Prompt fill on tumblr... I do not own any Sherlock characters, just Gran :)
Enjoy!

"Oohooo! Young love, such a wonderful thing it is!" cooed the elderly woman. "You know, when your gramps and I were your age - God rest his soul - we were the same way. Couldn't keep our hands off each other. Just one look and oh la la, we were at it again! –"

"Gran!" exclaimed Molly, her cheeks flushing a bright pink.

"'Seven times in Baker Street' is what I've heard." ribbed the bride-to-be. A chorus of giggles followed the comment.

The cozy room was buzzing with ladies sipping tea on the sofas and gossiping about various raunchy matters. It was Molly's cousin's wedding and her mum had opened up her home to the bride and her party the night before the big day. Their husbands and boyfriends had ventured out to get a head start on the bachelor party; all that is, except Sherlock. Though he dreaded staying another minute in the estrogen filled den, he feared the social interaction he'd have to partake in with the drunken, lusty groomsmen even more.

Two months ago Sherlock and Molly had decided to advance the status of their relationship to "committed and public", although they had actually been "together" for around eight.

"Awww deary, no need to deny it! You're clearly in love with the man and it's plain to see that he adores you too." smiled Gran, trying to sooth her granddaughter's embarrassment.

Molly turned to look at Sherlock on the couch beside her. His eyes were warm as he grinned clumsily in agreement.

The door creaked open as Molly twisted its delicate brass knob. She took in a deep breath of air filled with childhood memories.

"So… This is… Uh…" stammered Sherlock, a look of bewilderment painted upon his face.

"My childhood bedroom, yes. Why? What's wrong with it?!" she said defensively.

"No-nothing, it's just…" Sherlock motioned to the surroundings with his eyes. The walls were covered in a horribly ugly floral pattern, there were posters with 80's bands and one from the movie Braveheart. Her duvet was kitten patterned and there was an abundance of plush cats sitting on it staring at them lingering in the doorway.

"Oh shut up." Molly huffed, trying not to admit aloud that Sherlock was once again correct. She ushered him in through the door. "Come on now, we've got to get some sleep. There's still lots of preparation to do in the morning."

Sherlock sat warily on her bed as he stared down the stuffed animals. "Your father had allergies, thus preventing you from owning a cat. Your parents, being the loving type, tried a form of replacement by increasing your collection of plush cats to a point where they hoped you wouldn't still desire that one pet that you so desperately craved. Funny thing how guilt works. But then, when you moved out on your own, you had no need for the toys. No need for the lifeless animals that you imagined were real. Toby came into your life at the perfect moment helping you cope with the loneliness of living independently and also filling that empty place in your heart reserved for a feline."

"Basically." She nodded, climbing under the covers on the other side. His deductions were lengthy at times, but Molly understood that it was just Sherlock's way of expressing what he knew. His way of showing he cared. Besides, his intelligence was, after all, what made her fall head over heels for him in the first place. That and those dashing good looks of course.

Sherlock looked at Molly snuggling in amongst the mass of teddy bears. Then he glared back at them. "Can I move them? Please?"

"Are they scaring you, hon?" she mocked in a mothering tone.

"NO! I just… there's not much room with them in here too!"

"Okay, but not Tabatha, she was one of my first cats or Oliver or Blackie. Oh, oh and not Puff or Spot either. I used to cuddle them all so much!" she squeaked, the nostalgia taking her back.

Sherlock grumbled, flicked off the nightstand lamp and settled in beside Molly. The two stared into the ceiling of darkness.

"I can't sleep. This is not my bed." Sherlock's low voice flowed out into the silence.

"Go to sleep Sherlock, it's already past 11." She wriggled farther under the covers.

A minute passed. "Molly, why do you have a poster of Braveheart on your wall?"

Sighing she replied, "Because I liked the movie."

"Is that why it's an extreme close-up of Mel Gibson?"

"Sure. Now go to sleep."

"Your response was much too hasty. I think there's another reason. Did you drool over him as a teenager?"

"Sherlock please, -"

"Did you?"

"Well, maybe a bit. I was a sixteen year old girl after all and he has nice eyes."

"Has? Who has better eyes, him or me?"

"Why does it matter?!"

"Because."

"You. Goodnight."

Another pause of silence.

"Molly, I can't sleep. This is not my bed."

"For the love of god Sherlock, GO TO SLEEP!" Molly flopped over, facing herself away from him.

More silence.

Suddenly Molly felt fingers walk up and over the side of her stomach. They stopped as if they had been detected. The hand went flat grasping her around the waist, pulling her slightly closer to him. After a moment the hand began to shimmy upwards arriving to caress a breast. "Molly," he whispered, "are you sleeping?"

His hand continued to work its magic upon her. "No, but I'm trying!" she hushed back.

"Are you sure?" the words poured out as smooth as silk. Sherlock's hand shifted, coming up underneath Molly's pajama top and resumed its actions.

"Sherlock," she said, trying not to moan. "We can't do this. Not here. This is my mum's house! The walls are paper thin. I swear you can even hear someone peeing from down the hall!"

Sherlock snuggled closer and began to nibble playfully on her neck and deliver suckling kisses.

"Oh dear lord!" Molly sighed under her breath. She flipped over to face him and grabbed his face in her hands. Their lips crashed together. There was biting and sucking as their tongues tangled and teeth clashed.

Then she pulled away, his lower lip bouncing back gently from her tender grip. "We mustn't, Sherlock." Molly said, out of breath. Her disappointment was evident. "They'll hear us."

"All the more risqué then." He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Let us prove that 'seven times in Baker Street' is not merely a myth!"

Two bright eyes sparkled at her as they captured what little light surrounded the pair. Molly's loose hair fell over her shoulder and cascaded around Sherlock's face. He reached up with his strong hand, gently pulling her head down towards his own. She did not resist. Lips met once again, rekindling their passion.

It was not long before the couple's state of undress was nil-to-none; pajamas and undergarments strewn about the bedside floor. Breathing was heavy and ragged amongst their furious kissing.

Sherlock paused, hovering above Molly. He bent his head placing a gentle kiss upon her neck and nuzzled his nose against her ear. Molly's hand found its way into his curly locks. She breathed in his familiar scent. "Yes" she sighed into his ear.

And with that, Sherlock slipped inside, both equally ready for one another; Molly's breath stolen momentarily as she took all of him in.

Steadily Sherlock began to move, increasing his pace as Molly's grip tightened in his mass of dark curls. The bed creaked under the weight of their motions and her stuffed animals toppled to the floor.

Sherlock's groans were timed with Molly's heavy exhalations. She pawed at his back and gripped his bum, urging him deeper and harder. Her back arced with each thrust, toes curling into the mattress. The bedposts thundered against the wall.

"Molly, my Molly!" uttered Sherlock amongst his grunts.

Molly cried out in pleasure, belting the words "Oh, yes! Sherlock!" between her gasps and sighs.

Almost at their peak, Sherlock shifted, nearly leaving her warmth. Molly clawed at him trying to prevent him from slipping out of her tightened grasp. Propping a hand on the headboard, Sherlock gazed down upon Molly and whispered: "Trust me." And with that he lunged forward, hitting the perfect spot at the most incredible angle either had ever experienced. Molly's back arched higher than before, lifting Sherlock with her as she clenched the bed sheet below in her fists. Her eyes sliced open and her head lurched backwards, leaving her jaw quivering. She spoke not a sound, save for the silent Sherlock which formed upon her lips.

Sherlock's release came but a moment later. A euphoric sensation spread throughout them both. He placed an exasperated kiss on Molly's lips before toppling over beside her. Both let out a snicker of pure happiness.

"Tired yet?" questioned Molly, letting her hand slip under the covers and down between his thighs.

"Not a chance!" he replied capturing a pebbled nipple lightly between his teeth, tongue rasping over its raised center.

"Good." she moaned in response as she felt him harden against her once again.

Sherlock and Molly were born to experiment. The scientific method was part of their nature and coursed through their veins: Testing new techniques, repeating procedures and reproducing results.

Still panting and chests heaving, the couple stared up at the ceiling. Two large smiles concealed by the darkness stretched across their faces. A pair of hands lay between them, fingers laced tightly together.

"Molly," started Sherlock.

"Hmm?" she questioned back.

"I think I'm finally exhausted." he looked over towards her.

Molly turned her head to face him. "Yeah?" she said. "Well, so am I." she tilted her head and delivered a soft kiss upon his sweaty forehead.

"Goodnight, I love you." he whispered softly.

"I love you too." she replied lovingly.

Then, Sherlock wrapped an arm around her middle and drew her in close. Molly snuggled into his chest and twisted her legs with his. The sound of steady breathing soon began as the two drifted off to sleep.

The sound of stairs creaking under footsteps caused attentions to shift. As Molly reached the base of the stairs, all eyes were on her in shock and awe.

"Good morning...?" Molly squinted at the kitchen full of ladies. Heads turned to watch her as she walked to grab a plate from the cupboard.

Heads jerked as another creak sounded. It was Sherlock who arrived in the kitchen next. The silent women's eyes were glued to him as he sauntered up behind Molly while tightening the belt of his robe.

The bride-to-be was frozen in place, mouth agape, as she stood nearest to the couple.

Sherlock gave Molly a light peck on the cheek and she smiled affectionately back at him. Then, looking to the bride, Sherlock's lips parted. "Make that eight times." he winked, leaving the bride and her female companions in a state of ripening envy.