Well, sorry I'm so late, but it's still Wednesday where I live!

It turned out to be a bit longer than I thought it would be, so it took a little longer.

Hope you like it!

In which Sherlock confesses some things to John

John confesses some things to Sherlock

then Molly joins them.

Kissing John – II- Molly's Home

John's pace on the street some blocks from Sherlock's flat was moderate but he had no hesitation. He carried a bag of curry take-out for him to share with Sherlock and Molly. Dinner, some TV, and then some reading and an early night, he supposed, as none of them had anything particular planned for their bedtime. But John knew that each one of them would be excited about tonight, it was to be their first all together after some few days, about a week of evenings in which one or two of them had been home quite late to bed. Molly had been filling in at odd shifts at Bart's for a co-worker with an illness, and Sherlock and John had been working a case that required a lot of legwork late into the evenings. It had been a fairly uninspiring case, but there had been a lot of work that had gone into it, so there was a satisfaction in their finishing it together. Today their schedules were back to normal, at last and this was the first afternoon John would be coming in at his usual time, around five o'clock, before Molly came round at about six. It was the time when Sherlock would sometimes obsess about him, John thought, and smiled to himself. He knew Sherlock would be doing that today, and he was eager to see him again this afternoon, their first afternoon after John had initiated their first kiss.

John reflected as he walked, the London air, though redolent with diesel as ever, invigorated him. Since initiating the kiss with Sherlock he had certainly felt more in control of things in bed with his friend and wife. It wasn't that important to him to be the leader of what was going on, but he liked to think that at least he himself knew what he wanted in bed. But he had known before, just hadn't been able to act on it. Why had he waited so long, to kiss, to hold his friend, he wondered? No, no, he thought, don't second guess it. Things were unfolding as quickly or as slowly as they needed to – just let it take it's time, take it's course, no need to push, no need make things other than what they are. John walked on.

What am I, now? A voice from long ago pushed to the present and asked him. An inner voice, a voice from childhood and youthful uncertainties. What am I? Married man, a medical doctor, wounded in the service of my country. Oh, yes, but what else, hmm? His thoughts couldn't seem to take the next step. Something else? Anything else? I don't know. I don't know. Was it so important to have a definition for his relationship with his friend when it made them both so happy? All three so happy? It made Molly happy, too, that everyone was equal and happy in bed. No. It's not important. I have enough labels I can cling to without having to put one on this relationship, too. It is what it is, and it feels so good.

John paused outside the door at 221B Baker Street. He was a little nervous about seeing Sherlock. How obsessed would he be? What lengths would they end up going to this afternoon before Molly got home? Would he himself initiate something just to put the question aside? He didn't know, he didn't have a plan as he climbed the stairs, a little breathless, and not just from his walk, or his climb to the second floor. Let it just be what it will be, he thought, and he entered the flat.

John immediately saw Sherlock on the sofa, seated, leaning forward, his head in his hands. If he'd noticed John coming in, he didn't show it. He looked ruined as if he'd had some terrible news. John put the packages down immediately, and went to his friend.

"Is Molly all right?" John asked.

"Yes, of course, why -? Oh, I see, I'm sorry, no, nothing's wrong – ah – I'm just -."

"Well, what is it? You seem completely undone."

"Oh, I didn't get any work done today."

"Oh, well – ."

"And I've got a migraine."

"Ah – I can give you some -."

"No, no, it's just the visual type, nothing extraordinary, not very much pain, really, just inconvenient. And I have rather a bad stomach at the moment."

John stepped up close to his friend, and put his hand in his hair, and Sherlock immediately took hold of John's wrist, stroking the pad of his thumb along the skin.

"It's because I've – I've been thinking –of you all day, of this moment."

"You made yourself sick thinking of me all day?"

"Yes. Well – sorry, yes, I think I did."

"Well, I'm sure you're the first who's ever had their entire day ruined thinking of me."

Sherlock didn't respond, but didn't let go of John's hand.

"Did you - have anything to drink today, love? Any water, tea?"

Sherlock considered.

"Hmm, no, no, I guess not."

John turned and went into the kitchen and quickly fetched a bottle of water and brought it back to Sherlock who drank a couple sips.

"Can you drink half of it for me, please?" John asked a question that wasn't a question, and Sherlock complied.

John sat next to his friend, toed off his shoes, and stretched out on the sofa. Sherlock looked at him. John patted his chest in an invitation and then held out his arms.

"Come on. Lie on me, put your arms around me. Let me pet your head."

Sherlock smiled and put the water down on the table. He draped himself across John's chest, his arms around his neck and torso, and John put his hands in his friend's hair. Their very new, but very comfortable starting point reassured and satisfied both men deeply. John felt Sherlock squeeze him hard, almost squeezing all the air out of him, then he let out a contented sigh and relaxed into the embrace, the tension easing out of him bit by bit. John also breathed deeply into their hold, then stroked Sherlock's hair, rubbing his scalp. They stayed this way for some time, John stroking Sherlock's back, Sherlock stroking John's abdomen.

"John."

"Mmm?"

"If I can't – if I can't get work done because of – ."

"Hey, you know what?" John said, "When a thing begins, like this, between us, and the three of us, and it's still pretty new, yeah?"

"Mmm?"

"This can happen. You can waste a day easily – thinking things that probably seem ridiculous to you now, I'm sure."

"Very ridiculous." Sherlock agreed.

"But it doesn't last forever. That's why they call it a honeymoon."

"I haven't eaten that much in the last few days, John, but if you continue using that sort of vocabulary, I'll lose it all over your wretched jumper."

"Well, fair enough. Look, I'm just trying to tell you that this sort of emotional upset, and even obsession, the way you're manifesting, is very common when an emotional attachment commences. But it has a limited life, and things get back to normal. It only lasts a little while." John tried to make things as clinical as possible for Sherlock's benefit.

"Oh. Yes, of course." Sherlock seemed to consider. "Well, that seems - reasonable. Do you think so, things will get back to – Because I need to study and do my – my work. I can't work like this, this is insane. All I did, all I did, all day was think of you and Molly and the physical things I want to do with you. And Molly. All day. That was all I did. That was quite literally all I did. And, I find I have to say it over and over like this because I cannot, I cannot believe it. I ruined four tests in the kitchen by leaving them alone. Four months worth of work, in one case. And I – I really don't even give a damn."

"Yes, it will pass. I promise you." said John, "But, I'm looking forward. To those things – you thought of doing – with us?."

Sherlock turned his head and John was again surprised by the sudden proximity of Sherlock's face to his own. He smiled reassuringly at Sherlock and stroked his friend's cheek. Sherlock did look fairly green and worn out, John thought, but his expression was a little more hopeful and relaxed than when John had first gotten home. John ran his thumb lightly along Sherlock's lips, tracing the outline of his mouth. Sherlock opened his lips and took the finger into his mouth with a slow movement of lips and tongue. Sherlock's eyes closed, as he bit and sucked John's thumb, moaning his contentment. John moved his thumb in and out, gently fucking Sherlock's mouth like before, rubbing the thumb against his tongue, stroking the roof of his mouth, feeling his teeth. He slowly removed his thumb and traced his friend's lips again with his wet thumb. Then Sherlock was on him, kissing him and kissing him.

Slow and tender, ferocious, almost brutal and everything in between: when Sherlock was done, John's lips were raw. Is that blood I taste? John wondered. After his initial onslaught, Sherlock couldn't let the doctor go, however, and held his head gently, lightly kissing his lips, his cheeks, his chin, his eyes.

"Sorry – did I -?" Sherlock began between gentle caresses.

"No, no, it's lovely, you're lovely," John realized he'd had his hands in his friends hair the whole time, hanging on for dear life, stroking him, and pulling on his locks gently. Sherlock pulled back a moment to look at John without letting go of his face. The two looked into one another's eyes for some moments.

"John, can you -?"

"Hmm? What?"

"I know I take over - sometimes, I'm sorry – but can you -?"

"What, love?"

"Can you kiss me?"

"I've just been kissing you."

"John, I don't mean to complain, I love it, but I believe I was kissing you. You were kind of hanging on, no?"

John was a little flustered and confused, but he forgot his self consciousness as he took in Sherlock's changing demeanour. He was becoming bashful before the doctor's eyes. He turned a little red, and lowered his eyes, he seemed younger and more vulnerable suddenly. How does he do that? Then he lowered his voice, but made sure John could hear him by whispering directly in his ear.

"I need you to – take control – of it. Can – can you?"

"Oh, I see," John said, and gripped Sherlock's upper arms, forcing him vigorously but without violence against the back of the sofa. John then took his friend's jaw in his hand, and tilted his head at just the angle he wanted. He licked and sucked Sherlock's lips with such authority that Sherlock forgot to breathe, and had to gasp for air. John smiled, but wasn't finished, pushing his tongue into Sherlock's mouth, lapping at his lips and tongue, then nipping and biting a little harder. Finally, he deepened the kiss, forcing Sherlock's mouth wide a hand in his friend's hair all the time, his other hand finding a way into Sherlock's shirt, caressing and kneading him. He gently broke away and looked down at Sherlock, who was beneath him now. When did that happen? His friend opened his eyes, still glazed over, and smiled lazily.

"Yes, Captain." Sherlock purred. Then he lowered his voice again, and whispered hot and wet in the doctor's ear. "Do you think of me, John?" he asked.

"Do I think of -? What do you mean?"

"Do you, ah - imagine us together, physically?"

"Oh, I -."

"Do you? Oh, god, John, what do you think of? Please tell me?"

John considered not answering, considered getting up and walking off, but the expression in his friend's eyes was so vulnerable and sweet and needy, he couldn't. He's been sitting here all day, thinking about us, about me - like a kid. He thought. How can this not be affecting him? The case, John reflected had gone perfectly, without a hitch. If anything Sherlock had been more on target than ever. He always had one or two misses, but for this case there were none. Granted it was a simple case, but he'd been masterful again. But he's experiencing love as a child. I can't hide from him, it would be cruel. And after all, I want to tell him – I do. John spoke.

"Yes, - ah, I do, actually – think of us together – I'm a - ."

"Yes?" Sherlock waited for more, but the doctor couldn't find the words fast enough. "It's ok. But you do? You do think of us, together?" Sherlock's voice was filled with hope, it killed John to hear. He responded honestly.

"Yes, I do."

"Ok." Sherlock was breathing a little harder, the doctor noted. But then, he noted that he was also breathing harder. Sherlock continued, his words spilling out hot and fast as he half whispered them.

"Ok. Because, I thought of making love to you all day, all day, and then you and Molly together, and then, just fucking Molly and then just us. A lot. All day. I had to – ah, relieve myself twice today just to clear my head. I just sat and thought about - Many different – oh, god, John. I – I, just want to –." Sherlock didn't really want to push it, but couldn't help himself. The fever and craze of the day came back to him, as he spilled out his confession to his friend. He continued to whisper like a school boy into John's ear.

"Do you, do you ever think of - penetrating me?" Sherlock was a little hoarse.

"Yes, yes, I do." John was suddenly panting. Sherlock leaned up to kiss him at his response, gripping his arms hard, raking his fingers through the doctor's hair. When they broke apart, Sherlock didn't pause a moment before he asked his next question.

"John, do you ever think of me - doing that to you?"

"Oh, god, yes, all the time, I do –ah." John's breath was taken away, as Sherlock dove in for another assault on his friend's mouth, kissing him hard, forcing him around and pressing him down into the sofa, grinding his hips against the doctor's. When they broke apart, Sherlock had another question.

"Do you ever think of taking– putting your – John do you -?"

"Taking your cock in my mouth and sucking you until you come and then swallowing everything you give me no matter how much, yes, yes, yes –I – Sher – Christ-."

John felt the air knocked out of him as Sherlock's grip around the doctor tightened, and he pressed his head back, driving into John's mouth with his tongue, deeper and deeper, gripping and kneading the doctor's backside through his jeans. Then, with a jerk, Sherlock eased his grip, and gently held John's head against his chest, kissing his forehead and hair.

"Sorry about that. I um, lost – control. All right?" Sherlock held the back of John's head, and looked into his friend's face. John smiled.

"Actually, I love it when you do that," John confessed, suddenly a little shy.

"Practicing your kissing, my lovely bad boys?" Molly was suddenly in the room.

"How did you get in here without us hearing you?" John asked. But Sherlock smiled at Molly, having heard her enter earlier, but he hadn't wanted to pause in his little interview with John to announce the inevitable.

Molly noted that John and Sherlock were mussed and very hot and bothered, but both completely clothed. They can't have gotten up to too much, I suppose, she thought with satisfaction. She didn't want to miss their first time doing anything. She stowed her bag and coat in their usual places, and approached the sofa warily, unwilling to upset anything that might be interesting to watch. They were stretched out together, Sherlock against the back of the sofa leaning up on his side, gently stroking John's torso while John lay on his back. They both smiled up at her.

"Sherlock, what have you done to my John?"

"I'm fine," John rearranged his clothing a bit and made as though to get up. Sherlock noticed this and rolled his eyes, restraining him with a light touch.

"Please, please don't get up. Let me watch. I'll be a mouse. Pretend I'm not here. Carry on." Molly sat on the coffee table about five inches from the pair, grinning not very much like a mouse, but instead, like the Cheshire cat.

"All right, Molly, interesting. Yes. Maybe you could – help me with something, darling." Sherlock paused and considered his next move. He spoke again.

"John's been saying some rather enchanting things to me, Molly. I'll tell you all about it later, but it made me feel, well, it made me feel very, very good. About things. And about myself."

"Ahaha."

Sherlock smiled his smug little half smile, and reached for John's belt, and then paused.

"So, I was thinking I would - ." Sherlock began to undo the buckle.

"That's not nec-." John began.

"There. That's what I wanted to show you. You've seen it a dozen times, yes, Molly? I go for his belt and he tells me it's not necessary. Can you help him with this at all, love?" Sherlock's eyes twinkled at Molly who twinkled right back and with even more mischief.

"I think so, love. John, darling, Sherlock needs you to tell him to do it."

"What?"

"It's very simple. Say his name and then tell him to undo your belt. Instead of making him beg you to let him."

"Oh, Molly," Sherlock said, "So simply put, so entirely accurate. I simply adore you."

Molly beamed.

"But, but I -." John began.

"Please get over the reciprocity issue, John," Sherlock said, "You must be out of your mind if you don't see, if you don't observe how much pleasure this gives me." Sherlock licked and gently bit his friend's earlobe. "Do it, John, please, I need you to take control of me a little. Say my name and then tell me"

"Oh, I see," said John. Molly was right, John thought and exchanged a look with his wife. He knew Sherlock liked giving up a bit of control, but didn't realize it went to this extent. A flight of new ideas took wing in John's mind before he came back to himself and the moment. He found his voice.

"Sherlock. Undo my belt." John thought he managed a rather commanding tone, despite what seemed to him to be incongruous circumstances. He noticed Sherlock breathe a hiss of pleasure at the sound of his command. Sherlock undid the belt quickly with one hand.

"Good, John," Molly said, "Now, tell him to unbutton and unzip you. Say his name first, and that tone of voice was perfect." Molly's muscles were taut as if she really were a cat about to pounce, as she watched her husband and friend put one another through their paces.

"Sherlock. Undo my trousers."

"Yes." Sherlock whispered, licking John's ear. John's trousers were unbuttoned and unzipped with a flick of Sherlock's wrist.

"Oh, love, you're doing beautifully," Molly licked her lips. "Now tell him to take them off."

Sherlock licked John's mouth, kissing him particularly sloppily, then he hopped off the sofa in anticipation of the next command. He looked down at his partner with that predatory look that sometime frightened John, but John managed to keep his composure. He slowly put his hands behind his head and made Sherlock wait for him. Sherlock and Molly waited, smiling, sensing that John was taking control, easing into it with an authority that was natural to him.

"Sherlock. Take off my trousers and pants – at the same time. Do it slowly." John thought he'd managed a particularly authoritative, but still casual tone. One that required attention, but admitted no personal investment, no hint of question or plea.

John watched Sherlock close his eyes for a moment, as if in pleasure. When he opened them again, they were dark with desire. John had seen this in the past, and it was usually a signal that his friend was about to devour him in a manner that was particularly out of control. But now all he did was obey John's command. Sherlock slowly slid the trousers and pants down John's legs, bringing his face close to John's bobbing erection as he did so, breathing on him. John felt his breath on him and hissed. When he had tossed the trousers to the side of the sofa, Sherlock waited for John's command.

"Oh, John, you are captivating," said Molly. "Good, good, my lovely sweet darling. Let me see." Molly got up and walked around the sofa a bit. She put her arms around Sherlock from behind, and though he kept his focus on John, he responded to her, putting his hands on her arms, rubbing them. As she considered what to do next, Molly absently pulled Sherlock's shirt out of his trousers, and slid her hands up his body, stroking his chest, then clawing him lightly with her nails. Sherlock moaned and leaned against her slightly. John took in the sight they made. They're a beautiful couple, he thought, absolutely stunning. How did I get so lucky to have her, how did she decide not to wait for him? It was a line of questioning he tried not to revisit too often, but when they posed so beautifully, so unselfconsciously before him, it was hard not to think of it.

But Molly was mainly focused on John, who was so lovely and willing and smiling. And he was taking on that extra bit of authority with Sherlock that Molly had suspected the detective had wanted, needed all along. Nothing fancy, nothing strict, just that extra bit of control. What shall we do next? she wondered.

Finally, Molly knelt and whispered in John's ear. And stepped away, then hooked a hip on the sofa's arm near John's head and waited, watching the pair.

"Sherlock," John began.

Molly and Sherlock waited, but knew John continued to struggle at this point. The point of no return. John had to actually ask for the physical contact, now. They knew he would have a hard time.

"Go on, love, you can do it," Molly whispered to John, as she maintained eye contact with Sherlock.

"Ok. Sherlock. Sit - between my legs." John moved a leg out of the way, and allowed Sherlock to sit. John swallowed hard. He felt his head swim as he continued to gaze into Sherlock's eyes, feeling his partner's need, his urgency, his hunger. Without prompting, Sherlock placed his hands on John's hips, and leaned forward, waiting for John to speak. He seemed to be content to wait, but hungry and needy all the while. John's voice fell a register, but he managed at last.

"Sherlock. Take the - tip of my cock - in your mouth. You can use your hands if you need to."

Sherlock smiled and complied. John gripped the sofa, hissing as he arched his back into the pure pleasure of Sherlock's mouth as his friend swirled his tongue around the contour of his tip, then pressed his tongue into the opening. Sherlock continued to tongue the doctor, as Molly rose and knelt at John's side, whispering in his ear again. John could barely concentrate on what Molly was saying, his senses were so assaulted by Sherlock's beautiful tongue and lips. But Molly managed to get him to hear her. At last John was ready with his next command.

"Sherlock," John's voice was hoarse and dry. "Take my cock deeper into your mouth." Sherlock complied easily, blithely. As he bobbed up and down on John's shaft, Sherlock alternately caressed the doctor's testicles, and stroked the base of his length. Molly let Sherlock go for a while, she saw how deeply he was involved, enjoying himself immensely, profoundly devoted to obeying the commands he was receiving. Finally Molly spoke to John again, whispering her suggestion in his ear.

"Oh, Molly," John whispered loud enough for Sherlock to hear, "That's not nec-.

"Shh, John dear, listen to me," Molly continued her thought at a lower register inaudible to Sherlock. But he smiled to himself as he continued laving John's cock with his tongue, kissing him, and stroking him. He knew what Molly had to get John to say next. Can she do it? Will he actually tell me to do it? How delightful.

Molly smiled and looked at Sherlock as she stood up. She was unzipping her skirt, letting it fall to the floor, then whisking off her pants, now naked from the waist down but for her shoes. She waited, smiling at Sherlock. Sherlock's eyes flashed mischief right back at her, as he continued to suck John, continued to wait for the next command. John spoke at length his breath ragged, barely audible. A hand over his eyes in embarrassment.

"Sher—Sherlock. Fuck me with your fingers. Molly will fetch the lubricant for you."

Sherlock pulled a tube of lubricant out of his jacket pocket before John was finished with his sentence and Molly smiled. What the fuck has he got lube in his pocket for? John thought. Well, he has been obsessing about us all day, I guess it's not a lie.

Molly knelt to John and kissed him, then threw a knee across him, and mounted John on the sofa, pressing her sex to his mouth gently. Happy for the heterosexual distraction, John reached up to Molly's hips, pulling her down to his mouth, tonguing kissing and licking her cleft, as he felt Sherlock's now cool and wet fingers press between his arse cheeks, and then pressing into him with a little extra force than he had before. Two fingers, then quickly three, John thought to himself, feeling wrong and hot and strangely full and good, oh, so very good, all at once. The sensation was just too lovely to deny any more, and he bucked his hips, driving his erection farther into his partner's mouth, moaning loudly, now into Molly's sex as she squirmed and writhed against his mouth. Sherlock let John's cock pop out of his mouth for a moment.

"Molly, your arse is absolutely beautiful, I'm going to fuck it in just a little while, darling. John's pretty close, aren't you, love? John, when you come, I want it all, ok, please don't be shy." Sherlock chuckled, knowing that when the time came, John would not be shy about where or how much he came. But it amused him to say, and he decided he would just enjoy himself saying it. Sherlock sank down onto John's shaft again and pressing deeply into him with his fingers, he started gently brushing John's prostate at every stroke. John felt his face and neck and chest flush with heat and his world was obliterated in six strokes. Moaning and shouting into Molly's sex, John shot everything he had into Sherlock's mouth. He arched up off the sofa, casting Molly head over heels onto the floor, and even budging Sherlock a little off the sofa, so that the detective had to adjust himself to stay with John throughout his orgasm. Sherlock was a little concerned about Molly, as John's spasms continued, and was about to go to her aide, but she popped up from the floor with a smile, brushing the hair out of her face.

"Ok?" Sherlock mouthed with a smile, his mouth still tasting of John, his fingers still deep inside his partner.

"I'm fine," Molly nodded and mouthed to him, not wanting to disturb John's final throes. Molly sat on the coffee table and watched John come back to himself. And then he realized that Sherlock's fingers were still inside him, and his friend was still gently stroking him, while his knees were spread obscenely wide on the sofa.

"Umm. Molly? Did I hurt you?" John managed.

"I'm fine, darling."

"Sherlock?" He asked.

"Hmm. Yes, John. I'm still fucking you, aren't I? How does it feel?"

"Umm."

"Is it uncomfortable? You'll tell me the truth, won't you?"

John arched his back in answer, trying to decide if it were uncomfortable or not. This enchanted Sherlock.

"Oh, John, you're so lovely and open. I love how exposed and vulnerable you allow yourself to be with me." Sherlock continued to gently fuck the doctor with this fingers. He ran his other hand along the inner thigh of one of John's legs, enjoying the fair tender flesh, the pale hair. He leaned in and gently kissed and nipped the skin, licking and kissing up and down the leg.

"Am I hurting you, John love?"

"No, it's not – it's not at all uncomfortable."

"I want to keep my fingers inside you until you let me fuck you properly, John."

John looked up with a little alarm, but saw that Sherlock was smiling. He relaxed a bit, and Sherlock pressed his fingers deeper into him.

"Ah, Sher-."

"Does it hurt?"

"Hmm. No, no, it's just - ."

"Just a little invasive? Hmm. It is, isn't it? Some enjoy it." Sherlock pushed in deeper but gently, experimenting. John closed his eyes and tried to relax into what his friend wanted to do to him.

"Molly, John was just telling me before you came in that he does think of us, of himself with me - together physically."

"Well, of course he does . . ."

"Yes, but I liked hearing about it. He told me he thinks of penetrating me. Like this John? Hmm?" Sherlock stroked deeper inside his friend. "With your cock? Deeper than this?" Sherlock pushed harder, still.

"Mmm, yes, deeper." John's eyes were still closed, and he let his head loll to the side, let his legs open wider, tried to relax, but he was shaking with excitement, with pleasure. With the otherness of the experience.

"He told me he thinks of me penetrating him, Molly, isn't that extraordinary? My cock is about this thick, John. Do you feel it? Hmm? Can you imagine it? And it's certainly longer. It will go a lot deeper than this."

"Ah!" John was surprised by the sudden deep thrusting that Sherlock initiated.

"Maybe I should do it now? I'm so hard I can barely speak, John. Do you want it?"

John's eyes snapped open, but he saw that Sherlock was only joking, smiling as he continued to gently stroke in and out of his friend's arse with his fingers.

"Well, I want it, if you don't mind." Molly said, a little put out. She'd been watching Sherlock play with John for long enough, she thought, and she was getting anxious.

"Oh, god, Molly, love, let me just wash my hands," Sherlock leaned over John's body, his fingers still inside him his other hand, stroking the doctor's cheek.

"I'm going to take my fingers out, now, John. You'll feel their absence." Sherlock took his fingers away, and he watched as John's face registered the loss of that contact. John opened his eyes, the bittersweet feeling of the separation alive in his eyes.

"Yes, John, I'm still here." Sherlock leaned in and kissed him tenderly.

John was lounging on the sofa watching Sherlock fuck his wife. God, they are so lovely together, he thought. I could watch them all night and all day and all night. Sherlock had been tempted to keep his clothing on the way Molly liked it, but stripped, instead at John's insistence. He was a little unused to the doctor's interest in the aesthetic values of the male body, and blushed a little, but complied with the doctor's request.

Sherlock brought a chair to where John would be able to see them both easily. He sat down, and Molly, who'd stripped off the rest of her clothes, leaned back into him, seating herself with her back to Sherlock, her legs wide, straddling his. Sherlock spread his legs wider, stretching Molly's as well, and then lifted her slightly to his chest, and positioning his tip against her, impaled her on his cock. Molly let out a deep breath of air, and Sherlock allowed her to adjust before he began to move, pulsing, and grinding her hips against his own. John could see everything and it was the kind of scenario he most enjoyed: both of them completely on display. He particularly liked watching Molly as she always seemed somewhat helpless in this position. The best she could do was to reach back over her own shoulders to stroke Sherlock's hair, or just blatantly touch herself, which John also quite enjoyed.

Molly loved this position, too, being wholly open for John. She locked eyes with her husband, smiling as she ground her hips into Sherlock behind her, pulsing back and forth, toward John, then toward Sherlock, toward John, then toward Sherlock. Her arms were over her head, clasping at the back of Sherlock's neck, and Sherlock was holding Molly's breasts in his hands, squeezing them pinching her nipples aggressively the way he knew she liked it, as she continued to grind against him, and he thrust his hips into her. She felt Sherlock licking and biting the back of her neck, kissing her hairline and nipping at her. She felt a prickly heat in her neck and face, and knew that something small, something different or something sudden could push her to a plateau. She felt Sherlock allow her to lean forward a little, so far that she thought she might fall. But he held her steadily, and experimented with a new angle, thrusting more quickly in and out of her. It was interesting and oh! hit a spot that was – oh my god!

"Yes, love, right there." She gasped to Sherlock, who continued his experiment, thrusting harder and faster.

"Touch yourself, love," Sherlock suggested, "For John," he added, knowing that John liked to watch her.

"Yes." Molly put her hands between her legs, and spread herself even more for John, rubbing herself and her particular spot, always keeping her eyes locked on John's, even when his wandered to her breasts, or between her legs, or to Sherlock. But John's eyes didn't stray far from her hand on herself, or her face as Molly rubbed herself faster and faster and harder and harder. He knew it wouldn't be long, now as her head began to jerk back and forth, and her eyes rolled back in her head. Annnd, that was it, she was bucking and arching her back, back into Sherlock, who was holding her, just to keep her from falling off him, as he pounded into her. But she was limp before he could take his own pleasure. He chuckled as he gathered her in his arms, and laid her on the floor on her back. She smiled up at him, lazily, letting him move her limbs where he wanted them, pressing her knees wide apart as he entered her again and finished himself off in her at his leisure.

"Lovely, Molly, lovely as always. Incandescent," Sherlock whispered in her ear and licked her ear for good measure. Molly smiled, delighting in one of Sherlock's trademark ear licks.

"It's cold, loves. Come on."

"Yes, love," Sherlock helped Molly off the floor, and picked her up, "Time to come to my bed." The satisfied trio trailed into Sherlock's room and clamoured against one another under Sherlock's feather duvet.

"Oh!" John remembered.

"I put the curry in the fridge when I came in, John."

"Ah, thanks, Molly, love. Ahaha."

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