#cumberburch

"It’s all just a bit…intimidating. The British government and all of that." Molly looked sheepishly at Sherlock, vaguely surprised once again that he was for all intents and purposes her boyfriend of nearly a year.  Not that Sherlock would have called it that, and she didn’t have a precise anniversary date to name, the whole thing having unfolded in an odd order after she stayed in 221B for her safety during the second Moriarty incident, and simply never left.  She supposed that the first time he kissed her when leaving the morgue with John and Lestrade was close enough. Until then it had all been a bit of a secret, something left ambiguous with even those Sherlock considered his nearest and dearest, although Mrs. Hudson had deduced the truth considerably earlier than that.  The two piles of neatly folded laundry on Sherlock’s bed a month after she had stopped using John’s old room had seemed like a hint.

Sherlock smiled, that clever smile that clearly indicated the onset of trouble. “Can’t have you dithering during a meeting with Mycroft. You know how he gets. Come along, then.” He grabbed her hand and led her into an en suite washroom attached to the office.  The door lock snapped into place, Sherlock took her favorite stride, the one that placed him right inside her personal space, and swept her into his arms for a kiss.  It was a lovely kiss at that, warm and slowly deepening, the kind that still made the back of her neck prickle with heat.

"No cameras in here," Sherlock said, and trailed his lips down her neck, "So we won’t be putting on a show for the security goons in the control room."

"Mmmm," Molly replied, not even slightly concerned about surveillance when she could slide her hands under Sherlock’s jacket, feeling the taut muscles of his back flex as he leaned over her.  Then she noticed his hands deftly unbuttoning her blouse and pulled away with some surprise.

"Sherlock? What are you – we can’t do that here!"  He simply shrugged in reply.

"I don’t see why not. It’s just a room. Ideal ambient temperature, nothing to damage, easily restored to its previous condition when we’re finished."

"Because – because this is your brother’s office! The British government, for heaven’s sake!" Molly whispered hotly. That wicked grin spread across Sherlock’s features again, and Molly realized that in fact, that was probably the entire point.  Perhaps that should have annoyed her, but on the other hand, she had been summoned to a stodgy office in the middle of a cold Saturday in February that she would have preferred to spend inside with hot cocoa and films, and she’d been so taken aback by the order that she’d put on a suit.  If this was what Sherlock had in mind, no wonder he’d glared at her pencil skirt.

"See? It’s a brilliant idea." He slid the jacket from her shoulders, folding it neatly with his own and leaving them on a hook behind the door.  Then he lifted Molly onto the edge of the sink, placing her at a far better angle for following the trails of veins over her chest to the edges of her bra.  He unbuttoned her blouse just enough to mouth at her nipple through the satin and lace, while his hand crept along her inner thigh.  Molly moaned softly, clutching his curls in her fingers and trying to drag him closer with a leg around his thigh.  She heard the zipper on the side of her skirt before she even felt it loosen, and shifted on the counter to let it slide to the floor.

Sherlock glared again, this time at her tights.  Molly shrugged and slid off the counter, trying to produce an even vaguely sexy shimmy to get out of them but concluding quickly that it wasn’t actually possible.  Not that Sherlock seemed to mind, since he hauled her from the floor into another searing kiss, pressing her back against the counter edge so that she could feel him growing hard against her belly.  His hand cupped her breast through her rumpled blouse, and Molly shivered with anticipation of what might come next.  He spun her around just then, and she found herself faced with their reflection in a warmly lit mirror.

Molly stared at her reflection in the mirror, her hair tumbling out of its chignon and her face flushed.  Her blouse was hanging open, a peek of red lace visible across her breast. They were really doing this, really having sex in a bathroom, this bathroom –

A light slap against her buttocks made her gasp. “Sherlock!” She almost shrieked, and he chuckled in reply.

"Focus, Molly," he murmured, pressing his lips to the nape of her neck as he circled her clit with two fingers.  She bit her lip, trying not to notice anything but the rough pads of his fingertips against her.  Sherlock nipped at her ear lobe, making her squirm, and she tried desperately not to moan when she felt a single, slim digit slide effortlessly inside her.

"Mmmm. Power is an aphrodisiac, isn’t it, Molly?  This wet with so little effort. I rather like that.  I wonder where else we could do this." She shuddered as a second finger entered her, curling and flexing as if Sherlock wanted to stretch her open.  He began to work his fingers in and out, and Molly tightened her muscles, trying to increase the pressure as Sherlock carefully sought out just that spot.  She bent herself over the counter, sinking her pubic bone harder against the surface, trying to get what she needed now that everything else was completely forgotten.

"Oh yes, Sherlock, that’s it," she whispered, knowing that hearing her talk him through sex drove him a bit mad. "God, fuck me, please."

"Gladly," Sherlock answered, thrusting and curling his fingers in a steady rhythm that Molly answered with rocking hips.  She heard the slick, wet sounds of his fingers plunging inside her mixing with his ragged breath against her ear.  Molly opened her eyes, realizing she had closed them again, and looked at them both in the mirror, Sherlock’s body pressed against her own, his cock hard in his trousers against her hip, and his arm wrapped tightly around her waist.  He looked absolutely blissful, she realized, with his eyes half-lidded and his nose pressed into her messy hair, in stark contrast to the steady, determined strokes of his fingers.  Then his thumb found her clitoris again, and Molly thought her soul flew apart, shudders of pleasure spiraling through her as her legs turned to jelly.  She gasped for air, stunned to realize she’d nearly been holding her breath.  For a moment she fell forward over the sink, slowly trying to recover, and then squeaked as Sherlock spun her around to face him.

"Can you take more?" He asked, his eyes dark and determined, and Molly nodded frantically. Yes, more, anything, always, Sherlock.

It wasn’t until he beamed at her that Molly realized she had said it out loud.  Not that it mattered, because his fine, thick cock was out and in her hand.  Sherlock managed to dig a condom out of his wallet before letting his trousers pool around his ankles, stilling Molly’s strokes for a moment while he tore open the packet and slipped it on.  With her bum resting on the edge of the counter, he was able to slide easily inside her with a groan.  Her walls seemed to tighten with each thrust, her initial sensitivity quickly turning to renewed fire for him.

"Please, Sherlock, please," Molly whispered, kissing him and tugging at his hair, making his hips snap against hers just a little more roughly.  The edge of the counter bit into her flesh as he changed the angle, supporting her back with one wide hand as she hooked her knee around his waist.  She could barely move, only pant roughly as he drew a deep wave of pleasure out of her again, watching his face as he sank inside her over and over.  Her voice broke in a soft cry as she felt her climax sneak up and hit again, the sensation almost painful in its new intensity.  Sherlock thrust only a few more times before letting out a satisfied groan, nearly dropping her as his hips slowed to a halt.  He drew her up and kissed her tenderly again, and Molly smiled.

"You’re right. Not nervous at all now," she said warmly. "I love you."

"I know," Sherlock said smugly, and nipped gently at her bottom lip. "I do believe Mycroft will be back soon, though, so we should probably make ourselves more presentable."

Several minutes later, with their clothing adjusted, Molly’s hair and lipstick restored, and the loo aired out a bit and largely back to normal, the two of them were seated again in front of Mycroft’s desk, now holding hands between their two chairs.

The minor British government employee in question finally arrived, and strode into his office with a greeting that seemed to occur almost in passing.  Settled into his desk, Mycroft looked across at them, before rolling his eyes with an exasperated sigh.

"Oh, honestly, Sherlock," he grumbled, and Molly wondered how many details had given them away.  She giggled, both slightly embarrassed and oddly delighted that this was now part of her life.

"I considered waiting for the ring. But then you were late. Told you the Malaysian delegation would be a problem," Sherlock said dryly, as Mycroft fiddled with a lock on his desk drawer.

"Yes, well. Here you are." He tossed a small box across the desk to Sherlock, who caught it easily. "Kindly depart my office before you debauch yourselves again.  Lovely to see you again, Molly.  And Godspeed to you for agreeing to this."

"Agreeing to what?" Molly said, wrinkling her nose in confusion.

Mycroft raised his eyebrows, looking at Sherlock. “Really, Sherlock?”

"It’s fine," Sherlock said with a dismissive sweep of his hand. "Molly and I will be going now."  With that he grabbed her hand and pulled her out of Mycroft’s office.  Molly nearly stumbled out of the door as she slowly put the pieces together.  She couldn’t quite believe what she was thinking, and let Sherlock lead her outside.  On the steps she stopped, yanking Sherlock back to make him stop.

"Are we getting married?" Molly said, utterly perplexed.

"Well, yes," Sherlock said brightly. "I told you I thought we should. Not necessary of course, but you’ve always thought you would, and I would be agreeable, so long as we don’t have all of that fuss John and Mary had. Heaven knows I can’t trust John with that level of detail."

"And when did you tell me this?" Molly said, smiling despite herself.

"Last Thursday," Sherlock said, confused. "During my experiment with the divided liver. I apologized for not having a ring on hand. I realize that is generally what’s done, but I had only just thought of it."

"Oh. No wonder I don’t remember," Molly said brightly, because it really did seem like a lovely idea. "I think I’d gone to bed. Didn’t you wonder why I didn’t answer?"

"Not really. The acid solution boiled over and I had to deal with that, so I suppose it slipped my mind. I texted Mycroft about the ring and I suppose I – should have checked with you again in the morning."

"Yes, perhaps," Molly said, reaching up to kiss him again. "You could check with me again now."

"Ah. Yes." Sherlock nodded and straightened up, his hands folded behind his back in what Molly thought of as his "business" stance. "Molly, I have examined all the data of our relationship and taking into account multiple factors, including but not limited to including successful case outcomes, observed improvements in my rather challenging interpersonal style and sexual satisfaction, I believe that it would be ideal to declare ourselves permanently part of each other’s lives."  He smiled then, the smile that Molly now knew to be only for her, and rested his hands on her waist, nearly touching his forehead to hers, and Molly almost couldn’t hear him for the roar of her heartbeat in her ears.

"Most importantly, however, Molly. I love you. I adore you. I said at John and Mary’s wedding that I would never make another vow, but I always miss something. And I can’t bear to ever miss you. Will you marry me?”

"Yes!" Molly cried, loudly enough that passers-by on the street suddenly noticed them, and threw her arms around him. "Yes, a thousand times yes, Sherlock. It’s always yes." She kissed him, and didn’t even look down at the ring he slid onto her finger.