Summary:

Necessity is the mother of innovation.

Her fingers smelled like sex in the morning.

It was almost a sweet smell. She breathed it in for a few moments, setting her pussy tingling, and then went to wash up.

She folded Sherlock's blanket back as she gave him his morning medicine and checked his blood pressure so that she could get a better look at him. His cock was exactly as she had left it: thick and hard and as impossibly aroused. She kissed it and checked her watch.

It was only five a.m. Perfect time for slipping out to the drugstore.

If only she was allowed to go home while on-call. If only drugstores sold vibrators….

As if you'd be bold enough to buy one, even if she they did! she thought as she pulled a tube of toothpaste off the shelf. Sometimes she wondered what she'd do if sex toys weren't sold online. She had been longing to go to a sex shop ever since she was old enough to know what it was, but she knew she would never have the guts.

Toothbrushes. Soft-bristle, microbacterial, with a no-slip grip.

And then something caught her eye. Sale! the little yellow tag on the shelf read. An electric toothbrush, for only £3.

They even came in pink, her favorite color.

She had seen electric toothbrushes mentioned once before in a very unexpected way, but she had never actually tried it, having many other little…call them professional friends at home.

But she couldn't go home to fetch them. Surely this was the next best thing.

She slipped it into her basket along with a regular toothbrush and headed for the battery aisle, where she picked out the best batteries she could find.

I wonder if people know why I'm buying them? she thought self-consciously as she waited in line. The women, at the very least. Why is that thought so arousing? Maybe I should have bought the batteries separately. Or used the self-checkout. But John was right on his blog; those things were possessed by the same demons that haunted copiers and fax machines: definitely worse than slow, surely cashiers…

John. How was he taking things? He and Sherlock were so close. Surely he was devastated…

Molly itched to call him—text him, at the very least—but she had given her word to Mycroft. Given the little she knew about Moriarity and Sherlock's plan to fake his own death, she was certain that there was a good reason for keeping Sherlock's being alive a secret.

Poor John.

She would bake him some cookies, she decided as the line inched forward. Only one register was open, and the line was long for it being so early in the morning. Or rather, I'll buy some cookies for him. Those big chocolate chip ones from Levon's Bakery can pass as homemade. Her previous attempts at baking had ended as disastrously as her attempts at knitting, only her entire apartment building didn't have to be evacuated when she skewered her finger.

At least she got two dates with a firefighter out of it.

She paid for her toiletries and headed back to the hospital, where a tissue sample was already waiting for her.

After that there were two bodies that needed slicing, and more tissue samples to retrieve from the freezer and analyze.

The freezer. She wished she didn't have to go near the freezer. The cold air made her nipples teasingly, tantalizingly hard…

Her lab assistant was there all afternoon, so she couldn't reach into her shirt. Instead she settled for holding patient files against her chest in a way that the edges would pleasurably rub her nipples. Too bad the material of her lab coat was so thick.

It was almost midnight by the time she finished the day's work and wearily made her way to the on-call room.

She had placed the batteries in the electric toothbrush during her brief lunch break, but she was too tired to use it. Maybe tomorrow night.

Molly took off her shirt and trousers, folded them nearly, and lay down in just her bra and knickers. The blankets brushed pleasurably against bare skin; she wished she had an oversized T-shirt or something. She was too tired to touch herself tonight…

Well, just her breasts, then. She often gently fondled her breasts as she fell asleep.

She touched them through the thin material of her bra for a few moments, feeling the first stirrings of arousal in her nethers.

You're on duty all day tomorrow, and on-call all night and tomorrow night too, she reminded herself as pulled up her bra and let her fingers slowly slide up over the soft mounds of flesh to her nipples. Get your sleep in while you can…

But her fingers found her nipples anyway.

Molly much preferred touching them with wet fingers, but sometimes the rough friction of her dry fingers made her pussy throb harder.

Tonight was one of those nights.

Oh, dammit, she thought, sitting up. Now look what you've done! She knew she wouldn't be able to get to sleep unless she came. She should have learned her lesson by now.

She grabbed the new pink toothbrush off the little night table between the beds and slipped it inside her panties.

She pressed the on button, and immediately sat up with a cry, jerking the toothbrush out of her panties.

It was way, way stronger than she had ever dreamed! That rotating bristle head was more powerful than any of her beloved vibrators. Comparing them to this slim, magic pink wand was like comparing a horse and buggy to a locomotive.

She grinned to herself and lay back down and turned the toothbrush on again, pressing it to the outside of her panties to deaden the vibrations a little. There. That was a better.

She fondled her breasts again, licking her fingers and rubbing them over her hard nipples. She loved the feel of her own nipples, hard under her fingertips. She ran her flat palm over them, enjoying the hardness tickling her palms. She stretched her breast flat with her thumb and index finger and flicking at the nipple with her wet pointer, then switched sides and rubbed her left nipple till it stood up like Sherlock's cock and ran two fingertips over it, moaning at how lovely that felt.

And there was Sherlock, not five feet away, beautiful, fully-erect Sherlock—

Molly closed her eyes and thought of the taste, the feel of his cock on her tongue—

She hadn't been touching herself for more than a minute when she came, and came hard. Her muscles convulsed, back arching, and she cried out so loud in the darkness that she strained her throat.

I sure hope nobody heard that, she thought when she was able to form coherent thoughts. I would sure have a lot of explaining to do, mainly about how I was not in fact being murdered…

She glanced across at Sherlock to see if she had woken him. No, his eyes were closed.

She placed the toothbrush on the night table and went to sit on the edge of his bed.

Although she had had once masturbated four times in one night, Molly was usually satisfied after coming once.

Usually, though, she didn't have a half-naked man with a giant erection laid out in front of her like a corpse on a slab—

Bad analogy, Molly.

She moved the blanket off of him. His cock looked different now: veinier, redder, and hot to the touch.

She ran her hand down his chest. It was oddly toned and defined for someone who had Sherlock's job. Did he secretly go to the gym, Molly wondered? There wasn't an ounce of fat on him, which was marvelous. She abhorred soft flesh. Yes, he definitely snuck about behind John's back to the gym.

She pictured him naked in the gym's shower.

One of the handsome, long-haired, anonymous young men who populated her sex fantasies was there too, broad-shouldered and muscular.

–What was the young man doing? Stroking himself. Stroking his penis—and what a penis!—a fitting match for Sherlock's. He walks up to Sherlock, his muscles shining and glistening in the water, steam curling up around their legs—

Molly closed her eyes and squeezed her breast.

—Sherlock is making one of his "observations" now about the beautiful young man—not a very flattering one, by the look on the young man's face—and the young man grabs Sherlock, forcing him to his knees—

Suddenly her panties were on the floor, the toothbrush was on the bed beside her, and she, sweet, quiet Dr. Molly Hooper, was straddling Sherlock again, trembling like a fever patient.

"Don't," Sherlock mumbled.

—and the man takes a handful of Sherlock's wet curls ands shoves his big thick cock in his mouth. Sherlock's beautiful mouth, with that beautiful deep, condescending voice—all punished and filled up by that hot throbbing cock—

Molly bent down and kissed the tip of Sherlock's penis, and he moaned. Not exactly a moan of pleasure, but it was such a rich, deep sound that Molly groaned aloud, giving up any semblance of a fight, and thrust herself down on his cock like she had done a thousand times in her dreams.

His thick, glorious cock.

She liked being full, even enjoyed the slight pain she felt when shoving Oscar inside her, and her recent orgasm had left her slick and loose inside. Even so, Sherlock's girth stretched her to the limit, filling her like nothing before ever had.

She found herself laughing herself from the sheer thrill of it, and began sliding herself up and down.

—Sherlock moans, gagging on the cock, but the young man shoves himself deeper into Sherlock, forcing the cock all the way down Sherlock's long white throat.

Sometimes she felt like the only time she was really awake, really alive was when she had something inside her, had something touching her clit. The only time she was truly happy or fulfilled. It was crazy, she knew that; but as she rode Sherlock and rubbed her clit she couldn't recall ever having felt better.

She felt free, somehow, free and opened up inside and released from her daily little worries and insecurities—

Molly moved herself up and down in time to her fantasy. The young man thrusts in and out of Sherlock's mouth now, and she is watching from a window, watching the man cum in Sherlock's mouth, watching Sherlock being forced to swallow the cum—

She started stroking her nipples. They weren't quite as sensitive as they were usually, a little worn out from her solo session, so she rubbed them hard with the sides of her wet fingers, scraping them occasionally with her fingernails to tear every spark of sensation she could from them.

—Sherlock is on his hands and knees now, the young man behind him with his impossibly huge penis standing out stiffly in front of him. With one clean thrust the young man buries it up to the base between Sherlock's tight wet buttocks—

Sherlock's cock was hot inside her, so gloriously hot, so much hotter than Oscar ever was. Slick and hot and stretching and filling her deep, deep inside—

—Sherlock cries out, begging the man to stop, but his own cock is standing up like a miniature Big Ben. The man thrusts brutally into Sherlock, harder and harder so that Molly could almost feel him inside her own rear. She hears the slap of his balls on Sherlock's'skin through the hiss of the showers, and the sound Sherlock's moans echoing her own—

She turned her toothbrush on and touched it to her bare clit.

—Sherlock is touching his penis now, stroking its shaft and fingering the head. The handsome young man is still thrusting into him, faster and faster and faster as he approaches orgasm, hard and fast and deep, and then Sherlock throws his head back and—

An orgasm was building in her groin with all the force of a tsunami when she heard someone in the lab.

But it was too late to stop. Not that she wanted to stop. She kept rutting herself atop the half-conscious Sherlock, engorged red pussy clenching over his penis, toothbrush buzzing, breasts bouncing, moaning to herself and sobbing slightly.

—Sherlock cums hard, splattering white all over the steaming shower tiles. He collapses to the floor as the man came, gasping at the feel of the man's cum inside him—

"Dr. Hooper?" someone called from inside the lab.

"Just a minute!" she yelled through the door, her yell sending vibrations through her, and suddenly she was coming too, gasping and crying out soundlessly. She grasped her breast desperately and curled up over the cock, focusing her silent scream's energy inward, wave after wave of pleasure rushing through her and squeezing Sherlock's cock inside her.

She didn't even care if whoever that was heard the toothbrush. She didn't care if she was caught. All she wanted was the feel that pure red climax roaring, gushing, pounding through her like a tidal wave—

It seemed like an eternity before her orgasm faded. She kept the toothbrush on her clit for a few more moments, whimpering silently at the little aftershocks, then scrambled into her clothes and rushed out of the room.

"Sorry!" she said breathlessly. "I was just brushing my teeth and getting ready for a quick nap."

"Tonight's guest died on the operating table, suspected medical malpractice," said the doctor, gesturing at the gurney.

"Sounds like an interesting one," Molly said, fanning herself. She knew she how she looked. Best draw attention to it herself, to look less guilty. "It's hot in here, isn't it? If I've asked them to fix the air conditioning in here once, I've asked them a thousand times."

The doctor looked at her. Her face and neck and ears were pink—odd, to say the least—and her there was a certain sparkle in her eye—

Happy, that's the word. He didn't often see Dr. Hooper happy. Sounded it, too. Well, if anyone deserved a little happiness, she did.

Still...It was decidedly odd.

"I'll leave you to things, then," he said, a bit doubtfully, and they signed the release forms and he left.

Molly was blushing, but she couldn't help but giggle as well as she tugged her gloves on.

After all, Sherlock was there for one more night.