Author's note: This chapter has been revised and improved from the original and now contains a conversation about events from the end of Sherlock and Molly's honeymoon, a story which I had not yet written at the time of the original publishing of this story, so there are a couple little spoilers if you have not read A Honeymoon Journey.

Molly awoke to the sound of Sherlock's voice in her ear.

"It's after nine, love. We should probably head downstairs soon. Mycroft is going to tell us off for delaying his return to London."

Molly stretched and yawned in her husband's arms. "Do we need to go back home with him? I'd much rather not be the recipient of his icy glares for making him late for his date with his important work back home."

Sherlock raised a brow at her. "Well, if you'd rather spend an hour and a half in a cramped taxi-"

"Never mind," Molly said, sitting up in the bed, running a hand through her rather wild-looking hair. "Can I at least take a shower? My hair's a mess."

"I love it when your hair is all around your face like that," Sherlock murmured, nuzzling her neck. "You look thoroughly...loved."

Molly blushed a little at his words. Would she never stop blushing when he used that sexy talk and spoke that way? It was rather embarrassing at how easily she still blushed. "Well, I'm going to take a shower." she pursed her lips. "Can you, um, see if my bra is still on the floor downstairs?"

"I hate to say it, my darling, but chances are someone has discovered it by now, seeing as we are getting up so late," Sherlock responded, and she cringed slightly.

"Oh, dear God," she moaned in despair. "Not Mycroft, anyone but Mycroft!"

Sherlock kissed her forehead. "Better Mycroft than my parents, if you ask me. "You get ready for your shower, and I'll go in search of your bra. Then," he added, with a gleam in his eye, "I'll join you and scrub your back for you, and we can wash each other's hair."

Molly gave him a suspicious look. "Sherlock Holmes, don't even think about us making love in your parents' bathroom."

"What are you talking about, Molly? I just said I would scrub your back and we could wash each other's hair," he said, attempting an innocent look that didn't fool her in the slightest.

Molly narrowed her eyes at him, despite the slight, betraying twitch to her lips that showed she was secretly amused. "And how many times have you told me that since we've been married? How many times have we actually just scrubbed backs and washed hair?"

"Well, there's got to be a first tine," he grinned at her roguishly, and Molly laughed, tapping his nose lightly with her fingertip. "You're insatiable."

"Don't pretend you don't love that about me, Molly Holmes," he responded, smirking at her and trailing a hand along her belly.

Molly blushed again and looked down at her taut abdomen. "Okay, it is rather nice to know you still find me sexy, even pregnant as I am."

"I find you even more sexy," he drawled, rubbing his recently tapped nose against hers and kissing it, then capturing her mouth with his in a lingering kiss.

Molly broke the kiss first, saying, a little breathlessly, "I think you'd better go look for my bra now, before we end up making Mycroft even more cross with us for making him wait."

"Oh, very well," huffed Sherlock, reluctantly releasing his hold on her. He got out of bed and hastily dressed, not bothering with his suit jacket. "I'm still coming into the bathroom to shower with you," he warned her, with a seductive look that he knew always made her weak at the knees.

"Fine, fine. Now go," Molly urged. She watched as Sherlock left the room, hoping against hope that he would find her bra before anyone else did. What had she been thinking? If Mycroft found it... She forced her thoughts away from the distasteful thought and got out of bed, walking naked to the wardrobe. Hopefully there was a dressing gown in there? She really didn't want to have to dress and undress again, just to take a shower.

Fortunately, she discovered a dressing gown, identical to one of Sherlock's at Baker Street. She sniffed it appreciatively. It smelled of his unique male scent that she loved so much. She slipped on the dressing gown, gathered up her clothes and padded to the bathroom. All was quiet upstairs and she assumed the rest of the family had gone downstairs. There was a distant hum of conversation filtering towards her. Perhaps Sherlock was talking to someone.

Once in the bathroom, Molly dropped her clothes, shrugged off Sherlock's dressing gown and gratefully availed herself of the use of the toilet. She might be over the morning sickness, but the frequent urge to relieve herself was not fun. She supposed it would only get worse as she neared her due date.

Molly flushed the toilet, washed her hands and turned on the shower, then waited for the water to get warm before she stepped into the tub. She pulled the curtain across and held her head under the water.

There was a soft knock on the door and Sherlock's voice said, "Can I come in?"

"Of course," she answered, and she heard him enter the bathroom, then close the door behind himself.

"There's my dressing gown!" he exclaimed, adding a little petulantly, "I was going to put it on."

"You were already dressed," remarked Molly dryly through the shower curtain. "I needed to put something on to cover myself. Did you find my bra?"

She could hear the unmistakable sound of Sherlock undressing as he said, "Um, yeah."

Molly bit her lip, all thoughts of washing her body forgotten as she asked with trepidation, "Was it on the floor where I left it?"

"Er, not exactly," came the reply from the other side of the shower curtain.

"Please don't tell me that Mycroft found it," she said, blushing at the thought.

Sherlock pulled aside the curtain and stepped into the tub with her, then drew the curtain back across. "Okay," he said agreeably, "I won't."

Molly caught her breath as she looked at her husband. His naked form was so perfect, it never ceased to set her senses on fire. He slid his arms around her, allowing the water to cascade over both of them. Oh dear, he really did want more than back scrubbing and hair washing. Why she should be surprised about that was beyond her.

Attempting to divert his attention, she put her hands on his chest to prevent him getting closer and said, "Tell me what happened when you went downstairs."

He frowned at her, obviously aware that she was trying to distract him. "You said you didn't want me to tell you if Mycroft found your bra."

She tried to glare at him, but he looked so adorable with the water making his hair a curly mop, that she only managed to say breathlessly, reaching her hands upwards to touch and tweak his wet locks, "I changed my mind."

Sherlock leaned down and set his lips to hers, sliding his arms down her back, massaging it gently. "I'll tell you later," he murmured against her lips. There was a flannel over the lip of the tub that had obviously been placed there for his and Molly's use, and he released his hold on her to pick it up.

There was body wash also in a basket hanging from where the pipe of the shower head met the wall. Sherlock took it out and squeezed some onto the wet flannel, then began to wash his wife's body, taking special care around her breasts and her rounded belly.

Molly loved it when he washed her body. She could never reach her back properly and always felt cleaner when he scrubbed it. When Sherlock had scrubbed her body from head to toe, so she was tingling with the sensation of his gentle hands caressing her skin, he got the shampoo bottle, squeezed some onto his palm and washed her hair, massaging it gently into her scalp. It was better than going to a hairdresser, Molly reflected.

After Molly rinsed the shampoo out of her hair, Sherlock smoothed conditioner onto it, then said in his deep, sexy voice, "Your turn to wash me, baby."

He didn't call her "baby" often, and it never failed to make her heart race. Cheeky bugger, he knew exactly which buttons to press to get her all hot and bothered. Molly took the flannel and proceeded to wash Sherlock's body, concentrating for the most part on his back and shoulders, then his chest. She then washed the rest of his body, allowing herself a smile when she touched certain sensitive areas that elicited a small groan from him.

Finally, she washed his beautiful curly hair, massaging her fingers along his scalp as he had done for her. He rinsed the shampoo out, and she rinsed her conditioner out before applying some to his hair.

Having a shower together was a very sensual experience for them, thought Molly as Sherlock bent his head and gave her a fiery kiss. She thought vaguely that she should not have allowed him into the bathroom if she did not want her husband to take advantage of their state of undress. She maintained enough self control to ask, panting a little as Sherlock continued to kiss her shoulders, then the curve of her breasts, "Sherlock, what about your parents? We can't be doing this right now!"

He stopped his ministrations long enough to say huskily, "They've gone out for breakfast, Mycroft told me. Mummy is wearing her new jumper and wants to show it off."

He resumed kissing her, placing a kiss against her belly, and Molly trembled with the sensations he was evoking in her. "What...what about Mycroft?" she gasped, barely able to get the words out, and her hands grabbed Sherlock's curls from which the conditioner had disappeared, seeing as his head was mostly under the spray of water.

"Good Lord, woman," he said in an aggrieved tone, "you talk too much. Mycroft is in the kitchen, eating his way through leftovers. He said we are only leaving after lunch. Satisfied?" he asked, looking up at her.

"Yes, Sherlock," she said, allowing herself to relax and for their passion, always so close to the surface, to overwhelm them again.

Some time later, when the water had gone uncomfortably cold, the pair stepped out of the shower. Sherlock wrapped Molly in one of the fluffy towels that had been thoughtfully put on the washing basket for their use, then wound another around himself. "Let's go back to my bedroom to get dressed," he suggested.

Molly eyed him warily. "You're not getting any ideas to repeat this last exercise in the bedroom, are you?"

"Heavens, no," he exclaimed, rolling his eyes. "Even I have my limits. I need some recovery time."

"Not much," she muttered, recalling exactly how little recovery time he had required during their honeymoon, before scooping up her clothes and the bra he had retrieved, and following him to the bedroom.

They dressed hastily. The cold air on their water dampened skin made goosebumps appear on their flesh. Molly put on her bra gratefully. She noticed it was not fitting quite as well as it had. Her breasts were definitely starting to increase in size due to the pregnancy.

Sherlock noticed as well and commented, "I think we need to buy you a larger cup size, you're practically falling out of your bra," then added with a smouldering look, "not that I'm complaining."

Molly wasted no time in pulling on her blouse and jumper. She was not going to give him any incentive to stay in the bedroom any longer than necessary. "So tell me what happened with my bra," she said, looking over at her husband who was buttoning his suit jacket.

"Well, as you've obviously guessed, Mycroft found it. I went looking in the sitting room and it wasn't there, then I went into the kitchen to grab a biscuit from the tin Mummy always puts them in." He paused, then said, "Actually, I'm quite famished, come to think of it."

"Finish your story," ordered Molly impatiently, putting her hands on her hips.

"Oh, okay," her husband's eyes focuessed once again on her. "Mycroft was in the kitchen. As I said, he was busy eating leftovers. Well, he pulled the bra out of his pocket and dangled it in front of me saying, 'Looking for something?'"

Sherlock paused and his lips curved into a smirk. "I just took it from him and said 'At least two people in this house got lucky last night, more than once, actually.' You should have seen the way he blushed, Molly."

Molly covered her face with her hands. "Oh. My. God. I am never going to be able to look at him in the face again!"

"Why, sweetheart? We're married. Married couples have sex, actually unmarried ones do too, but that's beside the point. The child you are carrying is a testament to that fact. Why should we be ashamed of it?"

Molly peeked through her fingers. "Because, because it's us, he's your brother and it's embarrassing."

He furrowed his brow at her. "You weren't acting so coy when we came back from our honeymoon and you informed Mycroft that the frequency of our lovemaking was three times a day at a minimum. Oh, and don't forget that you hinted heavily about what happened on the plane during our return journey." He waggled an eyebrow at her.

She had to give him that one. "Well, um, I was just trying to support you." Then she narrowed her eyes at him. "As I recall, you specifically requested my confirmation that you were actually adequate in the bedroom, so I was acting as the dutiful wife. In any case, that was then, this is now, and I think it is embarrassing to flaunt our sex life in front of your brother."

Her husband smirked as he stepped closer and looked down at her. "I don't find it embarrassing at all to make things transparent for my brother. We are just doing what millions of couples are doing, and doing it very satisfyingly, even months after the honeymoon, I might add," he said mischievously.

Molly snorted and tapped an accusing finger against his torso. "And yet you don't want to hear about your parents having sex."

He grabbed at her hand and growled, "That's different. They're my parents, Molly. Nobody wants to think of their parents having sex."

Molly had to concede the point. Her father had died when she was eighteen, and she hadn't really thought about her parents having sex. It was a little disconcerting, she realised.

Sherlock smiled triumphantly, lacing his fingers with hers. "See, now you get what I mean, don't you?"

"I guess so," said Molly in a small voice. "Hang on a minute," she said, furrowing her brow. "Something isn't adding up here." She pulled Sherlock with her and sat on the unmade bed, idly noting it was extremely rumpled, and she would definitely have to make it before they went downstairs if they wanted to hide the evidence of their previous night's sexual activities.

"What do you mean?" asked Sherlock, sitting beside her, also furrowing his brow in confusion.

She nudged him with her shoulder. "Well, you have no problem informing Mycroft about 'getting lucky' more than once, but then you acted all offended and embarrassed when I made an innocent comment last night at dinner, saying you were the one who put the baby in me."

"Sweetheart," said Sherlock patiently, looking at her solemnly and talking in a manner as if she were a very small child, "that's because I don't want my parents to know we are having sex, any more than I want to know about them having it."

"Seriously?" Molly hooted with laughter. "I think they know, Sherlock." She pointed to her belly.

"You know what I mean," he huffed. "It should remain unspoken, just as they need to keep their own inappropriate comments about their sexual relationship to themselves."

By this time Molly was laughing so hard, tears of mirth were gathering in her eyes. "You are so funny, my darling husband!" Sobering a little at the look of indignation on Sherlock's face, she continued, "What I don't understand though is why you have no compunction in discussing our sex life with your brother."

Sherlock shifted slightly so he could grasp her other hand, playing with her engagement ring between his thumb and forefinger, as he was wont to do at times. "I guess it's a male thing. You have to understand, Molly. When we were engaged, it kind of came out in conversation with Mycroft that I was a virgin. I told him we were waiting till we got married to make love."

"I know that already," said Molly, chewing on her lower lip thoughtfully. "To be honest, it has crossed my mind to wonder why he would even have cared whether you were a virgin or not."

"Well, the point is, my darling, he did seem very interested in that fact, and he took every opportunity after he found out - well most opportunities at least - to make fun of me. I'm well aware that most men my age have had several lovers, so forty year old virgins are in short supply."

"Well, you're certainly no virgin anymore, and I, for one was very glad we were both virgins, because it made our wedding night even more special." She couldn't help reflecting on that perfect night for a moment. Then she returned her thoughts to the present conversation about Mycroft. "But I think I understand now," she said slowly, pulling her hands from Sherlock's grasp so she could slide her arms around his waist. "It's like a rite of passage, to show your brother you are not the sweet innocent you were before, right?"

"Exactly." Sherlock nodded, putting his arm over her shoulders and giving them a squeeze.

Molly suddenly had another thought, and raised her eyes to look at Sherlock. "I'm still confused. Last night, when I asked if you'd found my bra, and worried about Mycroft or your parents finding it, you said you didn't care."

"You are making my brain hurt," Sherlock complained, rolling his eyes skyward and blowing out a slow, cleansing breath before continuing. "When you asked me that, I was more concerned with what we were doing at the time. My mind was focussed on other things."

Molly pondered that for a moment, then decided she finally had everything straight. "So basically, what you are saying is, you would prefer your parents not be overtly informed of our nocturnal activities, although it's okay if you are too busy seducing me to worry about it. As for Mycroft, you are quite happy for him to know the frequency of said nocturnal activities so you can boast of your sexual prowess."

"Once again, you talk too much, my lovely wife," said Sherlock with a deep, rumbling chuckle, before planting a kiss on her lips. "But basically, yes. Now, let's make the bed so my parents don't know what we've been doing, and get downstairs. I'm hungry."

And with that, the couple made the bed so it looked as if nobody had slept there and headed downstairs.

Author's note: Okay, this is definitely a spicy chapter, what with the shower scene and all the talk about sex. But hey, I stand by my convictions...Sherlock and Molly are newlyweds. Aren't you glad I didn't end the story at the last chapter and leave you in suspense about Molly's bra?

Reviews welcome.

11/7/18 Revisions and improvements made with better imagery, characterization and added conversation that ties into their honeymoon story.