I should've planned ahead with all these parts we've been doing. Oh well, here's a continuation of what SH201610900 and I did a while ago (I tried to edit it this time, but I fear my weak grasp of grammatical rules may display itself here).
Stranger: Molly smiled as he kissed her, slowly closing her eyes. She then relaxed and placed her hands on his shoulders, feeling a warm shiver go through her body.
You: The detective tensed, feeling her draw their bodies closer together. He wondered if the concept of kissing was at all applicable to the next level of adult relations, but decided to withhold his worries for now. If Molly's abilities of reading body language (as his was currently screaming in expression of excited disquietude) was on par with her unimpressive, yet acceptable skills at analysing an unsullied crime scene, he supposed he wouldn't have to explain his reluctance to her.
Stranger: After a moment, she slowly pulled away as she had felt him tense up. She then furrowed her and brow and bit her lip. "Have...have I done something wrong?" Molly asked, feeling worry start to pool in the pit of her stomach.
You: "You've done several things wrong," Sherlock decided to assume a dishonestly unruffled demeanour, feeling for the handkerchief in his breast pocket, "your mouth was too small, disallowing for a more passionate embrace; your impetuous decision of placing your hands near my neck naturally caused me to be alarmed, as I rarely provide access to an area with such vulnerability to attack. Your lipstick has made some impressively messy skid marks across my face.." he glanced at the smear mark on his pocket square, "..measuring a most alarming seven centimetres. I had no doubt you were caught up in the moment Molly, but asking me to review your performance would be a most regrettable decision. You know how thorough I am." He grinned playfully at the dismayed expression on her face as it slowly turned to one of fond exasperation.
Stranger: Molly giggled and blushed, shaking her head. She then prodded him in his ribs. Before she sat herself in his lap, making sure that she didn't squish him. "Did you seriously just deduce our first kiss?" she asked with a pout, narrowing her eyes at him, as she pretended to be angry at the detective. She then sat up taller and rubbed her lipstick off of his face. "Would you rather that I take my lipstick off so that I don't leave any evidence?" she queried, partly teasing him.
You: "Anderson won't be able to find a trace of it once we've scrubbed up," he stared nervously at the carpet as he permitted her to gently swab his cheek with the cloth. Sherlock noticed her delicacy and further predicated that she would be most understanding to his inexperience in matters further than the highly unhygienic exchange of oral fluids. "Molly..." he continued subconsciously appreciating the dust patterns his many clients left in the fireplace carpet as he did all in his power that could have been done to avoid eye contact with the increasingly prepossessing pathologist, "there's something I haven't told you.."
Stranger: She moved out of his lap once his cheek was clean, ready to go and wash the lipstick off her mouth. Molly then paused, her brow furrowing a little. What could he possibly want to tell her? Maybe he wasn't as much in this as she was. The pathologist gulped, nervously nibbling on her thumb nail. "What is it?" she asked slowly.
You: Sherlock caught the reciprocating movement of her teeth upon her recently manicured fingernails and inferred it to be her shared trepidation about the possibility of taking their relationship to one of closer intimacy. He breathed an internal sigh of relief, glad he didn't have to venture into the unknown alone in his fear. "It might be proprietous of me to inform you that I haven't really-" his voice caught in his throat as he struggled to communicate in words what he was about to disclose, "-..had anyone."
Stranger: Molly blinked, not quite sure what to say to his statement. First of all she didn't really understand what he meant, so that made it all the more confusing. She then moved to stand in front of him, gently squeezing his bony hand. "What do you mean exactly?" she questioned, tilting her head to one side.
You: "I've never been with anyone," he paraphrased uselessly, "Me and Janine, I mean Hawkins, we weren't really intimate. I suspected she knew of my inexperience and didn't want to have to bear the responsibility of ridding me of it." Sherlock recalled the unprincipled harlot he had allowed into his private showering ablutions, only to end up being stabbed in the back (with a bullet in his front) as she publicised untruths to blacken his name. "I do hope you'll understand.. that is, if you decide to, uh, rid me of it." He grimaced at his uncharacteristically inelegant manner, hoping Molly hadn't noticed.
Stranger: She chuckled quietly and smiled at him fondly. Molly then sat in his lap again, wrapping an arm around his waist. "Its alright, Sherlock. I don't mind that you're a virgin, it doesn't really matter. You can soon learn what to do, if you don't already know. There's nothing embarrassing about having to admit that you've never had sex".
You: Sherlock flinched as she imprudently addressed his incomplete adult life experience, looking fearfully at her advancement into his hips. He speculated about what she could have possibly meant by his ability at soon being able to learn what to do. When was soon? How in the world could she know what his rate of learning was at a task he had never performed, or had any interest in performing for that matter, in his life? Her confidence in his abilities at pleasuring others' nether regions was one of delusion, he thought, I don't think I've given her any impression that I had any sort of prowess in the activity.
Stranger: She then bit her lip. "I'm sorry, I've startled you...I can tell. I just mean, when we both feel like we're ready to do it, then I can teach you. Or I could teach you now if you like, but we obviously don't have to do it right away" she explained in the best way that she possible could.
You: When would be the best time for this to happen? Sherlock began his analysis: Ages concerned, 36 year old female, 39 year old male. Both well out of their respective sexual peaks, so comfort and satisfaction in their intercourse would overwhelm passion and animal lust. He shrugged unnoticeably, animal lust didn't seem to be in either of their natures, though exploration into what the 'normal people' may consider psychopathic, or high-functioningly sociopathic in his case, would be. If there wasn't a better time to commence with the activity, as he would most invariably change his mind as fast as Molly might attain a new boyfriend who bore eerily striking resemblances to himself, it would be this very moment. He coughed anxiously, "I'm not startled," he attempted a reassuring tone, "the only thing I'm feeling at the moment would be potentially disastrous curiosity." Molly’s eyes twinkled at his apprehension at what was unlikely to turn out as he so pessimistically envisioned to, and giggled good-naturedly playing with her hair as she effortlessly drew Sherlock into a state of trust.
Stranger: "Potentially disastrous curiosity?" she repeated, brushing one of Sherlock's dark curls away from his face. "Just because you're curious about it, doesn't mean that something is going to go wrong. And anyways, we're both still youngish, so...we've got loads of time to pick the right time to do". Molly then grinned mischievously, playing with his shirt buttons. "Plus, you know that you have to woo me first, right?" she almost purred.
You: "How would one go about wooing another?" Sherlock racked his mind palace for information of human attraction, making a mental note as he wandered into that particularly dusty file cabinet and found nothing but repressed images he saw from pornographic sites when he confiscated John's laptop, to add that to the list of things he had yet to read in-depth, along with bomb disposal and a more effective method of erasing metal images. He slid his arms out from their previously crossed orientation and placed them lightly on Molly's collarbone, before snatching them back abruptly as she suppressed a giggle, clearly being amused by his ignorance of going about this wooing business.
Stranger: Molly smirked and shook her head. "You just looked like you were going to strangle me, rather than woo me" she told him, giggling. She then tucked her hands into her lap. "I suppose we just try and flatter each other really, or impress one another. Like...when you do deductions about bodies, it makes me feel all tingly and warm inside. Or I could wear whatever you like, such as tight dresses or....lingerie to try and woo you" she replied, slowly going scarlet as she said the last part.
You: "Autoerotic asphyxiation is a well-known fetish, in case you were thinking I wasn't applying my knowledge, limited as it is, on a related spectrum," Sherlock replied through thinly-veiled mortification, "unfortunately there isn't a corpse here for me to extrapolate minute details on the cause of their death, but I do see that you are wearing some rather specific undergarments." He cast his expert eye upon the snug fit of her attire, especially noting the thigh lines and her spine areas. "Lacey mauve brassiere off the bottom right of the third page of Mary’s copy of the September edition of the Victoria Secret catalogue, leopard print thong from goodness' knows where on Ebay, suspect it had a previous owner," he tucked in his lips, "not entirely a big enthusiast on threading a length of string through the buttocks but whatever floats your boat I suppose." He concluded his examination, turning his gaze to meet Molly's, "wooed enough for you?"
Stranger: She stared at him wide eyed and scoffed. Molly then shook her head, slapping his arm. "Hey! You're not supposed to stare through my clothes and deduce what underwear I'm wearing. Even if you are my boyfriend" she scolded. Before she smirked and pecked his lips, playing with his long fingers again. "Would you prefer it if I took my clothes off so that you can see my underwear properly?"
You: Boyfriend. Molly had already established their relationship was one of adult familiarity. Sherlock wondered what would be an acceptable response to her apparent promiscuity. He was afraid of appearing well-versed in the art of sensual conversation, otherwise too unwilling to carry out what he had somewhat agreed to do. Subtly was not his strong suit, so he would try something a little more brazen, with a hint of self-restraint if he could manage it. "Would you be willing to do that?" Sherlock unintentionally stammered, before giving himself a mental slap across the face and shaking himself to sense, "I mean.. wouldn't it be more conventional to prepare oneself for copulation in a more private environment... like, like a bedroom?" He waited with bated breath, hoping he hadn't been to obvious in his venture.
Stranger: Molly nodded and smirked. She then burst out laughing, rubbing at her first. "Copulation? Oh God..." she then paused and shook herself, calming down. "I'm sorry, it just sounded funny. You know that we don't have to have sex right away though? I don't want you to feel like I'm rushing into anything that you might not want to do" she said sensibly as she took his hand, pulling him up onto his feet.
You: Sherlock had wondered just how many times he could use each synonym of the activity of an explicit nature before Molly noticed, until finally being answered by her compassion for his hesitance. He laughed, his apprehension suddenly alleviated like the weight Molly had been imposing by sitting on his lap. "Yes I do suppose I put it in a rather peculiar manner," he tittered for a moment, then turned his serious face upwards towards hers of perceptive empathy. "Thank you Molly," he smiled, "for understanding. I'll admit, I was rather skittish about the whole affair of.. copulation," he said deliberately, incurring yet another burst of mutual laughter as the pair relaxed for the first time that evening, "so I don't think it would be happening as soon as you might have been hoping. However, you've certainly turned my view on the whole concept of it topsy turvy," he grinned, "and open mindedness is an inescapable result I have sustained."
Stranger: She smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close to her. Molly then moved one of her hands, tapping the end of his nose with her finger. "That was far too many words for me, Mr Genius". She then paused and stifled a yawn, giggling as she covered her mouth. Before she turned her head to look at the clock. "Mmm, its starting to get late. And we've both had quite enough excitement for one day. How about we go to sleep? I'll take the sofa"
You: After Sherlock fetched her some sheets and wraps from Mrs Hudson (all equally as garishly patterned as her blankets) he watched as Molly curled up snugly on his sofa, no longer valiantly suppressing the emotions of fondness he felt towards his coworker- no, she was his girlfriend now wasn't she? How exciting, he thought, lingering his hand on the light switch as he ensured Molly was safely tucked in. "Good night Molly Hooper," he bade her.
Stranger: Molly giggled and smiled. "Goodnight Sherlock Holmes" she replied as she made herself comfortable on the sofa. She then rolled over onto her side, pulling the blanket up under her chin. "If I get...freaked out in the night, I'm allowed to come in your room and kip at the end of your bed...right?"
You: "If Mrs Hudson doesn't come tearing up the stairs with armfuls of gaudy-looking blankets that is," Sherlock grinned, and with an ever so cheeky wink, the light switch was shut in the living room, engulfing the couple in the calmingly ambient street lights of Baker Street.
Stranger: Molly smiled as he kissed her, slowly closing her eyes. She then relaxed and placed her hands on his shoulders, feeling a warm shiver go through her body.
You: The detective tensed, feeling her draw their bodies closer together. He wondered if the concept of kissing was at all applicable to the next level of adult relations, but decided to withhold his worries for now. If Molly's abilities of reading body language (as his was currently screaming in expression of excited disquietude) was on par with her unimpressive, yet acceptable skills at analysing an unsullied crime scene, he supposed he wouldn't have to explain his reluctance to her.
Stranger: After a moment, she slowly pulled away as she had felt him tense up. She then furrowed her and brow and bit her lip. "Have...have I done something wrong?" Molly asked, feeling worry start to pool in the pit of her stomach.
You: "You've done several things wrong," Sherlock decided to assume a dishonestly unruffled demeanour, feeling for the handkerchief in his breast pocket, "your mouth was too small, disallowing for a more passionate embrace; your impetuous decision of placing your hands near my neck naturally caused me to be alarmed, as I rarely provide access to an area with such vulnerability to attack. Your lipstick has made some impressively messy skid marks across my face.." he glanced at the smear mark on his pocket square, "..measuring a most alarming seven centimetres. I had no doubt you were caught up in the moment Molly, but asking me to review your performance would be a most regrettable decision. You know how thorough I am." He grinned playfully at the dismayed expression on her face as it slowly turned to one of fond exasperation.
Stranger: Molly giggled and blushed, shaking her head. She then prodded him in his ribs. Before she sat herself in his lap, making sure that she didn't squish him. "Did you seriously just deduce our first kiss?" she asked with a pout, narrowing her eyes at him, as she pretended to be angry at the detective. She then sat up taller and rubbed her lipstick off of his face. "Would you rather that I take my lipstick off so that I don't leave any evidence?" she queried, partly teasing him.
You: "Anderson won't be able to find a trace of it once we've scrubbed up," he stared nervously at the carpet as he permitted her to gently swab his cheek with the cloth. Sherlock noticed her delicacy and further predicated that she would be most understanding to his inexperience in matters further than the highly unhygienic exchange of oral fluids. "Molly..." he continued subconsciously appreciating the dust patterns his many clients left in the fireplace carpet as he did all in his power that could have been done to avoid eye contact with the increasingly prepossessing pathologist, "there's something I haven't told you.."
Stranger: She moved out of his lap once his cheek was clean, ready to go and wash the lipstick off her mouth. Molly then paused, her brow furrowing a little. What could he possibly want to tell her? Maybe he wasn't as much in this as she was. The pathologist gulped, nervously nibbling on her thumb nail. "What is it?" she asked slowly.
You: Sherlock caught the reciprocating movement of her teeth upon her recently manicured fingernails and inferred it to be her shared trepidation about the possibility of taking their relationship to one of closer intimacy. He breathed an internal sigh of relief, glad he didn't have to venture into the unknown alone in his fear. "It might be proprietous of me to inform you that I haven't really-" his voice caught in his throat as he struggled to communicate in words what he was about to disclose, "-..had anyone."
Stranger: Molly blinked, not quite sure what to say to his statement. First of all she didn't really understand what he meant, so that made it all the more confusing. She then moved to stand in front of him, gently squeezing his bony hand. "What do you mean exactly?" she questioned, tilting her head to one side.
You: "I've never been with anyone," he paraphrased uselessly, "Me and Janine, I mean Hawkins, we weren't really intimate. I suspected she knew of my inexperience and didn't want to have to bear the responsibility of ridding me of it." Sherlock recalled the unprincipled harlot he had allowed into his private showering ablutions, only to end up being stabbed in the back (with a bullet in his front) as she publicised untruths to blacken his name. "I do hope you'll understand.. that is, if you decide to, uh, rid me of it." He grimaced at his uncharacteristically inelegant manner, hoping Molly hadn't noticed.
Stranger: She chuckled quietly and smiled at him fondly. Molly then sat in his lap again, wrapping an arm around his waist. "Its alright, Sherlock. I don't mind that you're a virgin, it doesn't really matter. You can soon learn what to do, if you don't already know. There's nothing embarrassing about having to admit that you've never had sex".
You: Sherlock flinched as she imprudently addressed his incomplete adult life experience, looking fearfully at her advancement into his hips. He speculated about what she could have possibly meant by his ability at soon being able to learn what to do. When was soon? How in the world could she know what his rate of learning was at a task he had never performed, or had any interest in performing for that matter, in his life? Her confidence in his abilities at pleasuring others' nether regions was one of delusion, he thought, I don't think I've given her any impression that I had any sort of prowess in the activity.
Stranger: She then bit her lip. "I'm sorry, I've startled you...I can tell. I just mean, when we both feel like we're ready to do it, then I can teach you. Or I could teach you now if you like, but we obviously don't have to do it right away" she explained in the best way that she possible could.
You: When would be the best time for this to happen? Sherlock began his analysis: Ages concerned, 36 year old female, 39 year old male. Both well out of their respective sexual peaks, so comfort and satisfaction in their intercourse would overwhelm passion and animal lust. He shrugged unnoticeably, animal lust didn't seem to be in either of their natures, though exploration into what the 'normal people' may consider psychopathic, or high-functioningly sociopathic in his case, would be. If there wasn't a better time to commence with the activity, as he would most invariably change his mind as fast as Molly might attain a new boyfriend who bore eerily striking resemblances to himself, it would be this very moment. He coughed anxiously, "I'm not startled," he attempted a reassuring tone, "the only thing I'm feeling at the moment would be potentially disastrous curiosity." Molly’s eyes twinkled at his apprehension at what was unlikely to turn out as he so pessimistically envisioned to, and giggled good-naturedly playing with her hair as she effortlessly drew Sherlock into a state of trust.
Stranger: "Potentially disastrous curiosity?" she repeated, brushing one of Sherlock's dark curls away from his face. "Just because you're curious about it, doesn't mean that something is going to go wrong. And anyways, we're both still youngish, so...we've got loads of time to pick the right time to do". Molly then grinned mischievously, playing with his shirt buttons. "Plus, you know that you have to woo me first, right?" she almost purred.
You: "How would one go about wooing another?" Sherlock racked his mind palace for information of human attraction, making a mental note as he wandered into that particularly dusty file cabinet and found nothing but repressed images he saw from pornographic sites when he confiscated John's laptop, to add that to the list of things he had yet to read in-depth, along with bomb disposal and a more effective method of erasing metal images. He slid his arms out from their previously crossed orientation and placed them lightly on Molly's collarbone, before snatching them back abruptly as she suppressed a giggle, clearly being amused by his ignorance of going about this wooing business.
Stranger: Molly smirked and shook her head. "You just looked like you were going to strangle me, rather than woo me" she told him, giggling. She then tucked her hands into her lap. "I suppose we just try and flatter each other really, or impress one another. Like...when you do deductions about bodies, it makes me feel all tingly and warm inside. Or I could wear whatever you like, such as tight dresses or....lingerie to try and woo you" she replied, slowly going scarlet as she said the last part.
You: "Autoerotic asphyxiation is a well-known fetish, in case you were thinking I wasn't applying my knowledge, limited as it is, on a related spectrum," Sherlock replied through thinly-veiled mortification, "unfortunately there isn't a corpse here for me to extrapolate minute details on the cause of their death, but I do see that you are wearing some rather specific undergarments." He cast his expert eye upon the snug fit of her attire, especially noting the thigh lines and her spine areas. "Lacey mauve brassiere off the bottom right of the third page of Mary’s copy of the September edition of the Victoria Secret catalogue, leopard print thong from goodness' knows where on Ebay, suspect it had a previous owner," he tucked in his lips, "not entirely a big enthusiast on threading a length of string through the buttocks but whatever floats your boat I suppose." He concluded his examination, turning his gaze to meet Molly's, "wooed enough for you?"
Stranger: She stared at him wide eyed and scoffed. Molly then shook her head, slapping his arm. "Hey! You're not supposed to stare through my clothes and deduce what underwear I'm wearing. Even if you are my boyfriend" she scolded. Before she smirked and pecked his lips, playing with his long fingers again. "Would you prefer it if I took my clothes off so that you can see my underwear properly?"
You: Boyfriend. Molly had already established their relationship was one of adult familiarity. Sherlock wondered what would be an acceptable response to her apparent promiscuity. He was afraid of appearing well-versed in the art of sensual conversation, otherwise too unwilling to carry out what he had somewhat agreed to do. Subtly was not his strong suit, so he would try something a little more brazen, with a hint of self-restraint if he could manage it. "Would you be willing to do that?" Sherlock unintentionally stammered, before giving himself a mental slap across the face and shaking himself to sense, "I mean.. wouldn't it be more conventional to prepare oneself for copulation in a more private environment... like, like a bedroom?" He waited with bated breath, hoping he hadn't been to obvious in his venture.
Stranger: Molly nodded and smirked. She then burst out laughing, rubbing at her first. "Copulation? Oh God..." she then paused and shook herself, calming down. "I'm sorry, it just sounded funny. You know that we don't have to have sex right away though? I don't want you to feel like I'm rushing into anything that you might not want to do" she said sensibly as she took his hand, pulling him up onto his feet.
You: Sherlock had wondered just how many times he could use each synonym of the activity of an explicit nature before Molly noticed, until finally being answered by her compassion for his hesitance. He laughed, his apprehension suddenly alleviated like the weight Molly had been imposing by sitting on his lap. "Yes I do suppose I put it in a rather peculiar manner," he tittered for a moment, then turned his serious face upwards towards hers of perceptive empathy. "Thank you Molly," he smiled, "for understanding. I'll admit, I was rather skittish about the whole affair of.. copulation," he said deliberately, incurring yet another burst of mutual laughter as the pair relaxed for the first time that evening, "so I don't think it would be happening as soon as you might have been hoping. However, you've certainly turned my view on the whole concept of it topsy turvy," he grinned, "and open mindedness is an inescapable result I have sustained."
Stranger: She smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close to her. Molly then moved one of her hands, tapping the end of his nose with her finger. "That was far too many words for me, Mr Genius". She then paused and stifled a yawn, giggling as she covered her mouth. Before she turned her head to look at the clock. "Mmm, its starting to get late. And we've both had quite enough excitement for one day. How about we go to sleep? I'll take the sofa"
You: After Sherlock fetched her some sheets and wraps from Mrs Hudson (all equally as garishly patterned as her blankets) he watched as Molly curled up snugly on his sofa, no longer valiantly suppressing the emotions of fondness he felt towards his coworker- no, she was his girlfriend now wasn't she? How exciting, he thought, lingering his hand on the light switch as he ensured Molly was safely tucked in. "Good night Molly Hooper," he bade her.
Stranger: Molly giggled and smiled. "Goodnight Sherlock Holmes" she replied as she made herself comfortable on the sofa. She then rolled over onto her side, pulling the blanket up under her chin. "If I get...freaked out in the night, I'm allowed to come in your room and kip at the end of your bed...right?"
You: "If Mrs Hudson doesn't come tearing up the stairs with armfuls of gaudy-looking blankets that is," Sherlock grinned, and with an ever so cheeky wink, the light switch was shut in the living room, engulfing the couple in the calmingly ambient street lights of Baker Street.