This bit of fun is for ladylillianrose, hope you like it, hun. Big thanks to Mizjoley for her betaing but the mistakes are all mine. It's complete in three parts. No warnings, just fun, smut and a dash of light angst.

I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~

- Game Night -

"Almost finished?" Sherlock asked impatiently as Molly continued to mindlessly clean the morgue. Why in God's name she, a fully qualified pathologist, was doing menial labour was beyond him. Ignoring his question, she continued her impassioned scrubbing. "Molly! We're going to be late for our ridiculous social intermingling. You know how fussy John gets if we aren't there on time." She still needed to shower, something she always did after an autopsy unless she was going straight home.

"You can go without me, you know," she tossed over her shoulder, as she gathered up the last of the instruments and headed to the autoclave.

As if I would. "I'd rather not. We're to meet yet another of John's newest conquests and if she asks me about the damn ear hat like the last one…"

Molly laughed. "Why are you here, anyway?"

"We always go to game night together," he answered bewildered.

"No, I mean, why have you been here most of the day?"

Because you're here. "Bored. No one is killing anyone. It's rude."

Turning, she sighed, an odd look on her face. "All finished. A quick shower and we'll be on our way to another exciting game night at John's."

o0o0o

Two and a half hours later, they were sat in John's front room along with Lestrade, Mike Stamford, Philip Anderson (much to Sherlock's chigrin) and Sergeants Hopkins and Donovan. Oddly enough, Sherlock no longer hated the latter; the only emotion he could muster towards the woman was mild annoyance (and occasional begrudging respect- not that he'd ever express that, of course). John was there, obviously, sat next to... Louisea? Layla? That's it, Layla! God, what was the point of remembering them? At least he was being careful; his best friend had yet to introduce one of his young ladies to Rosie. None of them had made the cut.

"Can I get you a refill, Lilliana?" John asked his date.

Oh, well. I was close. He then remembered Molly commenting on the woman's name during lunch. John had told him that she was thirty. She couldn't be a day over twenty-four. Hopefully, this was some sort of phase.

"Please," she answered. "What's next, by the way?"

They had just finished a round of Win, Lose or Draw which he and Molly had won handily. Somehow, ever since an ill-fated evening when he'd been partnered with Anderson for a game of charades, he'd always ended up with Molly as a partner. It was fortunate for him, however, that Molly was fiercely competitive. He was about to open his mouth and suggest Trivial Pursuit when the new girl squealed excitedly.

"Ooo, why don't we play Never Have I Ever!?"

Donovan laughed derisively. "Because we aren't 14?"

The newcomer's face fell. "Oh, right… sorry."

John noticed and said, "No, that's… that's a great idea," leaning over to kiss her cheek.

"What the bloody hell is Never Have I Ever?" Sherlock asked.

o0o0o

A drinking game, of course! The first three rounds had managed to bring the entire group to the very edge of inebriation. Except for Anderson, it seemed he'd Never Ever done anything. Even Sherlock was feeling tipsy.

Whenever someone mentioned an activity that you had once participated in, you had to drink a shot of rum. If this is what I've missed out on by being an isolated intellectual, I'm okay with that, he thought as the group laughed at Lilliana's question. Damn, I missed it. "What was that?" he asked.

"I said: never have I ever had sex with someone in this room," she repeated with pink cheeks.

"Then she said that she had plans on changing that later tonight," Anderson explained, grinning lecherously.

Everyone laughed again as John cleared his throat and glared. "All right, go ahead, Philip," he said, nodding at the glass in front of the forensic tech. "Mustn't cheat!"

"Fine," he said, downing a shot of rum.

Sally Donovan rolled her eyes and drank her shot as well.

Lilliana clapped and squealed again, "This is so much fun!"

That's when Sherlock picked up his glass and threw it back. The room quieted (like 'you could hear a pin drop' silence), most of the occupants looking around trying to figure out WHO Sherlock could have slept with.

His best friend was staring at him. "Ah, Sherlock?" John asked. "Dooo... we need to go over the rules again?"

"Nope." His eyes fell on Molly across from him as she tried to blend into the sofa. "I'm following the rules to the letter… Unlike some."

She glared at him as she sat up slowly and reached for her glass.

"Molly?!" John gasped.

"I knew it!" Anderson shouted.

"No!" Donovan and Hopkins said in unison. Followed by Sally's, "I think I'm gonna be sick!"

"What?" Lilliana asked, confused. "It had to be one of you." She turned to John. "Why is everyone so surprised?"

Molly tossed back the rum then stood. "I, ah, need…" She pointed towards the kitchen before sprinting out of the room.

"My job just got infinitely more difficult," Stamford said with an exaggerated sigh as he picked up his shot and downed it.

"What the bloody hell?" Lestrade asked.

Standing, Sherlock picked up his beer and emptied it. "I'd think the answer is fairly obvious, even for you, Gili," he said before turning to follow.

"I thought his name was Greg?" John's new girl said.

"Isn't that one of the dwarves from The Hobbit?" he heard Anderson say as he crossed the threshold.

She wasn't in the kitchen, so he opened the back door and stepped outside. He found her pacing in the well-lit garden.

"How could you, Sherlock?" she asked with her back to him.

"What did I do, exactly?"

She turned on him, furious. "All of our friends know we had sex!"

"Yes, Molly, I was there. It's the point of the game, after all. To embarrass the participants and make them admit to doing or not doing something salacious or illegal …"

"Shut up! God, just shut up!" she shouted. "What's wrong with you? How can you not know that I wouldn't want anyone to know about that!?"

His blood ran cold. "You're ashamed?" he said before he could stop himself. Of course she is. Don't you remember...

Molly huffed out a mirthless laugh. "Of course I am, you idiot! We aren't together and it only happened once. And you just..." She wrapped her arms around her middle. "Do you have any idea how this looks?"

Shaking his head, he said, "No, Molly, I'm sorry, but I don't underst…"

Stepping up to him, she hissed, "Because you don't care for me like that!" She motioned towards the house. "They all know that. And now they know that I let you fuck me, too!"

Her tone was so hateful that it caused Sherlock to jerk back as if physically struck. "Well they do now," he said two seconds later - that was all it took for him to collect himself. He knew without looking that the entire party had followed them to the kitchen and were watching/listening to their exchange. "If you'd managed not to overreact they would have just assumed that we were…"

"What?" she scoffed. "A couple?" Turning and pacing away she said, "Don't be stupid, Sherlock. No one would ever make that assumption."

Sherlock drew a deep breath. Five months, two weeks and four days. That's how long it had been since he'd made one of the biggest mistakes of his adult life. The absolute worst deduction he could ever remember making had set off a chain of events that still haunted him daily. Just one night had changed… everything, and nothing at all.

One single glorious night.

He'd left as soon as she was asleep, unwilling to wait around for any kind of confrontation. Two hours later, he received a text saying: It's okay. I understand. Let's never speak of it. And they didn't… ever. Two weeks of silence, one week of stilted conversation and another of almost unbearable awkwardness and they were back on somewhat even ground. Within three months of that night everything was right with their relationship.

Except…

"Molly," he stepped towards her, placing a hand on her upper arm.

She shrugged him off as she turned. "I'm leaving."

"Good idea. Let me get your jacket and bag…"

Shaking her head, she said, "We're not leaving, Sherlock. I am," before storming away, around the side of the house.

He started to follow her again, but was stopped by John Watson saying his name. "What, John? I have to…"

"I sent Mike with her things. He'll catch her out front."

"Doesn't matter, I need…"

"No. No, you don't. You need to listen to me for once in your bloody life." He was holding out a single cigarette. "Smoke this, then come inside. Everyone will be gone by then."

John sat across from his best friend and analysed the play of emotions on the man's face. Taking a drink of his scotch, he tried to decide how to proceed. Sex. Sherlock and sex. Sherlock, Molly and sex. Interesting. Also, slightly disturbing. Well, first thing's first. "When?" he asked.

"About six months ago," the man answered.

He suppressed a scoff. About? Sherlock Holmes didn't estimate anything. "Why?"

"Why not?" the detective said offhandedly, as if this wasn't monumental.

This time John didn't hold back his snort of annoyance. "Don't get stroppy with me, mate! I'm not the one who broke Molly Hooper's heart!"

Standing, Sherlock paced across the room. "Melodrama doesn't suit you, John."

"And willful ignorance doesn't suit you," he said, rising he followed the other man. "Don't screw with me, Sherlock, just tell me what happened."

He whipped around, his eyes wide with anger. "I assume you're acquainted with casual sex, Doctor, you've certainly had enough of it." What had started out as fury quickly morphed into something altogether unexpected. "I really don't have time for this, John," he said defeatedly.

"Bloody hell, Sherlock…" he whispered when he saw the look on his best friend's face. What the hell's going on? John knew that look. That's how you look after your heart's been broken. "Hey," he said, reaching out and gently touching Sherlock's shoulder. "Let's sit, yeah? Just... tell me what happened."

With a fair amount of reluctance, the man sat. John followed, refilling both their glasses. After several minutes, Sherlock started to talk.

"It was… I didn't intend to…I didn't intend for that to happen," he said, sounding very much not like himself. "Not originally, at least. It's not why I went to her that night."

"All right, okay. And I don't need details, Sherlock but…" John paused, trying to decide how best to get to the heart of the matter. Because he knew one thing: Sherlock wasn't going to share much. Then it finally hit him. "What happened after? What exactly did you do?"

A sour look crossed the man's face as he said, "It wasn't after. And it wasn't me."

Two more chapters to go. I promise more laughs (and some smut, for good measure) are coming up. Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think. ~Lil~