Work Text:
“You know it’s going to irritate him,” Molly said, looking at her date for the event. Well, rather, her lover, but that was a whole different man, in her opinion. “Jim from IT” was the one going with her to the event at Barts, the one where they would be photographed and seen by people and in public.
James Moriarty was her lover, the one who was so very different. Smooth and suave where Jim was bumbling and stuttering. Electric and sharp where Jim was bland and dull. It was a role James played well, but really, she’d rather spend the evening with James than Jim. Still, she had her role to play in all this, and that meant a date with Jim before it was all called off.
And then James could spend more time in her bed. Discreetly, of course; she knew Sherlock’s brother had an eye on her. That’s what made this all rather exciting, in her opinion.
“What’s going to be more irritating is having to wear this,” James said with a sigh, adjusting the black tie. “It’s not Westwood.”
“Jim wouldn’t have the salary to afford Westwood, you know that,” Molly said as she stepped out of the loo in a dress that she hoped would look good on her even if it still held to her own persona of “cutesy.” “Well?”
She could see James take in the indigo dress with its scooped neckline, showing just the hint of cleavage, and it’s body hugging nature. It went to her knees with a little frilly hem. “I could eat you up,” he said, licking his lips.
“Maybe you should,” she replied with a smile that was probably more of a smirk. Oh, she liked flirting with James. It was nice to shed the dull and mousy persona of Molly Hooper when she was with him, feel as sexy and vivacious as she knew she was. And Jim always made her feel that way. After her faux outrage in the lab when she’d introduced him to Sherlock, they’d ended up in the morgue, in her office, and he’d brought her to dazzling heights in the privacy there. Sherlock was floors above and “Jim” had taken her on her desk, claiming her for his own while Sherlock thought he was playing both sides.
Pity James hadn’t left marks. Or at least any marks that could be seen. She loved looking at the love bites and scratch marks and other signs that James had command over her, at least in the bedroom. Otherwise, they were partners. Equals.
His only one.
Sherlock wasn’t even a close second as far as she was concerned.
But Sherlock slipped her mind as James came over and reached behind her, the zipper of her dress slowly sliding down, and she reached up to undo the tie around his neck. She had some plans for him, for the tie, for how she wanted to be marked tonight. And James would do whatever she asked, she knew he would.
Somehow, she knew getting through this event would be much easier now...