Once again, polyamory, m/m, m/f, m/m/f. Don't like, don't read. Second of three parts. Thanks to the folks who took the time to review!


1

The message had been both straightforward and mysterious: "Meet me at the pool. You know which one so don't waste my time asking. 10pm. Sherlock."

So here he was, at the pool at 10 pm sharp, as requested, revolver in his jacket pocket and tension in his shoulders as he silently pushed open the door to the mostly darkened room. "Hello?" he called out, not seeing Sherlock at first. And not bothering with silence or an attempt at sneaking; the moment the squeaky door opened he'd been silhouetted in light and a target for anyone who might have evil intent.

Then the other man moved out of the shadows, hands folded behind his back. He was standing near the wall not ten feet away. "Prompt as always, John."

John frowned; something was off about this whole thing, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it could be. It didn't feel like a case, was the only way he could describe it; nor did it feel like some sort of trap. "Sherlock?" he asked, not moving. "What's this about?"

The other man gave a low chuckle. "Come, John. You don't think I could deduce your darkest fantasies as easily as I did Molly's?"

Fantasies. He'd said 'fantasies,' plural.

"It's one of your favorite scenes to wank off to, once you started imagining having sex with me," Sherlock continued, his voice a low, sensuous rumble as he beckoned the other man forward. John moved without realizing he was doing so until he was right in front of his lover, who lightly ran his hands up John's arms. "You and me, Moriarty and the gunmen gone, the explosives dealt with…just the two of us, alone. You had quite a hard on that night, John, don't think I didn't notice it. Danger does that to you. And if I had grabbed you like this…" He spun John around so they were facing one another, gripping the shorter man by the forearms. "And shoved you up against the wall like this…" Again Sherlock suited actions to word, while John felt his breath catch in his throat at the intensity in his lover's eyes, glittering in the reflected light from the pool. "And then kissed you, like this," Sherlock added softly, lowering his head and capturing John's lips with his in a searing kiss that only ended when Sherlock pulled back to study John's reactions, no doubt seeing everything in spite of the low lighting. "If I had done that, what, I wonder would you have done next?"

The knowing smirk on his face said he wondered no such thing, that he'd already deduced the answer, but John was beyond caring at this point. He reached up and grabbed Sherlock's head, pulling him down again so he could return the kiss, fingers digging into those glorious dark curls while his other hand reached down to cup Sherlock's equally glorious ass, hauling their bodies even closer together.

Sherlock was chuckling as they broke apart, John panting for breath, still holding tightly to the other man. "Um, probably not that," he said with an embarrassed grin. No, he wouldn't have been able to admit to his feelings for Sherlock, the desperate wanting he'd felt for him after their lives had inexplicably been saved by a single mysterious phone call. But now…now was a different story. He and Sherlock and Molly were together, and although they occasionally paired off like this, they were more often a true threesome. He glanced around, half-expecting their other lover to appear out of the darkness, but then Sherlock slipped out of his grasp, grinning madly, and sank to his knees.

As those long, clever fingers of his undid the snap and zip to John's jeans, freeing his straining erection from the trapping fabric, the only thing John was thinking about as how good Sherlock's mouth was going to feel on his aching cock.

And God, was he right about that. One hand slapped against the wall behind him, the other returned to clutching those dark curls as Sherlock sucked eagerly, cupping John's balls and kneading his ass at the same time.

It didn't take long for John to come, gasping and swearing as Sherlock swallowed and eventually pulled his mouth away with a loud, no doubt deliberately obnoxious, slurping sound. He sat back on his heels, grinning up at John's red, sweaty face. "You're right, John, I doubt it would have turned out this way, but there's nothing wrong with rewriting a little history when the outcome is so very, very favorable." Then he winked and rose to his feet, adjusting himself a little while John shakily tucked himself back into his pants and neatened up his clothing.

When he had the breath to talk again, he gestured toward Sherlock's trousers and said, "Need any help with that? You know, return the favor and all?"

Sherlock grinned and kissed him, hard. "Nope," he said when the kiss ended, popping the p and giving John a mischievous look. "After all, one of us should still be able to give Molly a proper greeting when she gets home in an hour."

He took off laughing when John made to cuff him on the side of the head at the implied insult; he knew very well how quick John's recovery time was post-ejaculation, and after that mocking little challenge there was no way in hell Sherlock was going to get to be the only one showing Molly just how appreciated she was.

2

John was musing on the goings-on from the previous evening, mentally reliving both the exhilarating session by the pool and the glorious lovemaking a very confused – but very, very pleased – Molly had been subjected to afterwards, when his mobile rang.

"Need you at the morgue to pick something up from Molly, any time after 10pm. Sherlock."

It was a little after 9:00; John sighed and downed the last of his lager before heading off to Bart's. He'd stopped at the pub on the way home after a particularly long evening helping Sherlock and Lestrade – who was still, a year into it, very bemused by the unusual living arrangements between John, Sherlock and Molly – with a case. Sherlock had gone off with the DI to investigate something at the victim's home, but not before telling John to go back to Baker Street and get some rest as he wasn't needed for this bit.

The man could still irk him at times, be a right royal pain in the arse…but then he would turn around and do something unexpected and wonderful to make up for it. Like sending him off to Molly for a little alone-time. Picking up evidence or test results or (he hoped not) pilfered body parts from her wasn't exactly a night on the town, but at least he'd get to see her, maybe even share a cab home with her if her shift ended on time.

As he entered the morgue, allowing the door to swing shut behind him, John was confused by the low lighting; surely Molly hadn't left already? He called out her name and she popped out of the small office at the back, smiling brightly as she hurried up to greet him. "Oh, Doctor Watson, how lovely of you to come, Mr. Holmes said you'd be by to pick up the results!"

John blinked at both the way Molly was dressed and the way she was addressing him. As if they were mere acquaintances instead of friends and lovers. But then, he realized as he took in the sight of her, that was rather the point, wasn't it? His lips curved up in a grin as he understood what tonight was about…and he thoroughly approved.

Molly was dressed, not in her usual work attire of shapeless khakis, colorful blouse and cheerful knit jumper, but in a short, flowery skirt that showed off her lovely legs to perfection, topped with a thin, lacy blue camisole that clearly revealed her nipples, puckered into inviting little nubs with the cold. Covering the ensemble was a short, fitted version of her usual white lab coat, nipped in at the waist and with only one button holding it closed. She was grinning, biting her red-painted lips and clutching a thick sheaf of what appeared to be blank papers in her hands as she looked at him.

John cleared his throat, looked away in order to compose himself a bit (and get into character; until Molly's little fantasy six days ago he hadn't realized how much he enjoyed role playing), then looked back at her with a serious expression on his face. "Yes, the results." He nodded at the papers she was still holding. "This it, then? Shall I?" He gestured with one hand, and she glanced down as if surprised to see the papers.

"Oh! Yes, of course!" she chirped. Her voice was breathy, pitched a bit higher than normal, and her giggle as she tripped forward did marvelous things to his nervous system. John was practically tingling with anticipation, and wasn't disappointed when she suddenly said "Oops!" and dropped the papers, scattering them to the floor. She placed her hands on her hips and gave an exaggerated pout as she studied the mess she'd made. With an apologetic smile, she turned her back on John and bent down from the waist, causing her short skirt to ride up, revealing the tiny scrap of fabric she wore beneath it, almost too small to be called knickers and rather…damp looking in a certain spot.

Despite what Sherlock had loudly declared many times, John Hamish Watson was not an idiot. He certainly recognized an invitation when he saw one. And if his immediate thought as he grabbed Molly by the hips and rubbed his rapidly-developing erection against her pert little ass was something along the lines of 'bow-chicka-wow-wow' he certainly wasn't going to hum the porn-movie music aloud.

As he bent over her, he murmured, "Better let me help you with that, yeah? All those heavy papers Sherlock makes you carry around for him when he doesn't even work here…what a berk."

Molly's startled laughter was purely her own and nothing to do with the character she was playing for this little assignation, but she quickly schooled herself back into the role as she agreed softly that sometimes Mr. Holmes didn't treat her as well as he ought.

The two of them straightened up, the faux-report left scattered on the floor as Molly turned in John's embrace and placed her hands on his shoulders. Fluttering her eyelashes at him she cooed, "He's not a gentleman, Dr. Watson. Not like you. You know how to treat a lady properly, I can tell."

"Yeah, I think I do," John replied, lowering his head to hers for a sweet kiss. She was soft and pliant in his arms, molding herself against him, and if it wasn't for the fact that anyone could walk in on them, he'd bend her over the nearest counter so fast…

Oh. Wait. He mentally smacked himself for the idiot Sherlock had all-to-often accused him of being. "Nothing scheduled here for the evening, Miss Hooper?" he said, smiling at her and easing one hand beneath her sketchy little lab coat.

She widened her eyes and shook her head. "Oh, no, nothing tonight, Dr. Watson. Why is there…is there something you need me to help you with?"

"Well, it's a bit of a private experiment of my own," he replied with a cheeky grin, the hand gently exploring beneath her lab coat moving up a bit, not quite touching her breast but coming very, very close. "The doors lock, I presume?"

"They locked as soon as you they shut behind you," Molly replied, head lolling back on her neck as he finally reached up to cup her breast. "They're electronic," she gasped out as he tweaked her nipple and began nibbling on her neck. "Um, set on a t-timer, won't open again for an hour."

That had to be Sherlock's doing, and even though it was extremely chancy having sex in a technically public area, well, that was exactly what he and the other man had done just the night before. Still, John's conscience prodded him; he pulled away from Molly and gave her a stern look. "You won't get into trouble for this, will you?" He glanced up uneasily, finally remembering the presence of the CCTV cameras tucked into the four corners where walls met ceiling.

Molly followed his glance, then caressed his face until he looked back at her. "Disabled," she said with a cheeky grin of her own. "And no, I won't get in trouble John, Sherlock's keeping an eye on things." She glanced up at the nearest camera and added, "Well, I should say they've been diverted rather than disabled." She blew a kiss and said, "Enjoy the show, darling!" before turning back to John and once again diving into character, widening her eyes and adding that breathy quality to her voice as she said, "What experiment can I help you with, Dr. Watson?"

Satisfied that Sherlock had everything under control – and rather looking forward to the footage their lover was no doubt recording at this very moment – John also went back into character, maneuvering Molly to the nearest counter top and lifting her up to sit on its edge. "Well, this experiment requires quite a bit less clothing, actually. For science," he added solemnly.

"Oh, well, as long as it's for science," Molly agreed, just as solemnly, although there was a definite twinkle in her eyes as she shrugged out of the lab coat and toed off her high heels. She wasn't wearing stockings, and the rest of her clothing was easily removed. John allowed her to unbutton his shirt, but stopped her from removing it entirely, citing the need for some scientific detachment, which she demurely accepted despite it being utter crap as an excuse. The truth was that he was excited at the prospect of fucking her up on the counter, completely nude, while he still kept on at least some of his clothes.

Going along with John's purported 'scientific' reasoning, Molly opened up his trousers and pushed them down past his hips, making an "oooh" sound as soon as his prick was freed. "My goodness, Dr. Watson, a girl could get quite an education studying that," she simpered, batting her eyelashes outrageously as she brushed her hand over his erection, causing it to twitch. "For science, I mean."

Oh, that did it. John growled in a very near imitation of Sherlock at his most impatiently aroused, then wrenched Molly close to the edge of the counter so that he was cradled between her soft, pink thighs. "Well, then, Miss Hooper," he said, "let the experiment begin." Tugging her head back, he kissed her, reaching between her legs and rubbing his thumb over her clit in the circular motion he knew from quite a bit of experience was the fastest way to bring her off. Molly gasped and arched her back, her small, perfect tits bouncing a bit with the movement; without breaking his rhythm, John bent down and began licking and suckling those wonderful, perky nipples, eliciting a series of titillating groans and gasps and little mewls from Molly's lips.

He felt her thighs tightening around him and knew she was close, so he slipped a single finger into her dripping channel. She threw her head back and let out a long, satisfied groan that he listened to with almost as much satisfaction as she was demonstrating. Well, perhaps not quite that much; he glanced down at his erection and decided now was the perfect time to try one of his favorite magic tricks. "Watch it disappear," he muttered to himself, chuckling as he heard Molly's giggle of appreciation at a familiar joke turn into a gasp of pleasure as he sank deep, deep inside her.

It was so amazing to feel her clenching around him, her legs wrapping his body as she leaned back on her elbows. To think that he'd once dismissed Molly Hooper as a nice but rather boring woman who was a bit too enamored of Sherlock for her own good! Then again, the same could be said of him, and probably had been by Molly back in the day. Not the woman part of course…John groaned as Molly raised her hips a bit, allowing him better access, and his jumbled thought slipped away.

Well, those days were done and gone; she was his now, she and Sherlock were both his, and he was theirs, and this little game of 'find the fantasy, fulfill the fantasy' wasn't only going to be for himself and Molly. Oh no, he decided as he thrust into Molly's soft, welcoming warmth, hearing her gasps of pleasure and meeting it with ones of his own; Sherlock Holmes wasn't the only one who could deduce others, and one way or another, John was determined to find a way to repay their lover for these amazing encounters.

When he voiced that very intent to Molly, she nodded eagerly, then shuddered and cried out as if John's words had been all she needed to push her over the edge. He followed soon after, collapsing against her heated flesh until the sense that his legs might give out on him had been vanquished.

When he and Molly left the now-unlocked room, they were demurely dressed and aside from a certain flushed happiness on their faces and their entwined fingers, gave away nothing of what had just happened between them.

3

"Meet us at Angelo's for late dinner. 10pm. Sherlock."

John grinned in anticipation. This time he knew something exciting was going to happen, something Sherlock and Molly had cooked up for him specifically. He'd enjoyed the one-on-one time with each of them the last two days, but somehow he'd known that those two occasions weren't the only fantasies of his Sherlock had worked out. This latest text message indicating another 10:00 assignation was proof of that.

John's shift at the clinic ended at seven, and Molly didn't get off work until eight, so it was no surprise that he came home to an empty flat. Sherlock was actually doing something hush-hush for Mycroft, or so the second text message had read; John had chuckled, practically hearing Sherlock's eyes rolling as he typed the words.

John showered and changed, not sure what to expect but wanting to be ready for anything. Sherlock had said to meet 'them' at Angelo's, so he was expecting the voice mail Molly had left for him, assuring him that she would see him later but that she wasn't coming home until 'after'.

After what, John still had no idea. Well, sex, of course, but sex at Angelo's? A busy, popular restaurant? Even that might be a bit much for his recently-discovered exhibitionist streak. He forced himself to just relax, to wait and see, mentally hearing Sherlock's scoffing voice telling him it was useless to speculate ahead of the facts.

He couldn't help picturing various scenarios during the cab ride, though. Images of the three of them in the kitchen or the men's loo were immediately discarded, and he definitely couldn't picture the three of them in the dirty little alley that ran behind the bistro, with kitchen staff banging in and out the door with loads of rubbish to put into the bins!

Mentally throwing up his hands, he settled for anticipating a good, late supper at the very least. Angelo's veal parm was one of John's favorites, even though he knew he'd endure a great deal of teasing from Sherlock about his weight if he ordered it. At least Molly would be quick to defend him; she had heard her fair share of snotty weight-related comments from Sherlock in the past, and refused to tolerate them. Especially, John thought with a smirk, after the button-popping incident that had Sherlock silently seething…and then buying a new shirt a size larger and just as silently daring them to say anything.

He paid the driver and jumped out of the cab as they arrived, walking through the door to see Molly seated alone at their usual table by the window. She was sipping a glass of wine and smiled to see him, patting the seat next to hers, backs to the windows. He kissed her in greeting and asked about her day before wondering aloud where Sherlock was. "He'll be here," was Molly's vague reply, along with a shrug. Typical Sherlock; make plans and then casually break them. Probably for a case.

Biting down his disappointment, John accepted the glass of wine Angelo offered him, nodding his thanks and glancing at the menu without much interest. His appetite had been whetted by Sherlock's message, but not for food, and the sight of Molly in her tight red dress, one that he had bought for her last Christmas, wasn't doing anything but further excite his libido. "Should we just bugger off back home, then?" he suggested to her softly, gliding his fingers up her leg suggestively, knowing that the long tablecloth would conceal his movements from casual view.

"Hmmm? Oh, no, I don't think so," she said, her voice a breathy gasp. John looked at her, really looked, and noticed the glazed look in her eyes, the redness of her cheeks, how tightly she was clutching the edge of the table and the labored way she was breathing. He glanced quickly around the restaurant and saw that the two of them appeared to be the last seating of the night; the rest of the dimly lit dining room was empty, not even waitstaff or Angelo loitering about. Odd, now that he thought about it. But when he felt someone else's hand covering his where it still rested on Molly's thigh, and felt that thigh twitching beneath his fingers, he figured out what was going on.

"Holy shit, Molly, are you two fucking insane?" he hissed out, eyes once again darting around the room. Not only the dining room, but taking in the fact that they were sitting against the street-level window, where anyone could look in and see what his two partners were up to…

He pretended to drop his napkin and ducked down to confirm his suspicions; yes, Sherlock was crouched beneath the table, his head buried in Molly's lap and making some very suggestive movements and even more suggestive noises. Either she hadn't worn any knickers or else he'd removed them and stuffed them into his jacket pocket, hard to tell in the darkness. Sherlock pulled his head away long enough to order John back up; he sat up with a jerk, face red, dick hardening, and distinctly heard Sherlock's amused voice assuring him that he was next.

Molly was biting her lip now, and John belatedly recognized her 'trying not to wake Mrs. Hudson' face. Since it was clearly too late to just grab Sherlock's head away and halt the oncoming storm, instead he dove in and kissed Molly, whose hands groped blindly for his shoulders before latching on. Her mouth was greedy and desperate beneath his, and he felt the strain of her body as she fought not to writhe beneath Sherlock's ministrations. The other man's hand still gripped John's, one finger sliding suggestively along his palm, and suddenly Molly wasn't the only one fighting to keep still. His tongue stabbed desperately into her mouth and she let out a low, gasping moan. Then her orgasm rolled over her; her body stiffened, her teeth sank into his lip, and John was hard pressed not to shout at the mingled pain and pleasure of her bite. Instead his hand dug into her thigh, the other one holding desperately to her head, and he hoped that no one had come into the dining room where they were making such a spectacle of themselves.

When he could spare a moment to glance around, he was pleased to see that the room remained empty. What was more, the lights in the kitchen were out, and he heard no sounds of anyone moving about. "Did Sherlock get everyone to clear out once I got here?" he asked Molly, now that she was in a state to be able to answer questions again.

She nodded and tsked at the sight of the blood on his lower lip. "Sorry!" she exclaimed, sounding chagrined. "Did I do that? Oh, of course, I must have, that was a silly question, sorry!"

He kissed her just to keep the unnecessary apologies from continuing to spill from her lips, tasting his own blood and not really minding. What was done was done, and he mumbled reassurances to her between kisses. Movement from beneath the table alerted him to what was about to happen next; he automatically opened his legs wider as he felt Sherlock's deft touch on the button and zip to his trousers. Then his erection was tugged free and those glorious lips were on his cock and it was his turn to fight a very difficult battle not to thrust upward to meet Sherlock's downward strokes.

Molly had snuggled next to him, one arm around his shoulder, fingers stroking his ear and hair as his eyes closed. He kept his hands on the edge of the table, gripping it just as tightly as she had been, gulping audibly as he felt her smaller fingers squirming into his trousers and reaching down to cup his balls.

It wasn't long until John was fighting back cursewords, breathing heavily, body taut as a bowstring as he came in Sherlock's mouth.

When the detective untangled his lanky form from beneath the table, John was in no shape to do anything but watch as Sherlock took his seat, ostentatiously wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and licking every single one of his long fingers. Then he leaned forward on his elbows, glancing back and forth between John and Molly with a very smug smile on his face. "Mmmm, this always has been my favorite place to eat," he purred. "Wouldn't you agree, Molly?"

She leaned forward and captured one of his hands in hers, dipping the tip of one finger into her mouth and sucking on it suggestively. "Mm, yes, delicious," she agreed. "Right, John?"

John simply shook his head and adjusted his trousers, tucking his spent dick back inside. "You two really are fucking insane," he pronounced.

"And you wouldn't have us any other way," was Sherlock's all-too-true retort. "Now. Shall we repair back to the flat where you can both repay me for my lavish attentions this evening?" He stretched in an exaggerated gesture. "My back, you know; not good to be all bent up like that."

Molly giggled and John shook his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. God, they really were fucking crazy, but he loved them both. "So, no actual food, then?" he asked as he glanced down at the menus they'd been given.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Honestly, John," he scoffed, "it's not as if you're being starved to death. We'll order some Chinese and pick it up on our way to Baker Street, will that do?"

John nodded. "Yeah, good enough, I guess. But I was really in the mood for Italian." He stood and offered Molly his hand.

Sherlock glared at him. "Well, too bad, because Angelo's already closed the kitchen."

Molly, who had come around the table with John, pulled Sherlock down for a quick kiss. "Stop fussing, Sherlock, you know he's just teasing! Now go out there and use your magic to flag down a cab while I order the Chinese." She held up her mobile and made shooing motions with her hands.

Muttering to himself about ungrateful doctors and bossy pathologists, Sherlock threw on his coat and stalked out the door, while John and Molly tried not to laugh.

As soon as the door shut behind Sherlock, however, Molly looked over at John, nibbling on her lower lip. "This was…all right, wasn't it, John? Not…too much?"

John kissed her and hugged her tightly. "Nah, it was perfect. Unexpected, but perfect. Just like the last two surprises you two cooked up for me." He kissed her again, then helped her into her coat as she entered their standing order into the mobile app and sent it off to their favorite Chinese restaurant.

When all three of them were back at Baker Street and had stuffed themselves with dim sum and various other favorites, they sprawled out on the sofa, Sherlock with his arm around John's shoulder and Molly cuddled between their legs on the floor as she sipped a glass of wine. "So. The restaurant," Sherlock said abruptly, breaking the peaceful silence. "And the pool and the path lab. You understand?"

John sighed. "Yes, of course, Sherlock, you really do have to stop underestimating my intelligence. You deduced that I've always had a bit of an exhibitionist streak in me, so you made sure that all three of these wonderful little interludes were in public places. But you also made sure no one really could just walk in on us." He paused. "So thank you. For both." Then he pulled Sherlock's head down and gave him a thorough snog, feeling Molly's hand stroking his leg and knowing by the sound of her wine glass being set on the coffee table that she was doing the same to Sherlock. Soon the two men hauled her up to join them; clothing was removed and discarded in random heaps, and mouths were once again employed in giving and receiving kisses. Molly ended up with her head in Sherlock's lap, sucking greedily at his cock while John's mouth worked a wet line from her pussy to her puckered hole further back.

"Is this still part of you fantasy, John?" Molly gasped out as she felt his finger sliding deep within her, right where his mouth had just been. He was preparing her, scissoring her a bit as a second finger joined the first, and she slid her curled hand around Sherlock's cock.

He knelt up behind her, watching as her mouth once again descended to take Sherlock deep inside her, and pressed the head of his cock against her nether entrance. "You two are always my fantasy," he growled, then began easing his way inside her, watching avidly as Sherlock's hands massaged Molly's bobbing head, his own head thrown back on his shoulders and his gorgeous eyes squeezed tightly shut.

Once fully seated inside Molly's tight heat, John leaned over and kissed the back of her neck. He started moving, slowly at first, then faster as he heard her gasping and moaning even as she continued to bob on Sherlock's cock. John reached down and squeezed her breasts, pinching the nipples, knowing it would make her suck harder and possibly even use her teeth a bit. Which they both knew Sherlock absolutely loved. With his free hand he stroked her pussy, loving the slick feel of her beneath his fingers, knowing it wouldn't be long before she would be keening with pleasure, bucking back against his cock and nearly swallowing Sherlock's down to the base.

Sure enough, it wasn't very long before Molly was clenching around him, his cock and his fingers, and he began thrusting harder as she cried out, making obscene slurping noises as she attempted to ride out her orgasm whilst simultaneously continuing to bring Sherlock off. It was a challenge she'd never failed, to John's knowledge; hearing a strangled cry from Sherlock's lips a few seconds later, he knew she hadn't failed this time either. With a satisfied grin, he grabbed Molly's hips and increased the pace of his thrusting, watching as Sherlock practically bent himself in half in order to tug Molly's face up to meet his for a heated, sloppy kiss that only served to shoot John's libido even higher. With a guttural moan he came, fingers digging into Molly's hips and head thrown back much the way Sherlock's had just been.

He eased his way free of Molly's body and sat back, then hauled her into his lap and tilted her head up to meet his for a kiss as heated as the one she'd just shared with Sherlock. He felt the other man rising to his feet and groaned, knowing that he and Molly were about to be nagged into leaving their current positions and walking the approximately five million steps to their bedroom. "Come on, John," Sherlock's deep baritone came, right on schedule. John felt him tugging at his hand, and then Molly was off his lap and giggling madly as Sherlock hoisted her over his shoulder. "Bedroom, John," he called back as he strode off with their girlfriend. "Let's see what sort of stamina records we three can break tonight, shall we?"

John shook his head but rose obediently to his feet. God, he loved those two; they had very different ways of doing it, but they could both easily twine him round their little fingers.

Especially after a night like this. And John Hamish Watson wouldn't have it any other way.