"Next time." He's giggling again. His whole body is humming; he's light-headed not just with the effects of afterglow but with the realization that there's going to be a next time. That she wants there to be a next time.

For a second Sherlock feels this irrational need to brag to someone, anyone, about that.

Molly's hands on his back, smoothing over him like she can even out his breathing, soften that need into something sweeter. At least for the moment.

"God. That was brilliant. I had no idea."