Chapter Text
“Molly, I require your help with something.”
Molly looked up from the paperwork she was making her way through in her small office outside the path lab. It was little more than a closet, and Sherlock standing just inside the closed door made the room seem all the smaller.
“Sure thing, Sherlock, just let me finish this up, then I’m free for the rest of the afternoon. Do you need help with an experiment?”
“Not as such. It’s going to involve a conversation, so come to Baker Street once you’re done here?” He turned, one hand on the doorknob, waiting for her response.
“Um, sure, yeah, okay. We can’t just do it here?”
A smirk came across Sherlock’s face, but he schooled his expression quickly. “No, it’s...not really work-appropriate.”
Sherlock swept out of the room, leaving a very confused Molly Hooper in his wake.
oOo
An hour later, Molly was standing on the stoop of Baker Street. She pressed the bell, and was rewarded quickly with the sounds of Sherlock coming down the stairs. He threw open the door. “Molly! Come in, thanks for coming.”
“You’re...welcome?” said Molly, confused. Since when did Sherlock thank her for anything? She closed the door behind him and followed him up the stairs.
They came into the flat, and Sherlock nodded toward the couch. “Sit. Tea?”
“Sure,” said Molly, taking a spot in the center of the sofa. “I’m super confused, I have to admit, Sherlock.”
“I know, all will be revealed momentarily,” he called over his shoulder, heading into the kitchen. Molly heard the click of the kettle and the rustling of mugs (and then the water running, as Sherlock hurriedly cleaned one or both of them. Molly began to question her acceptance of tea in a flat that generally resembled a hazardous waste dump.
The tea Sherlock handed her looked drinkable, however, and Molly decided to go for it. She sipped as Sherlock spun the desk chair around, sitting down facing her from the other side of the coffee table.
“So.” he said, setting his (untouched) tea down on the table. “We’ve known each other for a while.”
“Seven years?” said Molly. “Something like that.”
“Something like that,” echoed Sherlock. “As you know, I keep my personal life extremely private.”
Molly narrowed her eyes, “No offense, Sherlock, but as far as I can tell you don’t HAVE a personal life.”
“Exactly,” said the Consulting Detective. “And that’s exactly how I like to keep things. No one who doesn’t need to know knows anything about my personal life. John didn’t, even when he lived here.”
“Wait,” said Molly, confused. “You’re saying you DO have a personal life?”
“While there are those on the spectrum of sexuality who have no sexual needs, I am, regrettably, not one of them.”
Molly took a moment to drink this in. “Okaaaaay. So what’s this got to do with me?”
“While I have no need for romantic attachments, I find that I do have sexual needs. Very specific sexual needs.” Sherlock met Molly’s eyes boldly. Molly turned crimson and looked away, focusing on a spot just over Sherlock’s left shoulder.
“Again, what’s this got to do with me?”
“You find me attractive, but your schoolgirl crush on me has faded over the years as you’ve gotten to know me.”
“Okay?” Molly shifted in her seat, wondering where he was going with this.
“As you know, for a period of time I used recreational drugs to quiet the storm in my brain. Intellect like mine is not suited for this modern world of daytime telly and celebrity gossip. I find the world to be a confusing rush of information overload. Drugs slowed my brain to a manageable speed. A regular speed.”
He paused for a moment, and Molly could see the wistfulness on his face. Sherlock Holmes may have been clean since the Fauxiarty incident, but she would never fool herself into believing he didn’t miss it.
“At other times in my life, I found other ways to clear my head. Given my recent...backslide on the one front, I’ve decided the prudent course of action here is to bring back my secondary coping mechanism.” He paused, as if steeling himself for what he was about to say.
“Molly, I need someone to dominate me. Sexually.”
Molly opened her mouth, and then closed it again. She couldn’t find word to form, but Sherlock kept talking, saving her from having to have some sort of response to this.
“Normally, I would never dream of asking someone as inexperienced as you to top me. But I know my needs and my limits and what works and I feel like they are all within your reach, if you’re interested. I’ve taken the liberty of preparing this.” He pulled out a flash drive and set it on the coffee table. “In it, I’ve documented the sorts of things I find...helpful. Read it over, consider it, do your own research. Or leave it here on the table and walk away, but in any event, I expect your discretion. I do not reveal these things to you lightly.”
Molly stared down at the flash drive, and then met Sherlock’s eyes again. He continued. “Again, I will reiterate: I have no need for romance in my life. This is not a dating relationship. I do not demand monogamy from you, however, you will have it from me. I have no need of any outside dalliances if we can make this agreement work. At any time, if you find that you can no longer continue, that will be that, and we’ll move on. I don’t want to prevent you from finding someone you can actually spend your life with.”
Molly continued to stare at him.
“Anyway, it’s all spelled out on the drive. Take it, or don’t. Accept, or don’t. I know I’m asking a lot of you.”
Sherlock stood, and made his way toward his bedroom. “If I don’t hear from you, I’ll assume that’s a no. I won’t bring this up again unless you do.”
The door closed behind him, and Molly stared at the drive for a full five minutes before scooping it up and dropping it into her bag. She stood, and let herself out of Baker Street, hailing a cab back to her own flat.
oOo
Molly left the flash drive in the bottom of her bag for almost a week. Every time she thought about taking it out and plugging it into her laptop, she stopped herself. It was so overwhelming and she still wasn’t quite sure that Sherlock had actually been serious. Some part of her expected her to open the file and find a video of Sherlock telling her the whole thing was a joke.
But she found herself back at her flat after drinks with Meena on a Saturday night, and somewhere in the bottom of those mojitos she’d found some courage. Digging the flash drive of her bag, she plugged it into her computer and opened the drive.
One text file, named “Sherlock.”
She clicked and opened it, and began to read.
Molly,
Thank you for trusting me enough to open this file. As I promised, if you aren’t interested, this will never be mentioned again. (And it won’t change anything between us. I value your friendship, obviously, or I wouldn’t have asked you this in the first place.)
As I will have explained to you, drugs were one way I dealt with needing to shut my brain off. Being dominated is the other. Drugs, however, are easier to get my hands on than someone I can trust - not just with my secret, but with my body, my mind, the very soul of who I am.
The following file explains things in detail, but for a quick overview to gauge your interest: I require pain, I require humiliation, I require being used. I need to believe that my only worth is in another’s pleasure. I need, to use an expression, to be knocked down a peg and not be “Sherlock Holmes”. When I enter subspace, I can relax, I can let go, I can stop my brain from spinning. The world gets quiet. The world shrinks down to a pinpoint of pleasing my Dom.
Before you ask, no, I am not capable of going to a professional for this. Both my reputation and my own attitude won’t allow this. I would never submit to someone I didn’t respect, someone I didn’t feel was worthy of my submission. No random person could meet that for me. I believe you can.
While I require sexual release as a part of my sessions, I do not require access to your body. I leave that in your (capable) hands to decide upon. It is not unwelcome, however.
Below you’ll find some information about my particular likes and dislikes. I have only a few hard limits - nothing outside of my flat or yours, unless previously discussed and agreed upon. No blood, urine or feces. While I will provide to you my latest round of clean STI tests, if our sessions are to include intercourse, condoms must be used. I will provide you with my preferred brand upon request. All bruises must be somewhere I can hide under my usual clothing. My safeword is Cyanide.
And under no circumstances whatsoever should anyone know of our agreement, including the Watsons, Mrs. Hudson, or God forbid, my brother.
As I will have explained to you, I am not looking for a romantic attachment. We are friends, and I am asking you to do this for me as a favor between friends. Our sessions will start out once a week, scheduled at least a week in advance, with an understanding that cases can and will get in the way. When that happens we will reschedule for a mutually agreeable time.
I know all this is a lot. Read over the material below - some of it is cut and pasted from books on the topic, some are my own personal experiences with what works and doesn’t work for me. Obviously, your needs and comfort level will be taken into account when deciding on what our sessions will include. I would not ask you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with - if I’m being honest, if you’re not into it, it isn’t going to work for me anyway. I need to know that everything that’s happening to me is for your pleasure.
I look forward to hearing from you, but understand if I don’t. Thank you for reading.
Molly skimmed the rest of the file. None of it seemed too crazy - she’d played at some of this stuff with lovers before - nothing serious, but she’d been on both ends of this sort of playtime. She suspected Sherlock had deduced that about her, or he’d have never approached her.
She closed the file and shut her laptop, grabbing her phone and making her way into the bathroom to get ready for bed. Just after she climbed into bed, she fired off a text to Sherlock.
Opened your file. Started reading it - got through your note and skimmed the rest. Not disinterested, but need more time to think about it.
The reply came back almost immediately.
Understood.
Molly plugged her phone in and curled up into bed, her mind spinning. Sleep would not come easy tonight.