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To be honest, you didn’t really pay attention to why Mycroft needed to be at the crime scene. After speaking with his brother and the DI, he told you that you were free to go, as he would be returning to his brother’s flat to discuss the evidence. It was impossible not to notice Sherlock’s huffy, put-out sigh. Free to go meant the rest of the evening was yours to do with what you will and your mind begins flipping through your mental rolodex for an evening companion. As you finish a quick twitter message – “@hw3continents up for a car ride tonight?” – the police and medical personal begin to disperse around you. That DI – what is his name? – directs his team, saying something about how they’ll keep the corpse at the crime scene for photographs and transport it to the morgue in the morning.
You notice for the first time a woman in her early thirties with mousy hair and lipstick that doesn’t suit her. She seems out of her element and has apparently just been dismissed from the scene. “Oh. I, uh, suppose I’ll see to the case tomorrow. Does anyone know where the nearest Tube station is?”
You surprise yourself – and those around you – by looking up briefly from your mobile and offering the woman a ride.
Once in the car, she talks a mile a minute, all nervous energy. “I’m not usually even at crime scenes, but Sherlock and that doctor were at the morgue when the call came in and it was just around the corner from St. Bart’s so I tagged along but I don’t think he even noticed and I guess they didn’t really need me they have their own people for the crime scene I’m only useful once the body’s in the morgue…” At one point she pauses to actually introduce herself and you make the connection; she’s been on your assigned surveillance list for years now because Sherlock’s in and out the morgue so often but you don’t think you’ve ever actually caught sight of her. “…but it was fun to just tag along and see what exactly he does at crime scenes and he just knows so much and I don’t know how he does it…” Pity, you think, girl like that, all hung up on someone who barely sees her. She could use a good fuck to get her mind off it.
You might keep your nose to your Blackberry, perpetually thumbing out texts to various people in “minor” government positions across the globe, but you are far from oblivious about your surroundings. Molly’s sitting just a little close in the spacious back seat, her knees tilted ever so slightly to your own, and even though you’re sure she’s not doing it consciously, you sense in her posture the tiniest bit of interest. You can also tell by the slight hunch in her shoulders and the way she narrows her lips and rubs her hands on her skirt that she doesn’t feel entirely comfortable in her own body and – you would guess – isn’t confident about her own sexuality.
She keeps chatting, having moved on from Sherlock to Jim, who “just disappeared and I haven’t heard from him and I know Toby’s upset and I don’t care what Sherlock thought we just had so much in common.” You know the real story, having disagreed with Mycroft about keeping “Jim’s” identity under wraps in case he decides to use Molly to contact Sherlock in the future. You all know there’s little to no chance of that and you opposed the idea of keeping the poor woman as little more than bait. Putting your mobile down, you reach over and pat her leg, the sort of gesture of sisterly solidarity you imagine is appropriate now. You hope that might put an end to her blathering on about her dating woes.
Your intentions are fairly clear when your hand slides just a little too far up Molly’s thigh to simply be comforting her. You hear her breath hitch but her legs slide apart just a fraction and that’s all the confirmation you need. Your lips touch, and even though you want to push into her, claim her lips with your teeth, make her breathless and panting and begging, you resist. You kiss her softly, not hesitantly but with gentleness. Even though for you sex is usually like attempting to devour someone whole, a mutual contest of strengths and wills that ends with everyone wrung of all energy (and fluids), you can tell that for Molly, sex has always been something passive. Something she experiences but doesn’t really participate in; you barely know the women and yet this enrages you. What Molly needs, you decide, is someone to just fucking worship her body. To touch every single inch of skin and wring from her body all the undiscovered pleasure it is capable of.
She responds to your kiss, lips pliant as her body arches toward you. You pull back first, let her take a breath, and just as you predict she vacillates, something about “never done this before, I don’t know if I even am…” and it’s so cliché you can’t wait to fuck that indecision out of her. You catch the last of her protestations on your lips and this kiss is less questioning and more demanding. With one hand you press her shoulder, pushing her body down against the leather seats, while your other hand slides her skirt up toward her hips. You’re both awkwardly semi-recumbent, her legs splayed and your arm bracing against the headrest against the movement of the car. Your lips are still pressed together and you slide your tongue in her mouth forcefully then grind the ball of your hand right up against her cunt, feeling her gasp into your mouth. You feel the heat rolling off her even through her underwear.
She is completely willing to be guided as you pull her body up off the seat in order to slide her sweater off. Her bra, sensible and ordinary, is unhooked with a flick of your fingers and you run your hands up her bare sides and over her breasts, feeling her small nipples harden against your palms. She’s not protesting at all anymore, just making tiny gasps of pleasure, indistinct and cautious. Each sharp inhale makes you plan new ways to make her scream.
You kiss along her jawline and down to her neck, rolling one nipple between finger and thumb as you bite down slightly right above her carotid artery. You feel her blood pulsing against your tongue as a flush rises on the pale skin of her chest. Your mouth moves across her collarbone and down her breast; you close your lips over one nipple tight and hard with arousal, and suck a gasp from Molly’s lips. Your hands fall to her waist as you unzip her skirt, pushing it to the floor of the car. You hook your thumbs around the waistband of her knickers and peel them off.
Once she’s naked your mouth finds her nipple again as you slide one hand between her spread legs. Your finger slips between her lips – and god, she’s wet – and you find her clit quickly, wanting to make her fall apart. Your fingers barely ghost over it at first but soon she’s arching into your hand, wordlessly begging for more. You quicken your pace, pressing a little harder with each stroke and you know you’ve got her when you feel her clit harden and her muscles start to tense. She comes with a shaky gasp, biting her lip and grappling at the leather seats with her hands. As she collapses against the door you think to yourself, now, I know we can do better than that.
She’s breathing hard, muscles loose and lips slack so you sit back to give her a moment to compose herself. Her eyes are closed so you pick up your mobile – “@hw3continents got delayed. May be another hour.” After taking care of some minor business with the Home Secretary, you put the phone down and turn back to Molly, whose breathing has steadied as she looks at you with lust – and a little bit of fear – in her eyes. “Round two?” It’s not really a question that comes out of your mouth.
“O-okay.” Her voice goes high on the second syllable and she’s moving toward you and trying to push your blazer off your shoulders. You laugh and still her hands with a smile.
“No. Round two for you.” Her eyes widen and she swallows thickly as you lean forward and catch her bottom lip between your teeth. You nip at it, teasingly, then move so you’re kneeling between her legs, your mouth at her breasts and your hands right exactly where she’s aching for you. This time you watch her face as you skim one finger over her clit. She jumps as if electrocuted and you know she’s still so sensitive it’s something between pain and pleasure. You can work with that. Ignoring her clit for the moment, you slowly push your first two fingers into her cunt, all wet and slick and hot.
You stroke your fingers upward, feeling that small rough patch inside her. Fingers gently touching, you coax her body open, feeling her muscles begin to loosen and relax as she lets the pleasure tingle through her. You slide a third finger inside her and flick your thumb against her clit; her body jolts and, oh yeah, she’s still paying attention. You move your mouth to her breast, licking at her nipple then rolling it between your lips. Soon her hips are rocking against your hand and you slip in your fourth finger while biting down quick but hard on her nipple. She gasps and you feel her tense around your hand, but you lick the sore little nub gently and soon she’s relaxing again. She’s tight around your hand but so fucking wet that as you fuck your fingers into her you know she can take more. You pull back from her breasts, tuck your elbow in and re-angle your body, your fingers still in her as you lower your mouth to her cunt.
You press the flat of your tongue against her clit and feel its hardness, swollen with blood. She groans as you drag your tongue upwards from where your fingers disappear into her and to over her clit. She’s squirming, trying to angle herself so that your tongue will find her clit again but you pull back.
“What do you want?” Her eyes fly open and she stares at you, fully dressed kneeling between her legs, your lips shiny with her juices and your hand still moving inside her. “I said, what do you want? Do you want me to take you fully, to fuck you until you come with my whole hand inside you? Tell me.”
“I…yes.”
“What? Say it.”
“Please, please fuck me. Just…god. I want you inside me. Please –” She breaks off with a gasp as you angle your fingers, tucking your thumb in the center, and push inside of her past your knuckles.
“This isn’t enough, is it? Tell me what you want me to do to make you come.”
Her breath coming in quick staccato bursts, she gasps out, “please…fuck…your tongue, your mouth, on me.”
With a sharp grin, you oblige, leaning down to flick your tongue across her clit while you fuck her with your fist. You see one of her hands shakily grasp her own breast, pinching the nipple roughly as she cants her hips to your mouth. Her muscles again tense, her cunt tightening around your hand and her clit throbbing ever so slightly against your tongue. Feeling her right on the edge, you pull back quickly, spit into your other hand, then return your mouth to her clit as you push two fingers into her ass. You can feel her orgasm just starting as you stroke your fingers upwards, feeling your own fist through the thin membrane. She cries out as her body crashes over the edge, her hips bucking forward and her muscles convulsing around you. One hand grips her breast and the other grasps the edge of the seat as the waves pass through her body.
Molly collapses into the seat, her skin flushed and a sheen of sweat around her hairline. You pull out of her and discreetly clean your hands with a handkerchief pulled from a pocket. You straighten your jacket but she’s too fucked out to care about her clothes, discarded and crumpled on the floor of the sedan. Giving her some time to come back to reality, you pull a blanket out from a compartment under your seat (also in the compartment is a first aid kit, a bottle of fine aged whiskey, lube, spare underwear, and a handgun – you’re never sure what you might need) and cover her modestly.
You open the partition between the front and back seats to let the driver, who knows you well and has been circling the St. Bart’s area this whole time, know to proceed to Molly’s house. You think to yourself you wouldn’t be opposed to giving her rides home again in the future. After all, the car’s all yours, the driver’s discreet, and you do get lots of free time.