded in his fingers, robbing him of hers.

But her back, exposed, and his touch strayed there often to catch her attention, drawing her into him so he could mutter in her ear some amusing observation he'd about someone she chatted with. 

Her skin cooled like a glass of cold milk. He craved it the same. But he feared his hand gave him away, warming more with every risked caress. 

She flinched the first time, her wings shrugging him away.

But now she let it lay there, even as he chased a shadow up the nape with his finger. 

Her shiver is not from the room now. 

He smiled to himself, but the oncologist next to him took it as an opportunity to speak. I can do two things at once. Sherlock kept his fingers near her scalp, his fingernail grazing along the hairline until she quivered, and fanned herself with her purse. 

They made many more rounds, each one more exhausting. The satin under his hands, the hand on her lower back enticing. Every man who tried to insult her field of study with backhanded compliments boiled his blood.

 His mask slipped, and he half insulted the last surgeon they spoke to. 

"You're getting rude," she said, dragging him down by his collar to her ear. 

Oh, don’t do that…

The tug switched on a part of his brain he'd kept safe from her. They'd both been so good since his sister nearly destroyed everything.

Such respectable friends, open with their emotions except for…

I'm going to ruin that now. 

“Sherlock, are you listening to me?” She searched his face for understanding in the dark. 

“I thought you said all surgeons are like footballers, egotistical and overpaid,” he sniffed. 

She leaned back and frowned. "You said that."

“Hmm…” he matched her frown, then smiled, running his tongue along his teeth. “Oh, yes… I did. But you might have agreed.”

He gasped. She snatched his collar again, with a curl twisted in it now, setting a delightful tingle across his scalp. 

“Why is it so hard for you to behave…”

He turned enough so she could meet his stare. "You like me when I don't… why change that now?" His tongue strayed across his lips, letting his gaze drop to hers. 

In the dark and flashing light of the room, it hit perfect timing for the scarlet of her lips to show. Her teeth parted and her tongue licked her own lips as well. 

“Come with me,” she said, low, releasing him when someone glanced their way. 

They reached the bathroom on the front left corner of the room, with no one around. “You know what? Wait here for a moment and then we'll talk.” She stepped in and his hand caught the door as she pushed close it.

Wide-eyed, she let him push it back and close it behind him, meeting her stare. 

"Sherlock, what are you—"

His finger to his lips and she clamped her mouth shut. His lips lifted into a sly smile. 

"Is there something wrong?" She moved to him and glanced at the door, his hand going back behind him and clicking the lock. 

“No, I wanted to talk… privately.”

She sighed out in relief. “We could have gone outside.”

“Then I couldn’t look at you in that dress.”

The bathroom decorated for the theme, feather arrangement, lights low. The cream walls normally boring matched her antique faded gold satin. He soaked in the room along with her. 

One last look before you leap…

"Oh, don't be silly…" she chuckled, crossing her arms, and his eyes dropped to the cleavage.

He remained wordless, a hand in his pocket, waiting for her to catch up.

She squinted, shaking her head as she whispered, "Oh… no."

"Molly."

She ran a hand through her short cropped hair. How soon might I do the same?

“Are you really going to do this here? This dance for… god I thought we'd settled this,” she said, the plead in her tone only urged him on more.

“Oh, my sweet Molly, like ice cream on my tongue, freezing every word… until this dress.” he shifted near to her, and she stepped back near the sink. 

"I'm not sweet," she said with folded arms, looking down at the cleavage, realising the effect and moving her arms, bracing on the sink basin. “We should go… before you say something you shouldn't.”

"I'll be the judge of that."

She turned toward the mirror with a scoff. “Your judgement is terrible. I don't trust it. But yes…you always thought me too sweet… is that all compassion is to you?” Her gaze went down as she said it and he counted the vertebrae in her neck, concentrating. 

How did I get here? How do I get out of it? 

But he was bored with ignoring the chemicals running under his skin when she was near. 

He closed the distance behind her, and she stiffened. His eyes travelled from the hollow of her throat, slowly following the pink path each capillary displayed with the pump of her heart. Those lips, red and not yet swollen as he'd make them. 

His gaze lifted from there up as he spoke his stare meeting hers in the mirror. "My mistake then… I do confess to the two mistakes you accused. But then I recall less gentleness when your hand stuck hard," he raised his hand, tenderly tracing his thumb along her cheekbone, and licked his lips when she shivered. “Do I deserve it again?”

The beadwork, gold and silver sparkling in the low light, entranced him. He traced down with a finger, following along its path, ending in a v, breast swelling with her heightened breath. Her heartbeat was so strong the pulse beat a rhythm under his fingertips. But he never broke his stare, and she held it, her eyes dark and shining.

Gleaming.

And he loved it. 

Would she imagine him closing the gap, a canyon between what they've been… and what they will be? Never letting his lips touch, but he assured his breath and its heat performed the same duty as he spoke into her ear… and then her jaw. 

"But tell me… did you know how I fought every urge and when it changed… how many times we've almost. When we considered all the possibilities and said no…was it not because you were so principled?" He said with a smirking grin. 

Crack.

She’d spun around to face him and struck his left cheek. She gulped hard, and he sighed, waiting for her words to catch up with her hand. 

“If this is a game… It's very cruel. You can read what I want without touching. You know every ache, every want… you…” She drew a deep breath through her nose. “Always did. Question is… will you be too high minded … or will you…” She squinted as she spoke, but the tremble he expected was absent. 

But this was the Molly he'd fallen for all along, in her own power and never under his. Quite the opposite. Her lips parted, her eyes on his lips as well.

Her breath matched his, and his lungs ached for them to share the same air. 

“Which one of us will break… that delicious thick tension we’d spun for years… but…” he tipped his nose against hers and with his hands on either side of her on the washbasin, holding on to the porcelain for dear life, he said near her lips, “It was always yours to take… stop asking for permission.” 

Come on now, my Molly.

He let her kiss him, and answered the swell in his chest deepening until his entire mouth encompassed hers, his tongue licking the champagne sugars off hers.   

“You kiss like you want me, Sherlock Holmes.” She sighed into his throat, breathless. She'd pressed her body against him when the kiss deepened. He couldn't dare put his arms around her… I might never let go.

He swallowed hard. "The easiest thing I've ever done. You'd be correct… you always were."

“Oh, yes… too sweet. Then…” she said with a huff, leaning back, robbing him of her nearness, and he missed it.

He met her knowing stare. 

“You're correct… you always were.” Honesty at last. But he couldn't see if it would help or harm the mood. 

She shook her head slightly. “Don't be like that. I don't know what to do with that. It can't fuck me properly.”

“Then tell me what you want. As in to say… I'm done thinking for now. It bores me.” He spoke into her neck, “Tell me the fantasy… I can only read so much from your breath and skin singing under my touch… instruct me to see how to get you there. New memories.”

"Beg me. On your knees. And make sure you say please.”

He sighed. “Now Molly… I wanted to tease you more before I have use of my knees… have you lost patience—”

Her hand covered his mouth, and she pushed him down until her knee dug into his shoulder hard, on his knees in front of her.

“Beg… it's the least you can do if you want me so much… wanted me so long. We're both ignoring our principles now…” she said, each word strong ringing in his mind. “So beg.” 

Her mouth is so pretty when she says…

"So beg." 

He quieted his mind, a singular focus now. Every sense dialled in to her rich floral perfume, her touch and heartbeat. 

The light played on the satin before him, transfixing. “Please,” he said low, running his hands lightly along the golden sleek cloth, seeking her bones underneath like a lost road. “Teach me, tell me what to do.”

“I don’t want to ruin this beautiful dress… put your jacket next to the basin.”

He lingered his hand fascinated with the precise folds of the skirt, shining and shadowing, like the folds he’d soon… he trailed a finger along one close to her hip.

“Now will you be a good boy…and do what I asked or do I…?”

He looked up into her eyes, so far above him like a goddess’ blessing. He held her stare as he snatched the coat off and handed it to her to arrange.

“Now set me—oh!”

As he stood, taking her with him as he grabbed her hips and arse, fingers digging the slippery dress and sat her on the counter so hard she bounced.

He smiled sly as irritation on her skin coloured the same as her blush. I like both too much. 

He held his hands up in false surrender. 

She huffed out, “Are you going to take instruction or are you gonna improvise your own here?”

 “I’ve matured, I like collaboration.” He shrugged a shoulder, leaning over and snatching an ostrich feather out of the full vase next to her. How perfect for the theme this evening. The sheen on the feathers caught the light golden as her dress. He twirled it between his fingers, waiting. 

“Nothing else unless I say so,” she said. He didn't miss the gravel and struggle to breathe. Her stare unblinking on the feather.  

“Then…” he held the feather out in front of her and lowered it, leaning in meeting her half lidded gaze. “Tell me what to do.”

“I think you guessed I like a tease.”

He nodded, “Oh do I ever…we've done years… little kisses on the cheek like friends,” he let the end of the feather fall across her face, moving it in time to watch the colour rise deep scarlet. “But since we remedied that… … but what's a little more?” He lowered the feather across her neck and she turned her head, opening up and he imagined her nerves jumping.

That neck was like cream he wanted to lick and bruise with his teeth. 

Ah, there is the demon I've always feared.

He teased with the feather down between her breasts, and she shuddered with her sigh. Her eyes closed, and he trailed the feather up again, teasing her clavicle, the bones showing their angles in shadow and he wanted to add his own shadow there as well.

She leaned back, head against the mirror. “More,” she whispered out.

The feather up her throat, and he trembled, the tip of it caressing her lips. Now I'm jealous of a feather. He wanted to kiss her again but now bound by the agreement. She'd broken so many rules for him. I can keep this one.  

Her breath shuddered as she leaned back over and looked up into his eyes. 

“That's enough. Kiss me… kiss me so hard I might bleed.”

He shook his head, and squinted, “Don't ask me to do that. I'll do anything you ask… it is what you deserve, but… those demons don't need to come out yet.”

She gritted her teeth under her lips, “Then kiss me like you love me.” 

I'm gonna ignore those tears. They're not here to stay.

 He kissed her so tenderly he thought they both might break. 

She stopped for a breath, and spoke into his ear, “I love you too… Now that's out of the way, kiss me however you want… but I want your hands to move this skirt out of the way.”

He lifted her and shoved it out of the way behind her, and she helped gather the top. He hates the skirt now. Should have encouraged her for a short flapper dress, one with a delightful fringe he could have twirled in his fingers near her knee.

No matter. The music kicked up loud outside the bathroom, the low beat thumping under his hand resetting just beside her thigh like a heartbeat. 

“Tell me what you want… my touch or my tongue.” He licked his lips, drying from his breath increased as much as hers. Oh, to find out how sweet she really is.

“Touch… I think that's all I can stand for now,” she said with an unsteady voice. “Talk to me. Tell what you want… tell me what you will do… your voice is the only sound I want in my head.”

His thumbs strayed to her thighs, bare and like silk. Circles and caresses, and he leaned into her ear, “Can you please…” he caressed over her knees. "lean back to the wall, my love, I don't want you to hurt that pretty head."

“Yes… more,” she said, exposing that creamy throat again.

“Can I kiss your neck… please?”

“Yes… god yes, but… I need your fingers,” she reached a trembling hand and grasped his, setting it on inner thigh. "I need them inside me." The fire like heat pulsed against his palm. She's so wet for me… 

But first, he raised his fingers up to his mouth, letting her observe him wet them, meeting her stare. 

He tugged her soaked knickers aside. Two fingers found her folds. So ready for him, his knees nearly buckled. He turned his fingers and met her clit with his thumb, gently as she was so hard. She pulled and tugged on his fingers, whimpering, calling him like a siren's song.

She's always been the rock I'd dash myself on. 

His lips on her throat, and she burrowed her nails in his curls and scalp. Those low moans barely reached his ears, but they vibrated under his tongue, the salt of her skin mouthwatering. 

Bang bang.

The lock jiggled.

They both glanced at the lock, wide-eyed, but it held. 

Oh, that will not do. 

Her movement on his fingers wavered, but he pressed further, finding the spot that nearly made her cry out and he grinned into the hollow of her throat and flicked it with his tongue. 

Her moan louder, but he clamped his hand tight over her mouth, every knock urging him on, his thumb playing with clit, soaking wet dripping down as his fingers curled. Her panicked peeks at the door replaced as she closed her eyes and smiled into his hand, her sigh hot and panted. 

He turned her face and leaned into her ear, nipping as he spoke. “Is that adding to the effect? There'll be no mistake what I did to you when we leave together… they’ll know… shame they can’t hear the crying moan I want to hear… A shame for me. Tell me. Harder or softer… how long do you want them to wait?”

She panted into his hand. "Harder… oh god… I'm so close. Don't stop that or I'll hit you again."

The brat in him wanted to tease her. But this wasn't the time. 

But his deep voice, he knew its effect, and he spoke, meeting her lidded stare with his own.

"They love our brilliant brains, don't you think? But they don't see us as humans. Never will, but we can see and feel it now. It's our little secret how human we can both be."

She whimpered and tightened but… no it's not quite there.

“Can you come for me… please?”

“Kiss me one more time… I… oh…” she said with a shudder, her legs tightening on his hand.

And kiss her he did, so hard she might bleed and she cried out into his mouth and shuddered down into her orgasm, pulsing so deliciously around his finger he almost came himself.

She slumped, and he stared, pulling out. 

When she met his gaze, she whispered, “You can taste the results… and think about when we get home.”

He sucked his fingers clean, not blinking and her smile, slight, ended with a shivered whimper. 

Much too sweet… I can't wait for more. 

[doodliedoos]

Please

Someone tell me there is a sherlolly fic of when he comes back in The Empty Hearse???

Like I need it

[ohmyolicity]

Sherlolly prompt :

Sherlock has learned from Mary that Molly have never had an orgasm, not even a quick one!, with her past lovers before. The thought of her reaching orgasms after orgasms because of him make Sherlock hard.

[itsalittlebitsillay]

not a lot keeps me from ending it all but the idea that anyone would see my ao3 history does keep me going

[potatoheadthewise]

I paused

[sherlollydramoine]

As you know I am absolutely obsessed with Joe’s hands you just KNOW he knows how to use them and how to use them right

Ohhhhhh yoouuuuuuuuuu know ittttttttttttt!!!!!!!!

Those hands…

Here is this: You’re welcome! :) Warnings: 18+ only please. Mentions of oral stimulation, finger fucking. This is unedited.

Panting and gasping for air as Joe continued his assault on your pussy, pulling his mouth away now prepared to use his hands.

He knew how much his hands were a turn on for you and he knew how to play you just right.

He chuckles lowly at your sharp intake of breath as he steadied your wildly bucking hips with one hand, as his fingers worked your soaking wet pussy.

“Let it out baby. I wanna hear you.”

Your moans filling the quietness of the space as his fingers continued working you. When his thumb brushed your clit you lost it.

You came hard screaming his name as he just sat there wearing a smirk.