The third word of advice was given barely an hour before the third date.

They had only fooled around before, once in his flat over coffee and once more in a secluded corner. Greg had kissed Molly before and memorized what he could of her body through clothes. They had not yet slept together, though hints had been dropped.

At the Three Gables pub, Greg had mentioned offhandedly that he was going out with Molly again later that evening.

"Things going well, then?" John asked. "Third date, isn't it?"

Greg nodded, barely able to suppress the smile on his face. "Third date."

Sherlock, who had his nose stuck in a book throughout his measuring cylinder of lager, shot a sharp stare at Greg. It was almost threatening, but Greg was willing to shrug it off.

"So," John continued. "D'you think you're going to…"

John didn't need to finish the sentence. Greg only smirked and took another swig of Guinness. "Maybe."

"Bring the handcuffs," Sherlock said, returning to the book as though he had said nothing at all.

Greg nearly choked on his drink until John pat him on the back. "What?!"

Sherlock looked up from his book. His expression was as blank as a chalkboard. "The handcuffs you have on you now," he said. "Bring them. Or simulate them. Either way, she should be happy."

"How the hell would you know something like that?"

"Her sort always do."

Sherlock returned to his book. Greg and John only stared at one another and then back at Sherlock.

"What do you mean 'her sort?'" John asked.

Sherlock simply shrugged, but didn't look up from his book. "Conventional, humble, shy. The sort you'd least expect to take an interest in the likes of handcuffs and such. Many who seek control in private also tend to have a lack of control in public, much like Molly."

Greg tried to imagine Molly either naked and in handcuffs or having him naked and in handcuffs. Though the thought was more than a little arousing, it was equally more than a little unusual. Molly had never shown any sign of dominance or submission even when he had her under his touch on the sofa, apart from perhaps a tug at his hair here and a nip on the neck there.

Molly liked kink. Who knew?

"Do I want to know how you know anything about anything sex-related?" John asked Sherlock, who was now measuring his drink.

"Nope."

And it was left at that.

Greg spent the night at Molly's flat the following night and woke up a more than satisfied man the next morning.