The tart taste of Molly against his tongue was both dry and wet; a contradiction of textures. His dick hardened with every upward stroke.

He reaches down to grope himself, the cotton of her sheets rubbing against his knuckles as he moans into her flesh, and her breath hitches with the vibration.

He returns his hands to her, unconsciously undulating as he spreads her lips further, nuzzling her softly with his nose, breathing in her musk, before lasciviously licking her labia. The slight brush of her nails against fabric turns into hard scratches and her hips subtly start to move against his face, gently fucking his tongue as her breathing deepens. Her glistening stomach moves up and down under his palm, now subtly rubbing in circles.

He brings his hands to her again, wanting, needing to touch her - needing to continue this erotic ritual. He's sacrificing his soul on the altar of Molly.

He pushes two fingers into her, slowly pumping her pussy, and she chokes out his name. His hips speed up. The pure, crisp, white sheets are pulling against his cock, coaxing, calling him home.

Her breathing stutters out in short gasps; she's close now, and so is he. He stops the fervent thrusting of his fingers, rubbing the pads upward against her inner wall, hastening the movements of his mouth against her clit. She cums with a cry, her body violently shuddering, her hands in his hair pulling him close, holding him still, then nudging him away. She tugs his hair sharply with her last tremor and he cums all over her sheets.

His eyes open and he's alone at Baker Street once again, his hand covered in semen and his dick flaccid.

An image intrudes his thoughts: Molly and Tom, wrapped up in each other, recovering from quite a lot of sex. He showers to clear his mind, the steam permeating his every pore. He steps out when the water finally runs cold. It's only 4 am.

Now, Sherlock stands at the window, sawing the bow across the bridge of his violin and rehearsing the waltz he's written for John and Mary's wedding the next day. He doesn't notice when the three-quarter time becomes a more somber twelve-eighths.

This is part 2 of a what I'm thinking will be a 4 part series (part 4 being multi-chapter). It's a short one, but it's meant to be an interlude.

Also, things are a little rocky for our lovebirds but I promise I have a happy ending in mind.