3rd chapter will be M rated.

Part 1: Listening In

Sherlock knew he was wrong - so very, very wrong - to eavesdrop on Molly and her friend Meena, but as soon as he heard his name mentioned his interest was piqued. He knew Molly wouldn't gossip about him, even to her best friend, but she had no compunctions about talking about him in general, and frankly he was curious to hear what she'd say when she didn't know he could hear her.

"He's been busy, haven't seen him in the lab recently, just got few texts now and then asking about symptoms of some exotic poisons and things like that," Molly was saying as he eased himself behind the barrier of the soffit covering the duct-and-piping chase in the cafeteria. Molly took a sip of her coffee and made a face (not that he could see it, but he heard her sipping and she always made a face after her first sip of coffee).

"Did he ever apologize? You know, for the way he outed your broken engagement?"

His eyebrows lowered at that question, and he shifted uneasily. No, he hadn't, actually, and this was the first time he'd even thought about the thoughtless comment he'd made all those months ago. To be fair, he'd been high as a kite at the time and Molly was certainly used to him being rude - no, be honest, cruel - when he was on the defensive...but those were just excuses. His latest stint in rehab had forcibly reminded him that excuses weren't acceptable. He silently resolved to offer her up a sincere apology for his taunting words as soon as he got her alone in the path lab, his original destination after detouring for a cup of coffee.

While he'd been wandering in his guilty thoughts, the conversation had moved on. "So if the sex was that bad, why keep doing it?" Meena asked in a hushed tone that told him she'd probably looked around first to make sure no one could hear her.

Molly sighed. "Well, we were engaged. It's not like I could just say nope, not interested in it anymore without telling him why...and I didn't want to hurt his feelings and I thought I loved him."

"Excuses," Meena said firmly. "If he loved you, he'd want to know he wasn't exactly turning you into Moaning Myrtle without you helping it along."

Molly gave an uneasy laugh. "Yeah, I know but the truth is, sometimes bad sex is better than no sex. And it was a long dry spell before I met Tom. And it looks like it's going to be another long dry spell."

"You mean to tell me that you and tall, dark and brooding never...?" Meena allowed the question to trail off suggestively, and Sherlock quickly ran through a file of men Molly knew in order to try and identify tall, dark and...oh. His cheeks burned as he realized who she meant.

"No, we never have and never will," Molly replied. A bit too firmly as far as Sherlock was concerned; since when did she stop wanting him? Probably since you turned into such a raging asshole whilst high that even Molly Hooper couldn't stomach the thought of being with you, his inner critic (sounding disturbingly like a combination of John and Mycroft) pointed out.

"Oh come on, Molls, all those times he slept over at yours and you're saying nothing ever happened?"

"No, Meena, I told you that already! Nothing but…" Molly paused, and Sherlock's mind supplied the missing words. Nothing but some very enjoyable nights spent snuggled up against each other in her bed, with him acting as the 'little spoon' in order to keep her from realizing just how aroused he became at the feel of her body against his.

"Nothing but friendship," Molly finished. "Which is fine," she added hastily, a tinge of guilt coloring her words. He could picture her looking about this time, and very distinctly heard her taking a large gulp of her coffee.

"So, it's true then? He's gay?" Meena said the last two words in a low voice, as if it was some shameful secret she was sharing - or looking to have confirmed, in this context.

"I don't know." Molly's voice was brittle; good, she didn't see anything wrong with the possibility of him being gay (he wasn't), and even though she was too kind to chastise her friend for bringing it up, she was letting her know she wasn't very pleased with the turn the conversation had taken, either.

"Molls, the man spent time in your bed. With you," Meena said, as blithely as if she hadn't heard the clear warning in her friend's voice telling her to back off. "Either he's gay or he's asexual."

"Or just not interested in me," Molly countered, rather grumpily.

Not true on any count, Sherlock almost said aloud, capturing the words behind his teeth at the last possible second. He just couldn't afford to be distracted by anything as banal as sex...although if he'd realized just how much Molly appeared to enjoy it in her life, he might have reconsidered earlier.

Wait, earlier? What did he mean, earlier? Surely he wasn't reconsidering now, just because of one overheard conversation!

Hmm, then again, judging by the way his body was stirring, perhaps he was. He sternly told his penis to behave itself, then placed his attention back on the conversation between the two women.

"Well, whichever way it turns out to be - which is none of our business, Meena, so don't you think you can go behind my back and try to get him to tell you! - it means no sex for me and tall, dark and brooding." Molly once again was making very determined statements based on incorrect data. He'd have to correct her on that, and very soon.

Ooh, the idea of correcting her brought up some very interesting visuals that his penis definitely liked: Molly had watched him crop a body once, when he was investigating bruising patterns...and had immediately after asked him for coffee. The thought of her tied to a bed while he stood over her with crop in hand...Stop that! he demanded, rather desperately, of both mind and body.

"So when was the last time you were properly shagged?" Meena asked with a giggle. Sherlock grit his teeth; he was NOT interested in hearing the answer to that particular question, or hearing Molly wax ecstatic about some idiot she'd dated in uni or...

"Don't tell anyone this, Meena Patel, or I swear to God I'll not only deny it but I'll find a way to kill you and hide the body!" Molly was giggling as well, and her voice lowered to a whisper that told him she and Meena now stood with their heads close together as she said it. The name. The one name he'd never, ever expected to hear from Molly's lips in association with being 'properly shagged.'

Sherlock stood there, stunned, as Molly and Meena, still giggling like teenagers, finally left the cafeteria back to their respective destinations: Molly to the morgue, Meena to paediatrics.

It took him a good five minutes to make himself move again, the name still ringing through his mind.

Jim, she'd said. Jim Moriarty.

Molly had had sex with Jim Moriarty. Oh, it was when she still believed him to be 'Jim from IT', but still. Jim Moriarty had put his penis into Molly's vagina and fucked her.

Not only had she had sex with him, she'd had damn good sex with him. He'd given her two orgasms, the best she'd ever fucking had, ever.

Even if he hadn't been toying with (all right, obsessed with) the idea of having sex with Molly since before his exile, this information would have been all the impetus he'd needed to finally stop denying the truth: that he'd been in love with her for years now, but too stupidly focused on the Work and being enamored of his own (faulty) genius to be willing to admit it.

"Excuse me, sir, are you all right?"

He blinked and looked down..and down...at the young woman who'd spoken. A doctor, barely five feet tall even in her ridiculously high-heeled pumps, concerned brown eyes only a shade darker than Molly's… "Fine," he barked out, not bothering to catalog the rest of his automatic deductions. "Excuse me."

He left a very confused young endocrinologist staring after him as he exited the cafeteria and headed for the morgue.

He had to disabuse a certain specialty registrar of her extremely incorrect notions about himself.