Disclaimer: This fan-fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. A small follow-up to Sealed in Ink because I like this universe. This one is far more NSFW than its predecessor. Still Victorian!lock- Enjoy!

AND HER NAME ACROSS HIS HEART

Why, if Molly didn't know better, she'd think her husband was looking... bashful.

Back to her, gas lamp turned low, a slight redness rides high on his cheeks. It also shades the back of his neck. The tips of his ears.

He's not looked at her since he entered the bedroom, and that was nearly ten minutes ago.

Molly supposes she shouldn't be surprised: He's been travelling all day. And yet... He's dawdling in getting out of his clothes and into his sleeping-things, too: His shirt, she can see, hangs open, accentuating the broad sweep of his shoulders, the narrow nip of his waist. As ever, when she sees him like this, her pulse begins to pound. The placket of his trousers hangs open too, the curve of his hip and belly (with its tantalising glimpse of dark hair) calling her to eyes. Her hands. Her lips. (He'd been gone for more than a month this time, more than a month, and so long without her darling husband has made Molly greedy indeed.

She wants to touch him.

Taste him.

Feel him move within her, feel him cry out as they find their bliss in one another... )

But, being the ladylike, respectable wife he expects, she refrains. Controls herself. No man wants the mother of his children falling upon him like a lion on an antelope, she tells herself.

Well, not without being invited.

She smiles at the thought, her hand instinctively going to her belly, rubbing the gentle swell of it. Only five months along and already she can see the changes the pregnancy has wrought to her body, can feel the difference it has made. Her smiles widens, stroking her bump and peering down at it; When she looks up Sherlock has turned to her. His cheeks are still slightly red, his eyes warm. Guileless.

Suddenly the room seems ever so slightly... hot.

"My, but you are a lovely sight, wife," he murmurs, crossing the room to her, and Molly blushes. Lays her arms loosely around his waist, his heat and nearness making her heart thump. Making her belly heat.

She can feel herself beginning to become wet.

"Thank you," she murmurs, pressing up onto her toes to kiss his lips. When she pulls back, she's rewarded with his fingers in her hair, pulling the pins loose. Setting them free. They scatter like so many raindrops across the carpet- ping, ping, ping- and then he's pulling her hair down. Tousling it and setting it against her shoulders. Her back.

He leans into her, smiling, and runs his nose tenderly along her cheek. Her jaw.

Again she blushes, biting her lip at the obvious attraction in his gaze, and he takes her face in his hands. Kisses her more fully. His tongue slips and slides along her lips, requiring entry, and when she grants it to him they both let out a simultaneous, arousing little moan.

Oh God, she thinks, I have missed him so.

Molly feels her nervousness fall away, familiarity and her husband's obvious eagerness driving her onward. She pushes hers body against his insistently, enjoying the warmth and solidness of his arms around her, his chest squashed against her breasts. Her hands slide down and knead his backside- she feels so wicked when she does that- and her clever, sophisticated husband lets out a needy, animal growl. Picks her up and manhandles her towards their marital bed, tossing her onto it before stepping away. Kicking off his boots, his socks.

His hands go to his shirt and he suddenly stops-

But it doesn't matter because Molly has seen it.

For there, inked right over his heart, is a slightly larger copy of her own tattoo. It's a peony, dark, in the Japanese style, set amid a nest of leaves and buds.

As soon as she sees it, Sherlock's cheeks go dark red.

He stops, nervous and trying not to show it. Does that odd turn of his where he stands up straight and cocks an eyebrow at you because he's nervous and trying not to show it.

Slowly, reverently, Molly kneels. Crawls along the bed until she's right in front of him.

Her fingertips reach out, brushing the tattoo and her husband- Oh my, her husband shivers.

"It was supposed to be a surprise," he says softly. "Something... Something for later, when you've had more rest. When we'd time enough to enjoy my homecoming- Not now-"

This time it's Molly's turn to arch an eyebrow.

"Why not now?" she asks. "I've been without my husband for more than a month, and I've just discovered that that husband has had himself marked with something which, which means so much to me-"

"It does?" he asks softly and there's so much hope in his voice it's heartbreaking.

She looks at him. Takes his face in her hands. "But of course it does," she murmurs. "Why ever would it not?"

His eyes dart away from hers. His throat works. "When I thought about it initially, I thought it a fine idea," he says quietly. "When I saw it, though... On you, the ink is beautiful. Perfect. On me, I fear it will be mistaken for some keepsake from my former life. My former... habits."

His cheeks darken again and Molly thinks she understands.

Oh, but she married a complicated man.

Slowly, keeping eye-contact with him, she leans forward. Places her lips on the tattoo and kisses it. Traces its shape with her nose, her fingers. Her tongue.

He lets out the most blissful little sigh as she does.

Her hands reach out. Flatten themselves against it. She can feel his heart pounding underneath her palms. "This," she tells him. "This is mine, husband."

Emboldened, she takes his hand. Brings it down to the smaller tattoo above her mound, the one she had done for him two years ago. The one the ink over his heart now matches.

His thumb traces it, fingers sliding against her heat, and she sees the moment he realises she's wet. Realises what his actions mean to her.

"And this," he says quietly, fingers moving against her, "this is mine, isn't it?"

She nods. Swallows. Her breathing is becoming heavier. "Yes, husband," she tells him. "Yes it is."

He wets his lips, leans down to kiss her; She pulls back, breathing him in, and then slowly, slowly, she sets to licking and kissing her way down his body. Along his chest, his heart. There isn't an inch of her darling she doesn't want to touch. She keeps going, opening his his trousers before reaching in and carefully taking out her prize- his cock.

It's tall and proud, hard already and so, so wanted.

As she watches, a sliver of his seed leaks out from the head, and she smears it over his flesh with her thumb. Takes the last drop and, holding his gaze, sucks it into her mouth before ducking her head and taking the head between her lips. Sucking him gently, her tongue lavishing him with warmth and wetness.

"Christ," he mutters, and then- "fuck, oh fuck, sweetheart- Molly-"

She smiles at him: She loves to make him swear for her.

He must see her satisfaction because he pulls her head back, kisses her mouth roughly. Within moments he's kicked his trousers and smalls off, has spread her beneath him on their bed, her arms pinned above her head and his cock pressing insistently against her belly. Her mound.

"What do you want, wife?" he asks her quietly. "You have to say it, or you'll get nothing, you know that."

Molly feels herself grow wetter. "I want you to take me, husband," she says. She opens her thighs to him, her arms, and pulls him into her. It feels just like a homecoming. "I want you to take me and fuck me and come inside me..."

And though their baby lies between them, he presses harshly inside her, as she likes it. Thrusts his cock sharply within her, the feel of it making her moan.

Molly gasps, pleasure so long denied making her writhe like a wanton. Scratch and nip at him. She starts thrusting with him, matching his movements, her arse rising off the bed as she takes him in. As she makes him hers once more. The motion makes the bed rock and Sherlock growls her name in approval. Pulls back until he's kneeling.

He yanks her towards him, thighs spread around his hips and prick pumping into her, and sets to making her see stars without the worry of harming the babe.

How long they move together like that, Molly honestly can't say. She's too busy, thrusting and kissing and squeezing her breasts in her hands. Kneading her husband's backside and scratching along his thighs. His hips.

Eventually neither of them can take it anymore and he pulls her beneath him again, her thighs yanked up high on his hips and his cock thrusting unbelievably deep inside her. His weight rests on one hand, the other gripping their headboard; He nips at her throat and suddenly she climaxes, pleasure fizzing through her like the finest champagne. Like the spark of a puzzle, like the thrill of the chase. For once, Sherlock seems to let go entirely, burying himself in her breasts and pulling her close to him. Not even ceasing his thrusts when she feels his seed spill against her thighs. Her buttocks.

She cradles him to her as he comes, shivering.

She's sticky with her fluids and his, with their sweat and his kisses, and all she can think is that she might be the luckiest bride in the world.

Later, when they've slept a little, and eaten a little, and whispered together in the dark like children, later Molly will trace the tattoo again. She'll kiss it sweetly, tell her husband how much it means.

"You said you wanted something to signify marriage," he murmurs to her sleepily. "Happy, long-wanted marriage.

"I wanted to show you that I am as grateful for what we have as you."

And he presses a kiss her her crown. her hair.

His hands tighten on hers, their palms resting on his heart.

Molly smiles in the darkness, burrowing into her husband.

We match, she thinks, tracing the tattoo. Thinking of her own. Finally we match.

"I could have told you that," Sherlock murmurs sleepily, (she didn't remember speaking) and in the darkness Mrs. Molly Holmes beams.