Jollock AU set during the Christmas party scene in A Scandal in Belgravia. Irene's innuendos have got Sherlock's libido kick-started…but not in a way she could have foreseen! John comes to some unexpected realizations regarding his own sexuality, and Molly is more perceptive than either man expects. John/Molly/Sherlock polyamory. Don't like, don't read. I needed to write some less angsty stuff than "In the Dark". There will be one more chapter after this one. :)
The party was, to put it bluntly, turning into a complete disaster. First John had blundered things so badly with his date Jeanette that she'd left in a huff, snapping at him not to bother calling her ever again. Well, he deserved that; how could he have gotten her mixed up with one of the many, many (many) other women he'd dated since returning to London?
Then there was Sherlock's moaning mobile. Irene Adler was texting him to the point of distraction, and all John wanted to do was hurl the stupid phone out the window. He didn't trust that woman as far as he could throw her, and he wished Sherlock wasn't so intrigued by her. Why he wished that was something he refused to delve into, past the surface 'she's up to no good' reaction. Although it was nice to see that Sherlock actually could show signs of being sexually interested in another person, it was too bad she was that person, when there were other, far more deserving, recipients of his flatmate's dubious attentions.
Like me, part of his mind whispered, which he swiftly tamped down on. Nope, not going there. John Hamish Watson wasn't gay and never had been. No, he'd actually been thinking about the lovely young woman currently staring at Sherlock with a stricken expression on her face while said areshole finally shut his mouth as he read the name on the present he'd just been deriding. It didn't take a deductive genius to realize that the gift wasn't for some new boyfriend Molly was meeting up with after their little get-together was over, but for Sherlock.
They were all frozen in place – himself, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade – all just as stunned by Sherlock's nasty words...and by the honestly confused look on his face as he realized his mistake and fell silent. When Molly finally spoke, John couldn't help but admire her courage as she said, "You always say such horrible things. Every time, always. Always."
"I am sorry. Forgive me." John stared at Sherlock, stunned; had the man just apologized? Yes, yes he had, and as John continued to stare incredulously, his flatmate stepped forward, kissed Molly on the cheek and murmured, "Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper."
She gaped up at Sherlock, her shock mirroring that of everyone else in the room. She seemed on the verge of saying something, but then her eyes filled with tears and she rushed into the bathroom. Even though she closed the door softly behind her, she may as well have slammed it.
Mrs. Hudson gave a soft sigh and shook her head as she approached Sherlock, who was staring after Molly's departed form with a confused and somewhat lost expression on his face. "Oh, Sherlock, you'd best go and apologize to that poor girl again," she said, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his cheek. "Your social skills haven't gotten any better." Then she walked over to John and pressed a kiss on his cheek as well, which he returned. "Good night, boys. Do try to make things right for her, won't you?"
The look she cast on John included him in that request – no, more of an order, he thought with no small sense of bemusement. In spite of the fact that he'd invited a date to this little shambles of a get-together, Mrs. Hudson still seemed to believe that he and Sherlock were a couple, when John had tried over and over again to prove to her – to everyone – that he had no romantic feelings toward his friend and flatmate.
A sort of cold flash followed by a flush of heat went over him as he finally admitted that perhaps the reason people believed it...was because John was protesting a bit too strenuously. Dating women he didn't really care about and couldn't keep straight in his own mind – witness the way Jeanette had stormed out of the party earlier – in order to 'prove' he wasn't gay.
Which, of course, he wasn't. Never had been. Never even kissed another bloke or wanted to.
Only Sherlock.
Christ. He was losing his fucking mind, no doubt about it. All the drama and Sherlock being a right prick to Molly was setting his head to spinning in weird, unexpected directions. Besides, he wasn't the one in distress, in spite of his break-up tonight; Molly was the one who needed comforting. When it was clear that Sherlock wasn't going to go after her, John heaved a sigh, murmured an apology to Greg (who had put down his glass and was grabbing his coat and mumbling something along the lines of "oh, look at the time"), and went down the short hall to knock on the bathroom door.
"Hey, Molly? It's John. You all right?"
Stupid question; he didn't need Sherlock to point that out to him. The sound of a feminine groan of desire from somewhere behind him told John that Irene Adler was texting his flatmate again. And the git was no doubt going to head to his room so he could text her back in privacy. It wasn't jealousy that set John's teeth on edge, he hastened to reassure himself. And if it was, it was for Molly's sake. The poor girl had put her heart out there, giving Sherlock that lovingly wrapped gift – and the equally lovingly wrapped gift of herself, in that amazing dress. It was too bad she felt the need to hide her figure most of the time in those shapeless, bulky trousers and jumpers she habitually wore; no matter what cruel things Sherlock said about her needing to 'compensate' Molly had absolutely nothing to be ashamed of.
Maybe, John decided as he heard the latch turning and stepped back a bit to give her room if she was going to come out and talk to him, she needed to hear that from someone. Sherlock would be best of course, but there was nothing wrong with her hearing it from John Watson, was there?
Especially since it would be nothing but the truth.
The door opened while he was busy woolgathering, and it took him a second to realize that Molly was no longer wearing her cocktail dress, that all she was wearing were a lacy black bra and matching knickers, a pair of black thigh-highs and the black heels that added an extra two or three inches to her petite height.
John gaped at her, eyes roaming her body before his mind finally caught up to his libido and shouted at him "Her eyes are up HERE", at which point his gaze flew up to meet hers. He swallowed, hard, felt himself flushing red in a mixture of embarrassment and lust (she really did have a lovely figure and just because her breasts weren't double D's didn't make them any less mouthwatering). "Uh, s-sorry," he stuttered out, taking a step backwards and raising his hands in a surrendering gesture. "I didn't realize you were, uh…what are you doing, exactly? If you don't mind my asking," he added in a rush.
She'd wiped the red lipstick off, he noted as she continued to look at him as if making her mind whether or not to answer his question. And she made no moves to cover herself, wasn't flushing with embarrassment or trembling or showing any signs whatsoever of self-consciousness.
Frankly, John found it sexy as hell. An image flashed through his mind: Molly, clad exactly as she was right now, kneeling between his legs with her mouth on his cock while Sherlock snogged the hell out of him at the same time…
Bloody. Hell. He'd successfully managed to keep such thoughts and images out of his mind the entire time he'd been Sherlock's flatmate; why were they suddenly taking over?
"You love him too." Molly's softly spoken words brought him back to the present with a vengeance.
John stared at her tear-streaked face, knowing his expression said 'Caught'. Dumbstruck, all he could do was nod in acknowledgement of the truth of her words. She sighed and continued to stare up at him. "It hurts, being in love with him," she said softly, taking a single step forward and laying a hand on his chest. "So why do we do it?"
John swallowed, shook his head, swallowed a second time and gave a half-shrug. "I dunno," he admitted. "He's an arrogant prick most of the time, always calling me an idiot. I'm a licensed physician, for fuck's sake; I was in the army. I'm not an idiot."
"He never insults my mind," Molly replied, nibbling at the corner of her lip. Without thinking, John reached up and gently wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes. She blinked and smiled at him, a sad smile. "But he notices my body. He knows when I've lost weight and when I've gained it, he knows what kind of crisps I like and he knows that I'm insecure about the size of my breasts and my lips." She gave a helpless sort of shrug. "Why does he pay attention if he doesn't want...doesn't want me?" she asked, the last words spoken in a near whisper. The despair on her face just about broke John's heart; without thinking, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.
When the kiss ended, he turned his head so that his lips just brushed her ear as he said softly, "Because he's the idiot, Molly."
"Yes, he is."
John straightened up, not needing to hear Molly's gasp to know that Sherlock was standing right behind him. He was the one who'd spoken, after all.
John and Molly were both staring at him, waiting to see what he would say or do next. Did he even notice Molly's near-nudity, was he going to say something awful about their compromising position or the fact that John had just kissed her – and that she'd most definitely kissed him back?
More importantly, John thought, had he heard the two of them admitting to being in love with him?
Sherlock moved closer, not quite joining them in the doorway to the bathroom (there wasn't room for that), but certainly entering into John's personal space. He placed a hand on his flatmate's shoulder and another on Molly's, then leaned forward and kissed her just as thoroughly as John had only seconds earlier. "I was jealous, Molly," he admitted quietly. "I thought some other fool had caught your attention and I was angry that it wasn't me." Then he turned to John and gave him an intense look the other man couldn't interpret. "And I've always criticized your many girlfriends, John, for the same reason."
Then he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his friend's lips. John wasn't sure how to react at first, but then he felt Molly's gentle hand on the back of his head, caressing the nape of his neck encouragingly, and gave into the feelings he'd been trying to fight for far too long.
When the kiss ended, John flashed an uncertain look at Molly, who smiled at him, although the smile held a hint of sadness as she pulled her hand away from him. Her other hand had come to rest on Sherlock's hip, and she started to pull that away as well but the detective was having none of that, apparently; he grabbed her wrist and gave her a light tug, pulling her so that she was now standing between the two men. "Sherlock?" she asked, craning her head around and giving John just as uncertain a look as the one he'd given her. "John? Where...where do we go from here?"
Sherlock crooked his lips in one of those sexy (yes, dammit, you just let the man kiss you and you kissed him back and you're now hard as a fucking rock with a gorgeous half-dressed woman pressed up against you, so you can for fuck's sake admit he's just as sexy as she is) smiles of his and raised an eyebrow. "Well, my bedroom's certainly closer, and my bed is large enough to accommodate the three of us. Shall we?"
"A-are you sure you want me? To stay?" Molly asked, not moving, still looking worried and uncertain. "I don't, don't want to come between the two of you..."
Sherlock placed both hands on her hips and ground his pelvis against her backside in a very suggestive manner. "Oh, Molly," he breathed, his voice gone deep and husky as he leaned down and pressed a series of delicate kisses to the side of her neck, "I think between us is exactly where we both want you to be." He met John's gaze and grinned. "Right, John?"
Although John didn't have the ideal view of the other man's crotch, judging by the way Molly's mouth flew open and her eyes widened before Sherlock even started speaking, he was unquestionably pressing his erection against her. Which thought made John's mouth water; he wondered what Sherlock tasted like, what Molly tasted like, and couldn't wait to find out. "Right. Sherlock's bedroom it is." Then he turned, being closest, and took Molly's hand in his, linking their fingers as he tugged her gently down the short length of the hall.
Sherlock's bedroom was sparse, almost Spartan, but his bed was queen sized, plenty of room for three people who didn't intend to allow a lot of space between them in the first place. The shade hadn't been drawn, allowing some light from outside to filter in, so John didn't bother flicking the switch. What the three of them were about to indulge in was better left in the dark, anyway.
He had no illusions; this was going to be a one-time thing, which Sherlock would no doubt delete from his mental hard drive first thing in the morning. John would go back to mindlessly shagging any woman that would have him – at least, he thought with a kind of despairing smugness, he rarely had problems finding such women – and Molly would...his mind went blank while he considered what effect a one-off like this might have on Molly. He felt his stomach churning with sudden doubt liberally laced with guilt; would she be hurt when Sherlock went back to dismissing her like he always did, unless he needed something from her? Would she even want to speak to John again once she realized this imminent intimacy was never probably never going to be repeated?
"John, stop it, you're thinking far too loudly and besides, you're wrong."
That was Sherlock, of course; even in a darkened bedroom – he'd shut the door behind the three of them once he entered the room – he could read people too bloody well. "This isn't a one off unless you want it to be. And if it that is what you want, then you'd better let Molly and I know right now." He'd moved closer; John could see his silhouette as he stepped to Molly's side, heard her gasp as Sherlock put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close against him. "Because neither of us will be satisfied with that, I'm afraid. All or nothing, John. Which is it to be?"
"You think the three of us in a sexual relationship..."
"Not just sexual, John," Sherlock cut in insistently. He reached out and grasped John's free hand in his, eyes burning with an intensity usually reserved for a tricky case. "I admit the dynamics of most interpersonal relationships tend to elude me, and that I avoid them because sentiment has always seemed to be the antithesis of reason, but I have also come to realize that I have been...missing...a great deal in my life by that avoidance. You and Molly love me – I still do not even come close to understanding why, I freely admit – and I find my life..." He paused as if groping after the right word, before finishing, "incomplete. Tonight, for the first time, I know what it is I've been missing. What I need from you both. The only question is, are you willing to try?"
"I am," Molly said softly, giving John's hand a soft squeeze and laying her head on Sherlock's shoulder with a sigh. "John, please, say you are, too."
As if to punctuate her request, the obscene moan that was Irene Adler's ringtone on Sherlock's mobile sounded, and Molly gasped. "That wasn't me," she spluttered, fingers tightening on John's hand in apparent panic.
"No, it was me," Sherlock said, frowning down at whatever text message Irene had sent this time. "My phone," he added, no doubt deducing Molly's confusion if not her anxiety.
No, John decided. Not now. Not after Sherlock had just said such amazing things to the two of them. Irene fucking Adler was just going to have to wait. John reached out, plucked the mobile out of Sherlock's hand, and shut it off. Then he flipped the phone onto the dresser, stepped in closer to the other two, and said, "Right. Let's see where this goes, then. I'm in." Then he reached up, put his hand on the back of Sherlock's neck, pulled the other man's head down and planted a firm, no-nonsense kiss on his lips.